the loner [070-066-4.6]

By: linda turner.

Synopsis:

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Dillon snapped.

"Going with you," Sydney retorted.

"And don't try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.  I heard
you."

"Think again, sweetheart.  I work alone."

She studied him.

"You have got to be the stubbornest man I've ever met.  You've got a bullet
in your back that could take you out of the hunt at any time, and you still
think you can go after the man who put it there--by yourself.  Do you have a
death wish?  Is that what this is all about?"

"No, of course not!"

"Then you'd better take me with you," Sydney responded.

"I can help get you to safety if your back freezes up."

She had a point.  With Sydney along, it would be two against one.  They would
at least be able to hold their own.

But he didn't like it.  He didn't like it at all.


Dear Reader: We at Silhouette are very excited to bring you this reading
Sensation.  Look out for the four books which appear in our Silhouette
Sensation series every month.  These stories will have the high quality you
have come to expect from Silhouette, and their varied and provocative plots
will encourage you to explore the wonder of falling in love--again and again.
Emotions run high in these drama-filled novels.  Greater sensual detail
and an extra edge of realism intensify the hero and heroine's relationship so
that you cannot help but be caught up in their every change of mood.

We hope you enjoy this Sensation:--and will go on to enjoy many more.

We would love to hear your comments and encourage you to write to us: Jane
Nicholls Silhouette Books PO Box 236 Thornton Road Croydon Surrey
CR9 3RU

The Loner

LINDA TURNER

', ILHOUFTTF

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

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

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

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

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

Silhouette, Silhouette Sensation and Colophon are registered trademarks of
Harlequin Books S.  4.  " used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1996 Silhouette Books, Elon House, 18-24
Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey
TW9 1SR

Linda Turner 1995

ISBN 0 373 07673 8

Other novels by Linda TURNER. Silhouette Sensation The Echo of Thunder
Crosscurrents An Unsuspecting Heart Flirting with Danger Moonlight and Lace
The Love of Dugan Magee "Gable's Lady " Cooper tFlynn Kat Who's the Boss?

The Rawlings Family Silhouette Desire A Glimpse of Heaven Wild Texas Rose
Philly and the Playboy The Seducer Heaven Can't Wait Silhouette Special
Edition Shadows in the Night 189609 Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Mackays of Chatham PLC, Chatham

Prologue.

The night was black and moonless,
the air so still you could hear the insects crawling in the thick vegetation
of the surrounding jungle.

Sweat trickling down his neck and back, Dillon Cassidy stood as still as
death at the edge of the trees, his gray eyes trained unwaveringly on the
small cabin that sat in the middle of the clearing that had been hacked out
of the South American wilderness.

Carlos Santiago was in there, holed up like the snake that he was, just
daring anyone to come in after him.  Dillon was just the man to do it.

Two years, he thought coldly.  He'd been tracking the bastard for two years,
three months and twenty-one days.  Some marriages didn't last that long.  And
up until tonight, he'd had nothing to show for it but missed chances and lost
opportunities.  And death.  Wherever Carlos Santiago went, he left death in
his wake.  Following his trail of corpses through the U. S.  and the banana
republics of Central America,.  always a step behind him and a day late,
Dillon had grown to hate the sound of the man's name.

 On more than one occasion, he'd been tempted to chuck it all.
He'd done his time with the agency, and no one would have blamed him for
getting out while he was still in one piece.  But just the thought of that
coke-selling piece of trash be sting him ate at his gut, and his pride had
refused to let him quit.  So he'd put off his retirement for two years and
hung in there, promising himself that one day he would have the last laugh
when it came to Santiago.

That day was finally here.  He'd run the miserable excuse for a man to the
ground, and there was no way in hell slipping through his fingers this time.
A dozen DEA  were concealed in the trees that surrounded the cabin between
them they had enough firepower to blow the shack and Santiago off the face of
the earth.  If he so much as looked like he was going to run, he was a dead
man.

"We know you're in there, Santiago," Dillon yelled, shattering the tense
silence.

"You and Angelo.  And.  show you what a nice guy I am, I'm going to give
choices.  You can either throw out your weapons and out with your hands up or
we can come in after you.  choice is yours.

You've got ten seconds to decide.  Ten Nine.  " ; His count slow and sure,
his hands steady on his 9 semiautomatic, he motioned for his men to get ready.
way or the other, all hell was going to break loose and now.

"Four.  Three..."

He never got to two.  Suddenly the door of lite cabin  kicked open and
Santiago rushed out, yelling wildly, automatic weapons he held in each hand
spitting sprayed the jungle with bullets.  Swearing, Dillon the angry growl
of his weapon joining those of his Someone cried out; Santiago grabbed at his
leg and to fall.  But not before he found Dillon at the edge of trees.
Hatred burning in his black eyes, he cried, I'll kill you for this,
pachuco!  " and squeezed off another round bullets.

Dillon, in the act of ordering his men to close in, never felt the hit.

Suddenly he was falling and couldn't seem to damn thing to help himself His
left arm hanging usel at his side, he hit the dirt, wincing as pain burned
like in his shoulder.  Swearing, he rolled to his stomach, king he had to
move damn fast or he was going to be hi Pushing himself to his knee with
his right arm, he st.  to struggle to his feet, but he never made it.  A bullet
slammed into his lower back, knocking him flat on his back.  This time he didn't
move.  He couldn't.

Chapter 1.

Dmon had wanted solitude and he'd found it.  The hundred-acre
spread he'd bought a couple of weeks thirty miles from Lordsburg, New Mexico,
and out middle of nowhere.  The highway that ran to of sight of his front
porch, and his nearest neighbor, low named Winslow, was ten miles down the
road.  bother him, and that was just the way Dillon wanted most days, he had
only the whisper of the company.  It wasn't everyone's idea of retirement,
but nearly fifteen tense, dangerous years with the DEA, it well felt like
heaven to him.

Nothing came without a price, however, not even of mind.  The pain in him
back that never seemed to was a constant reminder that he'd waited just a
little long to give his two weeks' notice.  And then there was silence.

He wasn't a man who was uncomfortable with his company.  In his years with
the agency, he, agents, had had no problem with the
surveillance work that had required him to sit alone in a secluded spot for
long hours at a time, watching some crack-peddling sleaze and waiting for him
to make a mistake.  But there was something about the quiet of his new
surroundings that got to him.  After two weeks, he still hadn't gotten used
to it.

The faint, never-ending moan of the wind seemed to whisper in his ears like a
temptress who wouldn't go away, haunting him until the urge to throw
something just to shatter the stillness was almost more than he could bear.
Muttering curses, he grabbed a hammer and a sack of nails and attacked the
run-down picket fence that surrounded the white frame house that he now
called home.

After more months in the hospital than he cared to remember, the physical
activity felt damn good, and for a while he was able to forget that he wasn't
the man he used to be.  But then the muscles of his back suddenly clenched,
and he froze, gasping.  Pain streaked down his hips and legs like fire racing
after a trail of gunpowder.  His lzth clenched on an oath, he never noticed
when the hammer slipped from his grasp to fall to the dirt at his feet.

"Son of a bitch!"

His hand pressed to his spine, he glared at the tool and knew there was no
way in hell he was going to be able to lean down and pick it up--at least not
anytime soon.  Drawing in a bracing breath, he slowly, carefully,
straightened until he was standing completely erect.  But the task cost him.
His blood was roaring in his ears, sweat popped out on his brow in spite of
the coldness of the January day, and just standing there hurt like hell
Swearing, he knew he had no one to blame but himself.  The doctors had warned
him not to do anything but relax and give himself a chance to heal, but the
inactivity was killing him.  One way or the other, he'd been working since
he was sixteen.  Sitting around on his duff watching the grass
grow was driving him right up the wall.  He needed something, anything, to do.

The sudden sound of a vehicle racing up the long gravel drive from the
highway drew his attention and he looked up, squinting into the bright New
Mexican sun as a patrol car fram the Hidalgo County Sheriff's department
dragged a trail of dust behind it as it approached.  A corner of his mouth
kicked up into a slow smile.  He didn't have to see the driver behind the
glare of the sun on the windshield to know that it was Riley Whitaker.  An
old friend who had worked with him at the DEA and was now the local sheriff,
Riley had helped him find this place after he finally got out of the hospital
and decided to move West.  Every other day or so, he dropped by with the
excuse that he was in the area on patrol, but Dillon wasn't fooled.  Riley
was worried about him.

The minute Riley stepped from his patrol car, his sharp gaze took in the
hammer in the dirt and Dilloh's stiff posture.  "I'm not your mama or your
doctor," he drawled, "but both of them would be all over you if they could
see you right now.  What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Going stir-crazy sitting around listening to the wind 'blow," Dillon
retorted.

"I'm a city boy.  Maybe I shouldn't have left Miami after all."

It was a thought that had crossed his mind more than once s'nice his forced
early retirement, even though there'd never been any chance of him staying in
Florida after Santiago was captured the night he was shot.  -While he was on
the operating table fighting for his life, Santiago was furiously promising
revenge from jail, and no one in the DEA had doubted his ability to arrange
Dilloh's untimely demise.  The drug lord had a long reach and powerful
friends even from behind bars, and he never made a promise he
couldn't keep.  Knowing Dillon would never be safe from Santiago's venom,
the powers that he did the only thing they could to ensure his safety.  They
leaked the news that he had died on the table.

For all practical purposes, Dillon felt as if he had.  Even if the decision
hadn't been made for him, his days as an agent were over.

The bullet hat had struck him in the back had lodged near his spine and was
still there.  Afraid removing it would paralyze him, the doctors had left it
where it was, refusing to chance touching it unless they absolutely' had to.

Their intentions had been good, but when he'd regained consciousness and
learned what they'd done, Dillon would have raged at them if he'd had the
strength.  The bullet was like a time bomb in his.  back that could, without
warning, destroy him at any second.  Night and day, he lived with the
knowledge that if it shifted so much as a millimeter, he would be a
paraplegic for life.

How Santiago would have laughed if he'd known.  As far as revenge went, it
was much better than shooting someone between the eyes.

"What's Miami got that we don't?"  Riley demanded, his indignant.  tone
ruined by a grin.

"Name one thing."

"You gotta be kidding," Dillon replied, chuckling.

"How about water and sandy beaches, just to name a few?"

"Hey, we've got that.  Our water's just scarcer than hen's teeth and comes
out of a well.  And if you want sand, all you've got to do is look around."

The pain in his hack forgotten, Dillon laughed.

"Don't remind me.  It comes right through the screens when the wind blows."
Turning toward the house, he started up the steps to the porch.

"Come on inside.

I've got some coffee on.  "

Following him up onto the porch, Riley hesitated.

"Actually, this isn't a serial call.  I've got some work for you to do if
you're interested."

Arching a brow, Dillon couldn't have been more surprised if RHey had
suggested he take up gymnastics.  "Work?  Are you kidding?  What kind of work
can I do?  I couldn't even lean down and pick up the damn hammer a few
seconds ago when I dropped it."

"Then I guess it's lucky for you that I don't want you to pick up any
bmmers."  Reaching into the pocket of his shirt, he pulled out two
wallet-size snapshots and' handed them to him.

The pictures were of two boys, both teenagers with peach fuzz still on their
cheeks.  One was dark, the other fair, both too young to be anything but
innocents.  Studying them, Dillon committed their faces to memory, unable to
hide the interest in his eyes when he glanced back up at Riley.

"Who are they?"

"Bryan Fitzgerald and Juan Martinez.  Two runaways.  I want you to find them."

Even without knowing the circumstances, Dillon wanted: to jump at the offer
so badly he could taste it.  But he w supposed to be taking it easy, dam reit

"I'm not a PI.," he began reluctantly.

"No," Riley agreed.

"But you're he best damn the agency ever had and you need to get up off your
and do something before you start talking erazyMike Mitchell down on Eighth
Street in Miami.  can do this, Dillon."

Dillon didn't doubt that he had the ability didn't want to start something he
might not have the' stamina to finish.  His back stiff, he eased down
into one of the two rocking chairs on the' wide at the pictures again even
though he could have picked both boys out of a lineup without
a second glance.

"How long have they been missing?"

"It'll be a week Thursday."

"They both disappeared the same day?"

Riley nodded.  That same fact had bothered him more than any other.

"Their parents claim the boys don't even know each other, but I think it's
damn odd that they both turn up miqsing on the same day.

Granted, teenagers get ticked off all the time over stupid things, and
occasionally, one of them  take off.  But they usually turn up in a day or
two.  These boys have disappeared off the face of the "You think they're
dead?"

His rugged face somber, he shrugged.

"I/ton't knOW what to think.

Every lead rims right into a brick wall, and the county doesn't have the
resources for an extensive search when there's no evidence of foul play.
That's where you come in.  I talked to the parents about you taking over the
investigation and they don't have a problem with it if you're agreeable.
Neither family has a lot of money, but they're willing to pay what they
can"-- Dillon dismissed that with an impatient wave of  hand.  His
government retirement was damn good--he didn't need the money of hardworking
people who were no doubt worried sick about their sons.

Sons who, regardless of how mature they were, had no business being out on
their own on the streets.  He knew from long years of experience just what
kind of scum was out there, walt hag to take advantage of innocents, and just
the thought of the trouble they could find themselves in turned his stomach.

"My specialty is pushers and drug lords," he reminded Riley.

"I can't make any promises I'll find them."

"It's been nearly a week, and no one's heard a word from either boy.

At this point, the parents have just about given  up hope of
ever seeing them alive, so anything you can do will be better than nothing.
Can I tell them you'll take the case?  "

If he had to do much legwork, Dillon knew he was going to pay a heavy price
for disobeying his doctor's orders, but what the hell did he have to lose,
anyway?  If the damn bullet in his back was going to shift, he'd just as soon
it happened while he was doing something more constructive than sitting on
his front porch cursing the skinny piece of trash who had condemned him to a
life of purgatory.  A muscle jumping in his jaw, he nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

She wasn't a woman who believed in coincidence.  pen stance just didn't
exist--not in her world.  A reporter for the Hidalgo County Gazette, Sydney
O'Keefe firmly believed that everything happened for a reason.

And when two boys up and disappeared from her town on the same night, there
had to be a connection somewhere.  She just hadn't found out what it was.
But she would.  She always did, Once, long ago in another life, her editor at
the Chicago Daily News had accused her of.  being as unrelenting as a
bloodhound when she picked up the scent help anyone who got in her way.  He'd
been at the time for disregarding her own personal tracking down the facts of
a murder, but far sulllxl, she'd laughed and taken his comment as the
compliment.  In the years since then, a lot had changed, not that.

When her stomach tightened had come to recognize as expectation, she knew the
right trail.  : Which was why she was headed for the abandoned quarry west of
town a half an hour before the sun was to set.  For the past five days, she'd
tried to ing boys' parents, teachers and anyone else she could
who knew them, but without much success.  The kids at school had been
remarkably closemouthed, and the only thing she'd been able to discover was
that Juan Martinez was pretty much a loner and Bryan Fitzgerald liked to ride
dirt bikes at the old quarry in the evenings.  The sheriff had already
cheeked the property and found nothing, but Sydney intended to cheek the
place out herself.  If Bryan went there often, some of the other bikers must
have known him and might be persuaded to talk to her about him.  She didn't
doubt that Riley Whitaker had already tried questioning the same kids, but
some people, especially teenagers, had a problem talking to authority
figures.  If she could just get them to open up.  The quarry hadn't been in
operation in years and was nothing but an eyesore.  The entrance had long ago
been barred, and No Trespassing signs were posted everywhere, warning off
intruders.  Studying the faded, once-bold letters, Sydney couldn't imagine
any kid worth his salt seeing  the signs as anything but a joke.  And a
challenge.

Grinning, she parked near the entrance and grabbed her purse and tape
recorder.

The sun hung low in the cloudy sky, casting weak shadows that we slowly
crawling across the floor of the quarry.  It was a lonely spot, and cold.
There was nothing to block the wind, and it felt like ice as it played with
the tendrils of strawberry blond hair that had escaped the barrette at the
back of her neck.  Shivering, she buttoned her green corduroy jacket at her
throat and approached the rusty barbed-wire fence that surrounded the
property.

Her eyes on her feet and the rocky ground, she didn't see the man who
approached from the opposite direction until he suddenly stepped directly in
front of her and growled, "This is private property, lady.  You're
trespassing."

Startled, Sydney jerked to a stop, her eyes widening at.  the
sight of the scowling stranger before her.  After living in Lordsburg for the
past four years, she'd thought she knew just about everyone by sight, but if
she'd ever laid eyes on this man before, there was no way on earth she would
have forgotten him.  He blocked her path as if it were his God-given right,
the fierce frown that darkened his square-cut, good-looking face just dating
her to object.  A tall man who towered over her own five-foot-four frame by a
dozen inches or more, he was lean and gaunt and, judging from the hard glint
in his gray eyes, someone she'd be wise not to tangle Not easily intimidated
by anyone, Sydney felt her heart thunder in her breast and resented it to no
end.  In her previous job, she'd tracked down stories on some of Chicago's
roughest streets and interviewed more pushers, hookers and general pond scum
than she cared to remember.  She had a thick hi.  de and didn't jump at
shadows, or so much as blink at.  tall angry men who tried to come between
her and a story, she reminded herself sternly.

Drawing herself up stiffly, she returned his narrow-eyed glare with one of
her own.  All business, she flashed her press card at him and said coolly,

"I'm Sydney O'Keefe, with the Hidalgo County Gazette.

Are you the owner of this property

"No."

"The security guard?"

"No."

"Then who are you?  And who do you think you are trying to keep me off this
property From where I'm standing, you're just as much a trespasser as I am."

Biting back a sharp retort, Dillon stared down at her in growing irritation.
The lady was going to be difficult--he could see that already.  Short and
small boned, with delicate, old-fashioned features that
could have belonged on a cameo, she was a pretty little thing.  And, judging
from the gleam in those large, midnight blue eyes of hers, stubborn as a
bulldog with a bone between its teeth.  Damreit, why hadn't Riley warned him
to be on the lookout for a pushy reporter?  He'd just found out this
afternoon about the quarry and Bryan Fitzgerald's fascination with the place,
and there was no way in hell he was letting Lois Lane here interfere with his
investigation.

"Look, my name is Dillon Cassidy, not that it's any of your business.

And I've got every right to keep you off this property.  " Nodding to the
huge, rocky pit that yawned before them just beyond the barricaded entrance,
he pointed out the bikers who flew over the uneven terrain like dancers
performing a fast-paced ballet.

"Those boys down there might know something about Bryan Fitzgerald's
disappearance, and I'm not going to stand by and watch you scare them off."

It was a less-than-tactful thing to say but he was in no mood for
pleasantries.  It was colder than hell, his back was hurting and he just
wanted to get this over with and get out of the wind.  But the lady had her
hackles up and wasn't going anywhere fast.  Her spine as straight as a metal
fence post, she glared at him, her blue eyes flashing fire.

"I'm not scaring anyone off" -- "You're damn right you're not, because you're
not going down there.

The sheriff asked me to look into the case for the two families, so I suggest
you turn your little fanny around and go back to where you came from.  You
won't be asking any questions around here.  tonight

She gasped as if he'd struck her, hot color blooming in her cheeks.

She looked as if she wanted to slug him, and he couldn't say he blamed her.
He was being a jerk, but there was too much at stake for him to play
nicey-nicey with a  woman who made a living by sticking her cute
little nose into other people's heartache.  Adding insult to injury, he
shooed her away like a particularly bothersome mosquito.  "Go on," he growled.

"Get."

A smart woman would have taken the hint and got the bell out of there, and
for a second he thought she was going to do just that.

Stepping back, she stared up at him consideringly and finally said huffily,

"Fine.  I'll go."  But instead of leaving, she mockingly added,

"When I'm good and ready."

She darted around him, lightning quick, catching him off guard.

Sweating, Dillon instinctively grabbed for her.  But just as his fingers
wrapped around her slender wrist, the muscles of his back clenched tight, the
sudden, searing pain sucking the breath from his lungs.  His jaw rigid, a
s'lent groan rising in his throat, he went perfectly still.

His eyes squeezed shut, all his concentration focused on just dragging slow,
even breaths into his lungs, he was no more aware of his excruciatingly tight
grip on the feminine wrist be still held than he was of the frowning blue
eyes that were suddenly searching the harsh lines of his-face in puzzlement.
A few minutes more and the pain would pass, he told himself.  He just had to
be patient .  "Are you all right?"

The quiet question penetrated the cloying fog of agony that shrouded his
senses, drawing him back to his surroundings and the woman who stood unmoving
at his side.  Still, it was a long moment before the pain eased enough for
him to open his eyes and face her.  Only then did he realize he was clutching
her wrist in a fierce hold that.  had to be cutting off the blood supply to
her fingers.  Swearing softly, he released her as quickly as he'd grabbed her.

"I'm sorry.  That had to hurt.  Are you okay?"

"I don't break that easily," she replied, not sparing a
glance for the red marks on her wrist that would be bruises tomorrow.

"You're the one who seems to have thrown your back out.  Do you need some
help getting to your car?"

His health obviously off-limits as a topic of discussion, he stiffened.

"No, I" -- Suddenly glancing past her shoulder to the quarry beyond, he swore.

"Dammit to hell!  Now look what you've done!"

Surprised, Sydney whirled, just in time to see the boys on the dirt bikes
race through a downed section of the barbed-wire fence and head for town like
the devil himself was after them.  'Oh, no!  " His words suddenly
registering, she spun back to face him.

"What do you mean, look what I've done?"  she demanded indignantly.

"You were the one who grabbed me and made a ruckus."

"Only because I was afraid you were going to do just what you did and scare
them off."  Irritation deepening the frown furrowing his brow, he stared
after the rapidly disappearing boys and cursed in disgusL "There's no use
going after them now.  They're spooked.  Danml" As far as Sydney was
concerned, he had no one to blame but himself, but she had no intention of
standing there and arguing with him.

She'd gotten a pretty good look at two of the boys' faces and would try
tracking them down tomorrow, but for now she had other work to do.  ,"I can't
say it's been a pleasure, Mr. Cassidy.  Now, if you'll excuse me..."

 "Hey, where are you going?   You can't go in there!"

Already bending down to carefully ease through the barbed wire of the fence,
Sydney emerged on the other side to face him, a delicately arched brow lifted
in amusement.  "I beg your pardon, but apparently I can.  Relax, Mr. Cassidy.
I'm a big girl.  I know what I'm doing."

He snorted at that, not impressed.

"What you're going to do is break your pretty little neck if you're not
careful.  In  case you haven't noticed, the sun's going down.  A
rock quarry is no place to play in the dark."

For an answer, she fished her car keys out of her jacket and held up the
small flashlight attached to the key ring.  It was hardly bigger than a
penlight, but it strong light that had helped her find her way out of a dark
spot on more than one occasion in the past.

"Then isn't it lucky I came prepared?"  he said with a cocky grin that was
guaranteed to set his teeth on edge.

"A good reporter always does, and just for the record, I'm very good at what
do, Mr. Cassidy" -- "Dillon," he said between his teeth.

Her eyes starting to twinkle, she I Was saying, Dillon, I'm very good at what
I smell as tory nothing gets in my way, especially a few rocks in the dark.
So if you don't mind--even if you Bryan Fitzgerald supposedly spent a lot
bike here and I'm going to look around.  Maybe I'll be to find something that
will tell me what happened to "The sheriff's already been over every inch of
this with a magnifying glass.  If there was something to have found it.  Get
out of there before Starting toward the quarry that had been the side of a
hill, Sydney waved gaily over " "Bye, Dillon.  See you around."

Staring after her, the circle of light cast by bobbing over the rough terrain
as she entered the self, Dillon told him.  elf to let her go.  He the lady's
mouth that she was one tough cookie who take care of herself, so what the
devil was he hanging for?  It was cold, his back was killing him and he was
shape to play superhero to a lady reporter.  If scrounge around in the dark
and chance breaking rocks the size of Pittsburgh, that was her business.

The self-directed lecture duly noted, he should have headed
for his Suburban and got the hell out of there.  Instead, he found
himself-heading for the break in the fence that the bikers had used to get in
and out of the quarry, cursing himself for a fool all the way.  This was all
his mother's fault, he decided, swallowing a groan as his right foot landed
half on a rock and pain shot up and down his back.  If she hadn't raised him
to be so damn solicitous of the weaker sex, he wouldn't he out here now
inflicting pain on himself with these damn rocks just to watch over a woman
who would probably spit in the eye of the devil himself if he dared to get
between 'her and a stupid story.

Making his way to where she stood at the heart of the quarry, her flashlight
a narrow stream of light that barely made a dent in the vast darkness that
was quickly surrounding them, he surveyed her with.  intense dislike.

"If you must-do this, don't you think it would be better to come back in the
daytime when you can see better?  This is just a waste of time."

"Oh, I'll be back tomorrow," she assured him, her eyes and the beam of her
flashlight following the bumpy, rock-strewn path the bikers had been racing
over only moments before.

"But right now I want to see what it looked like when Bryan Fitzgerald was
here, what fascinated him about this place at night."  Directing the light to
a particularly rough track that left the others and disappeared into the
gathering shadows, she frowned.

"I wonder where that goes."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before she was following the narrow
path, heading up a steep incline that led to the top of the weathered
limestone cliff that had been carved out of the hll.  Just like a nosy cat
looking for trouble, Dillon thought irritably.  One slip in the dark and she
could come tumbling all the way to the bottom of the  quarry.

"Dammit, just wait a second, will you?  You don't know how safe that cliff
is.  What if it starts to crumble?  You could break your neck."

She didn't listen, of course, and kept fight on going, which irritated him to
no end.  Wondering what any man saw in a stubborn, headstrong woman, he
started after her, determined to shake some sense into her the second he
caught up with her.  But the climb was sharp and one he had no business
making.  Every step cost him.  By the time he reached the top, he was
sweating in spite of the cold bitch of a wind that swirled around him.

Furious with his own weakness, he had to tahe a second to drag in a bracing
breath before he could continue, and even then he might not have caught her
if she hadn't stopped so abruptly that he almost tripped over her.

"What the hell" -- "Oh, God?

Her gasp was ripped away by the wind that raced unchecked over the cliff
path, but not before Dillon heard the horror that nearly strangled her faint
words.  "what?"  he demanded.  "what is it?"

Her eyes on the body lying at her feet in a pool of light from the suddenly
less-than-steady beam of her flashlight, Sydney stared down at the reddish
curls and pale, f .  r.  eckled face of one of the two boys she'd spent the
past few days looking for.

"Bryan Fitzgerald,"

she' said QUIETLY.

"He's dead."

Dillon swore and spped around her, blocking her view of the boy as he took
the flashlight from her, then handed her the cellular phone he pulled from
the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Go back down the path and call Riley Whitaker.  I'll join you in just a
minute."

Surprised and touched by his attempt to shield her from the horror of the
situation, Sydney could have told him that she'd seen death
before, in more ways than she cared to remember.  She hadn't been much more
than a kid herself when she'd covered her first homicide in Chicago and
suddenly found herself staring down at the bloody remains of a woman who had
been slashed to death by her live-in boyfriend.  She'd promptly been sick' as
a dog, much to the amusement of her fellow reporters, and hadn't been able to
close her eyes for a week without seeing that poor woman's face.

Since then, there'd been dozens of murders to investigate, some more gruesome
than others, and over the years, she'd learned to handle each death as she
came to it.  She'd never thrown up again, but she hoped she never got so
jaded that she accepted cold-blooded llin without a blink of an eye.
Especially when the victim was a kid like Bryan Fitzgerald, who should have
been home laboring over his homework instead of lying cold and dead out in
the middle of nowhere.

 Questions of how and why and when pulling at her, she flipped open Dilloh's
cellular phone and quickly called the sheriff.

Thirty minutes later, Sydney and Dillon stood at the bottom of the quarry and
watched as Riley Whiker and hh men investigated every inch of the cliff path
and the surrounding terrain with high-powered flashlights.  There hadn't been
a murder in the county in all the years that Rey had been sheriff, and he
and his deputies were grim-faced as they examined the area and tried to make
sense of it.

But there was no sign of foul play, and a healthy sixteen-year-old boy just
didn't drop dead without a reason.

An ambulance had arrived a few minutes earlier to take Bryan Fitzgerald's
body away, but it was still another fifteen minutes before Riley reluctantly
admitted they weren't   going to find anything in the dark.
Making his way down the cliff path, he crossed to where Dillon and Sydney
waited, his expression grave.

"We didn't find anything," he said fiafiy, "but I didn't expect to.

The boy wasn't killed here.  "

Her tape recorder whirling, Sydney frowned.

"How do you know?  I thought there was no sign of foul play."

"I'm n coroner, but from the condition of the body, the.  boy was probably
killed soon after he disappeared a week ago.  I searched this place myself
four days ago, and it was clean."

Which means somebody dumped the body here sometime since then so it would be
found," Dillon concluded, his gray eyes lifted to the rough cliff wail as if
it held the answers to all their questions.

"I don't like the sound of that.  It's almost as if whoever did this is
taunting you, just daring you to catch them."

Already picturing the headlines and the panic this was going to cause, Sydney
gave Riley a sharp look that warned him she wouldn't be put off.

"Do you have any suspects?  Or have any idea what Bryan Fitzgerald died of?"

"No," he said.

"We'll have to wait for the coroner's report for cause of death.  As for
suspects, you know I can't tell you anything about an ongoing murder
investigation, Syd.  As soon as I'm ready to make a statement, though, youl
be the first to know.  Okay?"

It wasn't okay--she just wanted his thoughts on the matter--but after dealing
with Riley Whitaker for the past four years, she knew he rarely allowed
himself to be pushed into saying something he shouldn't.  Needling him
tonight, when he was just coming to grips with the fact that he had a murder
somewhere in his county, wouldn't get her anywhere.

Gracefully accepting defeat, she turned off her tape re cottier.

"Then there's no point in me hanging around here.

I've got to get back to the paper and get this written up
for the morning edition.  You are going to contact the Fitzger-aids tonight,
aren't you?  "

He nodded, his mouth compressing into a thin white line just at the thought
of the unpleasant task.

"As soon as I leave here."  Glancing around for one of his deputies, he
called out,

"Joe, walk Sydney to her car, will you?"  Surprised, she objected.

"That's not necessary."

"Whoever killed that boy is still walking around free," Dillon reminded her
before Riley could say anything.

"It doesn't pay to be careless."

Only a fool would have argued with that, and Sydney O'Keefe was apparently no
fool.  Without another word, she let Joe Sanchez escort her to her car, which
was still parked near the quarry entrance.

As they disappeared into the dark, Dillon knew he hadn't seen the last of the
lady.

"She's going to be a problem," he told Riley rritably.

"Why didn't you warn me about her?"

Riley chuckled.

"Because Sydney's one of those women that can't quite be described with
words.  I take it she made an impression."

"Oh, yeah."  Annoyance flickering in his eyes, he said,.  "She told me she
was very good at what she did and nothing got in her way when she smelled a
story.  Then she proceeded to do what she damn well pleased."

Not surprised, Riley made no attempt to hold back a grin.  "That's Sydney,
all right.  If she'd gone into law enforcement instead of journalism, she
would have given J.  Edgar Hoover himself a run for his money.  So just get
prepared.  She'll be snapping at your heels every second you're looking for
Juan Martinez."

"So you still want me to continue the investigation?"

His smile fading, Riley nodded.

"With one boy dead, we've got to conclude that the other one is in serious
trouble.  And you know yourself that the longer it takes to
find him, the less chance he has of being found alive.  I can use all the
help I can get."

"The parents may change their mind about me looking for their son after this.
This probably isn't just a runaway anymore and they might feel better if one
of your deputies took up the search.  I'm not in law enforcement anymore" --
"I can deputize you if necessary, but I don't think it is.  I know the
Martinezes and I know they're going to want the best man looking for their
son.  That's you."

Dillon had no use for false modesty--he knew his capabilities.  And though he
didn't doubt that Riley's men were good, he knew he could find that boy.  He
only hoped it was in time.  I'll do what I can.  "

Chapter 2.

Her eyes on the copy on her computer screen, Sydney studiously
tried to ignore the man comfortably sprawled at the desk directly across from
hers, but it wasn't easy.  With his size-thirteen feet propped on the corner
of his paper-strewn desk, Blake Nickels was not a man who liked to be
ignored.  His copy long since written and approved, he had an hour to kill
before he met his girlfriend, Trina, for a late supper, and Sydney knew he
was just itching to spend that time teasing her.  Giving her grief was his
favorite pastime, and if she so much as looked at him, he'd be off and
running.

A minute passed, then another.  Fighting a grin, Sydney could practically
feel his impatience.  He wouldn't, she knew from experience, be able to stand
the silence much longer.  Any second now.  "I can't believe it," he drawled
casually, smirking.

"The great Sydney O'Keefe missed a deadline.  Has anyone called the AP?  This
is news."

  Her fingers frantically flying over the keyboard, Sydney
grinned but couldn't take time to spare him a glance.  She and Blake had sat
across from each other for the past four years, trading taunts and insults on
the way to developing a relationship that was more like that of brother and
sister than co-workers.  Good friends, they could say practically anything io
each other--and frequently did.

"You're going to be history if you don't button those thin lips of yours,
Nickels," she warned.

"Can't you see you're in the presence of genius?  So stuff it.  I'm trying to
concentrate.  This one could get me a Pulitzer."

His amused snort of disdain told her what he thought of that.

"Pardon me if t don't ask for your autograph, but in ease you haven't
noticed, Harry's already got the front page set and the press warmed up.
Face it, Red.  Nobody's going to see your masterpiece until the day after
tomorrow, and by then it'll be old news."

Usually at the very mention of his irritating nickname for her, she rose to
the bait' like a trout to a fly, but not tonight.  Finishing up, she saved
the copy, then pushed back from her desk, the look she shot him playfully
pitying.

"You're just jealous because nobody ever raves over the sports page.  Trust
me, sweetie, Harry's going to stop the presses for this one."

His green eyes mocking, Blake just grinned.

"I'll your dreams, honey child.  You've been sniffing the ink fumes again,
haven't you?"

Laughing softly, Sydney ignored him and headed for Harry's office, knowing
her boss would be.  going over the layout right up until the second the
presses started.  Knocking lightly on the jamb of the door that was never
shut, she quickly stepped into the small, unpretentious office that had been
Harry's domain for the last twenty years.  Seated at his desk and almost
hidden behind his computer monitor, his glasses slipping down
his nose and his bald head shining in the glare of the overhead light, he
looked like a little old-gnome hard at work.

"Harry, the Fitzgerald boy was found tonight" -- "I know."  Glancing up, his
sharp brown eyes met hers over the top of his glasses.

"When I saw you rush in, I knew you wouldn't be here this time of night
unless you had a headline.  I've already read your copy and given it the go.

Has Riley notified the boy's parents?  "

"I believe he's doing that now."

Then I don't have' to rearrange the front page a third time.  Good work.  "

"Thanks," Sydney said, grinning.

Harry wasn't one to gush praise, which was just fine with her.  She'd won her
share of accolades and awards in Chicago and had learned, to her regret, that
such things weren't worth the paper they were written on when a jealous
coworker decided to shred your reputation.

After four years, the sting of betrayal had faded and she was able to look
back at the past with some degree of objectivity.  She no longer had the urge
to scream when she thought of Beth Jenkins, but she would never forget her
deceit or the smug look of satisfaction in her eyes when she'd accused her of
stealing her story.  To this day, Sydney still didn't know how she could have
been so blind where Beth was concerned.  She'd trusted her .  and paid the
price.  And the irony of the whole situation was that, unlike Beth, Sydney
had never needed awards to confirm that she was a good reporter.  She'd
already known it.

Disillusioned, forced to resign, she'd cleaned out her savings and left
Chicago without a backward glance, everything she owned pried in the U-Haul
trailer hitched to the back of her Jeep.  She hadn't known where she was
going, just that she never again wanted anything to do with the  The
Loner cutthroat competition of a big-city paper.  Then she'd found herself in
New Mexico and passing through Lordsburg.  To this day, she didn't know what
had p6ssessed her to check out the local paper, but the second she'd stepped
inside the small storefront operation, she'd felt like she wasahome.

At first glance, it hadn't looked as though it had a lot going for it.  The
printing presses were old and cantankerous, the desks scarred, the computers
older models and the cheapest money could buy.

But Harry and his wife, Marge, hadn't been out to set the world on fire with
their style of journalism; they just wanted to make a decent living and put
out a paper they could be proud of.  As straightforward and unpretentious as
homemade bread, they'd accepted her version of what happened in Chicago as
the gospel, warned her they couldn't pay her what she was worth and that they
could up and retire and move to Vegas, where all the action was, whenever the
mood struck them.  Deciding to chance it, she'd snapped up their offer and
had never regretted it.

They still jokingly talked about Vegas, but a lot of other things had changed
in the past four years.  She'd welcomed the peace and slower pace of
small-town life, but she was too good at what she did to be content with
writing about the garden club and VA dances for long.

Gradually, the paper evolved from a six-page weekly that depended on the wire
services for any real hard news to a daily that had been judged one of the
best in the state.  And for that, Sydney knew she had Harry and Marge to
thank.  They gave her the freedom to write whatever stories she could dig
up, and she loved it.

Leaving Harry to the last-minute fine-tuning of the copy before he started
the presses, she stepped back into the city room to find Blake waiting
expectantly.  Arching a brow at her, his smile quirky, he said,

"Well?  He shot you down, didn't he?  I tried to tell you" --
"I believe his exact words were 'good work," " she cut in smoothly, grinning.

"And you know what that means--two-inch headlines and a byline.  Harry always
did know a good story when he saw one."

Chuckling, she stopped at her desk only long enough to pick up her purse and
tape recorder, then she was breeing out the door with a teasing little wave
that she knew he positively despised.

"Nighty-night.  I want to check in with the sheriff before I.  head home.
Tell Trina hi for me."  Daring to wink at him, she hurried out just seconds
before the wadded-up piece of copy he threw at her fell' harmlessly to the
floor.

She was still grinning when she stepped outside, but the coldness of the
night quickly reminded her of the quarry.  Dillon Cassidy .  and the moment
she'd stumbled over poor Bryan Fitzgerald's body.

Sobering, suddenly chilled, she buried her hands in the pockets of her jacket
and cast a surreptitious glance up and down the street.

There wasn't a sold in sight in either direction, which wasn't surprising.
Downtown closed up and pulled in the sidewalks with the setting of the sun.

Normally, the emptiness of the streets wouldn't have bothered her.

Whenever she worked late, she usually walked around the corner to the
sheriff's office without giving it a thought.  Lordsburg wasn't crime-free,
but most of its troublemakers were limited to drunken cowboys and kids bent
on mischief.  She wouldn't have classified any of them as vicious, but a boy
was dead and whoever had dumped his body at the quarry was in all likelihood
responsible, As much as she hated to admit it, Dillon Cassidy was right.  It
didn't pay to be too careless.  So instead of rushing over to the sheriff's
office on foot, she drove.

She expected to find Riley filling out paperwork, but he was in the break
room instead, downing coffee like shots of whiskey and evidently finding no
pleasure in it.  His mouth   was bracketed in deep lines, his
eyes haunted.  Glane'mg up at her entrance, he rose and reached for another
mug.  Pouring her a shot of the thick strong coffee without asking if she
wanted any, he then plunked the mug down on the table in the middle of the
room, pulled out a chair for her and took a seat across from it.

"Sit down, Syd," he said tersely.

"I imagine you're here to ask how the Fitzgeralds took the news."

Under normal circumstances, she would have taken immediate exception to his
harsh tone, but the fight he was spoiling for was with a killer, not her.
Dropping into the wooden chair opposite him, she reached for her coffee.

"I don't have to ask," she said quietly as she wrapped her fingers around the
mug.

"I can see by your face that it was hell."

,.  Just that quickly, all the hostility went out of him.  Sighing tiredly,
he slumped in his chair.

"You got that fight.  You should have seen them, Syd.  They just sat there
and looked at me like they didn't understand a word I said.  Then they
thanked me for coming out and telling them the news myself!  It was awful.  I
kept waiting for them to cry or scream or even call me a damn liar--I know
that's what Becca and I would do if someone came to us with that kind of news
about Chloe or Grant."

Since it was a well-known fact that he absolutely adored his six-month-old
son and his adopted daughter, Sydney didn't even want to imagine how he and
his wife, Becca, would react to that kind of tragedy.

"I'm sure they were in shock.  They probably fell apart after you left."

"I hope so.  No one should keep that kind of pain locked up inside them.  And
I know they cared about him.  They were very upset when I told them the
county's resources were limited and I couldn't keep looking for a runaway
that didn't want to be found.  That's why I brought Dillon in
on the case."

At the mention of the intimidating stranger who had tried to interfere with
her investigation of the story, her ears picked up, an interest she assured
herself was strictly professional sparking in her eyes.

"I'm glad you brought him up.  It's not like you to bring in an outsider on a
case."

Pushing his coffee away with a grimace of distaste, Riley shrugged.

"Like I said, the funds just weren't available to track down what appeared to
be two runaways, but I couldn't just drop the investigation and tell the
worried parents tough luck.  So I approached Dillon about the case, and he
agreed to continue a private investigation."

"But why?  Who's Dillon Cassidy?  What is he?  What's his story?  And don't
tell me he doesn't have one," she added quickly.

"Everyone does, and all you have to do is look.  at that man's face to see
that he's been to hell and back.  How do you know him?"

"We're old friends."

"From the DEA."

It wasn't a question, just a clever statement of fact that would have given
her one of the answers she wanted if he'd made the mistake of letting it
pass.  He didn't.  Giving her a chiding look, he grinned.

"Nice try, Syd.  But if you want any information on Dillon, you're going to
have to ask him yourself.  He'll tell you what he wants you to know."

"If he's got nothing to hide, why should he care what you tell me about him?"
she asked shrewdly.

His grin broadening, he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her with
laughing eyes.

"I don't know.  You'll have to ask him."

If she hadn't been a woman who' prided herself on her professionalism, she
would have hit him then and enjoyed every second of it.  They'd worked
Closely together over the  past four years--he knew how it
irritated her when he dammed up, Letting her breath out in a huff, she said,
"Look, I'm not going to sell the man's story to the National Enquirer.  I'm
just curious.  You must trust him an awful lot if you thought he could find
Bryan Fitzgerald and Juan Martinez when no one else could."

For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to comment, but then something
flickered in his eyes.

"Let's put it this way," he growled.

"Dillon Cassidy could track a spider across the desert.  If one of my kids
had just up and disappeared off the face of the earth without a trace, he's
the man I'd call.  And that's all I'm going to say."

Frustrated, she recognized the determination in those steady eyes of his and
knew when she'd hit a brick wall.  Not sure.  why it was so important to her
to discover Dillon Cassidy's secrets, she rose to her feet and walked over to
the sink to dump out the coffee she'd barely touched.

"Then maybe I will talk to him myself.  Where's he live?"

"Out Highway 21, second drive on the right after the tracks.  He won't he
happy to see you."

Glancing back over her shoulder, she furrowed ed a brow at him.

"Then why did you give me his address?"

He laughed shortly, the hard angles of his face folding into a rueful grin.

"Damned if I know..  Maybe heeause he spends too much time alone out there,
and it's time someone shook him up a little."

"And you think I can do that?"

"Hell, yes!  Don't you?"

Not the least insulted, she chuelded, her eyes dancing impishly.

"Of course.  I like to think it's one of my better talents, but it's not
always appreciated.  Not that I let that stop me."

"Tell me something I don't know, Syd."

Grinning, she headed for the door.

"See you around, Riley."

The minute she reached the end of the long rocky drive that came to an abrupt
end at Dillon Cassidy's house, Sydney knew she shouldn't have come.  Not
tonight.  It was late, and the small frame house looked as uninviting as the
cold night.  A security light by the detached garage provided a wide pool of
weak yellow light, illuminating a weathered picket fence that leaned like a
drunken sailor and a yard that was bare of trees and plants and anything that
even came close to resembling grass.  It was stark, lonely, depressing.

Wondering what a friend of Riley Whitaker's was doing hiding away in such a
desolate spot, Sydney approached the deep shadows of the porch, refusing to
be intimidated by the dark.  This wasn't the first time she'd gone alone into
the night after a story; it wouldn't be the last.  And it wasn't as if she
had anything to fear from Dillon Cassidy.  He might have a tendency to be
overbearing, but she wasn't going to spend the rest of her life with the man,
just interview him.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped up to the door and knocked firmly.

After her encounter with him at the quarry, she hadn't expected him to
welcome her with open arms, which was a good thing.  Because the minute he
flipped on the porch light and pulled open the front door, the lines of his
hard-edged face tightened at the sight of her.

Suspicion glinting in his gray eyes, he stood in the doorway in jeans and a
T-shirt and made no move to invite her inside.  "what are you doing here?
How did you find out where I lived?"

Reminding herself that she'd known this wasn't going to be sy, she let his
hostility roll right off her and dredged up a rueful smile.

"We got off to a bad start at the quarry and   I wanted to
apologize.  I talked to the sheI and he gave me your address.  Could I come
in for a minute?"

Common courtesy demanded that he step aside and in-vile her inside, but that
sixth sense that had never failed him was screaming in his ear that
furthering his acquaintance with her could be nothing but a mistake.  Rudely
standing his ground, he said coolly,

"Apology accepted.  Next time, call and save yourself the trip out here.
Now, if you'll excuse " Oh, but I thought we could talk, get to know each
other better," she said hurriedly, before he could shut the door.  " Why?  "

"Because..."  Floundering, she shrugged.

"Because finding that boy tonight wasn't a pretty sight, and I thought you
might want to talk about it."

It sounded good, but Dillon wasn't buying it.

"Why don't you just cut to the chase, Ms. O'Keefe?  It's late and it's been a
bitch of a day.

We both know you didn't come out here to apologize, so quit beating around
the bush and just tell me what you want.  Okay?  "

To her credit, she didn't so much as blink at his bluntness.  Drawing herself
up to her full five foot four inches, she met his gaze unblinkingly.

"You'd make a good human-interest story as a follow-up to the death of the
Fitzgerald boy.  Any man that Riley Whitaker would trust to handle one of his
cases has to be pretty special, and my readers would like to know more about
you.  I know you and Riley worked together in the DEA" -- "Did he tell you
that?"

He gave her a piercing look, one that had intimidated more than a few
street-tough smugglers, and dared her to lie to him.  And for a moment there,
Dillon actually thought the little snoop was going to try.

There was a gleam in her eyes that he didn't trust, the subtle, almost
unconscious lift of her chin a blatant warning that she was a
woman who had no problem with a dare.

Transfixed, Dillon stared down at her, admiration catching him by surprise,
amusement threatening to drag a reluctant smile across his face.  Damn if she
didn't have spunk!  He liked sass and guts in a woman.  or at least he had
before he'd ended up with a bullet in his back.  Now he couldn't take a
chance with anything in skirts, especially one who made a living sticking her
nose into other people's secrets Even if she was the prettiest thing he'd
seen in a long time.

Irritated that he'd even noticed her looks, he jerked his thoughts back to
the conversation.

"Well?"  he demanded.

"No."  She fairly spat the admission at him.

His smile was smug.

"I thought not."

"But he said the two of you once worked together," she added triumphantly.

"And s'nice you're not from around here and it's a matter of public record
that Riley's only other job before moving to Lordsburg was with the dea, it
stands to reason that you were both agents.  He wouldn't bring just anybody
in on one of the most unusual cases to hit this county in years."

Obviously confident that she now had him right where she wanted him, she
arched a brow at him.

"So just exactly what did you do for the DEA, Mr. Cassidy?  And why did you
quit?  You're hardly old enough to retire.  What happened?"

The questions flew at him like-bullets, reopening wounds he was trying his
damnedest to heal.  Damn her, why was she hounding him?  She couldn't know
about the shooting in the jungle the night Santiago was captured.  The DEA
had made sure the story never made it out of South America, and she'd already
admitted that Riley hadn't told her anything.  She was just fishing, looking
for something to fill the pages   of that precious paper of
hers, and she couldn't possibly know the damage a humanqnterest story about
him could cause.  True, the odds of Santiago ever coming across a copy of the
Hidalgo County Gazette were slim to none, but even from prison, the man was
as dangerous as a cornered rattier.  Dillon had no intention of
underestimating him.

"No comment," he said curtly, and reached for the door.  This time, she made
no move to stop him.

"You can put me off for now," she warned him, raising her voice as he shut
the door in her face, "but not forever.  You hear me, Cassidy?  You're hiding
something, and I intend to find out what it is."

Cheat, he thought crossly as he heard her stomp down the porch steps to her
ear.  This was just great!  From the moment he'd arrived in town he'd been
careful to keep a low profile and mind his own business.  until Riley had
asked for his help.  Now, thanks to that one little favor he'd agreed to do,
he had Sydney O'Keefe to deal with.  Another news-hound he might have been
able to put off, but he'd read her work.  There was no question that she was
a talented writer with a nose for headlines in a place where they were few
and far between.  And she'd decided that he was news.  God help him!

By the time school started the next morning, news of the discovery of Bryan
Fitzgerald's body had raced through the streets like a hot summer wind, and
the halls were abuzz with speculation about the murder.  Teenagers gathered
in clumps at their lockers, their voices hushed, their eyes troubled as they
discussed how such a thing could have happened in their slow-moving,
easygoing town.

Slowly making his way through the crush of students, Dillon hardly noticed
the wary glances and sudden sidence his presence created when the students
realized there was a stranger in their midst.  The boys he'd
see at the quarry last night had to be here somewhere.  He'd been there
since the janitor opened the doors at seven, and at first he hadn't had any
trouble checking out the kids who straggled in early.  Then the school buses
had pulled up out front and unloaded, and in the mass of chattering humanity
that had streamed inside, he hadn't been able to get a good look at the face
of every boy in the crowd.  And he was running out of time.  , dam reit In
five minutes, the bell would ring and the halls would clear.  Where the hell
were those kids?  "Well, well, if it isn't the elusive Mr. Cassidy."
Glancing sharply up from his thoughts, Dillon stiffened at the sight of
Sydney making her way through the crowd toward him, looking hardly older than
a teenager herself in faded jeans and an oversize hooded sweatshirt that fell
to her thighs, swallowing her slender figure whole.  A grin, full of delight,
tipped up the corners of her mouth, and in her eyes was an impish spark that
he immediately distrusted.  He might have been able to avoid her questions
last night, but there was no door to shut in her face now and she knew it.

Swearing, he didn't wait for her to reach him, but turned back toward the
foyer at the main entrance.

"I don't have time to talk to you now, Sydney.  I'm working" -- "I know.
You're looking for the boys from the quarry.  So am I."

Catching him in four quick strides, she hurriedly moved into step at his
side.  Her blue eyes cutting to his, she grinned at the scowl he directed at
her.

"Isn't it lucky that we ran into each other this way?"

"Yeah, it's a real riot."

Chuckling at his dry tone, she explained,

"No, I mean it.  You're obviously not having any better luck than I am at
finding those kids, but together we might just hit paydirt.  And in the
meantime, you can answer some questions for me."  '   "Not in
this lifetime or the next," he retorted coldly, returning his gaze to the
teenagers crowding the hall.

"I said all I was going to say last night."

He expected her to argue with that--she'd already proven herself to be
nothing if not tenacious--but she only shrugged as if the matter was of no
concern to her, then, like him, turned her attention to the kids hurrying to
their first class.

"I figured you'd say that, and that's okay.  It's a free country and you
don't have to say anything you don't want to.  I just thought it was odd that
you own a ranch but no cattle.  Why is that?"

"No comment."

Undaunted, she said airily,

"In fact, you don't seem to have any means of employment, and you're too
young to be retired.  So how the beck do you support yourself9.  Did you're
grandm die and leave you a chunk of change or what?  Not that it's any of my
business, of course, but" -- "But why let that stop you, right?"  he mocked,
arching a taunting brow.

"I take it it never has before."

"NOW, now, don't get tacky," she soothed in an irritatingly calm voice.

"We all have our jobs to do, and I'm just doing mine.  Anyway, this isn't
about me.  You're the one with the secrets."

She smiled up at him so sweetly, Dillon didn't know if he wanted to snatch
her into his arms and kiss her or throttle her.  And that threw him.  When
had he started thinking about kissing the lady?  Ven had he started thinking
about her, period?  She might have the soft, classic beauty of an
old-fashioned Gibson girl, but she was as sharp as a knife and so stubborn
that it was all a reasonable man could do not-to shake some sense into her.
Not his type of woman at all, he decided.

So why was he so fascinated with her?  She knew exactly what she was doing to
him.  He could see the wicked sparkle her eyes, the
amusement the little witch made no attempt to hide.  There was no doubt about
it--she enjoyed pushing his buttons, and he was letting her!

Disgusted with himself, he jerked his gaze from hers .  just in time to catch
a glimpse of what looked  one of the bikers from the quarry turn the corner
toward the stairs to the second floor.

"Excuse me,"

he said curtly to Sydney.

"I've got work to do."

Hurriedly push; rag his way through the throng of students, he took a
quickstep around the corner and intercepted' the boy just as he reached the
stairs.  Quickly introducing himself, he said,

"Hold up a minute, will you, son?  I'm a private investigator, and I need to
ask you a few questions."

His eyes huge in his suddenly chalky face, the boy looked quickly around for
a way out.  'Uh--I've g-got class"-- " If you're late, I'll be happy to talk
to your teacher," Dillon assured him, urging him away from the flow of traffic
near the stairs.

"This is too important to put off.  How well do you know Juan Martinez?"

"I don't know him at all!"

Practically shaking, the boy was obviously scared out of his mind.  nd lying.
Knowing he'd get nothing out of him if he frightened him too much, Dillon
struggled to be patient, but it wasn't easy.  One kid was dead and the second
one could be in serious trouble if he didn't find him soon.  "Look, son,
you're not in any kind of trouble.  I just want to talk to you.  What's your
name?"

For a minute, he didn't think the kid was even going to give him that much
before he grudgingly admitted, "Tommy Gordon."

"Okay, Tommy, I'm going to be straight with you.  I know you ride dirt bikes
out at the old quarry, and that's okay with me," he said quickly when the boy
1ookedready to   bolt.

"I don't own the property and I didn't track you down to talk about
trespassing.  But s'nice you hang out there and Bryan Fitzgerald did, too,
you must have run into each other there occasionally.

Right?  "

Still suspicious, Tommy stared at him for a long time, fear darkening his
eyes.

"I don't know.  Maybe.  Maybe not."

So much for doing this the easy way, Dillon thought, gritting his teeth.

"Okay," he said with a sigh, forcing a smile, "let's try this a different
way.  Let's say you did know Bryan.  The night he disappeared, maybe he
showed up at the quarry with another friend.

Juan Martinez.  So you must know him, too.  "

"I never said that," Tommy said quickly, alarmed.

"I never said I knew either one of them."

"True, but if you did and you were friends, you'd want to help Juan if you
could," Dillon pointed out eas'fiy, not pressing the issue.

"Friends help friends, and Juan could be in serious trouble about now.  The
kind that could get him killed.  So if you were worried about him and afraid
he was going to end up like Bryan, you'd tell someone who was concerned about
him what you knew, wouldn't you?  Because you're a good friend."

Watching the conflicting emotions flicker across the teeo's still-baby-faced
features, Dillon waited expectantly.  He knew the look of a witness who
wanted to Sp'fil his guts, and it was stamped all over the boy's face.  He
was dying to talk--all he needed was the sympathetic ear of somebody he could
trust.  A few more seconds and-The bell rang suddenly, the sound sharp and
shrill, and just that quickly, Tommy clamped up tighter than a bank vault.
His gaze darting past Dillon to the hall thht had emptied without his
noticing, he said hoarsely,

"Oh, God, I'm late.  I gotta go!"

"Wait!"  Swearing, Dillon grabbed the boy's notebook and
quickly jotted down the number to his cellular phone.  "This is my number,"
he said, shoving the notebook back into the kid's hand.

"If you can think of anything that can help me find Juan Martinez, call me
anytime, day or night."

Not making any promises, the teenager bolted past him and up the stairs
like a scared rabbit, his notebook clutched to his skinny chest.  Watching
him until he was out of sight, Dillon knew a lost opportunity when he saw
one.  The only reason he'd been able to get anything at all out of the kid
was because he'd caught him off guard.

Once he calmed down, he'd realize that the next move was his.  If he didn't
want to talk to Dillon, he didn't have to.  And there wasn't a damn thing
Dillon could do about it.

It had, Sydney decided a few minutes after the tardy bell rang, been a
raunchy morning all the way around.  She still.  didn't know how Dillon had
managed to elude-her.  One second she'd had him cornered, and the next he was
gone, pushing his way through the crowd before she could stop him.  She'd
gone after him, of course, but then she'd thought she caught sight of one of
the kids from the quarry.  By the time she'd trailed him to his class and
realized she'd made a mistake, the hal!   had cleared and Dillon was nowhere
to be found.

Torn between irritation and amusement, she imagined he was probably feeling
pretty pleased with himself right about now.  The dog had given her the slip
without answering a single one of her questions.

Chuckling softly to herself, she shrugged.  So he got lucky.  If he made the
mistake of thinking he was always going to evade her so easily, he was in for
a rude awakening.  His little stunt only stirred her interest more and proved
he had a story to tell.  Before it was over with, she'd find out what it was.

  But for now, she needed to do some follow-up on the missing
Martinez boy.  With the finding of Bryan Fitzgerald's body, the whole
complexity of the case had changed, and she wanted to talk to the Martinez
family again.  Climbing into her car, she headed for the south side of town.

As expected, she found Manuel and Elaina Martinez frantic with worry over
their son.  Elaina had obviously been crying and her husband looked as if he
had aged ten years since Sydney had last spoken to him.  Seatedat the kitchen
table, his face haggard and drawn, he spoke of his son.  as if he were in the
next room, safe and well, but there was a tragic sadness in his dark eyes
that told Sydney he had already accepted the worst Now he was just waiting
for the horrible news from the authorities.

Her heart breaking for him and his wife, Sydney hated to intrude, haled to
push questions on them when they were in so much pain.  She had a job to do,
of course, but she took no pleasure in it at times like this.  Promising
herself she was going to keep it brief, she took the seat Elaina offered her
at the kitchen table.

"I know you must be sick of questions," she began as she pulled out her
miniature tape recorder and set it on the table between them, "but I just
have a few.  You said in our last conversation that Juan took a duffel bag
with him when he left.  Do you have any idea what was in it?"

Sniffing,-his mother nodded.

"Two pairs of jeans, three long-sleeved shirts and underwear.  And the thirty
dollars he took from Manuel's wallet."  Tears welled in her eyes, spilling
over onto her weathered cheeks.  Wiping them away with a trembling hand, she
said,

"I still can't believe he did that.  He never stole from his father in his
life."

His own eyes glistening, Manuel added,

"That's why we were so sure he'd run away.  But now I don't know.  After the
Fitzgerald boy was found last night, nothing makes sense."

"Did Juan ever threaten to run away before?"

"No, never!"  Elaina exclaimed.

"He's a good boy.  Headstrong like his father, and a LITTLE spoiled, but all
boys are at that age.  If he was unhappy enough to run away, no one knew what
he was planning.  Not even his girlfriend."

"His girlfriend?"  Sydney echoed, startled.

"What girlfriend?"

Elaina frowned in confusion.

"Lisa Hunter.  Didn't we mention her?  She and Juan are hardly ever out of
each other's sight."

This was the first Sydney had heard of the girl--she was sure of it.

"And she hfisn't heard from him?  If they're that close, he must have
contacted her."

Not liking that suggestion at all, Manuel stiffened, his lined face folding
into a disapproving frown.

"Lisa would never keep something like that to herself.  She knows how worried
we are about Juan.  She would have called us immediately if she'd heard from
him."

Privately, Sydney wasn't so sure of that but that wasn't for publication.
Carefully concealing her excitement, she didn't push the issue.

"I'm sure you're right, Manuel.  She sounds like a good kid.  In fact, I'd
like to talk to her.  Do you have her number?"

Elaina rattled it off, only to caution,

"But she's in school right now and has cheerleader practice afterward.  You
probably won't be able to get in touch with her until later this evening."

ALready rising to her feet, Sydney quickly stuffed her re, corder into her
purse.

"That's okay--I've got a jillion other things to do this afternoon, so that
will be perfect.  Thanks."

She hadn't lied--she really did have a long list of things to do that
afternoon--but they were all piddling tasks that she was able to fly through
without much thought.  By four o'clock she was finished and staring at the
clock.  She told   herself she knew how to bide her time and
wait for a story to break.

But as the seconds ticked by with maddening slowness, she knew there was no
way she was going to be able to just sit there and wait till that evening to
call Lisa Hunter.  Giving in to the inevitable, she reached for the phone.

Twenty minutes later, Sydney couldn't believe her luck.  Lisa had not only
been home because cheerleader practice had been canceled, but she'd promised
to meet Sydney at the City Diner just as soon as she could get there.  Seated
halfway down the row of booths that lined the windows, she watched a petite
blond teenager walk in the door and knew immediately that she was i.  isa.
Dressed in a fuzzy aqua sweater and fight black jeans just as she'd promised,
she was cheerleader cute and confident, with every hair in place.

"Hi," Sydney greeted her, smiling as she motioned her into the seat across
the table from her.

"Thanks for coming so quickly.  Would you like something to eat?"

Just a Coke, please," she told the waitress as she slid into the booth seat.
Looking nervous for the first time since she'd walked in the door, she
fiddled absently with the strap of her purse as she set it in her lap.

"You said this was important," she began hesitantly, her large blue eyes,
dark with worry, searching Sydney's.

"Is it about Juan?"

Sydney nodded.

"Actually, I just learned this morning that you two were friends or I would
have talked to you right afar Juan disappeared.  Have you heard from him?"

The quick question caught the girl off guard, just as Sydney had hoped, but
before she could take advantage of the moment, the waitress returned with
Lisa's drink.  By the time she'd deposited it and a straw on a table, the
teenager had had time to compose herself.  Inslead of answering, she met
Sydney's gaze unblinkingly.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because according to Juan's parents, you two are very close.
And I don't think he would just run away without a word to anyone, not if
he's as good a kid as his parents say he is."  Giving that a chance to sink
in she sat back and surveyed the girl shrewdly.

"This isn't just a runaway story anymore, Lisa.  Bryan Fitzgerald is dead and
Juan's missing.

Does he know something about Bryan's death?  "

" No!   "

Her answer was just a little too quick and sharp with panic.

"Then why did he run?"  Sydney pressed.

"There had to be a reason.  I was hoping you might know what it is."

Expecting a denial, she was shocked by the sudden' tears that filled the
girl's eyes.

"He w-wouldn't tell me," she whispered hrokenly.

"He just said not to tell anybody where he was going."  Sniffling, she jerked
a paper napkin from the chrome napkin holder and wiped her wet cheeks.

"If something happens to him" -- Her face was stark with terror, and with a
jolt, Sydney suddenly heard what she'd just admitted.

"Oh, Lord, you mean you know where he is?  Honey, I know you're trying to
protect him, but he could be in serious trouble!"  Leaning forward, she
gripped the girl's tightly clenched hands where they rested on the table.

"This isn't a game, Lisa.  Bryan is already dead and I know you don't want
Juan to end up the same way.  Where is he?  You've got to tell me."

She hesitated, her teeth biting into her bottom lip, smudging her lipstick,
before she finally blurted out,

"I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to tell anyone where he Sydney
didn't hesitate.

"I can write his story without ever mentioning that.  I swear.  Where is he?"

"At my uncle's in Tucson."  Having given that much, there was little point in
keeping the address to herself.  She watched Sydney hastily scribble it in a
small notebook she $ carried in her purse, her expression
troubled.

"Please tell me you're not going to Tucson.  Juan was afraid he 'was being
followed" -- Glancing up quickly from her notebook, Sydney frowned.  "Did he
say why?"

"No.  I just know he was constantly looking over his shoulder.  If someone
was trying to find him to hurt him and they followed you to my uncle's..."
Shivering at the thought, she pleaded,

"Please be careful, Ms. O'Keefe.  If something happened to him or you because
I opened my big mouth, I'dnever forgive myself."

Normally, Sydney would have laughed at the suggestion that she couldn't take
care of herself, especially after thriving on the streets of Chicago for
years.  But the girl's fear was real and soul deep.  Giving her a reassuring
smile, she patted her hand.

"Don't worry.  Nothing's going to happen to either one of us.  I'll be
careful.  I promise.  I'll call you just as soon as I get back to town and
let you know how it went.  Okay?"

The girl would still worry; they both knew it.  But something in Sydney's
tone must have calmed her fears.  Releasing a slow breath, she nodded and
slipped out of the booth.  "Okay.  I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Already picturing the headlines that would accompany her story, Sydney
grabbed her purse and started digging for the money to pay the check for
Lisa's Coke.  She'd fill up her car, stop at the grocery store for extra
batteries and tapes for her recorder, then head for Tucson, she decided.  She
could be there in-- "Well, well, look what we have here," Dillon said,
slipping into the empty booth seat across the table from her.  When she
glanced up, startled, he grinned.

"Lois Lane.  And she looks like she just got a hot tip.  Care to tell me what
it was?"

Chapter 3.

Don't smoke," she retorted with a smirk, her heart lurching at
the sight of him.  Telling herself it was just from surprise--she hadn't
seen-him walk in--she made a move to slide out of the booth, her smile
deliberately dismissing.  " Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got things to
do"-- That was as far as she got.  Lightning quick, his leg shot out to block
her exit, his booted foot settling on the seat mere inches.

from her hip, p'mning her in.  When her eyes flew to his in surprise, he
merely grinned and settled back for a chat, his gray eyes alight with
satisfaction.

"I don't think so, darling'.  We need to talk."

Her gaze lifting from the sight of his foot next to her hip to his crooked
grin, Sydney felt her throat go dry.  He had, she thought dazedly, the kind
of smile that should have carried a warning label--it was that dangerous.
And any woman who trusted it was just asking for trouble.  Suddenly wondering
why he was being so chummy when he'd   wanted nothing to do with
her last night and just that morning, she frowned at him suspiciously.

"About what?"

"The identity of the cute little blonde, for one thing.  And don't try to
pass her off as a friend," he warned.

"She couldn't be sixteen if she's a day, and I don't think you get your kicks
by hanging out with the high school crowd.  So who is she?  And what does she
have to do with the Fitzgerald and Martinez boys?"

For all of two seconds, she actually considered telling him.  After all, it
wasn't as if he were another reporter who would steal her story.  But Riley
had charged him with the responsibility of finding Juan, and if Dillon
thought she was a threat to the boy's safety, he'd never let her near him
Leaning back in the booth, she decided to play it safe.  Giving him a
maddening half smile, she lifted a delicately arched brow.

"Who said she had anything to do with the case?"

So she wanted to play games, Dillon mused.  He hadn't thought he was in the
mood for it--since he'd tracked down the Gordon kid at the high school
earlier, he'd run into nothing but one dead end after another, and he was
getting dan reed frustrated.  But there was something about the mischievous
glint in her eyes that he found impossible to resist.

He should have looked away then and reminded himself why he was there.  He'd
been sitting in his favorite booth, the last one at the back that gave him an
unrestricted view of the diner and all its patrons as they came and went
through the front door, when he'd seen Sydney walk in, then greet the
teenager that joined her at her table.

There was no question that she'd uncovered something interesting--even though
she'd been sitting with her back to him, he'd sensed her barely contained
excitement as the little blonde had con-tided something to her before she'd
left.  He'd joined her solely to find out what that something
was, but instead of grilling her as he should have been doing, he couldn't
stop looking at her.

If he was a man who believed in such things, he would have said her aura was
sprinkled with the dust of a million diamonds.  Her eyes had a sparkle, her
cheeks a becoming wash of color, her mouth a tempting curve that drew his
gaze like a magnet.  Even with the width of the table between them, he could
feel the energy that set the air around her humming.  and the heat that
curled, uninvited and Unwelcome, low in his gut.

Amused in spite of that, he found himself fighting hard to hold back a grin.

"Nice try," he drawled, "but I wasn't born yesterday.  That little-girl
innocent act might play well for the local cowboys, but after talking to cows
all day, they're liable to believe just about anything.  I'm not.  Who is
she?"

Flashing her dimples at him, she grinned.

"Don't you wish you knew."

His eyes locked with hers.

"There are ways of finding out," he warned softly.

"Oh, really?"  Not a spark of fear shone in her dancing blue eyes.

"What are we talking about here?  Chinese water torture?  Thumb screws?

Is this when you bring in the whips and chains?  " Leaning forward, she
propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her palms, her eyes
widening with a sudden thought.

"Don't tell me you're into S and M?"

Lord, she was full of sass!  His mouth twitching, his eyes locked with hers.

"Don't beat around the bush, sweetheart.  If you want to know about my sex
life, just ask."

That got her.  Fascinated, he watched the heat climb in her cheeks and her
eyes shy from his.  Who would have thought   it?  Sydney O'Keefe
shy?  He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

But between one heartbeat and the next, she recovered.  Straightening
abruptly, she leaned back in her seat and grinned.

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll wait for the movie.  I like popcorn
with my epics."

He laughed, he couldn't help it.  Damn the LITTLE minx.  She actually dared
to wink at him!

"I'll remember that," he said dryly.

"In the meantime, I believe we were talking about the little blonde" "No, you
were talking about the little blonde," she corrected sweetly.

"I don't believe I mentioned her name."

"My point exactly," he retorted.

"Who's she?  You might as well tell me, Sydney.  I'm not letting you out of
here until you do."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the cellular phone he never went
anywhere without rang.  Totally unfazed by his threats, Sydney leaned across
the table to confide softly,

"Don't look now, but I believe you're ringing."

He was, Dillon decided, going to kill her.  Scowling, he pulled the' phone
from his pocket and flipped it open.  "Cassidy here," he growled into the
mouthpiece.

"Uh ;..  Mr. Cassidy, this is Tommy GGordon."

To his credit, Dillon didn't drop the phone, but every muscle in his body
tightened in expectation.  Dammit to hell, why did the kid have to call now,
when Sydney was right across the table from him and blatantly eavesdropping?
Talk about lousy timing!  If Tommy was calling with the informarion he was
hoping for and Sydney caught the slightest hint of it, he'd never be able to
shake her loose.

Silently cursing the Fates, he said carefully,

"It's nice to hear from you, Tom.  What can I do for you?"

"I--I've been thinking about what y-you said this m-morning,"
he stuttered.

"You know... about Juan..."  "yes?"

For a long moment, there was nothing but a nerve-racking sileaee that seemed
to stretch into infinity.  Dillon could almost smell the boy's fear and the
doubts tearing at him.  It had taken all day for him to workup the courage to
call, but the boy was still obviously scared spit less One wrong word from
Dillon and he knew he would lose Tommy--and his informarion--forever.
Fighting the urge to plead with him not to hang up, he couldn't do anything
but wait.

"If s-something happened to him," he finally said shakily, "and I didn't tell
anyone where he w-was, it would be my fault, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know that I would put it that way," Dillon replied cautiously,
frowning.

"But if you give me that informarion, I'll do everything I can to see that
that doesn't happen."

Hesitating, the boy draw in a deep breath and finally, re-luetantly blurted
out,

"He's in Tucson ... at a friend's uncle's house--2315 Adams.  That's all I
know."

The line went dead then, the drone of the dial tone a steady buzz in Dillon's
ear.  Putting the phone away, Dilloh's thoughts jumped ahead to the drive to
Tucson.  He could be there before dark and possibly have Juan Martinez safely
back with his parents by midnight "Problems?"

He hadn't for a minute forgotten Sydney's presence.  or her occupation.  The
last thing he needed at this phase of the investigation was a pus by reporter
sticking her nose into things and scaring the kid off before he had him in
protective custody.  Forcing an easy smile, he shrugged.  "Nothing worth
worrying about," he lied, "but we're going to have to continue
this little interlude some other time.  I've got to go--I've got an
appointment."

"Isn't that a coincidence?"  she purred smoothly, her mouth curling at the
ironies of fate.

"So do I."  Rising to her feet as soon as he slid from the booth, her gaze
lifted to his.  "Guess I'll see you around."

Not if I see you first.  The words weren't spoken aloud, but Sydney could
read them in his eyes as clearly as if they were spelled out in lights.
Amused, she noted that he motioned for her to precede him after she paid the
bill for Lisa's Coke, as if he were afraid she was going to follow him.

Grinning, she could have told him there was no need for him to be
paranoid--she had her own fish to fry--but she decided he was too sure of
himself as it was.  From what she'd seen of Dillon Cassidy, he didn't appear
to be a man who spent a lot of time looking over his shoulder.  Thinking he
had a woman on his tail, tracking his every step, just might shake him.  up a
little.

Pleased by the thought, she pulled out of the diner parking lot and turned
left.  A quick glance in the rearview mirror assured her that Dillon had
turned his midnight blue Suburban the opposite direction, for which she sent
up a heartfelt prayer of thanks.  He'd already made it clear that he didn't
approve of her sniffing into the case.  If he had even a suspicion of what
she was up to, he'd do whatever he had to to stop her, even if that meant
calling in the sheriff, and there was no way she was letting that happen.
She was the one who had tracked down Lisa Hunter and got her to talk, and if
Juan really did turn out to be in Tucson, she'd notify Riley herself.  After
she got her story.  And that was going to be a lot easier to do with Dillon
tied up with an appointment.  He'd never even kalow when she left town.

A grin flirting with the corners of her mouth, she pulled into the Kwik Stop
and filled up, then hurriedly bought batteries and several
cassettes just in case she needed extras.

Twelve minutes later, she was back in her car and turning onto Main Street.
were already locked on the tough
questions she intended to ask Juan when she caught up with him.  Without
sparing it a glance, she went right through the Yield sign where Main
intercepted the access road of Interstate 10.

Distracted, she never saw the dark Suburban that had the right of way until a
horn blared like a blast from hell.

She never remembered .  floor boarding the brakes, but suddenly her tires
were screaming and her fingers locked in a death grip on the steering wheel
as she struggled for control.  The Suburban was right in front of her, dark
and threatening, impact only seconds away.

Horrified, she wrenched the wheel to the right and knew in her heart it was
too late.  Slamming her eyes shut, she braced for the crash.

But when her Wrangler shudder6d to a stop, there was no collision.

Stunned, she opened her eyes to find her front bumper just inches from the
Suburban's passenger door.  And glaring at her from the other vehicle's
driver's seat was Dillon.  Muttering curses, he unsnapped his seat belt with
a savage jerk.  Then, in the next instant, he was out of the Suburban and
heading right for her, his long legs quickly eating up the distance between
them.

Sydney only had time to shakily alight from her own hicle before he was on
her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  he thundered.

"That was a Yield sign, lady.  I realize that word's probably not in your
vocabulary, but you damn well better learn it.  You almost hit me!"

Flushed, more than willing to take the blame when she was in the wrong, she
said,

"I know, and I'm sorry.  I wasn't paying any attention" -- He snorted
contemptuously.

"You got that right.  You were too busy trying to follow me."

  Sydney couldn't have been more surprised than if he'd accused
her of drunk driving.

"Following you?"  she echoed, choking on a startled laugh that held little
humor.  Of all the insufferable egos!  Cocking her head to the side, she
surveyed him with barely concealed irritation.

"You're really something, you know that?  You seem to have this misconception
that I can't do jack squat without you to track down a story for me.  So let
me let you in on a secret.  I'm damn good at what I do, Cassidy.  If I was
following you, you wouldn't even know it.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have
an appointment."

It was the second time in less than an hour that she'd tried to dismiss him,
and as far as Dillon was concerned, it was two times too many.  Irritated, he
should have let her go anyway.  He could deal with her sass another
time--right now he needed to get to Tucson.  But even as the thought
registered, something just snapped.

"Not so fast, lady," he growled, and reached for her.

Snaring her wrist, he caught her before she'd taken two steps and dragged her
back in front of him, intending to find out what the devil she was doing
here, her bumper just inches from his Suburban, if she wasn't following him.
But the second his fingers closed around the delicate bones of her wrist, he
couldn't seen to think of anything but how close she was, how soft her skin
was, how sweetly intoxi-eating her scent was.

Staring down at her, caught in the trap of her startled eyes, he saw that
she felt it, too.  The sharp tug of attraction, the unexpected heat of
desire.  The knowledge was there in the blush that warmed her cheeks and the
faint, frantic, enticing fluttering of her pulse at the base of her throat.
She swallowed, and it was suddenly his mouth that was dry, his blood roaring
in his ears.  Unconsciously, his fingers tightened around her wrist.

Entranced, Sydney felt his touch all the way down to her toes.

Shaken, she couldn't remember the last time a man only had to lay his hand
on her to rob her of breath and speech.  What was she doing?

This was Dillon Cassidy, for God's sake!  The man who would, if he could,
stand between her and a story that was the biggest thing to happen in
Lordsburg in more years than most people cared to count.

Was she really going to just stand here and let him turn her knees to water
with nothing more than a hen ted look and hot touch?

The fuzziness abruptly clearing from her brain at the mortifying thought, she
jerked free of his hold, then could have kicked herself for not being a
little more subtle when knowing amusement suddenly glistened in his eyes.
Damn the man, he already had an ego the size of Texas.  If he discovered he
could make her heart jump in her breast with nothing more than the brush of
his fingers, she'd never hear the end of it.

Stepping back, she was disconcerted to discover how much effort it took to
summon a hunting smile.  Annoyed, she quipped, ,I don't know how they treat
women where you come from, Cassidy, but around here, men don't grab women.
Not if they want to keep their fingers.  "

"I'll try to remember that," he said dryly.

"Now, why don't you tell me what brings you to this part of town if you're
really not following me?"

"I told you" -- "I know what you told me.  Now I'd like the truth.  I've got
an appointment, and you claim you do, too.  I head for the 1-10 West on ramp
and surprise, surprise, you do, too.  And I'm supposed to accept that as just
coincidence?  I don't think so."

Put like that, Sydney had to admit that he had a point.  If she hadn't been
so rattled by the near accident, she would  have seen it sooner.
Her gaze slipping past him to the interstate entrance ramp a half a block
away, there was no question that they were headed in the same direction.
Toward Tucson.  And Juan Martinez.

So he had the boy's address.  She shouldn't have been surprised.  Riley had
warned her he could track a spider 'across the desert, but he'd conveniently
forgotten to mention how damn deceptive the man was.  Now that she'd had time
to think about, there'd obviously been more to the phone call he'd gotten at
the diner, but he'd been so casual about it, she hadn't suspected a thing.
Idiot!  she chided herself.

How could she have raised what was right in front of her nose?  One minute
he'd been grilling her about Lisa Hunter and the next, he'd claimed he had to
be somewhere else.  That alone should have tipped her off that something was
up.  No one on the trail of a story walked away from one lead unless a
stronger one called them away.  So what else had he learned about Juan
Martinez?  And from whom?

Surveying him speculatively, She said, '7I know you're probably not go.  "mg
to believe this, but I really wasn't following you.  I just happen to be
going to the same place you are."  ' He didn't so much as blink.

"Sure you are.  And where is that?"

"Tucson," she said succinctly, and had the satisfaction Of seeing his eyes
narrow slightly.

Still, he wasn't convinced.

"That's obvious.  Where in Tucson?"

After the way they'd competed with each other for information, Sydney
couldn't blame him for being suspicious, but they couldn't continue to play
games when one boy was dead and another one was possibly in grave danger.

"You want the exact address?  Fine.  231 Adams."  When he swore softly she
swallowed an I told you so.

"Now that we've established that we're both good at what we
do, don't you think it's more practical for us to work together and start
pooling our information instead of constantly trying to one-up each other?"

It was a logical suggestion.  The only problem was that Dillon didn't want or
need her help.  He worked alone and that was just the way he liked it.  If he
let her tag along, she'd just slow him down and get in his way But as he
opened his mouth to reject the idea, common sense pointed out that if he
didn't cooperate with the lady, she could cause him a hell of a lot of
problems.  He could just see it now .  Both of them rushing to TuCSon, each
tg to reach the boy 'first.  They'd scare the poor kid out of ten years of
his life and possibly lose him completely if he decided to take off again.
It could take months to find him again.

"All right," he agreed.

"You want information--I'll tell you what I know.  The kid's staying with a
friend's uncle in Tucson.  I'm heading up there now to talk to him and see if
I can convince him to come home.  As soon as I get back, I'll give you a call
and let you know how it went Okay?"

"Okay?"  she gasped, insulted.

"You call that working together?  In case you've forgott6n, I have the kid's
address, too.  I don't need your permission to talk to him.  So what's it
going to be?  The choice is yours.  Either we go to-get, her or I go by
myself, but I'm going to Tucson.,"

She had him and she knew it.  He either agreed to work with her or he chanced
letting her blow the ease for him.  And she called that a choice?  Like hell!

Every instinct he possessed cringed at the very idea of letting her tag along
with him--he was having a hard enough time ignoring her as it was.  Spending
more time with her would only compound that problem.

But if she was with  .

him, at least he'd know where she was and what kind of mischief she was up to.

Annoyed that he'd let her manipulate him so easily, he said tersely, "If I
agree to work with you--and that's a big if--we need to get some thins
straight right now.  This is my investigation and I'm in charge.  You're just
along for the story."

He expected an outburst, but she had herself well in hand.  Her mouth
twitching, she settled back against the fender of her Wrangler and crossed
her arms over her chest.

"What century are you living in, Cassidy?  This is the nineties.  Women don't
take orders from men anymore."

"Nobody said anything about taking orders,"

frowning.

"Good.  Because I ask my own questions, and like the direction you're going
with thi.% you'd better believe you're going to hear about it.  If you can't
handle that, then you'd better speak up now and we can part company right
here."

She'd d6 it, Dillon thought, wanting to shake her.

race off to Tucson by herself and never stop to think danger she could be in.
Whoever killed Bryan Fitzgerald still out there and, for all they knew, just
as determined to find Juan Martinez as they were.

if she got in his way, stumbled across him by mistake, he'd eliminate her ly
as he had Bryan.

Something twisted in him at the thought, he didn, t allow himself to examine
too closely.  He just he couldn't let her go off by herself.

"We can take urban," he said grimly, and just that easily, they deal.

He followed her back to her house, where they left Jeep, then waited for her
to join him in the fore retracing their steps back to the
interstate.  The sun had set, and although the western sky was still light,
the long shadows that were creep'mg across the desert landscape were quickly
lengthening.

Long before they reached Tucson, it would be fully dark.

Excitement skittering along her nerve endings, Sydney shifted restlessly in
the passenger seat, hardly able to sit still.  Too late, she wished they'd
taken her Jeep instead of Dilloh's Suburban so she could have passed the time
driving.  Just sitting had never been easy for her, especially when she was
hot on the trail of a story.  Given the opportunity, she would have flattened
the accelerator and damned the consequences.  Dillon, however, seemed to feel
no such urgency.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, Sydney saw that his grip on the
steering wheel was easy, his foot steady on the accelerator.

The speedometer never moved off sixty-five.  Stifling a sigh, she tried to
remind herself that she couldn't ask any more-of him than the legal limit.
But if Sydney hadn't known better, she would have sworn they were crawling.
Frustrated, she ordered herself to be patient.

Ten minutes later, when Dillon suddenly lifted his foot from the accelerator
and flipped on a turn signal for the upcoming rest area, Sydney glanced over
at him in surprise.  "What's wrong?"

His eyes directed straight ahead, he said,

"Nothing.  I just thought you might need to stop."

Puzzled, she almost pointed out that they'd hardly been on the road thirty
minutes, but she only said,

"Than, but I'm fine.  In fact, I can't wait until we get there.  Don't stop
on my account ."

After that, she thought he'd just cruise on through the rest area and reenter
the interstate, but to her surprise, he  stopped in front of the
building that housed the rest rooms and vending machines and switched off the
motor.

"Since we're here, I might as well get something to drink.  Would you like
something?"

"No.  Nothing.  Thanks."

If he noticed her terse tone, he gave no sign of it.  Swinging open his door,
he carefully eased out of the Suburban.  "I'll be right back."

His back ramrod straight, his pace leisurely, Dillon moved as if he had all
the time in the world.  If Sydney hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she never
would have believed it.  For two days now, they'd been tearing Lordsburg
upside down looking for Juan Martinez, and now that they knew where he was,
Dillon was stopping for a Coke of all things!

What the devil was going on?

Drrnming her fingers against her armrest, she tried to curb her impatience
as she waited for him to rejoin her, but it was another ten minutes before he
returned to the Suburban.  By then, her temper was simmering.  The minute he
slipped behind the wheel and started the motor, she turned on him.

"Tell me something, Dillon.

"Do you plan on reaching Tucson tonight?"

With the darkness broken only by the faint illumination of the dash lights,
his expression was lost in shadows.  "Don't worry," he said shortly.

"I'll get you there."

Pulling away from the rest area, he quickly accelerated, and within seconds,
they were racing toward Tucson, this time at a speed that Sydney could find
little fault with.  Still, something was wrong; she could sense it.  Dillon
sat like a stone behind the wheel, tense, hardly moving, speaking only when
spoken to, and then his answers were limited to one or two terse words.

Had he changed his mind about working with her?  she wondered, studying him
in the dark.  Was that what his lence was about?  Was he
hoping she would become so uncomfortable that she would change her mind and
tell him to forget it?  Not bloody likely, she thought grimly.  She wasn't
out to make friends with him, just get a story.

Her mouth compressed into a flat line, she forced herself to relax, her eyes
trained straight ahead on the dark road that stretched into a straight line
all the way to the horizon.

If he wan led s'dence, she could give it back to him in spades.  Then he
stopped again.

Unable to believe he was actually pulling over and braking to a stop on the
side of the road, Sydney cried,

"Now what?  Damreit, Dillon, what's going on?"   The muscles of his lower
back burning like the fires of hell and his teeth fighfiy clenched on a groan
he refused to utter, Dillon didn't dare open his mouth to answer her.  Taking
time only to throw the transmission into Park he threw open his door and
escaped out into the night.

With the growing darkness, the air had turned noticeably cooler, but it could
have been snowing and he would not have noticed.  His face lifted to the
star-filled sky, he slowly, carefully, expelled his breath and waited for the
pain to ease.  But he'd sat too long without moving and his back burned like
someone had stuck a knife in it, He should have stopped sooner, he berated
himself" angrily.  Every passing mile had cost him, but like an idiot he'd
thought he could make it without having to stop again.  He should have known
better.  He was lucky if he could make it from town to his house without
having to stop and stretch his legs.  How the hell had he expected to make it
all the way io Tucson?

"Dillon?  Are you all right?"

Caught up in the haz of pain that fogged his thoughts, he hadn't heard
Sydney's approach, hadn't even heard her get out of the vehicle.  Olancing
down at her, he found her   standing hesitantly at his side
staring up at him, her face pale and etched with concern in the starlight.

He tried to drag up a smile but couldn't manage much more than a grimace.

"Yeah, I just need some fresh aft."  "Are you sure?  You don't look so good."

He imagined he looked like hell--he certainly felt like it.  And there was no
way he' was going to be able to climb back into the car with her without
giving her some sort of explanation.  Motioning to Sydney to precede him to
the front of the Suburban, where they were in less danger of being hit, he
was relieved to feel the sharp bite of pain near his spine ease slightly.

"It's nothing serious," he told her huskily, lying through his teeth.

"I injured my back a couple of months ago and I can't sit in one position for
too long without it stiffening up on me."

Instead of easing her mind as he had hoped, the explanation only stirred up
her curiosity and deepened her concern.  "If you're in that much pain, it
must be pretty bad.  Have you seen a doctor?  What did he say?  Surely
there's something he can do to at least make the pain bearable."

Silently cu'mg himself for not coming up with another explanation, Dillon
shook his head.

"It's no big deal, just something I have to learn to live with.  Don't worry
about it--I don't."

"But" -- "I don't want to tlk about it," he said bluntly before worked up a
full steam of questions he had no intention answering.

"Why don't you wait in the car?  I few minutes to work the kinks out, then we
can be on way."

Watching every nuance of his expression, Sydney knew her gut that he was
leaving something out, but the lines of his face didn't encourage further
conversation.

chin had that granite set to it, the one that warned her
not to push him, the one that invariably challenged her to do just that.  But
the pain darkening his eyes was real, and the thought of him hurting that
badly tugged at her heartstrings in a way she hadn't expected.

Disturbed by the thought, she asked,

"Would it help if I drove?"

"Not really.  Driving gives me something to concentrate on besides my back."

Sensing that he wouldn't be comfortable being chauffenred around by a woman,
she wasn't surprised by his answer.  "Then I guess I'll get back m the car.
Let me kn6w if you change your mind."

He didn't, of course, and within minutes, they were back on the road.

Blatantly watching the stiff way he held himself, Sydney could do nothing but
shake her head.  Stubborn man.  Didn't he know it wasn't a weakness to admit
that you needed help once in a while?  If they put the back seat down, he
could stretch out and be much more comfortable, but she didn't even suggest
it.  If he wouldn't let her help him drive, there was no way he was going to
lie down.

How he made it all the way to the city without stopping again, Sydney never
knew.  His back had to be killing him--his fingers had a death grip on the
steering wheel and even in the poor light, she could see the beads of sweat
that had popped out on his brow.  Just watching him hurt.

Then the lights of Tucson appeared on the distant horizon, glowing like a
beacon in the night, and there was no question of slowing down, let alone
stopping.  Within minutes, they had reached the city limits and Dillon was
glancing at her for directions.

"I assume you know where we're going?"

She nodded.

"The northeast side.  Take the next exit."

  The house where Juan Martinez was hiding out was a simple,
unass tuning white frame home that sat in the mid-die of an older
neighborhood that was showing the signs of age.  Around the corner, the
nearby strip centers were going to seed, and respectable businesses that had
once been the lifeblood of the community were slowly moving out, leaving
space for cheap bars and saloons and the type of riff-raft that always
brought a neighborhood down.

Pulling up in front of the house, Dillon cut the motor and lights, then took
a quick but thorough inventory of their surroundings.  The street was quiet
and dark, with the nearest streetlight half a block away at the corner.  From
what he could see, most of the backyards appeared to be fenced, but it was
the shadowy alley those fences bordered that could present a problem.  As far
as Juan was concerned, he and Sydney were strangers.  If he felt threatened
by their unexpected presence, the alley presented a perfect escape route.

Turning back to Sydney, he said,

"Since we're not exactly expected, I suggest we play it safe.  You take the
front door and I'll cover the back."

"You think Juan'll try to give us the slip?"  He shrugged.

"There's no telling.  According to told me about your conversation with his
girlfriend, terrified of something.  He could freak out the second knock on
the door, and we didn't come all this way to him now.  Let's go."

Her heart in her throat, Sydney stepped ont front porch as Dillon made his
way to the back, the locked gate making no more than a faint clinking noise
he opened it, then closed it behind him.  a dog barked, and Sydney suddenly
had of someone spying Dillon skulking around in calling the
police.  Quickly knocking on the door, she prayed Dillon was ready.

The man who answered the door was small and wiry and pushing sixty.

He had the bearing of a former Marine--shoulders back, spine snapped
straight, confidence visible with every breath he took--and Sydney had only
to look at him to know why Juan would have run to him for help.  He didn't
look like the kind of man who would back down from a fight.

Making no effort to open the screen door that separated them, he surveyed her
with eyes that missed little.

"Yes?  What can I do for you?"

"Mr.  Hunter?  I'm Sydney O'Keefe."  Pulling her press pass from her purse,
she flashed it for him.

"I spoke to your niece this afternoon in Lordsburg and she gave me your
address.  I wonder if I might come in and talk to you for a minute?"

He didn't budge.

"My niece?"

Not the least affronted, Sydney gave him high marks for being so cautious.

"Yes.  Lisa told me about Juan, Mr. Hunter.  His parents are worried about
him" -- He didn't let her finish.  His expression shuttered, he moved to shut
the door.

"You made the long drive from Lordsburg for nothing, Ms. O'Keefe, I have no
idea what you're talking about."

"Wait!  Damreit" -- "We appreciate your efforts, Mr. Hunter," Dillon said
from behind her, suddenly joining her on the porch, "but as you can see,
they're not necessary.  We mean Juan no harm."

Whirling, Sydney gasped at the sight of the frightened, defiant boy at
Dilloh's side.

"He decided to cut out the back way when he heard you wanted to come in,"
Dillon told her.

  "I suggested he might want to at least hear us out before he
took off again."

Glancing past her to the man who had pulled the door wide the second he'd
spied Juan, he met his suspicious gaze head-on and introduced himself.

"I know this probably sounds like a line of bull to you, sir, but the sheriff
of Hidalgo County asked me to look for Juan, and no one's going to hurt him
while I'm around.  If you don't believe me, I'll give you Sheriff Whitaker's
phone number and you can call him yourself."

His piercing gaze jumped between Sydney and Dillon.  Tony Hunter liked to
think he was a shrewd judge of character.  If the somber man at Juan's side
had wanted to harm him, he could have done it when he intercepted him in the
backyard.  Unlocking the screen door, he pushed it open.  "Please come in,"
he said.

"We've obviously got a lot to talk about."

His host may have accepted their story, but apparently Juan was keep' rag his
own counsel.  The minute everyone was seated in the simply furnished living
room, he said coldly, "I don't care who sent you, I've got nothing to say."

His chin was thrust out belligerently, his dark eyes rebel-lieus.

Exchanging a jg glance,wit,h, Sydney, Dillon sat back and said ligh.  tl, y,
Fine.  If you don t want to tell us why you ran away, that s your choice.  We
re certainly not to hold a gun to your head or anything.  "

"Of course not," Sydn6y added indignantly.

"You h your reasons, whatever they are, and you're entitled toyo r; privacy.
We'll just assure your parents and the sheriff that you're fine and keep your
whereabouts to ourselves.

The boy blanched.

"My parents" -- "They've been worried sick about you," she continued if he
hadn't spoken.

"When Bryan Fitzgerald turned dead, your mother was so afraid
the same thing was going to happen to you that the doctor had to give her a
sedative.  But she's fine now,"

she assured him airily, deliberately laying it on thick.

"I'm sure she'll stop worrying once she learns that you just ran away because
you weren't happy at home anymore."

He winced as if she'd slapped him.

"It wasn't like that."

"No?   Well, you have your reasons, whatever they are.   Just as long as
whoever killed Bryan Fitzgerald isn't after you, we can go home with a clear
conscience."   Gathering up her purse, she turned to Dillon.

"If we want to get back in time to make a report to the sheriff and Juan's
parents tonight, we'd better get going."

"Wait!"

At the boy's strangled cry, Dillon lifted a dark brow.

"Is there a message we can give your paren for you, son?"

"I..."  He looked around the living room, but his eyes were unfocused, locked
in horror on another night, other house.

"I had to run," he whispered hoarsely.

"I wasn't supposed to go to the quarry--I didn't even have a bike.  But I
liked to watch the other kids and I was on my way there that night when I ran
into Bryan."  He swallowed convulsively.

"He was on his way to the quarry, too, but first he had to stop at the old
Stanton place.  A guy he met at the Teen Canteen was going to give him some
drugs."

"Give?"  Dillon asked sharply.

"Are you sure about that?"

He nodded.

"That's what he said.  I didn't want any part of that kind of garbage, but it
was on our way, so while Bryan went inside, I waited outside."

When he hesitated, Sydney touched his arm.

"It's all right, Juan.  You can tell us the rest of it.  What happened next?"

  "I got curious and looked in the window."  Blinking, as if
coming out of a trance, he looked at her in growing horror.  "Whatever he
gave Bryan, it killed him" -- he snapped his fingers "--just like that."

Tears suddenly flooded his eyes.

"I must have made a noise... I don't remember.  But suddenly this guy was
coming toward me."  Unable to sit still, be jumped up as if he were going to
bolt any second.

"I ran.  I had to.  He told me he was going to kill me.  How could I go home?"

Chapter 4.
The boy's story was a variation on a theme D'dlon had heard a
million times before, and he didn't like this version any more than he had
liked the others.  Kids and drugs, in over their heads and at the mercy of
low-life' pushers who were no better than pond scum.  Where was it going to
end?  It was because of kids like Juan that he'd gotten into the DEA in the
first place.  And it was because of victims like Bryan Fitzgerald that he'd
known the day was coming when he would have to make a choice between the job
and his own sanity.  A man could only deal with so much death and greed
before he became as inured to it as the' bastards he was trying to catch.
But before he could make the final decision to get out, Carlos Santiago had
made it for him by shooting him in the back.

"You don't have to hide out like a fugitive on the run, son," he told the boy
huskily.

"The DEA can keep you safe until this is all over.  I know some people in the
Tucson office.  Why don't you let me call them for you?"

  For a moment, he thought the boy was going to jump at the
chance, but then the hope that flared in his dark eyes faded and tears
trailed silently down his thin cheeks.

"I can't.  If word got out I went to the DEA, my parents could be in danger."

"No one's going to know but us," Sydney said quickly.  "You don't have to
worry about this hitting the morning papers because that's not going to
happen."

"And your parents will be protected," Dillon added.  "The Tucson office will
send someone to Lordsburg to pick them up and bring them to a safe house
where the three of you can be together.  All of you will be safe, Juan.  I
promise.  I used to work for the DEA, and I know what I'm talking about.
You're a valuable witness ... the only witness that can identify the pusher
who killed Bryan..  The agency's not going to let anything happen to you or
your parents."

Tony Hunter, silent until then, said,

"You know you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, Juan, but I can't
protect you the way government agents can.  And if Ms. O'Keefe and Mr.
Cassidy found you this quickly, there's a good chance Bryan's killer will,
too."   He spoke nothing less than the truth, and they all knew it.
Agitated, the boy turned back to Dillon, his dark eyes pleading for
reassurance.

"What if he's watching my parents' place?  He could follow them" -- "The
agent that picks them up will be prepared for that.  He'llknow how to lose a
tail and won't go to the safe house until he's absolutely sure that no one's
following him.  You can trust him, son."

"Why can'tyou do it?"

Surprised, Dillon was taken aback.

"Collect your parents Because I'm not an agent anymore."  And he couldn't
guarantee that he could keep anyone safe, not when the bullet in his back
could take him out at any moment.

no ring the bitterness that leaked like acid into his gut, he
said stiffly,

"The best thing you can do for yourself and your parents is put yourself in
the hands of people who have been trained to deal with this type of thing.  I
was more of a field operative.  So what do you say?  Should I call them for
you?"

When it came to choiceS, the boy really had none.  Unable to hide his
apprehension, he swallowed thickly.

"I--I guess you'd better."

When Juan left the security of the small house for an unknown destination
thirty minutes later, he looked vasty re-lie red Pete Salazar, the agent who
accompanied him, was hard-nosed and tough.  The minute he'd introduced
himself to Juan, he'd assured him that he was more than qualified to protect
him.  He had a black belt in karate and was a crack shot.  No one, not even
the president himself, was getting near Juan without his okay.

Standing on the sidewalk watching the taillights of Salazar's car disappear
into the night, Dillon thanked God that the boy hadn't asked how long he
would have to stay in the safe house.  He was safe for now, but the son of a
bitch who had killed Bryan Fitzgerald was still out there, still free.  Until
he was captured, none of the kids of Hidalgo County were completely safe.
Especially Juan Martinez.

Turning to Tony Hunter, who had walked out to the Suburban with him and
Sydney, he held out his hand.  "Thank you for your cooperation, sir.  I'm
pretty sure that I can speak for the Martinezes when I say that they're
extremely grateful to you

"I don't know about that," he countered ruefully, returning his handshake.

"Once they hear the whole story, they'll probably be more inclined to string
me up for not insisting that Juan call them.  But he was so terrified that
any   contact with him would put them in danger, I couldn't take
the chance that he might be right."

"I'm sure they'll understand," Sydney said.

"After all, what's important here is that he's alive.  And that's mainly due
to the fact that you took him in and kept him safe.  That's more than a lot
of people would have done."

"It's the only way I could sleep nights," he said simply.  "But I must admit,
I'm glad he's in the hands of professionals now.  My nerves are shot!"

Thanking him again for his help, they left soon after that and headed back to
Lordsburg with Dillon once again behind the wheel.  He still had the long
drive to get through, but his thoughts weren't on the pain that was sure to
come but rather on Juan and what he had told them about Bryan
Fitzgerald's
death.  It just didn't make sense.  A pusher was out to make money--he didn't
give anything away.  And he didn't build up his business by killing off
potential customers.  So why did he give the boy something so lethal that it
had killed him almost instantly?

As if she read his mind, Sydney shifted in the seat so that she was
half-angled against the passenger door to face him.  "You know, something's
not right here.  The Fitzgerald boy was probably after some crack, but it
doesn't sound like that's what he got.  What kills that fast?"

"High-dollar stuff," he said promptly.

"And you don't usually buy that kind of trash on the streets, at least not in
a one-horse town like Lordsburg."

"But Bryan didn't buy anything," she reminded him.  "What I can't figure out
is why a pusher would give som-thing that expensive--and deadly--away.
Unless his goal was something other than profit."  Like murder.  Expectation
tightening the muscles of her stomach in that old familiar way that warned
her there was a story here--a big one--she shivered.

"I don't like the sound of this."

"I don't, either," Dillon said, reaching for his cellular
phone.

"I'd better call Riley."

The minute his friend came on the line, he said,

"I've got good news and bad.  Which do you want first?"

"The good," Riley retorted.

"I've got a feeling I already know the bad."

"Juan Martinez is at a DEA safe house, presumably in Tucson... though I
didn't verify that with the agent who escorted him there," he quickly added.

"His parents will be jolnln him later this evening and the three of them
will stay there until it's safe for them to return home."

Quickly and succinctly, he then gave him the bad news, sticking to the high
points when he repeated Juan's accounting of Bryan Fitzgerald's death.

"It sounds like the kid dropped dead immediately," he concluded.

"I'm not surprised," Riley said grimly.

"I just got the coroner's report on Bryan.  There's no question that the kid
O.D'd on some exotic drug nobody's ever seen in these parts before.  The
coroner said he never had a chance."

In all his years in the DEA, Dillon had only run into such a sophisticated
drug a few times, and then only in major cities like Miami and New York.  How
the hell had something that rare found its way to a town that was so small it
didn't even have its own hospital?

When he asked Riley that same question, he didn't have an answer, either.

"I know just about every dope head in the county, and believe me, if any of
them was into this kind of garbage, I'd know it."

"So you think an outsider's responsible?  Maybe some sleaze just passing
through on his way to L.A.?"

"I wish to hell I could say yes, but at this point, who knows?  Up until now,
we've been looking at this thing evcry way but the right way."  Disgusted,
he sighed heavily.

"Stop   by my office as soon as you get back in town.  We've got
a lot to talk about."

Sydney expected him to give her a quick recap of Riley's side of the
conversation the minute he broke the connection, but he only absently
returned the flip phone to his pocket, his eyes never leaving the interstate
as they left the lights of Tucson far behind.  Lost in his thoughts, he
didn't even seem to be aware of her at his side.

Staring at his hard-edged profile in the dark, she should have been
thoroughly irritated with him--he had to know she was dying to know Riley's
reaction to the last developments in the case--but she found herself
distracted by the man himself.  He had the kind of dark good looks that were
complimented by the night.  With his gray eyes thoughtful and a day's growth
of beard shadowing his lean, square-cut face, he was rugged, sexy.  A phantom
figure touched with mystery.

And she'd never been able to resist a mystery.

Horrified by the thought, she cursed the sudden pounding of her heart and
ordered herself not to be an idiot.  Dillon Cassidy was the type of man she
avoided like the plague--bossy and opinionated, he had no respect for the
work she thrived on and only suffered her presence because she hadn't given
him much choice.  She'd do well to remember that.

Hugging that thought to her as though it were a shield that could protect her
heart, she straightened in her seat and deliberately broke the silence that
threatened to stretch into eternity.

"Well?

What was that all about?  "

Dragging his attention from the road, he glanced over at her, the furrowed
lines creasing his forehead easing slightly as his eyes met hers.

"Riley got the coroner's report back on Bryan Fitzgerald."

"And?"

"The cause of death was some fancy designer drug."

After their discussion earlier, Sydney wasn't surprised by that announcement,
but her stomach knotted at the thought of something so deadly being available
to kids on the streets of her town.

"Riley thinks the pusher was just someone passing through?"

"That's what he's hoping.  But these days, drug lords are pushing their
operations into small towns all over the country-there's no getting away from
it.  Until we know more about Bryan's killer, we can't rule out anything."

Her mind working furiously, Sydney frowned.

"I still don't get it.

No matter who this guy is, he had to know what kind of drug he was dealing
with.  Which means he knew exactly what he was doing when he gave it to
Bryan.  He meant to kill him.  But why?  It sounds like he didn't even know
him.  "

Dillon wasn't surprised that she'd immediately jumped on the one point that
had been nagging him ever since he'd heard Juan's account of the murder.
There'd never been any question that the lady was sharp as a tack.

"It could have been a simple case of an overdose," he began.

"But you don't think so."

It wasn't a question but a flat stalement of fact.  He didn't bother to deny
it.

"No."

"So what do you think?  You were with the DEA.  And don't look at me like
that," she said when he shot her a scowl.

"I'm just curious.  You were the one who told Juan you worked in the field.
I imagine your work must have brought you into close contact with more than
your fair share of scumbags over the years.  What kind of mind-set do these
chamcrs have?  Are they completely are oral

"Sydney"   Ignoring his warning tone, she said reflectively,

"I don't know how you stood it.  The constant danger must have been
incredibly nerve-racking.  Is that why you retired?  Because you were sick of
putting your life on the line for something that never seemed to get any
better?"

Casting her a quick glance, Dillon had to admit that she was damn clever.  In
the dark, warm confine of the front seat, she sounded like an old friend,
the kind he could discuss just about anything with.  Her tone invited
confidences, her eyes secrets.  If he hadn't been so aware of who and 'what
she was, he could have easily made the mistake of trusting her.

"Why does anybody leave a job they love?"  he countered, then neatly turned
the tables on her.

"Why did you leave Chicago?  You worked for the Daily News, didn't you?  From
what I heard, you were the best reporter they had.  So how'd you end' up in
Lordsburg?  You get fired or what?  " He was teasing, hoping to distract her
from her own line of questioning, and couldn't have been more surprised when
she answered seriously,

"Something like that."

Stunned, he jerked his gaze from the road only long enough to see if she was
pulling his leg.

"You're kidding."

She laughed, but the sound didn't hold much humor.  "That's what I said.  But
it was no joke."

She told him then about Beth Jenkins, the woman she'd considered her closest
friend at the paper, the Judas who had set her up, then stabbed her in the
back.

"Looking back' on it, I can't believe I was so stupid.  i knew how ambitious
she was, how she'd do just about anything to get her byline on the front
page But she was like a sister to me.  Or at least I thought she was.  Boy,
was the joke on me."

"She framed you."

"Oh, yeah."  She laughed shakily.

"And like a fool, I walked right into it.  She'd just sat down to write a
story on a murder trial she was covering when she supposedly
got a tip on a big political scandal that was about to break wide open.
Writing the.  story itself wasn't going to take all that long, but her notes
from the trial were on tape and needed to be transcribed.  I offered to do it
for her since I was at loose ends, and she agreed."

Already suspecting what was coming next, Dillon took his foot off the
accelerator as they approached the exit for a ret area.  Staring out at the
night, Sydney hardly noticed.

"Let me gue," he said.

"She didn't have a hot tip at all, did she?  ' " Evidently not.  I took her
tape recorder to my desk and was working on her notes, and the next thing I
know, she's back with my editor and shrieking that I'm stealing her story.  "

"And he believed her?"  Dillon demanded incredulously as he braked to a stop
under a light.

"Good God, that had setup written all over it.

Was the man blind or what?  "

"You'd have to know Beth," she said dryly.

"She could cry real tears at the snap of a finger, and she played the scene
for everything it was worth.  He wasn't the only one who believed her."

The muscles of his back were as tight as the strings of a steel guitar,
demanding that he move, but something in Sydney's tone warned him there was
more to this story than the betrayal of a friend.

Shifting in his seat so that he was angled toward her, he frowned at the
disillusionment that took all the sparkle out of her blue eyes.

In the short time he'd known her, she'd irritated him, angered him, intrigued
him.  always with a glint in her eyes.  He found, to his chagrin, that he
missed it.

"Like who?"  he demanded, not liking the direction of his thoughts.

"Friends?  Family?  Lovers?"

"Fiance," she corrected.

"Now ex-fiance."

  So there had been a man in her life.  He shouldn't have been
surprised--she was a damn good-looking woman--but just thinking about her
with some muscle-flexing idiot irritated the hell out of him.  And for the
life of him, he didn't know why.  Criving her a hard look, he said,

"You dumped the guy."

"You're dmn right I dumped him," she said with a hugh.

"And then I got the evidence I needed to clear my name."

He nodded.  He'd expected nothing less from her.

"Good for you."

Surprised, she lifted a delicately arched brow, a teasing grin tugging at the
corners of her mouth.

"Excuse me?  For a minute there, it sounded like you actually approved of
something I've done.  But that couldn't be right--you don't like reporters.
I guess my ears were playing tricks on me."

Fascinated by' the mischief dancing in her eyes, he drawled,

"Cute, Ms. O'Keefe.  Real cute."

"And now flattery.  My goodness, I don't know if I can stand the shock of
it."  Her hand pressed dramatically to her heart, she flashed her dimples at
him.

"It must be the stress of this case.  It's getting to you isn't it?  Maybe
you should let me drive for a while.  You can't be at all well."

She was flirting with him, the little minx, and enjoying every second of it.
Unable to take his eyes from the laughter skimming her delicate features, he
told himself not to take her seriously.  She was just teasing, getting back
some of her own for him slamming the door in her face when she turned up
vninvill on his doorstep last night.

It didn't mean a damn thing.

But even as the logic of such reasoning registered, she suddenly seemed too
close, her smile too inviting, the Sub-urban--in spite of its size--too
intimate.  He had this crazy need to reach for her, to haul her close and
trace the curve of her mouth, to taste her.  Just once, a
voice in his head tempted.

What could it hurt?  All he had to do was touch her-Suddenly realizing his
fingers were itching to do just that, he drew back as if stung, silent curses
ringing in his ears.  He had a damn bullet in his back that might as well
have been a time bomb, and one day when he least expected it, it was going to
shift and he wouldn't he worth a damn to anyone, especially a woman.  He knew
that, accepted the inevitability of it.  So what the devil was he doing
sitting here thinking about kissing Sydney O'Keefe?

Fumbling for his door handle, he said hoarsely,

"You're right.  My back is burning like a house afire.  I need to walk."
Breaking out of the Suburban like a man escaping the bow-eh of hell, he
slammed the door behind him and walked away as quickly as his tight back
muscles would allow.

He needed some breathing space and the cold night air helped.  But after ten
minutes of solitary pacing, he still couldn't draw in a breath without the
remembered scent of her filling his lungs and tormenting his senses.  It was
damn frustrating and there wasn't a hell of lot he could do about it.  His
back was feeling better and he couldn't stay out there all night.  Disgusted,
he returned to the Suburban.

The easy teasing they'd shared was a thing of the past after that.

Dillon slid behind the wheel without a word, the dome light revealing the
stern set of his mouth and a cold reserve in his eyes before he shut his
door, enclosing them in darkness once again.  Then they were racing toward
Lords-burg, and neither one of them could seem to think of anything to say.

The pressure of his foot on the speedometer consistently keeping the needle
hovering nearly ten miles over the speed limit, Dillon told himself he
couldn't get her home fast   enough.  Their bargain was
complete--Juan was safe.  Once he dropped her off at her house, he could
finally wash his hands of the lady for good.  It couldn't happen too soon as
far as he was concerned.

But afler his back forced him to stop one more time, then the lights of
Lordsburg finally came into view, the relief he expected to feel just wasn't
there.  Instead, he found himself thinking that there was little chance that
he would enjoy her company again.  Oh, they'd see each other in passing.
Lordsburg wasn't New York or Chicago, where you seldom saw a familiar face on
the street.  Everyone was eat ended family in one way or another, and most
people were friendly to a fault.  He'd run into her at the grocery store or
gas station-in such a small town, it was inevitable.  But they wouldn't talk,
not really.

Like strangers, they'd throw up a hand in greeting, and that would be about
it.

As he pulled up before her house and parked, he found 'that particular image
damn disturbing.  Then she turned to him, her expression far more somber than
usual.  Unwittingly, she echoed his thoughts.

"Well, I guess this is it."  The porch light she'd left burning picked up the
rueful glint in her eyes.

"It was... interesting."

That was one way to describe it.

"I guess I'll read' all about it in the morning paper."

She glanced at the dock on the dashboard.

"Maybe.  I'll have to hurry " That was his cue to say good-night and let her
go.  It was what he should hae done.  But when the silence started to hum
and she hesitated, her eyes locked with his as she felt behind her for the
door latch, he knew he wasn't going to be able to let her go that easily.  It
was stupid and he didn't doubt that he was going to regret every second of
what he was about to do, but there were some things a man had to
do to be able to sleep at night.  And kissing Sydney O'Keefe was one of
them.  Cursing his curiosity, he reached for her.

He saw her eyes widen, heard her breath catch in her throat and found himself
grinning.  He hadn't planned it, but it was payback time for her earlier
asing, and the lady wasn't expecting it.  Lifting a dark brow, his eyes
glinted down into hers.

"Surprised?"  he murmured.

Recovering quickly, she didn't try to pull away but returned his gaze
steadily, her blue eyes dancing with naughtiness.  "I'll let you know in a
few minutes."

It was an out-and-out challenge, one that no man with any blood in his veins
could refuse.  His fingers tightening to draw her closer, he murmured,

"You do that," and covered her mouth with his.

He'd meant to knock the little tease out of her shoes with a kiss that would
curl her toes--it was no more than she asked for.  But the second his lips
touched hers and his arms closed around her, a need he had been trying to
ignore for hours hit him from the blind side.

Heat shuddered through him, warming his skin, pooling in his loins, clouding
his brain, making it impossible to think, to remember why he shouldn't be
doing this.  Nothing mattered but holding her, tasting her.

His tongue dipping and swirling with hers in the dark wetness of her mouth,
he never consciously fordered his hands to move, but suddenly they were in
the soft f'ue of her hair, holding her still before him so he could take the
kiss deeper even as his lungs were straining for air.  His heartbeat a roar
in his ears, all he could think of was the urgency burning in his blood.  He
didn't want it to end.  Not yet.  He was a man who knew how to kiss.

Somewhere in the far distant recesses of the gray matter that usually kept
her out of trouble, the thought blinked like a warning light, but Sydney was
in no shape to heed it.  Aside   from a rare peck on the cheek
from one of the cowboys she occasionally shot pool with, it had been four
years since she'd been kissed.  But if this was a kiss, then what she'd
ex-perieneed before, she was quickly learning, had been nothing more than the
press of one mouth to another.  Lord, what was this man doing to her?

Her head was spinning, a need unliice anything she'd ever known burning deep
in the core of her.  She wanted to sink into the sensations, into him, to
melt like chocolate in the sun and lose herself in his passion.  Her heart
pounding heavily in her breast, she cowded closer and told herself this was
crazy, sheer insanity.  Any second now she was going to come to her senses
and end this madness.

But he was the one who abruptly decided enough was enough and broke the kiss.
Brought back to earth with a jolt, she opened her eyes to find herself
draped all over him, the windows of the Suburban fogging, and his gray eyes,
dark and disturbing, searching hers, seeing all the way to her soul.

"Well?"

The deep, husky timbre of his voice slid down her spine like the stroke of
his hand.  Her brain still mush, she looked up at him in confusion.

"Well, what?"

A sudden grin tugged up one corner of his mouth, amusement crinkling his eyes.

"You said you'd let me know if I surprised you," he reminded her.

"I guess I did."

He was altogether too cocky, too pleased with himself.  And the kiss that had
just sh.   the ground under her didn't seem to have affected him at all.
Irritaled, mortified to realize 'that she still had her arms draped around
him, she pushed him away and scrambled to her side of the bench seat,
silently cursing herself for a fool.  What in the world had got tea into her?
The man didn't even appear to like her, and most of the time she wasn't
exactly crazy about him, either.  He was moody and far too
secretive, and the last time she let her guard down with a man, she got hurt.
That wasn't a mistake she intended to repeat .  even if he did kiss like a
lover straight out of her dreams.

Hot color burning her cheeks, she struggled for nonchalance and failed
miserably.

"I wouldn't let it go to your head if I were you,"

she said tartly.

"It's nothing personal.  I don't have much of a head for liquor,
antihistamines or long drugging kisses.  They wipe me out every time."

His grin deepened.

"Oh, really?  You have this response to every man you kiss, do you?"

"You're darn right" ' she retorted flippantly.

"Sorry if that bruises your ego, but I believe in being honest with a man.
It was just a kiss, no big deal.  Nothing to lose any sleep over."

It was an out-and-out lie and they both knew it.  Wicked laughter gleaming in
his eyes, Dillon gazed speculatively at her mouth.

"You sure?  Maybe we should try it again? He made her laugh--drat the
man--and that made him far too dangerous.

Quickly gathering up her things before he could tempt her into changing her
mind, she pushed open her door.

"Nice try, Cassidy," she tossed over her shoulder with a grin.

"But I'm not interested.  If you want to run an experiment, go find yourself
a lab rat.  Science isn't 'my thing."

She was gone in a flash, hurrying up the walk to her from door without a
backward glance.  Watching her disappear inside, Dillon couldn't help but
chuckle.  All that sass in such a tempting package.

The lady was something else.  And if she hadn't bolted when she had, he would
have had no choice but to haul her back into his arms and kiss her again just
to prove that she wasn't nearly as indifferent as she tried to pretend.

  And that could have been nothing but a mistake.  She was too
tempting, too bewitching, too damn provocative.  And in spite of all his
denials to the contrary, he wanted her.  much more than he should.  He could
admit it now that she wasn't within touching distance.  And thank his lucky
stars that the little bargain they'd made to work together was now null and
void.  Because if he'd had to spend much more time alone with the lady, he
had a feeling he'd have been hard-pressed not to do something stupid.  like
give in to the fire she lit in his blood with just.  that fiirty grin of hers.

Riley was waiting for him at the sheriff's office, Idlling time doing
paperwork.  The minute he spied him in the doorway, he pushed to his feet.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make it back tonight.  You
okay?"

"Yeah."   The pain in his back more persistent than usual beeaus6 of the
long hours driving and the too few breaks he'd taken, he shook his head at
the chair Riley pulled over for him.

"Thanks, but I need to move around.  I've been sitting down too much as it
is."

Riley could relate to that.  It was pushing midnight, and his workday had
started at nine that morning.  Moving to the coffeepot, he poured them both a
cup, gave Dillon one, then sank tiredly into the chair behind his desk.

"Okay, tell me more about this pusher.  Juan said Bryan met him at the Teen
Canteen?"

"Actually, I think he ran into him outside the Canteen," D'tllon replied,
taking a cautious sip of the steaming coffee.  "According to Juan, Bryan was
riding by on his bike, heading for McDonald's, when this character asked him
where the nearest garage was.  He claimed his transmission was acting up and
he was stuck here until he could get it fixed.  They got to talking, and
that's when the guy me rioned that he had this fantastic
nose candy and if Bryan wanted to try it, he could stop by the old Stanton
place and have a snort for free."

Riley's jaw tightened.

"When are these kids going to learn that nothing's free in this world?
Everything's got a price.  I hope to God Juan got a good look at this
character."

Dillon nodded.

"Oh, yeah.  Listen to this--he's got red hair, a beard and an eye patch.  If
he was stupid enough to hang around, he ought to stand out like a sore
'thumb."

Riley arched a brow.

"An eye patch, htnm?  Well, that's different.  Any chance it was a disguise?
I've been here twelve years and thought I knew everyone.  there was to know
in these parts.  The last time I saw anyone with an eye patch was in Lonesome
Dove."

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said with a shrug.  "The kid claimed it
looked real, but it was getting dark and he was outside the Stanton house
looking in."

"I'll check with Jose6 at the garage tomorrow to see if he's had any
strangers in needing transmission work or even seen anyone who meets that
description.  But the chances of anyone new to town knowing.

about the Stanton place are pretty rare.  It isn't exactly on a main
thoroughfare, and it'd be pretty hard to stumble across it by accident since
the house isn't visible from the road.  "

As restless as Dillon, Riley rose to his feet to pace, his coffee forgotten
on his desk.

"You realize this has all the makings of a first-class nightmare, don't you?
We don't have a clue who this bastard is, where he comes from, even if he's
still in the county, which I hope to God he's not.  Because if he's setting
up an operation here, he's got some other agenda in mind than making money or
he never would have killed poor Bryan.  And I've got to tell you, that scares
the hell out of me.  There's a lot of naive kids in this town.

  If this jackass decides to offer some of them the same nose
candy he gave Bryan, there's going to be hell to pay.  "

His face somber, the bullet in his back a constant re-rainder of just what
drug lords and their underlings were capable of, Dillon didn't want to think
about the kind of disaster Riley was talking about, but he'd learned a long
time ago that burying your head in the sand only made a problem worse.

"I talked to Pete Salazar about the DEA coming in on the case, but the Tucson
office is understaffed and overworked, and we'd need a hell of a lot more
than an isolated overdose to get someone out here.  So it looks like we're on
our own, at least for now."

Riley nodded, not surprised.

"Then we'll hit the ground running first thing in the morning.  I'll meet you
at the Stanton place at eight and we'll go over it inch by inch and see what
we can turn up.  Not only did the bastard meet Bryan there and kill him, at
some point he had to take his body out and dump it at the quarry.  Unless
he's damn good at covering his tracks, he's bound to have left at least one
clue."  ' Following the directions Riley gave him to the Stanton place,
Dillon pulled up at the barred entrance to the deserted ranch just after dawn
the following morning.  He hadn't slept worth a damn, than to a particularly
annoying strawberry blonde and a kiss he couldn't forget, and work was the
only thing he could think of to get her out of his head.

Leaving his Suburban parked by the side of the two-lane' road, he approached
the ranch entrance on foot and searched the gravel drive for signs of recent
use.  According to Riley, the ranch itself had been abandoned years ago,
which explained the broken-down fences, washed-out drive and air of about the
place.  What that didn't explain was the tire tracks in the
dirt near the eat fie guard.

Squatting down, Dillon pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and quickly
sketched the tread pattern.  There were, he knew, several ways the tracks
could have gotten there.  Anyone could have pulled over at the ranch entrance
to turn around The only problem was that the tracks didn't begin and end at
the pavement--they came from the other side of the gate and couldn't have
been over a week old or the last rain would have washed them away.

The slime ball had been here recently--he could practically smell him.

And his nose was seldom wrong, he silently acknowledged as he pushed to his
feet.  Ignoring the No Trespassing signs posted next to the locked gate, he
ducked down and slipped between the fence's sagging rows of barbed wire that
wouldn't keep a child out, let alone a psychotic drug dealer who appeared to
be, for some ungodly reason, bent on murder.

"Damn?  Scowling at the Suburban parked on the side of the road, Sydney
didn't have to ask where Dillon was.  She'd known that he'd investigate the
Stanton place just as soon as he got the opportunity, but she'd hoped to get
in and out before he suspected she was anywhere in the vicinity.  So much for
good intentions.

Disgusted, she considered going back into town and coming back later, but
dammit, she had as much right to be here as he did!  And why should she have
to come back just because he was here?

Because you don't want to face the man after the way you went up in flames in
his arms last night, a voice snidely said in her head.  Face it, honey, he's
got you running scared.

"The hell he does," she muttered to herself.  She didn't run from anything,
especially a man--she didn't care how   good a kisser he was!
Pulling up behind his Suburban, she' parked and grabbed her camera, then
hurried over and squeezed through the fence before she could question the
wisdom of her defiance.  Her chin set at a don'tmesswith-me angie, she
started walking.

The house where Bryan Fitzgerald had met his death turned out to be little
more than a three-room shack that had been severely abused by time and the
weather.  Every window was broken, the porch had a tendency to lean and the
front door was off its hinges.  If anyone had lived there in the past twenty
years, you couldn't tell it from looking at the place.

Approaching the rickety porch steps, Sydney hesitated, not liking the eerie
silence of the place.  Where the dickens was Dillon?  There wasn't so much as
a footstep in the dust that covered the warped floorboards of the porch to
show that he'd been there.  And that worried her more than she cared to
admit.  There was no doubt that he could take care of himself under normal
circumstances, but there was nothing normal about this case.  They didn't
know what kind of weirdo they were dealing with, and with Dilloh's back
bothering him the way that it was, there was no question that when it came to
any kind of physical confrontation, he would be at a definite disadvantage.
If the killer had been here when he arrived.  Alarmed, she didn't even finish
the thought, but bolted up the porch steps, her heart in her throat.  She'd
taken two steps when Dillon suddenly filled the dooxway, his expression less
than welcoming.

"What the devil do think you're doing here?"  he demanded.

"This a crime scene.  That makes it out-of-bounds to the press."

Her heart jump starting at the sight of him, Sydney her knees go weak with
relief.  He was okay.

Then his words registered like a cold slap in the face.

press?  she fumed, resentment darkening her eyes.  After
kiss' rag her senseless last night and steaming up the windows of his
Suburban, now she was suddenly the press?  Some nobody reporter he could
dismiss with a scowl and a wave of his hand?  She didn't think so!

Bristling, her eyes narrowing dangerously, she started toward him, knowing
she was asking for trouble and heading straight for it anyway.  She was just
as disturbed as he was by the passion they'd shared last night, but there was
no way she was going to just stand there and let him pretend it had never
happened.  A girl had her pride, after all!

Her mind made up, she walked defiantly up to the big lug, grabbed him by the
ears and kissed him.

Chapter 5.

The minute she touched him, the second her mouth set-fled on his,
he stiffened.  He didn't push her away, but he didn't respond, either, and
for what seemed like an eternity, he just stood there, stiff as a poker, his
mouth cold and immobile under hers.  Undaunted, Sydney had no intention of
letting him discourage her so easily .  not after she'd spent the night
loving him in her dreams.  It was wild and crazy and nothing was ever going
to come from it, but there were some things a woman couldn't walk away from
without sampling it one more time, and like it or not, Dillon Cassidy was one
of them.

Murmuring his name, a yearning she couldn't control seeping through her like
warm honey, she leaned into him, her arms circling his neck as she changed
the angle 'of the kiss and, just for a moment, indulged herself.  He had, she
thought with a sigh, the most incredible mouth.  Criving in to temptation,
she traced the sensuous lip with her tongue, stroking him,
teasing him, los' rag her-serf in the simple pleasure of tasting him.

And as much as he tried to pretend otherwise, he wasn't anywhere close to
indifferent.  At the first wet glide of her tongue, she felt his start of
surprise, the sudden clenching of his teeth on a groan that was hastily
swallowed.  Encouraged, delighted by the thunderous pounding of his heart
against her breast, her own head starting to spin, she daringly nipped at him.

Heat streaked through Dillon like a fireball, scorching him alive, shattering
his dogged control.  Sucking in a sharp breath, he never remembered moving,
but suddenly his hands were at her shoulders, gripping her tOO tightly.  He
should have put her away from him then--he would have sworn that was his
intention--but as he abruptly started to push her away, his fingers
stubbornly refused to release her.  Damnfit to hell, what was he letting her
do to him?

Furious with himself, with her, he glared down at her and told himlf to let
her go, He might as well have ordered the wind to stop blowing.  His mouth
'flattening with irritation, he grated,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Not the least bit intimidated, she grinned up at him.

"I thought it was obvious.  I'm trying to shake you up, Cassidy.  How am I
doing?"

Stunned that she even had to ask, he almost laughed at the absurdity of the
question.  How the hell did she think she was doing?  She had to know she was
tying him in knots, and he didn't like it one little bit.  The whole point of
kissing her last night had been to satisfy his curiosity about the lady so he
could put an end to this crazy attraction he had for her and get her out of
his head once and for all.  God, what a joke that was!  She could make him
ache with nothing more than that minchievous smile of hers, and he didn't
even want to think about what she did to him when she kissed him.

  Suddenly realizing that his fingers were tightening on her
shoulders to pull her back against him, he swore under his breath and
snatched his hands back like a kid caught snitching cookies.

"If I wanted to be shook up, I'd live in L.A.," he growled.

"So keep your kisses to yourself" -- "I think that's an excellent idea if
we're going to get any work done today," Riley drawled suddenly from the
drive.  A crooked grin pushing up one corner of his mouth as he watched them
jerk apart in surprise, be lifted a mocking brow.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No!"

Sending Sydney a glowering look, Dillon repeated,

"No, you're not interrupting a damn thing except me trying to reason with a
bullheaded woman.  Tell her this is a crime scene, Riley."

His lips twitching, he obediently repeated,

"This is a 'crime scene, Syd."

"And I'm a reporter just doing my job," she retorted, returning Dilloh's
glare with one of her own.

"If you've got a problem with that, tough!"

"What I've got a problem with is a pus lay xedhead" -- "My hair's not red?

"But you're pushy as hell, right?"

Her chin jutted up at that.

"I prefer persistent," she replied snootily.

Feeling as if he were watching a boxing match that was about to get out of
hand, Riley hastily swallowed a grin and gave a sharp whistle.

"Hey, you two, time out!  End of round one.  Everybody go to a neutral
corner."

They didn't move, but they did shut their mouths, the tension sparking
between them as volatile as gasoline on grass fire There was obviously a beck
of a lot more going on here than who had a right to be there, and Riley
couldn t think of two people who deserved it more.  But that
was none of his business.  Sticking to the matter at hand, he said calmly,

"Now that we can hear ourselves think, it's my turn to talk.  Yes, this is a
crime scene, and no, Sydney shouldn't be here until we've had a chance to
investigate it.  But," he added, holding up his hand when D'dlon started to
put in his two cents, "ordering her to leave isn't going to do much good.
She'll just come back later" -- "You're darn right," she retorted, her smile
smug.  "And if she finds something, I want to be here when she does," Riley
continued.

"Besides, I've got a bone to pick with her about her story in this too ming
paper."

Surprised, Sydney couldn't imagine what he had to complain about in her
account of Bryan Fitzgerald's.  death.  She'd been careful not to mention
Juan's witnessing of the murder or his whereabouts.

"What's wrong with that story?  I stuck to the facts."

"I don't have a problem with your facts--it's the slant you put on the story.
Granted, the sophisticatexi drug used to kill the Fitzgerald boy is news,
but you blew it all out of proportion and made Lordsburg sound like Chicago."

"An innocent boy died, Riley.  That alone is always going to stir up the
public.  The way that Bryan was killed only makes the story more sensational.
I didn't have to embellish anything--whoever killed Bryan did that for me."

"I know that," he hulled.

"But I just wish you would have tamped down the drug factor.  I got calls
before I even left the house this morning from people who took one look at
the paper and thought a major drug cartel was moving into the area.  They're
scared, dam reit and when people get scared, they do stupid things."

Dillon frowned.

"Are you afraid they're going to go looking for this character on their own?"

  "This is the West," he said simply.

"You won't find anybody out here who doesn't believe in the fight to keep and
bear arms and protect what's theirs.  You put their kids in.  danger, and
yeah, they'll go after whoever threatens them.

But I mean to beat 'em to the punch.  What have you found so far?  "

"Just tire tracks in the drive," Dillon said, showing him the track design
he'd drawn when he'd first arrived.

"From what I could tell, no one's been in the front rooms in years.  I was
just heading for the back when Sydney walked up?"

"Then let's check it out.  Sydney, I don't have to warn you not to touch
anything."  Motioning for the two of them to precede him, he followed them
inside.

The interior of the house was every bit as bad as the exterior.  The roof had
leaked in the two front rooms, PA using major damage to the ceilings and
walls and rotting the wooden floor.  Wallpaper hung in dirty strips,
shattered glass from the windows crunched underfoot and there was the
distinct sign of rodents everywhere.  In spite of that, Dillon and Riley went
over the two badly damaged rooms systematically, examining every inch before
they were finally satisfied that there was nothing there That left the
single hrge bedroom at the back where, according to Juan, Bryan had met with
the pusher and died.

Standing in the doorway, Dillon stared at the empty room and saw nothing that
indicated that a young boy had made the biggest mistake of his too-short life
here.  There were no heavy vibes, no signs of a struggle, nothing but some
markings in the thick dust that covered the floor that suggested something .
or someone .  might have been dragged to the back door.  And even that told
him little.  The footsteps' of whoever had done the dragging had been wiped
out by whatever was being dragged.

Stepping around him into the room, Riley hunkered down on his
heels to study the telltale trail in the dust.  It told its own story, but
none of the details.  " " Damn!  " he swore in disgust as he pushed to his
feet.

"Looks like we struck out.  The bastard covered his tracks."

"So where do you go from here?"  Sydney asked as Dillon followed the dusty
path to the back door to examine the threshold.

"We keep looking," Riley said flatly.

"And asking questions.  There's no such thing as a perfect crime--the
bastard's bound to have made a mistake somewhere.  And when we find it, we
find him.  It's that simple."

"If he's still here," Sydney said.

"Nothing else has happened since Bryan was killed, has it?  There've been no
reports of increased drug activity in the area, no strangers acting
suspiciously.  Maybe he took off after he dumped Bryan's body at the quarry.
He had to know things were going to heat up around here once the murder was
discovered."

Turning from the doorway, Dillon surveyed the scene, his mouth compressed
in'a flat line, and shook his head.  "Whoever this guy is, he's not the type
to get shook at the thought of a LITTLE heat.  If he was, he would have taken
off the second that boy dropped dead at his feet, not hung on 'to the body
for a week before dumping it in plain sight.  No, he's still here and playing
games.  He'll strike again before it's over with--he's.probably planning it
right now."

"which means we're racing against the clock," Riley added.

"I

assigned every man I've got to the case the minute I read the coroner's
report, but it's a big county and we're stretched so damn thin, it's a joke.
" Tilting his cowboy hat to the back of his head, he glanced ruefully at
Dillon.  " I know when I got you into this it was juit supposed to be a
simple case of tracking down a couple of runaways,   but I
still need your help, man.  How do you fel about being deputized?  "

Surprised, Dillon said,

"You mean officially?  I thought the county was low on funds."

"It is, but I can't keep taking advantage of your generosity, so they can
damn well scrape together enough to pay you for your time or they can try
finding this sleaze on their own ."  ' Dillon almost told him to stuff the
salary--his disability retirement from the government more than met his needs
and he was just happy to have an excuse to get out of the house--but Sydney
was all but taking notes, and the lady already knew more about him than he'd
have liked.

"If you want me to carry a badge, fine.  But it's not really necessary.  When
I agreed to this, I knew it could be a long haul.

Nothing'.   changed just because the case has taken a couple of dips and
curves.  "

Sydney, holding her tongue, had heard enough.

"Jeez, I wish you hadn't done that, Riley," she teasingly drawled in disgust.

"Getting information out of him now is already like pulling teeth.  He'll be
impossible with a badge."

Chuckling, Riley grinned.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to deal with him, Syd.  You always have with me."

Unconvinced, she almost laughed at his reasoning.  Of course she war able to
deal with him!  He was easygo'rag and accommodating and more than willing to
let her io her job.  And not once in all the years that she'd known him had
he ever made her mouth go dry or her knees weak, let alone tempted her to
kiss him.  The same, unfortunately, could not be said about his best friend.

Ignoring the sudden, wild beating of her heart at the thought, she retorted,

"Oh, yeah, I'll deal with him, all right.  By going out and digging up the
story myself."

Dillon whirled on her as if he couldn't believe he'd heard
her correctly.

"You can't be serious."

Her eyes narrowed at his tone.

"Riley just said he could use all the help he can get," she reminded him.

"And even you have to admit I'm pretty good at tracking down leads.  I found
Juan as fast as you did."

"I don't care if you found Jimmy Hoffa, this isn't a competition, dammit!"
he snapped.

"You're talking about hunting down a man who has already killed once, and
that's crazy.  This is a job for professionals, so why don't you back off and
let us do our jobs?  If you want something to write about, go cover the
upcoming spring fashion show at the Tucson Mall this weekend.  At least I
won't have to worry about you getting killed there."

His cold words struck her like darts, cutting deep.  Hurt, she' told herself
she could take criticism.  She put herself on the line every day in the
paper, leaving herself open to anyone who didn't like what she had to say,
and she handled it just fine.  But this wasn't just criticism.  It was a
casual dismissal of what she did for a living, of who she was.  from a man
who.  had, only moments before, been anything but indifferent in her arms.
Oranted, she'd instigated the kiss, but he'd wanted her .  needed her She
couldn't have been mistaken.

Resisting the need to hug herself, she stood proudly before him.

"You don't have to worry about me, period, Mr. Cassidy," she said stiffiy.

"Believe it or not, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.  Now, if
you'll excuse me, I'll get out of your hair."

Stepping past him, she heard him swear, but she didn't spare him a glance.
She didn't dare or she might say some thing she'd regret.

Or, worse yet, cry.  And dam reit that was something she'd sworn she'd never
do again over a man.  Not after Adam and the buckets she'd cried over him.
The lirei.  on.  er disaster at work--Beth's betrayal--had thrown her for
a loop, but it was Adam's lack of faith in her that' had devastated her.  It
had taken her a long lime to get over that, but she finally had, and there
would be no more tears.  Not over Dillon or anyone else.

So she headed for her car, fuming all the way down the rocky drive, clinging
to.  her anger like a toddler hugging a security blanket, trying to convince
herself she didn't car if she ever laid eyes on him again.

Getting the insufferable man and his kisses out of her head wasn't as easy as
walking away, however.  She tried throwing herself into the search for the
redheaded pusher, using every minute she could spare away from her regular
duties at the paper to scour the county for the man.  But three days later,
she was still uncociously looking for Dillon everywhere she went, still
waking each morning with hazy dreams of him warming her bed.  He couldn't
have been more of a distraction if they'd been attached at the hip.

Furious with him, disgusted with herself, she was in the mood for trouble
when she went into the paper late Wednesday after investigating a four-car
pileup on the interstate.  Blake, busy knocking out a story about the local
boys' high school basketball team, took one look at her and grinned.

"Uh-oh.  Somebody had a bad day.  What's the matter, Red?  Did Harry shoot
down your latest masterpiece?"

Plopping down at her desk, she shot him a warning.  look that would have
flattened a lesser man.

"Dont start with me, Nickels.  I'm not in the mood."

"No kidding?  I would have never guessed."  Far from discouraged by her
attitude, he saved his own copy, then sat back with the expectant grin of a
man prepared to enjoy himself.

"Who's been giving you a hard time, sweetheart?  Give Uncle Blake a name and
I'll go beat him up for you."

Her mouth twitched; she couldn't help it.

"Thanks, but I can fight my own bat ties Haven't you got something better to
do than pester me?"

"Not a thing," he laughed.

"Trina's gone shopping in Tucson with her sister, and I'm footloose and
fancy-free.  Whatdaya say you and me and some of the guys go shoot some pool.
tonight?"

Hesitating, Sydney had to admit she was tempted.  She and Blake and some of
the cowboys from the Double R met every couple of weeks at the Crossroads Bar
for a lively pool tournament, but it had been a while since they'd all gotten
together.  A night out with the boys did sound like fun.  And it might be
just what she needed to take her mind off Dillon and a few kisses she'd
rather forget.

"I'll meet you at the Crossroads at seven," she said, making a snap decision.

"Loser buys the beer."

"You got a deal, girl.  Make sure you bring plenty of money.  You're going to
need it."

Grinning, she said,

"You know, that boast might carry a little more weight if you'd ever beaten
me.  Should I warn you now or later that I'm feeling particularly lucky?"  At
his groan, she chuckled.

"I'll have my money.  You just make sure you and the guys have yours."

Feeling better than she had in days, she was still smiling twenty minutes
later when she finished her story and left to check out a report of missing
headstones at the Catholic cemetery.

But that evening, she and the guys were barely into the first game of pool
when she knew her friends weren't going to be able to distract her from
thoughts of Dillon the way she had hoped.  And she couldn't for the life of
her figure out why.  Blake, with his usual needling wit, kept her on her
toes, and Ford and Harley, the Double R ranch hands, were
crazy, outrageous flirts.  She usually spent most of the evening laughing
whenever she was with them.  But not tonight.

The Crossroads, a favorite hangout for the local cowboys, was crowded and
noisy, and cigarette smoke hung from the ceding in a thick pall.

The jukebox was blaring and the unceasing beat seemed to have taken up
residence in her head.  Her eyes tearing from the cigarette smoke, Sydney
blinked, then took her neat shot .  only to scratch as the cue ball followed
the six ball into the pocket.

"Well, darn!"

Blake exchanged a telling look with Ford and Harley before drawling, "Don't
take this wrong, Red, but you're going to be buying a lot of beer tonight if
you don't get your head in the game.  You feelin' okay?"

"I've just got a headache," she said with a grimace.

"It's nothing."

"Maybe not," Ford said, taking her pool cue from her, "But if we're going to
beat you, it's not much fun if you're not up to snuff2 Go get yourself a
drink and relax while we finish this game.  Then we'll start over again."

If her temples hadn't been throbbing sickeningly, she would have never agreed
to ducking out of a game for such a sissy reason.  But in her present
condition, she wasn't much fun, and she hated being a wet blanket.

"Okay, guys, you've got a deal.  Thank.q."

Weaving her way through the crowd of cowboys who were standing around the
pool tables waiting for a chance to get in on a game, she made her way to the
long bar.  that hugged one entire wall of the buff cling and took a seat at
the end near the entrance.  The music still blared from the jukebox, but the
smoke was less thick there due to the occasional gusts of cool night air that
rushed inside whenever anyone pulled open the door.  Settling her feet on the
brass footrest that ran the length of the bar, she ordered a
wine cooler and lifted the cold glass to her left temple as soon as the
bartender set it down in front of her.  Sighing in relief, she closed her
eyes and let the coldness work its magic.  "Headache?"

The quiet question came from the man who sat on her right at the shadowy end
of the bar.  Barely opening her eyes, Sydney forced awe ak sin' de

"No, thanks.  I've already got one."

His chuckle was rough, as if he didn't laugh much.

"Then how about an asph'in to go with it?  My doctor gave me some samples of
this new wonder aspirin that's not on the market yet, and it kicked my
migraines just like that."  He snapped his fingers right in front of her face.

"I never would have believed it if I hadn't tried it myself.  So what do you
say?  If yoh want one, I've got plenty."

The pounding in her head giving a fair imitation of jungle drums, Sydney Was
sorely tempted to jump at, whatever help she could get.  But aspirins--wonder
drug or not--had a tendency to act up in her stomach, and she was already
feeling miserable enough as it was.

Regrettably shaing her head, she said,

"Thanks, but I'd better not.

"I don't have much tolerance for drugs of any kind ... especially asp fin."

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug as he went back to his beer.

"If you change your mind, just let me know."

"I'll do that," she promised and closed her eyes again, sure that if she just
sat still long enough, the pain would ease.

But the bar seemed to be getting rowdier--and smokier, by the second.

The noise intensified, along with the throbbing in her nples, and after
another five minutes, all she could think of was getting out of there.
Setting her untouched drink down with a snap, she excused herself when  106
 she drew a questioning look from the stranger next to her, then
escaped outside.

The second she stepped out into the poorly lit parking lot, the cold night
air swirled around her, pulling at her hair and whisking the cigarette smoke
from her lungs.  She'd forgotten her jacket and a shiver raced over her skin,
but nothing short of a bliand could have convinced her to go back inside
anytime soon.  Hugging herself, she lifted her face to the star-speckied
night sky and dragged in a deep breath of relief.

She was still there ten minutes later, chilled but enjoying the silence that
engulfed her, when the same guy who'd offered her an aspirin at the bar
pushed open the door and stepped outside.  His hat was pulled low, all but
concealing his face in the darkness, but he saw her and nodded, then made his
way to an old pickup almost lost if I the black shadows at the far end of the
crowded parking lot.

Obviously comfortable with the night, he didn't turn his headlights on until
he was half a mile down the road.

Marveling that he hadn't run off the road before he'd realized he was driving
blind, Sydney turned away and gave serious consideration to going back
inside.  Her headache was almost gone and the guys were probably wondering
what had happened to her.  But she really wasn't in the mood for a night out
after all, and it would be better for everybody if she just left.  She'd just
make her excuses-- A sudden shout from inside the bar ripped through the
night.  Smiling to herself, she wondered if Blake was the one who was
exercising his lungs--one bee and he'd sing on the tables if anyone dared
him.  And the rest of the guys weren't much better.  The later it got, the
rowdier the crowd got--it happened all the time.  But for reasons she
couldn't begin to explain, her heart started to pound and she was suddenly
ltnaa lurner afraid.  Before she could stop herself, she was rushing
toward the entrance.

Bedlam.  The place had turned into bedlam.  Men were shouting, somewhere near
the pool tab lea a woman screamed incessantly and everybody seemed to be
standing flat-fog ted craning to see something near the bar.  Her stomach
starting to churn at the thought of what they were looking at, Sydney pushed
through the crowd of tall cowboys.

All her attention focused on the men who blocked her path, she suddenly burst
free of the crowd and almost stumbled upon the cowboy writhing on the floor
before she had time to stop her forward motion.

Alarmed, she froze in her tracks.  He was choking.

"Give him room!  Has anyone called the Rawlings Clinic?  Damreit, somebody
help me!"

Kneeling next to the downed man trying to help him breathe, Blake shouted
orders as he struggled to loosen the cowboy's collar.  But when he ripped the
shirt wide open, it didn't help.  His hands clutching his throat, his raspy
breathing loud in the sudden s'dence, the stricken man arched up off the
wooden floor with a keening cry that chilled the blood of everyone who heard
it.  A heartbeat later, he was dead.

For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved.  A shocked as everyone else,
Sydney just stood there, unable to drag her eyes from the dead man, unable to
believe what she'd just witnessed.  Then Blake slowly pushed' to his feet,
his usually smiling face haggard as he glanced dazedly around.

"Somebody needs to call the sheriff.  Harry, have you got something we can
cover this poor man with?"

The bartender, jerking to attention, stuttered,

"Y-yeah.  I--I've got a blanket in my c-car.  I'll go get it."

  Shoving the phone across the bar to Blake so he could call
Riley, he shot out from behind the bar like the devil himself was after him
and rushed outside, returning seconds later with an old army blanket he
quickly draped over the dead man.  The second he straightened from the task,
th crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief, and just that quickly, Sydney
snapped out of the daze that had held her in its grip, What the devil was she
doing just standing here like a ninny?

As tragic as it was, a young, apparently healthy man didn't drop dead in the
prune of his life without a dam good reason.  This was news!

Grabbing her purse, she pulled out the small tape re-cotder that she depended
on as religiously as some women depended on a man and weit to work.

"Can anybody tell me what happened?"  she asked, easing her way through the
crowd.

"Somebody must have seen something."

She gianced around expectantly, but if anyone saw anything, they weren't
willing to talk about it.  Blank stares stared back-at her, telling her
nothing.  Frustrated, she turned to Blake, who, as soon as he finished his
call to the sheriff, signaled the bartender to pour him a straight shot of
whiskey.

"Blake?"

Swallowing the drink in a single 'gulp, he motioned the bartender for
another.  When he turned to Sydney, he couldn't tell her much more than
anyone els.

"Sorry, hon, but the boys and me were concentrating on the game and didn't
notice anything until the guy fell off his stool and grabbed his throat.  I
thought he was cholcing, but the Heimlich maneuver didn't help.  And I didn't
know what else to do.  The next thing I knew, he was dead."

"But there has to be a reason," she insisted.

"Did' he say anything?

Does anyone even know his name?  "

"He was a stranger," Harry said suddenly from behind the bar, the lines that
furrowed his brow deeper than usual.

"Never seen him before.  A quiet sort.  He ordered a beer
and just sat there nursing it for the last half hour."

"How was he acting before he started choking?"  Sydney asked eagerly, setting
her tape recorder on the bar.

"Was he sick?  Did you notice if he had any difficulty breathing?"

He shook his head.

"No, nothing.

"Course, I was pretty busy and he was the quiet sort.  He didn't draw much
attention to himself."  He started to, shrug, as if to say that was all he
could offer, when he suddenly added,

"It seems like he did say something though, right before he fell.  I was
drawing a draft for Jimmy Taylor at the other end of the bar, so I couldn't
hear him real good, but if I didn't know better, I'd swear he said aspirin."
Scratching his gray head in puzzlement, he looked to Sydney for an
explanation.

"You think he had a headache or something?  Maybe one of those aneurysm
things?"

Sydney's heart stopped in mid beat

"Aspirin?"  she repeated faintly.

"Are you sure he said asp'trin?"

"That's what it sounded.  like, but like I said, I was at the other end of
the bar.  Hey, are you all right?  You're as white as a sheet!

Sit down, girl, before you fall flat on your face.  Blake, help her"" No!
I--I'm fine.  " She swallowed thickly and sank unassisted onto the nearest
barstool, her gaze carefully averted from the still, blanket-covered figUre
on the floor.  She wasn't a lily-livered coward who got weak-kneed at the
sight of a corpse--she wouldn't hae smwived a week covering the police beat
on the streets of Chicago otherwise.  But it wasn't every day that she had
that close a call with death, either.

"My doctor gave me some samples of this new wonder aspirin .... If you want
one, I've got plenty..  .  ."

The words echoed in her ears like a taunt from the devil, deceptively
innocent, threatening.  Her blood runng cold, Sydney shivered .  and
thanked God that she was alive to   feel anything, even fear.
Because every serf-preserving instinct she possessed told her that if she'd
accepted one of those new wonder aspirin from the stranger next to her at the
bar, she would have been the one now lying dead on the floor.

Glancing up to find Blake, Ford and Harley hovering over her as if they were
afraid she was going to pass out cold at their feet, she smiled weakly.

"Really, guys, I'm fine.  I just felt a little dizzy for a second, but it
passed.  Give me a minute to collect myself, and I'll be raring to go."

She was lying through her teeth and only had to look at the faces of the
three men who surrounded her to know that she hadn't fooled anyone.  A
disapproving scowl darkening his brow, Ford growled, "You're not going
anywhere until Dee Josey or Tare checks you out."

"You're damn right," Harley agreed in a low rumble that was sandpaper rough.

"So you just sit there like a good little girl and wait for the dee.  She
should be here any second."

But it was fifteen minutes before Tam Rawlings arrived and by then, Sydney
was too antsy to sit still.  Someone had tried to kill her.  The thought
throbbed in her head like a smoldering ember.  Pale and shaken, she paced,
clinging to the hope that Dr. Rawlings would take one look at the dead cowboy
on the floor and announce that he had died of natural causes.

But it was a vain hope, and she wasn't really surprised when Dr. Rawlings did
a quick examination of the body and announced somberly, "I can't be certain
without a blood' test, but this looks like a drug overdose.  Does anyone know
if he had a history of drug use?"

"He was a stranger, ma'am," Harry replied from behind the bar.

"His driver's license says his name's Lawrence Osborn.  He's from Silver
City, but nobody here's ever seen him be, fore.  We don't
know what his habits were, but he did mention something about aspirin before
he died."

On her knees next to the victim, Tate frowned down at the still' form one
last time before covering it with the blanket and pushing to her feet.

"Aspirin, hmm?  I've never heard of anyone dying from a reaction to it, but I
guess stranger things have happened.  We'll have to wait for the autopsy
report to be sure.  Has anyone called the sheriff?"

"I did," Blake volunteered.

"Right after I called your clinic.

Somebody should be here any minute.  "

The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound of a patrol car pulling
up outside, sirens blazing, eas'dy reached the occupants of the bar.  Seconds
later, Dillon strode into the bar with Joe Sanchez, one of Riley's most
dependable deputies, right on 'his heels.

Still seated at the bar, Sydney knew the second he spied her in the crowd.
Recognition flaring in his eyes, he stopped in his' tracks, shocked.  Still
jittery and trying to hide it, she was horrified by the need to walk into his
arms and just let him hold her.  What in the world was wrong with her?  she
wondered wildly.  She wasn't some fainthearted darnel in distress looking for
a man to come charging to her rescue.  She could take care of herself.

Lifting her chin, she gave him back stare for stare, but-when he finally
glanced away, she took little satisfaction from the small victory.  Then he
was taking charge of the situation with the ease of a man who was used to
giving orders.  "Joe, let's get this crowd out of here except for the
witnesses."  Turning to Tate, he offered his hand and introduced himself.

"You must be one of the Rawlings doctors.  Riley's in Tucson for the evening
and asked me to take over in case of any unusual circumstances."

"Then this definitely qualifies," Tate replied.

"A thirty-year-old man doesn't drop dead without a reason."  She gave  112
 him a quick rundown of what the bartender had told her, then her
own diagnosis.

He nodded.  The coroner would determine the exact cause of death, but his gut
told him Tate Rawlings was right.  Which made this the second O.  D.  in a
matter of weeks in a part of the country where things like this just didn't
happen.

Grimly thanking the doctor for getting there so quickly, he turned to face
the witnesses that Joe had rounded up and found hume If face-to-face with
Sydney.  Disturbed, wondering what the hell she was even doing there, he
avoided her gaze and said tersely,

"We'll need to talk to each of you separately.  Let's grab that table by the
window, Joe, and get started.  This could take a while."

That proved to be an understatement of the grossest proportions.

Everyone who saw Lawrence Osborn fall off his barstool had to tell what they
saw, and each version of the story was more or less the same.  By the time
Sydney took a seat across the table from him and Joe, Dillon thought he had
heard it all.  She quickly proved him wrong.

"Lawrence Osborn took some kind of fancy new aspirin that killed him," she
announced before either he or Joe could say a word.

"And he didn't have it on him when he walked in here."

"How do you know that?"  Joe asked with a flown.

"Did you talk to him before he died?"

"No, but I was offered that same aspirin and turned it down."

"What?"  Slouched in his chair, Dillon straightened as if he'd been poked
with a eat fie prod.

"What the hell are you talking about2 Start over, and this time at the
beginning.  What are you doing here?"

He hadn't meant to ask that--her reasons for being there had nothing to do
with the investigation, dam reit--but the words just popped out.

And before he could call them back, she said,

"Blake and I met some of the cowboys from the Double R here to shoot pool.
But my head was hurting, so I took a seat at the bar.

That's when the guy sitting next to me offered me a new kind of aspirin.  "

Jealousy hitting him right between the eyes, Dillon heard "Blake" and nothing
else.  So she was out with that Nickels character she worked with, the
sportswriter.  fi that wasn't just like a fickle woman, he didn't know what
was.  Get him in a lip lock one day, then three days later, go out with
someone rise.  Irrational fury roiling in his gut, he told him- serf he
didn't give a damn if she played pool or anything else with haft the men in
the county--what the lady did was her own business.  Then the rest of her
words register, and his blood ran cold.   "What guy?"  he demanded.

"The guy who left right before Osborn died," she said.  "I went outside to
get some air and saw him drive off in his pickup.  He was hardly out of sight
when I heard the shouting inside."

Dillon swore.  He wasn't a man who believed in coincidence.  He had two
bodies and two men without faces who disappeared into the night.

Every instinct he possessed told him that the pusher who killed Bryan
Fitzgerald with a designer drug and the guy who'd loaned a wonder aspirin to
the dead man on the floor were one and the same.  And the slippery son of a
bitch had just slipped through his fingers.

"What did he look like?  Tell me everything you can remember.  Would you
recognize him again if you saw him?

Did he have any distinguishing features?  How tall was he?  "

He threw the questions at her like a drill sergeant issuing.  orders, hardly
giving her time to draw a breath before he was thinking of something rise to
ask.  Flustered, she finally blurted out in exasperation,

"Danunit, Dillon, if you'll let me get a word in edgewise, I'll tell you what
I know.  But it  t e Loner isn't much.  He wore a tattered straw
Stetson low on his ears.  Other than that, there's not much else I can tell
you."

"Why the hell not?  You sat fight next to him.  You must have looked at him
when he offered you the damn aspi- " Of course I looked at him.  But he
didn't look at me.  He kept his head down and sort of stared at his drink.
And in case you haven't noticed, there aren't a lot of lights in here,
especially near the bar.  He was just sort of odd looking.  Okay?  "

"Odd how?"

"I don't know."  She frowned, trying to put her finger on what it was about
the man that had struck her as weird.  Images played before her eyes like a
flashback and just that quickly it hit h.

"His hands!"

she said excitedly.

"His hands didn't fit the rest of him.  He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt,
and with his hat pulled low, I couldn't see much of him, but I do know that
his hair was black.  Except on his hands."

"So?"

"So the hair on his hands was a pale strawberry blond," she explained.

"Like mine.  I don't know about you, but that doesn't add up to me.  A person
is either a brunette or a blonde, not both.  If the man was a natural
brunette, then the hair on his knuckles would be dark, not blond.  Which
means he was either wearing a wig or he dyed his hair.  Either way, he was
trying to disguise what he really looked like."

Chapter 6.

His gray eyes as cold as ice, Dillon didn't need to hear more.
There wasn't a doubt in his mind that the so-called aspirin that had killed
the poor cowboy lying dead on the floor was some form of the designer drug
that had put a quick end to Bryan Fitzgerald's too-short life.

And Sydney had almost taken it.  She could have been the one who died--the
one he, when he walked in, found stone cold on the floor, her hands clutched
to her throat in frozen horror.  A giant fist closed over his heart at the
thought, threatening to choke him.  Then the rage hit him, red-hot.  The
slime ball wasn't going to get away with it.  Not this time.

Reaching across the bar for the phone that Harry kept within reach behind the
counter, he quickly called the sheriff's office.  When the dispatcher
answered, he said hurriedly, "Myrtle, this is Dillon.  I need you to issue an
APB on a sixties-model white Dodge pickup, partial license 7
" That's Cookie Barshop's truck," she cut in, surprised.  " You got ESP or
what, Cassidy?  Cookie just called in not ten minutes ago.  That old pickup
is her pride and joy and it seems somebody stole it right out of her
driveway, bold as brass.  She could hardly talk, she was so mad"-- Wound up
tighter than an eight-day clock, Myrtle could, Dillon knew, talk his head off
if he gave her the chance.  Struggling to curb his impatience, he waited for
her to take a breath and said ters.ly,

"I

want you to send somebody out to her Place to talk to her as soon as you can,
Myrtle, but first I need you to get on the radio and ism sue that all points
bulletin.  N(w, Myrtle.  Okay?  There's no time to lose.  "

Swallowing the rest of what she was going to sayin a sin-pie gulp, she said,

"Oh ... yeah, sure, Dillon.  It's as good as done."

Praying she was's ood as her word, he hung up, then turned to find Joe
Sanchez quietly talking with some of the witnesses who were still milling
around.  Giving the other man an abbreviated Version of his conversation with
Myrtle, he said,

"I'm going after the bastard.  He's probably gotten another vehicle stashed
somewhere, and if we don't catch him before he ditches the pickup, we can
forget catching him anytime soon.  He'll go to ground wherever he's been
hiding out and lay low until he's ready to kill again,"

"Go on," Joe told him.

"I'll hold down things here until the ambulance gets here."

Before the words were even out of his mouth, Dillon was heading for the door,
pushing his way through the lingering crowd, every instinct he possessed
urging him to hurry.  Each second lost was time he wouldn't get back, got
when he was trailing a cold-blooded snake in the grass who didn't leave many
tracks.  Rushing outside, he strode toward his truck as fast
as his protesting back would allow and never noticed that Sydney was right
behind him.

Tearing out of the parking lot, he headed west, just as Sydney had said the
murderer had.  The road stretched like a black ribbon before him,
disappearing into the night in a straight line that he knew ran for
twenty-five miles without so much as a twinge of a curve in it.

The speedometer reached sixty, then seventy, and kept on climbing as he
searched the distant horizon for the revealing glint of taillights, but the
darkness before him remained unbroken.  There wasn't so much as a security
light to relieve the all-concealing night.

Since there were no side roads to turn down for at least another fifteen
miles, there was no way the perp could have turned off.  Which meant one of
two things.  He was either farther ahead of him than he'd thought or the
bastard had only gone west to throw Sydney off, then retraced his route once
he'd figured she'd gone back inside the bar.

Either way, he could have already lost him.  HIS jaw set in granite, he
pushed the speedometer to eighty and switched his headlights to bright, his
anger growing hotter by the second.

Feeling as if he were crawling, he hardly noticed the dark, barren
countryside that flew by his window in a blur.  His hands tight on the wheel
and his gaze trained straight ahead, he whizzed over a shallow bridge that
crossed one of the countless arroyos that cut through the dry earth and kept
on going.  Nearly a mile down the road, his brain registered what his eyes
had already noted.  a flash of white that could have been a vehicle, almost
hidden at the deep end of the arroyo.  Muttering curses, he slammed on his
brakes and swung into a U-turn while his tires were still screaming in
protest.

  The arroyo couldn't have been more than eight feet wide at
its broadest spot.  In the overall scheme of thingS, it wasn't much more than
a wrinkle on the face of the earth.  It was, however, just big enough to hold
a stolen truck.

Braking to a stop in a cloud of dust, Dillon saw in an instant that the
vehicle was the Barshop woman's Dodge, and it looked more than a little the
worse for wear.  Caught in the glare of the Suburban headlights, which
stripped the shadows from the scene and painted it in stark black and white,
the pickup had obviously been driven into the ditch at a high speed.  Up to
its axle in sand, it had come face-to-face with the rocky cliff at the far
end and wouldn't be going anywhere soon under its own power without some
major repairs.

Grabbing his gun from the glove compatinient and a flashlight from under the
seat, Dillon hit the ground running.  But when he was still twenty yards
away, he knew the driver was long gone.  The driver's door was still open and
there were deep tracks in the loose dirt the0rt to the ditch where another
vehicle appeared to have been parked recently.  But it was the silence more
than anything that told him he was alone.  Nothing moved, not even the wind.
The bastard had gotten away.  Again.

Swearing, Dillon slid down into the arroyo.  Damreit, who the hell was this
guy?  What was he after?  With questions buzzing around in his head like
angry bees, he went over the truck with painstaking thoroughness, sure that
there had to be something there that would give him a clue as to the identity
of the killer.  The killer who had walked away from his latest victim after
casually leaving a tip on the bar for the bartender.  But there was nothing,
not even a strand of hair or a half-smudged fingerprint.  The truck had been
wiped clean.

Furious, frustrated, he was still swearing when Sydney drove
up a few seconds later.

"You wasted your time following me," he said taffy as he kneeled down in the
dark to examine the tire tracks next to the ditch.

"There's nothing here but the damn truck, and it's cleaner than a new penny."
"The tracks" -- "Were made by some type of four-wheel-drive vehicle," he
concluded in disgust.  Rising to his feet, he gazed off into the distance,
but as before, there wasn't a spark of alight for as far as the eye could
see.  If the man he sought was out there somewhere, he had thousands of acres
of darkness to hide in: "There's no telling where the bastard is now--there
are cattle guards all along this road.  He could have driven across any one
of them and just disappeared into the desert."

"So you're just giving up?"  Sydney asked incredulously.  "You can't be
serious!  He can't be more than fifteen minutes ahead of you."

"Hell, no, I'm not giving up.  But look around, dam reit!"

Exasperated by the criticism, he curtly motioned to their surroundings.

"We could stumble around in the dark for the rest of the night and only cover
a fraction of this damn desert by morning.

And we still wouldn't catch.  the bastard.  Not tonight.  He knows where he's
going and we don't, and you can bet that damn tape recorder of yours that he
won't leave us a trail.  Whatever else the sleaze may be, he's not careless.
"

"No, he's just a psychopathic killer who's struck twice in less than a
month," she pointed out heatedly.

"If I weren't so paranoid about taking medication--especially from a
stranger--it would be me lying dead on the floor of the Crossroads now, not
that poor cowboy who never knew what hit him.  And, dam reit he's not getting
away with it!

                                      I

  don't rare if I do have to search all night, I'm going after
him!  "

"The hell you are!"

Later, when his head was clearer and he had a tighter grip on his churning
emotions, he would kick himself for reaching for her.  In his present state
of mind, it was the wrong move.  Images kept flailing him like a whip .
Sydney, still and unmoving on the dirty floor of the bar, not an ounce of
color in her face, her beautiful blue eyes lifeless and dull, dead.  It
sickened him how easily it could have happened.  And now she wanted to go
after the slime ball Like bloody hell!  Damn her, hadn't she figured out yet
that this wasn't a game of who could get the story first?  A headline wasn't
worth her life, and that was what it could come to, especially if she got in
the killer's way.

Blind fury SeiTJng him, he caught her before she could turn back to her car
and snatched her up on her toes in front of him.  He'd intended to give her a
tongue lashing she'd never forget, but the hot words that nearly choked him
wouldn't come.  With her this close, he couldn't think, and sudtlenly the
emotions squeezing his chest had nothing to do with' her stubborn
determination to get herself killed and everything to do with the furious
need clawing at him for release.  .

Let her go.

The order echoed from a distant part of his brain like the only sane voice
raised above the roar of a riotous crowd.  But it was too late for anything
that came even close to reason.  He burned deep inside and, like it or not,
she was the cause.  Cursing her, wanting her, aching for her, dammit!  --he
hauled her into his arms.

Stunned, Sydney tried to remind herself that she despised men who used
physical attraction to win an argument.  She should have fought free of his
arms and told him exactly what she thought of his tactics.
It was no more than he deserved.  But his mouth was too hot on hers, too
hungry, the bold, seducing sweep of his tongue too knowing.  He was a man who
knew how to kiss and had no compunction about using that knowledge to his
advantage.  In spite of all her determinist ion she felt her will begin to
waver and the starch in her knees dissolve.

No!  she wanted to cry.  But he touched a need in her she'd thought was long
buried, and she found herself fighting her own desh'e as desperately as his.
She couldn't take a breath without drawing in.

the fresh, clean scent of him, couldn't move without feeling the hard length
of him against her.  Her heart started to pound, her blood to warm, her mind
to cloud.  Aware of nothing but the heat of his mouth on hers, she kissed him
back.

She couldn't for the life of her say how long that single, hot,
soul-destroying kiss lasted--it could have been seconds, aeons.  When he
finally let her up for air, she was clinging to him, unable to remember her
own name.  His breathing as ragged and revealing as hers, he pressed slow,
lingering kisses to the curve of her hot cheeks, the delicate skin just under
her jaw, the pulse beating wildly in her throat.  With nothing more than
that, he made her throb.

Dazed, feeling as though she were teetering on the edge of a cliff, she
promised herself she was going to put an end to this craziness at any second.
But his hands.  Lord, the man had wonderful hands!  Sure and strong, yet
incredibly gentle, they slowly swept over her back and slid down to her
waist, his fingers blindly tugging the hem of her blouse free of the
waistband of her slacks.  Alarm bells clanged, warning her that she was
playing with fire, but he nuzzled at her throat, distracting her with hot,
openmouthed kisses, and she couldn't think.  Then his hands were sneaking
under her blouse, heating her skin, delighting her.  Expectation drizzled through her like liquid fire, and in that moment she wanted
him more than she'd ever wanted a man in her life.

That thought brought her up short as nothing else could.  She wasn't a woman
who was easily scared of anything, but suddenly she was shaking.  Jerking
back, she stared up at him in bewilderment.  How did he keep doing thi.   to
her?  After she'd discovered just how LITTLE Adam really loved her, she'd
sworn there wasn't a man on earth who could ever tempt her again, and not
once since then had she had any reason to think differently.  Which was a
good thing, she admitted ruefully, since the selection of available men in
Lordsburg was nothing to write home about.  The good ones were either taken
or as leery as she of getting burned again.  Resigned to the fact that if she
ever did want a man in her life again, she'd have to go out on the interstate
and rope down the first good one that came along as he passed through town,
she'd decided a relationship wasn't worth the effort.

She'd thought she was okay with that, but now, looking at Dillon in growing
horror, she wasn't so sure.  He made her want more.  With nothing more than a
few kisses, he made her want all the things she knew she wasn't ever going to
have, and for the life of her, sh couldn't understand why.  If ever there
was a man who was all wrong for her, it was Dillon Cassidy.  She was open and
curious and loved people and their stories.  Dillon, on the other hand, was a
man with secrets who resented her probing.  He'd made it clear that he didn't
care for her job and just wanted to be left alone, and still he made her
tremble.

Needing to think, she whirled toward her car.

"I've got work to do" -- "Damreit, Sydney, you're not going after that
bastard!"

"At the paper," she hulled, glaring at him when he stepped in front of her
to block her path.

"Not that it's any maa lurner of your business, but I'm going to the
paper.  So if you don't mind..."  She lifted a delicately arched brow at him
and waited impatiently for him to get out of her way.

Staring down at her flushed face, the defiance that flashed like starlight in
her midnight blue eyes, it-was all he could do not to jerk her back into his
arms.  But if he touched her again, when he was still burning from kissing
her, he didn't think he could be responsible for his actions.  Damn, he felt
as if he'd tangled with a buzz saw!  Scowling, he silently stepped back and
let her pass.

But even after she brushed past him without another word and climbed into her
Jeep to head back to town, he found himself standing at the side of the road
staring after her as the night swallowed her whole.

He was beginning to want the lady too much, he realized, more troubled than
he cared to admit.  And if he wasn't damn careful, he was going to be in over
his head before he knew what hit him.  And that could only lead to heartache.
Because with his back, he could never be anything but a liability to any
woman.

A muscle jumping in his clenched jaw, he turned away, his gaze falling on the
abandoned pickup.  He needed to get a wrecker out here to haul the stolen
Dodge back into town, then get back to the Crossroads to finish the
investigation.

But instead of making the call on his CB, his eyes kept drifting back to the
road to town.  and Sydney.

She was in danger.

The thought nagged at him, refusing to leave him in peace.  Irritated, he
tried to dismiss it as just paranoia, but the facts spoke for themselves.
She was the only 9the who came even close to getting a good look at the
killer.  And as far as he knew, she was the only one who had talked to the
bastard one-on-one and lived to tell about it.

That alone just might be enough to send the murdering son of a bitch after
her.

  And there was the matter of her stories in the Gazette.  Just
thinking about them made Dillon uneasy.  The lady might drive him right up
the wall with her persistence, but he had to acknowledge that she was a damn
good reporter.  She'd hunted down the facts of the case as quickly as he had,
then put them together in a series of attention-grabbing front-page stories
that had alerted everyone in the county to 'the presence of a murderer in
their midst.  According to Riley, his office had been inundated with calls
from anxious people who were sure they'd seen the killer.  With all the
watchful eyes out there, the man had to be feeling the heat.

Which meant the slippery bastard had at least two twisted reasons to want
Sydney dead.

His jaw rigid, he strode over to his car and made the call for the wrecker.
Seconds later, he headed back to the Crossroads, but he didn't stay long.
The coroner had already been there and gone, and Joe Sanchez was taking a few
last statements and just mopping up.

There was nothing left for Dillon to do except run into town and leave a re,
port for Riley.

But when he reached the quiet, lighted streets of Lords-burg, he turned left
instead of right at the first light he came to and, without making a
conscious decision, ended up at the Gazette.

Swearing, he threw the Suburban into Park, calling himself seven kinds of a
fool.  If ever there was a lady who could take care of herself, it was
Sydney.  She didn't need him to watch Over her--bell, she'd probably see it
as an insult.  Which was too damn bad.  Because like it or not, he was going
to stick around long enough to make sure she got home safely after she
finished writing her firsthand account of the murder at the Crossroads.  He
would, he assured himself, have done the same thing for a stranger on the
street.

Sure, Cassidy, a voice jeered in his head.  Tell another
one.  You're here because you can't stay away, and you know it.

Muttering curses at the taunt that struck too close to the truth, he slammed
out of the car and strode into the building.

"I'm telling you, Red, you can sit there and stare at the screen until the
sun comes up, but you've got to punch a few buttons if you want to write a
story," Blake Nickels teased from his desk.  His grin mocking, his gaze
narrowed on the haunted look in the depths of her eyes, he watched her like a
hawk.

"Lord, I knew you learned to write through those mall-order correspondence
classes, but'I'd have thought somewhere, someone would have taught you this
stuff.  I guess it's up to me."

Her eyes trained on the blank screen, Sydney didn't spare him a glance.

"Don't flatter yourself, Nickels.  I can write circles around you and you
know it."

"Then how come my copy's been 'approved and yours is still stuck in your
head?  Time's awasfin', Red, I can hear the presses warming up.

You gonna fish or cut bait?  "

Over the top of her computer monitor, her eyes met his.  She knew he was
trying to distract her from the horror at the Crossroads and didn't have the
heart to tell him it was a wasted effort.  Instead, she pretended, as he did,
that nothing out of the ordinary had happened tonight.

"I might be able to get something done if there wasn't so much jabbering
going on in here," she said pointedly.

"I can understand why that might not bother you--you could work in the middle
of a subway station during rush hour--but some of us are a little more
particular when it comes to putting our thoughts on paper.  Which is why some
of us write top-notch news and some of us write the kind of copy that lines
the bottom of the bird cage."

  Delighted that he'd finally gotten a rise out of her, he on!
 grinned.

"My parakeet was just reading your stuff on the Martinez kid this morning.
He liked it, but hey, he doesn't get out much so he's happy with whatever
reading material he can get."

"Then he ought to love that trivia you call sports news," she teased.

"Don't you have someplace to go?  There must be a ball game or a
bubble-gum-blowing contest where you're needed."

As far as hints went it was about as subtle as a fist to the gut, but Blake
had never had much use for subtleties.  He was just relieved that the
colorless, subdued Sydney who'd walked in the door thirty minutes ago was
well on the way to being her old snappy self again.

Now he could leave.

Pushing to his feet, his eyes dancing, he grabbed his cowboy hat and plopped
it on his head.

"Nope, but I can take a hint, Garbo.  You want to be alone.  Why didn't you
just say so?"

Laughing, she tossed a wadded-up piece of paper at, him, which he deftly
caught on his way out.  Then the door closed behind him and silence, thick
and heavy, slipped uninvited into the city room.  Left alone with her
thoughts, Sydney shivered slightly, her smile fading.

If the killing at the Crossroads was going to make the morning paper, she was
going to have to hustle.  Stirring to life, she sat up straighter.

But when she placed her fingers on the computer keyboard, a tangled weave of
images scrambled her thoughts.  Dillon reaching for her, "the aspirin-pushing
stranger brushing shoulders with her at the bar, Dill Oh mouth hot and hungry
on hers, Lawrence Osborn lying dead on the Crossroad's dusty floor, Dillon
making her ache... Dillon..

Dillon.

Dillon.

Every thought began and ended with him touching her,
holding her, kissing her.  The scent of him clung to her clothes, the feel of
him to her skin--and she only had to close her eyes to find herself back on
the side of the' road by that abandoned old pickup and in his arms.

It was driving her crazy.  She couldn't work, damn him!  No man had ever
interfered with a story before, not even Adam--the day after she'd broken off
her engagement to him, she'd written an award-winning piece about a Chicago
judge caught in a blackmailing scheme.

But then again, she'd never met anyone quite like Dillon.  Her fingers frozen
on the keys, she silently admitted to herself that he was really starting to
worry her.  She wasn't a woman controlled by her hormones; she never had
been.  While other girls in high school were giggling and batting their
eyelashes over the latest football heartthrob, she'd been up to her ears in
the school paper.  And college had been no different.  She hadn't cared less
that she could count on the fingers of one hand the dates she had her entire
senior year.

A sound from the doorway intruded on her thoughts, and she turned, half
expecting to find Blake standing there with a devilish twinklein his eye.
and one last teas' rag remark on his tongue before he went home for the
night.  But the man standing there wasn't Blake and he wasn't smiling.
Dillon.

Sydney's heart lurched at the sight of him.  Not forty minutes ago, she'd run
from him, run from her if unable to get away fast enough from the way he
made her feel.  Now here she was hoping he'd followed her because he couldn't
forget that hot kiss on the side of the road any more than she could.

But with the first words out of his mouth, that hope shriveled.  up and died
like a deflated balloon.

"Don't pay me any mind.  I'm just here to make sure you get home okay."

  So he was there to protect her.  She supposed she should have
been flattered that he cared enough to be concerned, but God help her, it
wasn protection she needed from him.  Something that came too close to pain
squeezing her heart, she deliberately returned her gaze to her blank screen,
"Then you made a trip over here for nothing, she retorted coolly: " I've been
finding my way home without help since I was a kid.  I'm sure I can manage to
do it again tonight.  "

It was a clear dismissal that bordered on out-and-out rudeness.  From the
corner of her eye, she saw his mouth compress with annoyance, but the man had
proven on more than one occasion that he could be as stubborn as she, and
tonight was no exception.  Sauntering over to the chair angled in front of
her desk, he dropped into it and stretched out his legs as if he intended to
stay all night if he had to.  Over the top of her monitor, his gray eyes were
mocking as they met hers.

"Maybe so, but I think I'll stick around just to make sure... if you don't
mind."

Mind?  She almost choked.  Hell, yes, shemindefi!  But if she told him so, it
would be just like him to ask why, and that wasn't' somObing she was prepared
to answer, not even to herself.  Shrugging with an indifference that cost her
more than he would ever know, she dropped her gaze back to her computer and
this time kept it there.

"Suit yourself.  But it could be a while."

Having given him fair warning, she didn't spare him so much as a glance for
the next thirty minutes.  Determined to ignore him, she tried to concentrate,
her fingers flying over the keyboard in search of an opening paragraph.
But the result was only gibberish, and she found herself again and again in
growing frustration.  All because of Dillon.

To her consternation, she was aware of every little twitch he made, and he
wasn't even trying to draw attention to himself.  He sat
QUIETLY, thumbing through a Steven King paperback he'd grabbed from a corner
of her desk, and seemed to be ignoring her much more successfully than she
was ignoring him.  But then he.  shifted in his seat, a grimace of pain
visible in the sudden clenching of his jaw, and she knew his back was
tightening up.

"You don't have to stay," she said, shattering the tense silence.

"I

don't need help getting home.  "

"I never said you did," he replied.

"But there is a murderer loose on the streets and it doesn't hurt to be too
careful."

No one knew better than she just how true that was, and she could only nod,
any further argument effectively shot down.

"I'll try to hurry," she promised, and turned back to her writing.

Twenty minutes later, she was finished and ready to go.  The story itself
wasn't the best thing she'd ever done, but considering her volatile emotions,
she was pleased with it.  What she was not pleased with was Dillon trailing
her to her car like she was a kindergartner who got lost between the front
door and the curb.

Balking in the dimly lit parking lot next to the building, she looked around
at the dark, deserted street.  Devoid of life but for the two of them, not
even a leaf moved.

"This is ridiculous, Dillon.  You must live thirty miles cross-country from
me.  There's no reason for you to follow me home when there's no one out but
rats at this time of night.  I'll be fine."  ' Rats come with two legs as
well as four," he drawled.  " Let's go, Syd.  "

She went, but only because she was in no mood for an argument.  It had, to
put it mildly, been a difficult evening.  She just wanted to go home and
crawl into bed and forget the rest of the world existed.

But all the way to her house,   Dillon was right behind her,
the reflections of his headlights in her rearview mirror a constant reminder
of his nearness Her heart starting to pound, she jumped out of her Jeep the
second she finally braked to a stop in her driveway, intending to wave a
thank-you to send him on his way back to town.  But he'd pulled up behind her
and was already out of his Suburban and striding toward her.

"Where're your keys?"  he demanded.

"Right here."  Holding them up, she frowned in confusion when he took them
from her.

"Dammit, Dillon, I can unlock my own door!"

He didn't dispute' the fact--he just stepped past her and shoved the key into
the dead bolt, then held the door open for her, one corner of his mouth
curling into a crooked grin when she just stood there, glaring at him.

"I'm coming in, Sydney."

Her heart stopped in mid beat irritating her no end, but she was damned if
she'd let him know that he'd shaken her.  Pressing her hand to her breast in
a dramatic gesture, she drawled,

"Be still my heart!

And here I thought you didn't Chuckling, he reached out to tug at one of the
curls that lay on her shoulders, surprising them both with the gesture.  "I
just want to check the place out and make sure it's safe, smart mouth."

After what had happened at the Crossroads, she hhd to agree that she couldn't
be too careful, but deep inside her heart, a self-protective voice cried out
in protest.  She didn't want him in her house, didn't want him among her
things, didn't want to be haunted by the memory of his scent--of
him--following her around from room to room.

"There are dead bolts on both doors," she began.

"And locks on the windows," he said, holding the screen
door wider and patiently waiting for her to precede him.  "But this is an old
house.  Window catches get rusty or even break, and no one usually notices.
It won't take me a minute to look at them."  His eyes, sharp and discerning,
locked with hers.

"Unless you don't want me in your house for some reason .... " Put on the
spot, heat climbing up her throat into her cheeks, singeing her fair skin
with revealing color, she did what any self-respecting woman would have done
in a similar situation--she looked him right in the eye and lied through her
teeth.

"Are you kidding?  You kn?w me.  If I didn't want you in there, I'd say so.
It is late, and I didn't want you to feel like you had to check the place out
tonight.  But if you're not concerned about the time, then I'm certainly not.
Come on in."

Stepping past him, she waited unto he followed her into the living room, then
airily motioned to the rest of the small house that she'd bought soon after
moving to Lordsburg four years ago.

"Look around all you want.  There's not much too see."

Her tone was casual.  too casual.  and didn't fool Dillon in the least.  She
didn't want him there any more than he wanted to be there, and it had nothing
to do with her stub' born independence and everything to do with a hot kiss
on the side of the road that neither of them had forgotten.  It was there
between them every time their eyes met.  And just thinking about it made him
sweat.

He had no business being here, he thought irritably.  He should have called
one of the other deputies to do this, but now it was too late and he was
stuck.  He'd do them both a favor by making a quick check and getting the
hell out of there.

  But he made the mistake of taking a quick look around, and
just that easily, he was intrigued.  He didn't know what he'd expected, but
it wasn't this.  Neat and cozy, with the kind of knickknacks and doodads that
were noticeably absent in his own house, it was not the kind of place he
would have pictured as belonging to a career woman.  It was too warm, too
domestic, crying out for kids and a.  husband and a dog or two.  Without
expending any energy at all, he could imagine toys scattered about, a man's
pair of well-worn slippers by the overstuffed chair angled next to the small
fireplace, and Sydney glowing with happiness as she puttered around in the
kitchen fixing supper for her faro' fly

But it wasn't just any man she cooked for, it wasn't just any man who
fathered her children.  In the blink of an eye, the fantasy changed and the
man who was missing from the picture, the man she shared her life with and
spent her nights loving, was him.

Which only went to show that he'd been working too hard, he thought angrily,
snapping back to reality with a hastily swallowed curse.

Because some things just weren't ever going to happen for him, and happily
ever after was one of them.  He'd accepted that the day he woke up in the
hospital to learn that he'd been condemned to hell by the bullet in his back.
Sydney might tempt the devil himself, but wanting her until he burned wasn't
going to change a damn thing.

His.  was a solitary existence--for life.

Vowing not to forget that again, he strode into the kitchen to check the lock
on the back door.  As Sydney had claimed, it had the same type of lock as the
one on the front door and nothing short of a Sherman tank was coming through
it without a key.  The windows, on the other hand, were another matter.

Examining the latch of the double-wide windows that overlooked the backyard,
Dillon could only swear and shake his head.  It had been new
once--around the end of World War H--and had no doubt been state-of-the-art
for that time.  But so had black-and-white TV's.  Technology and criminals
had changed, however.

Any burglar worth his salt could snap that pitiful excuse for a security
system in two simply by jimmying the sash with a screwdriver from the outside.

And unless Dillon was mistaken--and he prayed to God he was--every other
window in the house had a latch just like it.

Chapter 7.

Returning to the living room, where she was impatiently waiting
for him, he said,

"We're going to have to do something about your windows."

Surprised, she glanced over at the double set of paned windows that
overlooked the front drive.

"Why?  What's wrong with them?"

"Everything!"  Incensed that she'd been so careless with her own
safety--anyone could have broken in in the middle of the night and knocked
her senseless!  --he strode across the room and jerked back the curtain to
show her the problem.  "Look at that latch!  My aunt Mabel could snap that
thing off with one hand tied behind her back, and she's eighty-three.
Dammit, Sydney,-these things should have been changed years ago?

Wound up and just getting started, he would have said more, but the sudden
flare of headlights flashed against her front windows as a car pulled into
the drive, cutting him off.

Llnaa lUrner ZcD His eyes flying to hers, he asked sharply,

"Are you expecting anyone?"

"No, of course not.  It's nearly midnight!"

At another time, he would have been amused by her quick, indignant reply, but
now he was too busy trying to figure out who the devil her unexpected visitor
was.  He didn't think it was the lowlife from the Crossroads--if he'd have
come after her, he'd have made damn sure she didn't see him until it was too
late--but Dillon-wasn't taking any chances.

, Quickly dropping the curta:m, he pulled her back from view.

"Check the dead bolt," he said QUIETLY as he positioned himself next to the
window that gave a clear view of the front porch.  In the sudden s'fience,
tension thickened like a cold fog.

Standing well back out of sight, Sydney gasped at the sight of the gun Dillon
suddenly pulled from beneath his jacket.

"What are you doing?"  she gasped.

"Making sure that's not trouble coming up the walk," he replied, using the
barrel of the .  38 to carefully lift one edge of the thin curtain that
covered the window.  The set of his shoulders rigid, he peered out at the man
who was already starting up the porch steps.  only to laugh shortly and shove
his gun back into the shoulder harness concealed under his jacket.

"It's Riley."

"Thank God!"  Relief flooding her in a dizzying rush, Sydney released the
breath she hadn't even realized she was holding.  She wasn't the type to jump
at shadows, but for a second there, her knees were knocking loud enough to
beat the band.  And she hadn't liked the feeling one little bit!

She'd never cowered behind a locked door in her life and she wasn't about to
start now just because a murderer had got ten a little too close to her for
comfort!

  Moving to the front door, she unlocked it and pulled it open
before Riley even knocked.

"I guess I don't have to ask what you're doing here at this time of night,"
she said by way of greeting as he stepped inside.

"You heard the news."

He nodded.

"As soon as I got back from Tucson.  I stopped by the office before going
home and Joe filled me in on the details."

Glancing past her to Dillon, he said,

"I figured I'd find you here when you weren't at your place.  We've got a
problem."

Actually, they had two, Dillon almost quipped, but something in his friend's
unsmiling face warned him he wasn't talking about the two homicides they now
had on their hands.  His eyes searching Riley's, he said,

"Why do I have the feeling that I'm not going to like this?

What is it?  "

Hesitating, Riley shot a warning glare at Sydney.

"This goes no further than this room for now, Syd.  I'll have your word on
that-."

"If this is about the case, I've already agreed not to reveal anything
concerning the ongoing investigation," she said with a frown.

"But when this guy's caught, I'm coming out with the full story."

"Of the murders," he agreed.

"But you'll have to clear the rest of this with Dillon.  It's his story."

His gut twisting with apprehension, Dillon was liking the sound of this less
and less.

"Spit it out, Riley.  I can handle Sydney.  What's going on?"

"I got ac all from Quinn Powell while I stopped by the office," he said
reluctantly.

At the mere mention of his former supervisor, a man they'd both worked with
at the DEA, Dillon braced for a blow.  Quinn wasn't the kind to go to the
trouble to track him down to talk about old home week--unless he had bad news.

"And?  What did he want?"

"Carlos Santiago escaped from prison.  He's got every
available man out hunting for him, but he thought you'd want to know."

Dillon took the news like a punch to the gut.  Sucking in a sharp breath, he
could only manage one word.

"When?"  "Almost four weeks ago."

"Four weeks!  Son of a bitch!  And Powell just now decided to call?

What the bell's he been waiting on?  "

"He didn't want to worry you, especially when he thought the bastard was
headed for the jungles of South America.  But he and his men have exhausted
every lead, and there's been no sign of Santiago anywhere.

Powell's afraid he's headed for New Mexico.  "

If the rage choking him hadn't been so intense, Dillon would have laughed
bitterly.  Not only had Santiago headed for New Mexico, he was already there.
He had to be--it was the only thing that made sense.

From the moment the bastard was taken into custody after the shoot-out in
South America, Santiago had vowed on his mother's grave to one day come after
the one man above all others he blamed for his incarceration--Dillon Cassidy.
Covered in his own blood at the time, Dillon hadn't doubted he'd do just
that if he got the chance.  The sleaze had a history of getting revenge, no
matter what, and he wasn't going to forget his grudge against the only man
who had ever sent him to prison.

God, why hadn't he seen it sooner?  he thought furiously.  All the signs were
there.  : the designer drugs that few men in that area had the knowledge or
skills to concoct, the irrational murders by a pusher who should have been
trying to build business, not kill it.

Even Sydney's description of the blond hair on the arms of the man who had
tried to give her aspirin at the Crossroad fit.  Santiago was as pale as his
Spanish ancestors, and if he hadn't been sure the ebke Be Loner selling son
of a bitch was safely locked away, Dillon would have suspected him long
before now.

"Did you tell him the worthless piece of trash is already here?"  he asked
Riley.

"That there's a good chance he's already killed two people just to let me
know he's in the neighborhood and I could be next?"

"What?"  Sydney gasped, startled, glancing back and forth between the two men.

"What are you talking about?  Who's this Santiago character?"

"A drug lord Dillon was responsible for putting away," Riley answered before
Dillon could open his mouth.

A muscle working in his jaw, Dillon had no intention of discussing the past
in front of Sydney, but the present was another matter.

"She saw him, Riley.  Sat close enough to him to talk to him and rub
shoulders with him.  He had a hat pulled low over his face, but as far as he
knows, she can identify him.  We've got to get her out of here."

"Get me out of here?"  Sydney repeated in growing confusion.  "What are you
talking about?  I already told you that the guy at the Crossroads left before
I did.  Even if he is this Santiago jerk, there's no way he could have
followed me home."

"Damreit, Sydney, you don't understand!"  Dillon grated.  "Santiago's not
some two-bit pusher who doesn't have the brains to track a chicken across the
road.  He's a bloodsucking, amoral murderer who'd just as soon squash you
like a bug as look at you... especially if you make the mistake of sticking
your nose in his business."

"He's right, Syd," Riley added griml}/.

"Santiago's so low, he's got to look up to a worm.  And he's got no use for
reporters.  I don't think that he offered you that aspirin by pure chance
tonight, not when it's common knowledge that you and Dillon have been working
together.  If for no other reason than that, he'll come after you."

Dillon had heard enough.

"Go pack a bag," he told Sydney.

"You can't stay here.  And you might as well call your boss while you're at
it.

You won't be going back to work until Santiago is back in custody.  "

Stunned, Sydney could only stare at him.

"You can't be His somber expression as unyielding as stone, he looked her
dead in the eye.

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

No, Sydney had to admit.  There was nothing the least bit humorous in his set
expression.  He looked like a man who had seen hell and had not only lived to
tell about it, but would never smile again.  And for reasons she wouldn't let
herself put a name to, that broke her heart.

There was an emptiness in his eyes that seemed to go all the way to his soul,
a loneliness he made no attempt to fight, and something told her Santiago was
to blame.  How, dammit?  What was it that Dillon wasn't telling her?

Frustrated, suddenly furious with him and Riley for keeping her in the dark,
she plopped her fists on her hips and snapped,

"I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers.  Neither one of you is the
type to run from anything, especially a piece of trash who deals drugs for a
living.  Yet you're both ready to bundle me up and run for cover like the
devil himself was hot on our trail.  Now, are you going to tell me why or do
I have to guess?"

He hadn't meant to tell her--ever.  But the woman could teach a mule a hell
of a lot about stubbornness, and all he could think of was that she was
standing 'there wasting precious time arguing when even now, Santiago could
be setting up an ambush right outside her front door.

Snarling a curse, he turned on her, gray eyes blazing.  "You want the truth?
Well, here it is, lady.  You hit the nail on the head when you called that
blond-haired bastard a devil, because that's exactly what he is.  Thanks to
him, I've   got a bullet lodged next to my spine that's going
to paralyze me one of these days.  That's right," he growled when her eyes
widened with shock.

"I set off metal detectors in airports, sweetheart.  And I live every day
wondering if it's going to be the last one I can walk.  So don't try to tell
me what kind of man Santiago is.  I know?"

Horrified, Sydney couldn't have managed a word if her life had depended on
it.  Helplessly, she looked at Riley and prayed that he'd tell her this was
Dillon's idea of a sick joke.  But she'd never seen him so somber.

"It's true," he said when Dillon muttered a curt

"Talk to her," then stormed outside to cool off.

"Dillon was the one who brought Santiago down, but not before the scumbag
shot him in the back.  The doctors did everything they could, but the bullet
was too close to the spine and they didn't want to chance causing more damage
by trying to move it.  If it ever shifts..."  He shrugged, his silence saying
everything his words didn't.

"That's why he got out of the DEA, isn't it?"  she asked hoarsely.

"He was no longer physically able to handle the job."

"Riley nodded.

"He'd been thinking about retiring but the shooting pretty much forced the
issue.  And even without the injury, his effectiveness was virtually blown.
Santiago had a long reach, even from jail, and put a bounty on his head.
With every lowlife from Maine to Brazil on the lookout for him, just stepping
out of his house in the morning would have been a risk.  So the agency let it
be known that he died on the operating table after the shooting.

Powell--Dillon's supervisor--and the rest of the suits in power thought it
was the only way to keep him safe.  "

"But Snfiago found him anyway."  Staring out the open front door to where
Dillon stood on the porch, Sydney blinked back sudden tears and had to fight
the need to go to Linda 2itrner him.  He wouldn't appreciate her concern and
was too proud a man to eas'dy accept sympathy from her or anyone else, not
when his stiff posture all but shouted back off.

"Because he's a loose cannon with a lot of power," Riley said curtly.

"A psycho without a conscience who'll do anything to strike back at anyone
who dares to oppose him.  And that's what makes him dangerous--there's no
predicting what he's going to do next.  So you'd better do as Dillon says and
pack a bag.  You can't stay here.  If Santiago doesn't know where you live
yet, it won't take him long to find out."

Every independent instinct Sydney had cried out in protest at the thought of
being driven from her home like a scared rabbit by a lowlife like Carlos
Santiago.  BUt Dillon and Riley knew this man, knew the type of violence he
was capable of.  If he really was the man who had offered her that aspirin at
the Crossroads, he hadn't blinked an eye at killing.  Just thinking how close
she'd come to being his next victim made her skin crawl.  For reasons known
only to blmif, he'd let her get away, but she doubted that that was any
accident.  If he was clever enough to track Dillon halfway across the country
to a town that was hardly bigger than a dot on the map, then she had to
believe that he'd known exactly who she was when he'd offered her that
aspirin.  Which meant that if he meant to destroy anyone connected with
Dillon, he'd be back.  for her.

Chilled by the thought, she shivered.

"I'll get my things," she said huskily, and grabbed a suitcase from the hall
closet before hurrying into her bedroom to pack and call Harry at the paper.

"I hate to leave you in the lurch this way," she told the older man as soon
as she explained the situation to him a short while later.

"I

can't even tell you when I'll be able to come back in.  "

  "So we'll see you when we see you," Harry said with a shrug
she could picture all too easily in her mind.

"Just don't take any chances.  I mean it, Sydney.  No s.  tory is worth
getting killed over.  This Santiago character sounds like a nasty son of a
gun, so lay low like the sheriff' and Dillon suggested.  We'll manage to get
by until it's safe for you to come back."

"I'll keep a journal and send you updates," she promised.  "The readers'll
love it."

"Now, wait a minute, girl.  I don't know if you should do that," he began.

"It could be risky" -- If the situation hadn't been so serious, she would
have laughed at that.  She was taking a risk, all right.  by going off with
Dillon into the boondocks.

"It'll be great," she assured him quickly before hanging up.

"I'll be in touch when I can."

Fifteen minutes later, her suitcase and laptop computer stoged in the small
back seat of her Jeep, she stood next to Dillon as Riley finished giving them
directions to an old house in the desert where they would be safe until
Santiago was in custody.

"It used to be the old Henderson place, but the family died out except for
some cousin in California who finally sold it to the Rawlings family several
years ago.  The house has stood empty ever since old man Henderson died ten
years ago, but according to Gable, it's still in pretty good shape.  And it's
ten miles from the highway, so you don't have to won'y about anyone spotting
you from the road."

"What about the Double R cowboys?"  Dillon asked.  "They're bound to notice
us.  All it would take would be for one of them to let something slip while
he and his buddies were playing pool at the Crossroads one night, and our
cover would be shot to hell."

"Gable's already thought of that," he assured them.  "The
whole north section of the ranch is fenced with cedar post and he wants to
replace it with steel.  It'll take nearly every man on the Double R to get
that done before the spring roundup starts, and the few that will be left to
tend to the cattle will be his oldest hands.  You can trust them not to talk."

"What about Dilloffs clothes?"  Sydney asked suddenly, frowning.

"And food?  If the house has been empty all this time, don't we need to get
supplies?"

"It's too dangerous to go back to my place for anything," Dillon answered for
him.

"Santiago's bound to have it staked out.  I'll just have to make do with the
clothes on my back."

Riley eyed him speculatively, sizing him up.

"We're close to the same height.  I'll see what I've got in my closet and
send it out with Joe Sanchez, who's going to be guarding you until this is
over.  As for food, there's not much I can do about it tonight since the
grocery stores are already closed.  Joe's going to bring some breakfast stuff
from his house and whatever else you need to get you through the night when
he meets you at the Henderson place within the hour.

That'll have to last you until I can get out there first thing in the morning
with more supplies.  Okay?  "

Sydney wanted to say, no, it wasn't okay.  Nothing about this entire setup
was okay with her--how could it.  be when she was supposed to hole up in the
desert for God knows how long with a man who made her blood throb?  --but how
could she object when, right this very minute, Santiago could be plotting
their deaths?

"That should cover things for now," Dillon agreed, slapping Riley on the back.

"Thanks, man.  I appreciate your help.  We'll take the back roads and drive
around for a   while to make sure we aren't followed.  If you
need to get in touch with me, I've got my cellular."

It had already been agreed upon that Sydney's Jeep with its four-wheel drive
would be more maneuverable in the desert than Dillon's heavier Suburban, so
without quite knowing how she let herself be talked into such madness, Sydney
found herself handing the keys to Dillon and taking the passenger seat like
an agreeable little woman.  She had, she decided, lost her mind.

Within seconds, they had left Riley and her house behind and were racing into
the dark.  Too late, Sydney realized she never should have agreed to taking
the Jeep instead of Dillon's much-larger Suburban.

The Jeep had always been more than big enough for her, but Dilloh's legs were
longer, his shoulders wider.  He seemed to take up all the available space,
and every t'mae he moved,.  even if it was to shift, she found herself
holding her breath in anticipation of his touch.

But he somehow managed to stick to his side of the vehicle, and in the
growing silence, she was sure he must have heard the frantic, disappointed
pounding of her heart.

You're in trouble, Sydney, old girl.  Big trouble.  If you can't take a drive
with the man without getting all hot and bothered, how the devil are you
going to share a house with him for who knows how long without going, quietly
out of your mind?

Wincing at the Caustic inner voice of reason that needled her, she reminded
herself that they weren't two lovers sneaking off in the night to a secret
hideaway in the desert.  Fate had thrown them together into a nightmare, not
a fairy tale.  Oh, it had all the elements--good guy and bad guy and a
girl--but regardless of what happened, there would be no happy ending for
Dillon.  He had a guillotine hanging over his head, and he'd made it dear he
wasn't letting any woman close enough to him to get hurt when it came
crashing down on him without warning.  Only a fool would
allow herself to forget that, and she was no fool.

Suddenly chilled, she hugged herself, wishing they'd hurry up and reach the
old Henderson place.  But Dillon wasn't taking any chances that they were
somehow being followed.  Driving the maze of ranch roads that crisscrossed
the high desert, he turned without warning, backtracked when he thought it
was necessary, and occasionally, to her horror, drove without lights, using
the weak glow of a hunter's moon to light his path.  Only when he was
satisfied that there wasn't another car anywhere in the vicinity did he
follow Riley,s directions to the abandoned house.

They bounced over a poorly marked gravel road for what seemed like forever
before they came to the dark, hulking shadow that had to be the Henderson
homestead.  Joe Sanchez hadn't arrived yet, and in the glare of the Jeep
headlights, the place looked downright spooky, sitting as it was, right in
the middle of a pasture, miles from anything.

There was no yard, no trees, nothing but dust and dirt and the eerie creak of
the broken-down windmill that turned la-z'fiy with the wind.

Decades of exposure to the extremes of the New Mexican weather had stripped
the wood siding of paint and turned it as gray as an old woman, and the
windows were bare and cuoinless.  Sydney had never seen a more desolate
sight in her life.

ut it was a long way from the highway and anyone trying to sneak up on them
by avoiding the drive would have ten miles of desert to travel over first.
And for no other reason than that, she was prepared to love the place.

Which was why she didn't so much as blink when she followed Dillon through
the hack door after he found the light switch.  In the sudden light that
flooded the big, old-fashioned kitchen every flaw was painstakingly revealed.

The ceding was stained from a leaky roof, the linoleum
cracked and curling at the edges, the cabinets coated with a horrible avocado
pa'mt.

Glancing around, she nodded.

"This is going to work out just fine.

It's nothing fancy, but I've worked in a lot worse conditions, and as long as
we've got electricity, water and indoor plumbing, I can put up with just
about anything.  "

Setting her things down on the-usty chrome dinette table in the middle of the
room, Dillon only grunted and lifted a skeptical brow.

Only an eternal optimist could have described the place as "nothing fancy."
It was in need of some major renovations, but that was the least of their
worries now because they wouldn't be staying all that long.  He and Riley
hadn't spoken of it, but they'd both known this place would, at best, provide
only temporary shelter.  Literally, within weeks of breaking out of prison,
Santiago had tracked him all the way across country.  Once the son of a bitch
realized that he and Sydney had gone into hiding, it wouldn't take him longer
than a few days to run them to ground if they were foolish enough to stay in
one spot.  So they would move as much as they had to until he could arrange
to have Sydney safely spirited away to someplace safe, preferably re' des
from Lordsburg.  Then he would deal with the bastard in his own way, and this
time he would be the one who tasted the sweetness of revenge, In the
meantime, they had the night to get through.  Wondering where the hell Joe
Sanchez was, he said gruffly, "According W Riley, there are two bedrooms, one
on each side of the living room.  You want the east one or the west one?"

"The east," she said promptly.

"I like the morning sun," He could have told her that was something he didn't
need to know.  She could have preferred fl.  nnel sheets to silk, cold winter
mornings to warm summer ones, sleeping in on Sundays.  There'd been nights
lately when, he thought of her and such things for hours,
torturing himself.  But that was when they had been separated by miles, not a
single room that could be crossed in a matter of seconds.

His body tightening just at the thought of her availability, he cursed
himself for ever agre6ing to such an insane plan.  The house was, thankfully,
larger than he'd expected, but even a mansion wouldn't be big enough, not
when he had to share it with Sydney.

Picking up her things again, he growled,

"Lead the way."

Not surprisingly, the east bedroom was in just as bad a condition as the rest
of the house.  There was dust everywhere and a rag rug on the floor that had
definitely seen better days.  The old iron bed needed paint, but it seemed
sturdy enough, if you didn't mind a mattress that tended to sag in the middle.

Dillon took one look at it and wished he hadn't.  He knew that later, in the
loneliness of his own room, he would picture her there, cocooned in the
middle of the bed, her hair tousled and loose about her shoulders, her soft,
Imnpfing body relaxed in sleep.  Was she a heavy sleeper or a light one?
Would she wake instantly if he crawled in beside her or only murmur in her
sleep and roll toward him to snuggle close?

Bothered by the need to know, he muttered a curse under his breath and set
her things on the floor just inside the door.

"I'm going to check out the rest of the place while you get settled in," he
said stiffly, turning to beat a hasty retreat.  "Heller if you need anything."

He was gone before she could open her mouth, and Sydney had to admit it was
for the best.  The house was too quiet, their isolation too complete, their
awareness of each other too strong for either of them to be comfortable in
the other's company for long.  She'd seen the way his eyes had lingered on
the bed and had felt her own heart jump in re-spouse.  The mattress needed to
be pulled out onto the porch   for a good beating, then turned,
but her throat had closed up just at the thought of asking him to help her.

He wasn't here to set up house with her, she reminded herself sternly.  And
she couldn't let herself fall into the trap of thinking that he was or she'd
never be able to walk away from here--and him--with her heart intact.

Her chin set stubbornly, she moved to the bed and started tugging on the
mattress.  It was heavier than she'd expected and hard to get a handle on.
Muttering curses, she tugged and pushed and still only managed to drag it
haft off the bed.  Finally climbing onto the rusty springs, she balanced
herself precariously, shoved her shoulder under the mattress and finally sent
the blasted thing sliding to the floor.

Dust immediately rose in a cloud, mushrooming around her.

She was still coughing, tears str'mg down her face, when Dillon appeared in
the open doorway.

"What the devil are you doing in here?

I could hear you all the way out in the barn.  "

"Trying to g-get the mat-tress outside to beat the d-dust out of it,"

she choked out.

"Why bother?"  he retorted, a crooked half smile tugging up one corner of his
mouth as his amused eyes skimmed over her dirty face and clothes.

"You've already done it in here."

Wrinkling her nose at him, she started to tell him to save the smart remarks
for the peanut gallery, but the sudden glare of headlights flared in the
distance and her heart jolted in alarm.

"That better be Joe Sanchez coming up the drive or we've got trouble," she
said, nodding to the curtainless window.

Dillon swore and reached for the light switch, immediately plunging the
bedroom into darkness, but the precaution wasn't necessary.  In his patrol
ear, Joe Sanchez flicked on his light bar for just a second, s'fiently
identifying him self, before quickly dousing it.  In the
darkness, Dillon let out a slow breath and turned the ceding light on.

"It looks like backups here.  I'll go help him unload."

A husky man of medium height, Joe Sanchez was a likable, easygoing guy who
never seemed to be in a hurry.  A typical good old boy, he talked as slow as
he moved, always had a twinklein his black eyes and was the last person
anyone would ever mistake for a tough-as-nails cop.  Appearances were'
deceptive however, and Joe was, in fact, one of Riley's sharpest deputies.
He had eyes like a hawk, especially at night.  if anyone could spot Santiago
trying to sneak up on them in the dark, it was Joe.

Parking in the barn next to Sydney's Jeep, he climbed out of his patrol car
with lazy grace and greeted Dillon with a grin.

"When Riley said this place was a little wild, he wasn't kidding.  I thought
I was going to lose an axle on that drive.  Is the house as bad as it looks?"

"Close," Dillon said, chuckling.

"But Riley swears the roof doesn't leak, so I suppose that's some
consolation.  Let me help you with some of that stuff."

The trunk of the patrol car was packed solid with everything from sheets and
blankets to food from Joe's own kitchen to the jeans and shirts that Riley
had tossed in.  for Dillon.  Sydney came out to help them carry it all in,
then Dillon got Joe to help him carry her mattress out on the porch, where
she beat the stuffing out of it with the old broom she found in the kitchen
closet.  By the time the mattress was back on her bed and she'd given
Dilloffs the same cleaning, it was going on two' in the morning.

Exhausted, his back tight and crying out for a rest, Dillon finally climbed
into bed a few minutes later.  After his years with the DEA, when he'd
learned to grab a few winks where he could, he should have gone right to
sleep.  Joe   would be on guard the rest of the night, and if
he saw anything the slightest bit suspicious, he only had to fire his service
revolver into the air to bring Dillon running.  There was nothing to worry
about.

Except the lady sleeping in the bedroom on the other side of the living room.
And Santiago.

In spite of the bullet in his back, he wasn't afraid of the slippery drug
lord.  He knew how the sctunbag's mind worked, how he thought, and if it was
just his own safety he had to be concerned with, D'dlon knew he could handle
him one-on-one.  But there was Sydney to worry about.  Sydney, who, after
years of working the streets of Chicago, thought she knew the criminal mind
but didn't have a clue as to what Santiago, with all his power and money and
lack of conscience, was capable of.  He'd come after her, hurt her, for no
other reason than to hear her scream.

He wanted her safe, dan unit Away from here.  Away from him.  But he knew her
well enough by now to know that she wouldn't go QUIETLY.

Hell, she'd pitch a fit at the mere suggesflon that she walk away from any
story, especially one this hot.  So if she wouldn't leave, he would.

The thought came to him so suddenly that it didn't register at first.

When it did, he knew it was the only solution to an untenable situation.  By
leaving, he would draw Sanflago's attention away from Sydney to himlf, where
it belonged.  And it would put some physical space between them, which at the
moment, he badly needed.

Satisfied that he'd made the right decision, he lay on his.

back staring at the water-stained ceding of his bedroom as the tension slowly
eased out of him.  But it was still another hour before he was able to relax
enough to fall asleep.  And then he dreamed of Sydney, and the images that
haunted him had nothing to do with Santiago.

When they came face-to-face the next morning in the kitchen,
he was edgy and irritated, and she didn't help matters by greeting him with a
grin and cheery good morning.  "Did you sleep well?"

Sleep?  He almost laughed.  How the devil was he supposed to sleep when she
kept wandering in and out of his dreams like she owned them?  And did she
have to look so damn good at seven-thirty in the morning?  The sun was
shining and so was she, her hair glinting with red and gold as it fell in
waves to her shoulders.  Frustrated, he found himself bat fling the need to
touch her just to see if she was as soft as she looked.

"Dillon?"  Her blue eyes starting to crinkle with barely suppressed humor,
she waved her hand in front of his face.  "Hey?  Are you in there?"

Lost in his thoughts, he jerked back to awareness to find himself staring
down at her like a man struck dumb.  Heat rose uncomfortably in his face.
Good God, was he blushing?  HIS brows snapping together in a fierce frown, he
turned away to grab a disposable cup from the counter and pour himself a cup
of coffee from the pot on the stove.

"Yeah," he rasped in a voice as rough as the gravel road' that led to the
house.

"But don't expect all cylinders to be working until after I've had some
coffee.  And maybe not even then."

"Ah," she said, smiling as the light dawned.

"You're not a morning person."

Grunting, he took a long sip of the scalding liquid and tried not to notice
the curve of her mouth', but it was impossible.  Heat burned in his middle,
and it.  had nothing to do with the coffee, Heading for the back door
suddenly, he said shortly,

"I'm going to go out and spell Joe.  I imagine he's ready for some sleep."

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the smile fall from her
face and wanted to kick himself for being such a bastard.  But he didn't turn
back and apologize.  Letting the screen door slam behind him, he found Joe
standing in the shadow of the barn, a pair of binoculars lifted to his eyes
as he slowly studied the back half of the property one last time before the
end of his shift.

Only when he was convinced that the desert was as empty as it appeared did he
drop the field glasses and turn to Dil-lore His gaze taking in his unshaven
face and tired eyes in a single glance, he smiled.

"I won't ask if you had a rough night--you look like a bad stretch of road,
man."

"Oh, God, another morning person," Dillon groaned.  "I'm surrounded by them."

Chuckling, Joe pulled the binoculars from around his neck and handed them to
him.

"I think that's my cue to cut and run.  It's been quiet as a church out
there," he said, nodding to the endless stretch of arid grasslands that
surrounded the house and barn on all sides.

"Santiago would have to be crazy to try anything during the day, but from
what Riley says, the man's a few doughnut holes short of a dozen, so go
figure.  Holier if you need me."

"Don't worry, I will," Dillon assured him and sent him off to bed.

Knowing there was no.  such thing as being too cautious, he lifted the
binoculars to recheck the land Joe had just inspected and satisfied himself
no one was about.  Only then did he move to the house to take up a position
on the front porch to wait for Riley and acquaint himself with the lay of the
land between the house and the highway ten miles to the north.  He was still
there fifteen minutes later when he spied Riley's patrol car slowly making
its way over the pot-hole-laden drive.

More convinced than ever that the decision he'd come to last night was the
right one, he announced his intentions just as soon as he'd
given his friend a report on the lack of activity during the night.

"We need to talk," he said fiafiy, leading the way to the barn, where they
wouldn't be overheard.  "This isn't going to work."

"What?"  Riley demanded, frowning as they entered the shadowy interior of the
building.

"You just said you had a quiet night."

"We did, but dam reit Riley, you can't expect me to sit around here twiddling
my thumbs while you and your men put your lives on the line looking for
Santiago!  And don't tell me that's your job," he added quickly when he
opened his mouth to do just that.

"The bastard was my problem before he was yours, and he wouldn't be.  here at
all if it wasn't for me.  So I'm going looking for him."

"The hell you are!"

"And I want you to take Sydney into protective custody," he continued,
ignoring Riley's explosive growl as if he hadn't spoken.

"It's the only way I can be sure she'll be safe and not go out looking for
the damn man herself."

 "You can't be serious."

Dan unit Riley, this isn't a joke!  I know how this jerk thinks" "And he
knows you," Riley replied.

"He knows you'll come looking for him just like you did before.  Only, this
time, he wants you as badly as you want him and he won't wait around for you
to find him.  Why should he?  He wants revenge and he can get that by taking
you out with a high-powered rifle the second you show your face in public.

And he won't bother with shooting you in the back again, either.

This time he'll shoot to kill.  "

He was right and they both knew it.  Snarling a curse, Dillon hit a support
post with the flat of his hand, but the sharp sting did little to relieve his
mounting frustration.

"I

.  t e Loner want to help," he said tersely.

"And I can't do it by sitting around here watching the grass grow."

"You can't go after him, either."  Riley hated to bring up the subject of
Dillon's back but knew of no other way to make him see reason.

"I'm sorry, man, but you know yourself you're in no shape for this kind Of
thing.  That damn bullet could move at any time and you'd be a sitting duck.
Santiago would kill you, and I'd have to come after him.  Then we'd both be
dead when Becca got through with me.  Is that what you want?"  Against his
will, Dillon had to smile at the thought of his friend's spunky wife taking
her much-larger husband to task.  If anyone could do it, it was Becca.

"It wouldn't hurt you to be brought down a peg or two, but I'd just as soon
not be the cause."

"Then stay here and watch Sydney yourself," he re-totted.  "The agency's
sending two agents from Tucson to help me with the case, but Syd's the one
who can be a real handful.  If she gets it in her head that she's missing out
on the best part of this story, it's going to take more than Joe to stop her
from taking off like a bat out of hell.  I'd feel a lot better knowing that
you were here to help."

Dillon could have argued that there would be no need to watch over Sydney if
he got busy and tracked Santiago down himself, but he and Riley went back a
long way and he recognized the unyielding set to his friend's jaw.  He wasn't
going to budge on this and would, in fact, put Dillon in protective custody
himself' if he thought he was about to do something foolish.  Not intending
to give him the chance, Dillon gave in--for now--and told him what he wanted
to hear.

"All right, we'll play it your way and see what the DEA can do.  I just hope
they don't send you a couple of rookies."

Chapter 8.

Standing just outside the wide double doors of the barn, the cup of
coffee she'd poured for Riley cooling in her hand, Sydney hadn't meant to
eavesdrop.  When she heard the car in the drive and seen the two men head for
the barn, she'd just intended to bring Riley some coffee and catch up on the
latet news.  The second she realized they were arguing, she'd stopped, not
wanting to intrude.  Then she'd' heard her Resentment sparkling in her eyes,
she was half tempted to storm' inside and give Dillon Cassidy a piece of her
mind.  The rat!  So he thought he'd talk Riley into locking her up in
protective custody, then take off after Santiago himself, did he?  Just let
him try it!  He might have fooled Riley 'into thinking he was willing to play
it his way for a while, but she knew bull when she heard it.  Dillon wasn't
the type to sit on the sidelines for long.  Santiago was his fight, and every
in-st' tact she possessed told her he was going after him.

And she   was going with him--come hell or high water.  He just
didn't know it yet.

Silently retreating to the house, she was puttering around the kitchen when
Riley came in with the groceries he'd brought.  He was in a hurry to get back
to work tracking down Santiago and couldn't stay to chat, which was just fine
with Sydney.  He knew' her too well.  If he'd have stopped to take one good
look at her face, he would have instantly known something was up.  He didn't,
however, and left almost immediately with the promise to be back when he
could.

After that, there was nothing left for Sydney to do but wait .  Over the long
course of the day, Dillon only came inside for food and bathroom breaks, and
Sydney gave him the distance he seemed to want.

But he was never out of her sight for long.  She watched him from the windows
of the house, watched him study every inch of the surrounding territory and
the movement of the sun in the sky.  Separately, they both waited for the
night.

She had to give him credit--if she hadn't overheard him in the barn, she
would have never guessed he was plotting anything.  He lounged in the shade
of the porch as though he didn't have a care in the world, while inside, she
paced like a nervous expectant father, unable to sit still.  By the time Joe
finally woke and took the next watch, she was ready to eli rob the walls.
Dillon only laughed at the deputy's jokes and seemed totally resigned to an
extended stay.

But when it was time for bed and they both retreated to their separate rooms
and the house was shrouded in darkness, Sydney knew the time had come for
Dillon to make his move.  A quick glance out the window assured her that Joe
was making his rounds--a mere shadow in the darkness, he s'fienfiy patrolled
the perimeter of the ranch compound.

Relieved, she quietly let herself out of her room and
crossed the living room to Dilloh's.

Slipping quietly into his room, she would have sworn she hadn't made a sound.
But he was standing by the bed, throwing clothes into a plastic grocery bag,
and whirled the second she stepped across the threshold.  A large,
threatening shadow in the darkness, he snapped, 'What the hell do you think
you're doing?  "

Startled, she froze, her heart jumping into her throat and irritating her no
end.

"Going with you," she retorted, carefully keeping her voice as low as his.

"And don't try to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.  I heard you
in the barn with Riley--he may have swallowed that bull you were feeding him
about playing it his way, but I know better.  You're go' rag after Santiago
yourself and I'm going with you."

"Think again, sweetheart," he snorted, turning his back on her to resume his
hurried packing.

"I work alone."

Not surprised by his attitude, Sydney closed the door behind her and leaned
back against it, prepared to wait him .  out if she had to.

Short of physically removing her, which she didn't think he could do with his
back, there was no way he was getting past her without her cooperation, and
that was going to cost him, Cocking her head, she studied him in the darkness.

"You have got to be the stubborn eat man I've ever met.  You've got a bullet
in your back that could take you out of the hunt at any time, and you still
think you can go after the man who put it there by yourself.  Do you have a
death wish?  Is that what this is all about?"

"No, of course not!"  ; "Then you'd better take me with you.  I'm pretty good
with a gun, and I can help get you to safety if your back freezes up."

  No!  Every self-preserving instinct Dillon possessed cried
out in protest.  He couldn't get her out of his head as it was--going into
sure danger with her would only make it worse.  He wanted her safe, dam reit
not tagging along after him.

But she had a point, he silently acknowledged, swearing under his breath.
One that he couldn't dismi as easily as he'd have liked.

Santiago was just like a coyote, sniffing out a weakness in his prey and
using it to his advantage.  If he caught scent of the least vulnerability,
he'd be on him so fast that he wouldn't have time to so much as pull his gun
before he'd tear him to shreds.  With Sydney along, it would be two against
one.  And she could cover his back.  If she could shoot half as good as she
did everything else, they'd at least be able to hold their own.

But he didn't like it.  He didn't like it at all.  Wondering how the hell
he'd let her talk him into such insanity, he warned,

"This isn't going to be any picnic.  I'm going to be on the move and roughing
it.

So if you're going to cry about no hot water or even a bathroom, you'd better
stay here.  I don't have time for whiny babies.  "

Her blue eyes flaring at that, she shot him a resentful look.

"I

never whined in my life.  I don't plan to start now.  "

"Good.  See that you don't."  His voice hardly louder than a murmur, he told
her of his plan to slip out when Joe came in for a bathroom break.

"Take only what you need and bring it in here when you've got it all
together--we'll leave through the window.  If we're lucky, Joe won't even
know we're gone until he notices your Jeep is missing.  By then, it'll be too
late to stop us."

Nodding, Sydney sotmdlessly pulled open the door.

"I'll be right back."

She was as good as her word, silently returning a few minutes later with a
bundle of clothes, her laptop and a smaller bundle of nonperishable items
she'd piffered from the kitchen.  Just making out the
inquiring lift of Dilloffs eyebrow in the thick shadows, she explained,

"Food.  I've got a feeling we're going to be a long ways from a McDonald's."

"Light-years," he agreed, and moved to the window to wait.   It seemed as if
half the night passed before they heard the back door Open and Joe quietly
make his way to the bathroom.  Her nerve endings tingling with expectation,
Sydney instantly grabbed her things from where she'd laid them on the bed and
quietly hurried across the room.

Dillon was already at the window, carefully easing it open.  Motioning for
her to wait, he silently unlatched the screen and climbed through the
opening.  A heartbeat later, after handing her things through the opening,
she landed with a nearly soundless thud next to him.  In the darkness, their
eyes met, then they were racing for the barn.

Feeling like a kid playing hooky, Sydney nearly choked on a laugh as she
helped Dillon push the Jeep out of the barn.  The keys were still in the
ignition, but they didn't want to alert Joe to their leaving any sooner than
they had to, and the sound of a motor roaring to life would certainly bring
him running.  So they pushed it as far as they dared, then jumped inside when
the slight downhill slant of the drive was enough to start the vehicle
rolling.

Her eyes dancing, Sydney glanced over her shoulder at the dark house.

"Still no sign of Joe.  Do you think he heard us?"

"if he didn't, he soon will.  Hang on, I'm going to start her up."

Shifting into second, he popped the clutch, and the motor immediately roared
to life.  In the quiet of the night, there was no doubt that the sound easily
carried to the house.  Knowing Joe was going to come running any second, Dillon hit the gas and sent them surging forward.  Seconds later,
they were bumping over the rough drive like a runaway mine train barreling
down amountain.

Clinging to her seat, Sydney laughed and hung on for dear life as they left
the ranch house far behind.  The carefree sound warmed Dilloffs insides like
warm honey and for just a second, he found himself forgetting everything but
the woman at his side.  She was enjoying this, he mat:veled, grinning.  Just
like a kid sneaking off in the dark to paper the trees in a stranger's yard.
There was always the danger of getting caught, but she wouldn't worry about
that until it happened.  The fun was in the doing.

God, how long had it been since he'd felt that mad rush of exhilaration?  he
wondered.  That high that came from daring to take a chance, and to hell with
the consequences?  Lord, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like, but just
listening to Sydneys husky laughez brought it all back.  And just for a
second in the darkness, he could almost believe that she could give him back
all that he had lost when Santiago put that damn bullet in his back.

But then his cellular phone rang just as he reached the ranch entrance and
turned onto the highway, and reality ripped through the illusion like a rusty
knife.  Knowing Joe would have called his boss the second he realized they
were gone, he reached for the phone and said dryly into the receiver, "Don't
waste your time," Riley.  You're not going to talk me out of this.  "

"Of all the stupid, idiotic, self-destructive..."  Running out of adjectives,
Riley switched to curses, uncaring that he was turning the airwaves blue.

"Damn it to hell, 'you crazy son of a bitch, you told me you'd give me some
time, and I'm holding you to your word!

You hear me?  So get your skinny butt back to that ranch and stay there
before you get yourself killed!  "

Holding the phone stighfiy away from his ear, Dillon
couldn't remember a time he and Riley had ever argued about anything, let
alone yelled at each other.  He didn't want to lose his friendship, but there
were some things he couldn't do, not even for a friend.

"Sorry, but I can't do that."

"Dammit, Cassidy, don't make me pull rank on you!  You're still my deputy" --
"Not anymore I'm not," he cut in.

"I just quit."  And without another word, he hung up.

Sitting quietly at his side, Sydney said wryly,

"Well, that sounded like it went pretty well.  How ticked was he?"

"On a scale of one to ten?   About a thirty-five."   Wincing, Sydney didn't
have to ask if he was kidding.   She knew Riley.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that.  Now what do we do?"

"Find a place to spend the rest of the night, then talk strategy."

Shooting her a quick look, he said,

"You'd better not be hoping for a hotel 'cause it ain't gonna happen.  From
here on out, we're rouEhing it, lady."

"I can take anything you can, Cassidy.  Besides, I've got my pup.  tent and
sleeping bag in the back, so I'm ready for just about anything."

"You brought a tent?"

She chuckled at his incredulous tone.

"Believe it or not, it's one of the tools of the trade.  I never know-when
I'm going to have to sit on a story overnight, so I started carrying the tent
just in case."

"Well, I'll be damned.  " Shaking his head over her foresight, he peered
through the windshield.

"That definitely changes our options.

This is more your neck of the woods than mine.  Any idea where we are?  "

"On Rawlings land," she said promptly.

"It stretches halfway to Mexico."

 "Where's the ranch headquarters?  We don't want to chance
stumbling across any of the family."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that.  The old home-slead, where Cable and
his wife, Josey, live, is about twenty miles from here, and the rest of the
family is all within a couple of miles of there.  This far south, you're not
going to run into anything but cattle and cactusY " Then look for a gate," he
said.

"Riley will expect us to  get as far away from this area as possible, so
he'll never think to look for us just down the road."

Surprised, Sydney turned from searching for a break in the fence that was
nothing but a blur as they raced down the deserted road.

"You think he'H come after us?"

"He was madder than hell," he said with a shrug.

"If he decided he could hold us both for interfering with his in-vesfigafion,
there's no telling what he might do.  Hold on.  I think I see a gate up
ahead."

Slowing down, he swung off the road and braked to a stop in front of a crude
gate of cedar and barbed wire.  It was held shut by a s'unple loop of wire
draped around a fence post.  Jumping out of the Jeep, Sydney quickly flipped
the wire loop free and dragged the gate wide enough for Dillon to drive
through.  Seconds later, after hurriely closing and latching the gate again,
she was back in th Jeep and they were disappearing over a small rise.  The
only sign that they'd been there at all was the almost invisible tire tracks
they left in the loose dirt near the gate.

On the other side of the rise, the Jeep headlights picll up nothing but
cactus and brush and an occasional rocky ridge.  The moon had yet to rise,
and it was dark as pitch.  And silent.  Not even the breeze whispered in the
night.  Civilization could have been a million miles away.

Cocooned in the Jeep with Sydney, Dillon tried like hell to
ignore the isolation of their surroundings, but he'd set himself an
impossible task.  Sydney only had to breathe for him to be aware of her.
Then the situation turned abruptly dangerous when he helped her pitch the
tent in the first level spot they came to and she insisted he share it with
her.

Eyeing the small nylon structure doubtfully, he said,

"I don't think so."

"But you can't sit up all night in the Jeep with your back the way t is."

"I'll be fine."

"This is ridiculous."  When he only shrugged, she turned as stubborn as he.
'Then we'll both sit up.  "

She'd do it, too, he thought irritably, just to prove that she could.

And tomorrow, neither one of them would be worth a damn.

"All right,"

he said grudgingly.

"Have it your way.  Just don't blame me if you don't get much sleep.  That
thing's not much bigger than a cracker box."

That proved to be an understatement when they both crawled inside and got
situated.  They could hardly move without brushing against each other in the
dark.  Hot, aroused, furious with himself for giving in to her in the first
place, he had no choice but to stretch out beside her.  "Are you okay?"

So close that she couldn't breathe without him feeling it all the way to his
toes, Dillon would have laughed if he could have managed to unclench his
teeth.

"Oh, yeah, I'm just peachy," he drawled.

"How about you?  Am I crowding you?"

"No, I'm fine.  Really.  Are you cold?"

"No!"

"Oh ... well, I brought my sleeping bag just in case.  I can open it up if we
need it .... "   They were as stiff as two strangers who
suddenly found themselves pressed close in a crowded elevator, their
conversation stilted and awkward.  Lying flat on his back, staring blindly up
at the tent only inches above his head, he tried to block out the feel of her
hip just touching his and the innocent brush of her leg, but his nerve
endings were screaming in awareness.  Outside, the temperature was dropping,
but sweat broke out on his brow.  His hands clenched into fists, he fought
the need to turn to her and shifted to give her more room instead.  only to
have her move at the same time.

Arms and legs rubbed against each other, and suddenly a soft feminine breast
was crushed against his chest as she struggled to turn on her side.  Stunned,
they both froze in surprise.  Then Dillon was jerking back, cursing, and
Sydney couldn't seem to catch her breath.

He should have brought up Santiago then and reminded them both of their
reason for being together in the first place, but his brain refused to
cooperate.  All his senses were focused on her--the scent of her, the feel,
the remembered taste of her--making it impossible for him to string more than
a few words together at a time.  His jaw rigid, he said tightly,

"You use it.  I'm fine."  Without another word, he turned on his side away
from her and closed his eyes.

Back off He didn't actually say the words, but Sydney had never been slow on
the uptake and the message came through loud and clear in the darkness.
Don't get any ideas about me.  Don't expect anything from me.  It's not going
to happen.

Chilled, she lay perfectly still, staring at the unyielding line of his back,
and tried to convince herself that the warning wasn't necessary.  He might be
able to make her forget her own name, but she'd learned the hard way not to
read anything into kisses in the dark.  She wouldn't be stupid enough to forget that at this late date.  If her heart was still skipping
beats at the remembered feel of his hard chest against her breast, it was
just because he'd caught her off guard.  That was all it was, just surprise.

"Yeah, and next year, you're going to the moon to cover the next shuttle
landing," she muttered under her breath.  Grabbing her sleeping bag from
where she'd tossed it to the end of the tent at her feet, she unrolled it and
crawled inside.  Beside her, Dillon didn't move so much as a muscle, but she
knew he wasn't asleep.  Casting him an irritated look, she snuggled down into
the enveloping warmth and slammed her eyes shut.  She wouldn't sleep, she
thought grimly, but she could pretend as well as he could.

Within minutes, she was out like a light.

Dillon knew the exact second she fell asleep.  One second she was stiff as a
board beside him, and the next she was breathing softly, the tension draining
right out of her.  His tight jaw gradually relaxing, he let out a slow
breath, wishing he could doze as easily as she did.  But the air that slipped
through the zippered tent opening was already chilly.  And with every drop in
the temperature, he felt it in his back.

He lay there for as long as he could, trying to distract himself by thinking
of a hundred different things, from the old '55 Ford he'd rebuilt from the
ground up when he was sixteen to all the places in the county where Santiago
could be lying in wait for him.  But the pain in his back grew steadily
worse, until it flared into a fire that burned hotter than the flames of hell
and he couldn't stand it a second longer.  Stifling a groan, he eased over
onto his stomach, unzipped the entrance and stiffly crawled out of the tent.

The night breeze, cold and playful, whispered around him as he straightened
and slowly began the exercises his doctor had recommended after he was shot.
Stretching never completely relieved the pain, but it did
help allay it some, and after only a few minutes, he felt the pressure start
to fade to more bearable limits.  His face lifted to the millions of stars
decorating the night sky, he sighed tiredly, half tempted to spend the rest
of the night walking around patrolling the area.  But he was going after
Santiago in the morning and only a fool did that with no sleep.

Turning back to the tent, he silently eased inside.

Surprising himself, he slept after that, but only until his back tightened up
again and he inadvertently moved the wrong way in his sleep.  His defenses
down, not even aware of what he was doing, he came awake with a groan of pain.

At his side, Sydney stirred, a frown working its way across her brow as she
tried to figure out what had disturbed her.  Then she heard it again, a low
moan that jerked her to attention faster than a fire alarm.

"Dillon?"

"Go back to sleep," he grated roughly.

"It's just my back."

Cursing the sleeping bag that clung to her like a drowning victim, she yanked
the zipper down and turned to' him already on her knees.

"You should have woke me sooner.  Maybe I can help."

He laughed at that, the strangled sound holding little humor.  "Help?

Don't you get it, lady?  Nobody can help.  That's the problem.  "

Ignoring him, her hands searched in the darkness.  and encountered fingers
that were as cold as ice.

"My God, you're freezing!  No wonder your back's killing you.  Here, let me
open up the sleeping bag .... " He tried to protest, but she was having none
of it.  Raising up so she could.  tug the sleeping bag out from underneath
her, she unzipped it the rest of the way and unfolded it over both of them
with a snap of her wrist.  The chill in the air was sharp; and the sleeping
bag alone wasn't enough to warm him.  Hesitating, she
studied the rigid line of his back as he lay on his side, facing away from
her.  Every breath he drew in was slow and measured, as if he couldn't manage
anything more and still keep the pain bearable.

Just watching him broke her heart.  It wasn't fair, she raged s'denfiy.  For
God knew how many years, he'd put his life on the line for a job that paid
too LITTLE and asked more of him than it had a right to.  And all he had to
show for it was a pain that was better than the alternative--no feeling at
all.

Wanting to help, needing to touch him, she threw caution to the wind and did
what she'd been longing to do ever since they'd first crawled into the tent.
She lay down beside him under the sleeping bag and boldly pressed up again.
t his back.

Startled, he jumped like a scalded cat.

"Damreit, Sydney, what do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to warm you up," she murmured, her heart thundering in her breast as
she crowded closer, loving the feel of him against her.

"It'll help your back."

Help?  He almost choked on a strangled laugh.  Didn't she realize she wasn't
helping anything?  That she just made him want things he couldn't have?  Her.
He wanted her.  And he didn't even know how it had started.  He could no
longer member what it was like not to have an ache lodged in his gut, a ball
of need that urged him to toss his principles aside and forget that he had
nothing to offer a woman, forget everything but her touch, her warmth, the
passion that was such an inherent part of her and colored everything she did.

Without even trying, she could have tempted a saint--he didn't want to think
about what she could do to him if she set her mind to it.

Knowing that, he should have pushed her away immediately and made it clear he
could no longer tolerate her closeness.  But warmth was already seeping into
  him, slowly easing the constriction in his back.  And she
felt so damn good against him.  Soft and giving, she wrapped herself around
him like a fantasy come to life, heating him from the inside out.  His eyes
closing with a silent moan of pleasure, he promised himself he'd just lie
here for a moment.  After all, what could it hurt?

But a moment stretched into a minute, then a minute into a half hour.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, the thought lodged that he could lose
himself in her and delight in the loss, but tiredness was catching up with
him and he didn't have the strength to care.  Later, he promised himself as
sleep overtook him.  He'd deal with it later.

x, Morning was still a promise away when a lonely mockingbird started to warm
up for its first song of the day.  Sprawled on his back, Dillon heard nothing
but the thunder of his own heartbeat as the woman in his dreams stirred
against him, her breast rubbing against his chest as she settled into a more
comfortable position, the soft warmth of her sigh a moist caress at his
throat.  Instinctively his arms tightened around her.  Soft.  She was so
soft, so sweet, so damn hot.

His fingers blindly searching, he filled his hands with the curve of her
hips, the roundness of her bottom, a low groan vibrating up from the very
heart of.  him as she sleep' fly moved against his arousal.

Murmuring her name, he rolled to his side with her still in his arms, his
mouth roughly seeking hers.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of loving her.  She always came to him
at' the darkest hour of the night, just before dawn when him defenses were
down, stealing into his dreams with a slow, secretive smile that seduced and
promised at one and the same time.  She never spoke, never got in a hurry.
Every move was for his pleasure, every knowing  glide and caress
of her hands and mouth guaranteed to drive him slowly out of his mind.

And for all of two minutes, this tine was no different.  Sleepily kissing him
back, she melted into him, her mouth lazily opening to his with the sweetest
of invitations.  Seduced, he couldn't have resisted her even if he'd tried.
Tan-ghng his fingers in the silken fire of her hair, he slanted his mouth
over hers and deepened the kiss.

At the first hot, wet, enticing taste of her, full consciousness returned
with a dizzying rush.  Stiffenlag, the thunder of his heart loud in his ears
drowning out common sense, he jerked back, trying to clear his head enough to
think straight.  But she was boneless in his arms, m.  lin him, the slow
kisses she dropped along his throat distracting the hell out of him.

He had to stop this, he thought in growing desperation.  She was still
half-asleep and not responsible for her actions.  Still, one of them had to
try to see reason.

"Sydney, sweetheart, you don't know what you're doing" -- "Yes, I do," she
murmured sleepily, nibbling at his ear.  "I'm kissing you and it feels
wonderful."

He groaned, wondering if she was going to regret this when she came to her
senses.  God, she was making this difficult!  "Honey, I think we should talk."

Nipping at his earlobe, she smiled when she felt him stiffen, her blue eyes
wide-awake and dark with wanting in the shadowy light as she drew back just
'far enough so she could look him in the eye.

Lifting her hand to his beard-toughened jaw, she slowly rubbed her thumb
across his bottom lip.

"You don't really want to talk, do you?"

she teased huskily.

"Now?"

Yes.  t the voice of reason thundered in his head, but it was too late.

The blood was already rushing through his veins, and the fire in his loins
was a dozen times hotter than any  pain that had ever burned in his
back.  She was too warm and giving in his arms, the hunger she touched off in
him a living thing that clawed at his insides until he was raw with need.
Cursing himself, he felt his control shatter and couldn't do anything but
swoop down and take her mouth like a man possessed.

Gasping, Sydney clung to him, her head spinning, shaky laughter bubbling up
in her.  Yes!  This was what she wanted, what she'd yearned for from the
moment she'd first laid eyes on him--the wildness, the passion that was there
in the depth of his gray eyes any time their gazes chanced to meet, every
time they kissed.  Oh, he hid it well, but it was there, nevertheless,
carefully kept under lock and key, just waiting to be let free.

His hands rnshing over her, fumbling at the buttons of her blouse, the snap
of her jeans, he didn't give her time to do anything but murmur his name
before he stripped her bare, then tore at his own clothes.  And all the time,
he never stopped kissing her.  Slow and leisurely, hard and fast, he threw
her off kilter with kisses that fired her blood and dazed her senses and left
her reeling, not knowing if she was coming or going.  And she loved it.

Mindless, restless, she was a puppet in his hands, lost to everything but the
desire that swam in her blood.  His clever fingers skimmed over her breasts,
teasingly avoiding her sensitive nipples and the touch that she burned for.
Then, just when she thought he'd never end the sweet torture, he crushed her
close, holding her to him as he rubbed the soft, thick pelt of hair covering
his chest against her breasts.  Startled, she cried out in pleasure.  And
deep inside, the ache that lodged in the core of her femininity began to
throb.

Feverish, she moved against him, but that only turned her blood hotter.
Urgency driving her, her fingers anything but steady as they raced over him
like a hot breeze, she learned the texture of his skin, the
play of his muscles, how to make him groan with just a touch, how to destroy
him, Her hand high on his thigh, she'd barely grazed his hardness when she
suddenly found herself flat on her back, his steely gray eyes glittering down
into her startled blue ones from only inches away, his fingers trapping her
hand between their hot, naked bodies.

Time stopped; neither of them moved.  Tension crackled in the air like a
storm waiting for just the right conditions to break.  Then his fingers moved
on hers, teaching her how to please him, and the tempest broke over them with
an intensity that left them both gasping.

Her name a hoarse groan that seemed to come from the depths of his being, he
kissed her until her lungs were crying out for air, her body crying out for
him.  And then he was surging into her, coming home, claiming her, making her
his as his heart hammered in time with hers.  Nothing had ever felt so right.
Tears welling in her throat and filling her eyes, she wrapped her arms and
legs around him and held him as if she would never let him go.

Outside, the sun peaked over the horizon, and within seconds, the shadows
that filled the tent vanished.  Her eyes closed to hold in the light that
seemed to glow from somewhere in the region of her heart, Sydney heard a
mockingbird break into song and knew just how it felt.

If she'd had the energy, she would have been humming.

So this was what all the hullabaloo was about, she thought dreamily, unable
to stop smiling.  How had she managed to miss out on it all these years?  She
and Adam had made love and she'd thought at the time it was nice enough, but
even then she hadn't seen why poets had immortalized the act or songwriters
crooned on about the wonder of it.  Why hadn't somebody told her?

 1  Too replete to move, content just to hold him, she could
have lain there all day with Dillon's face buried in her hair, his breathing
a ticklish caress against her neck.  But as she lifted her hand to the thick
hair at the nape of his neck, he rolled off of her and turned on his back,
his movement stilted and jerky as he searched for and found his jeans.  Not
sparing her so much as a glance, he tugged them on, the sound of his zipper
being jerked up loud in the suddenly cool s'rlence.

He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to.  His back was stiff with regret,
his jaw--what she could see of it--locked tight on the words he wouldn't say.
Hurt, feeling horribly exposed, Sydney grabbed the sleeping bag and dragged
it to her breast, her heart hammering against her ribs as she scooted into a
sitting position as far from him as the small tent would allow.

Another woman might have waited for him to say some thing--anything--but his
silence was killing her at the same time that it closed her out, and she
couldn't stand it.  Refusing to huddle under the sleeping bag, she sat
stiffly, her back ramrod straight as she clutched it to her, and said
huskily, "Don't you think we should talk about this?"

With a vicious jerk, he pulled on his boots.  -"There's nothing to talk
about," he said grimly.

"I lost my head--end of story.  If you're worried about it happening again,
don't be.  It won't."

"Why?"

"Why?"  Stunned by the question and her attitude, he jerked around to stare
at her as if she'd lost her mind.  "Good God, woman, do you even have to ask?
I would have thought it was perfectly obvious."

"Then I must be incredibly dense," she said simply.  "Explain it to me."

"I have nothing to offer you" -- "I don't remember asking
anything of you," she cut in, bristling.

"You didn't have to," he snapped.

"I've been in your house."  Cursing himself for the inane remark the second
it was out of his mouth, he didn't blame her for looking confused.  "You
don't just live in a house, Sydney.  It's a home.  The kind that's crying out
for a husband and kids and a swing set in the yard.  Somewhere out there,
there's a man who can give you that.  I can't."

For a minute, he thought she was going to hotly claim that he'd read not only
her, but her house, all wrong, but then the temper simmering in her eyes
cooled.  Cocking her head, she studied him as if he were a story that she
couldn't quite figure out.

"For the sake of argument, let's forget what I want and talk about you.  Is
there any medical reason why you can't be a husband and father?"

Bit'ness twisting his mouth, he arched a mocking brow.  "You mean other than
the fact that it's onlya matter of time before I end up in a wheelchair?"

"Your ability to move has nothing to do with whether or not you'd make a good
husband and father," she pointed out quietly.  aIt's what's in your heart
that counts.  "- " Tell that to an eight-year-old who wants to play touch
football with his old man and has to tackle a chair.  Or a wife who only
wants to dance with her husband on their anniversary and he can't even stand
up.  "

He flung the words at her accusingly, as though she were the one who had put
the bullet in his back, and they stung like the sharp flicks of a whip.  Her
eyes hot with sudden tears, she snapped,

"That eight-year-old might not give a damn about football--if he's into'
video games, he'd rather have a dad he can play Pac-Man with.

And as for the wife, she might be so thankful she has her husband to hold her
  during the night that she'd rather have that any day of the
week than a stupid old dance.  "

He gave her a withering look.

"Spare me the fairy tales.  If I want fiction, I'll go to the bookstore."

"Fine," she retorted.

"And while you're at it, spare me the excuses.

It's obvious thig has nothing to do with your back.  You're just not
interested in a relationship.  Why don't you say so and quit beating around
the bush?  I'm a big girl.  I can take it.  "

"I'm not interested in a relationship," he repeated coldly.

"There.  I said it.  Have I made myself clear?"  "Perfectly."

They glared at each other like strangers, the closeness they'd shared only
moments before widening into a chasm that neither could cross.

Because they hadn't made love, she told herself, blinking back tears she was
determined not to let fall.  They'd had sex.  Nothing more.

She'd wanted honesty and she'd got it in spades.  He wanted nothing to do
with a relationship.  Or her.

Her heart battered and bruised, she would have given anything to make the
same claim.  But she couldn't.  Because she already cared more than she
should, and nothing, not even his lack of feelings for her, was going to
change that.

And it was killing her.

But she'd be damned if he'd ever know it.  Her chin lifted haughtily in spite
of the fact that she was sitting naked under the sleeping bag, she said
coolly,

"That's settled then.  If you'll wait outside, I'll get dressed and then help
you take the tent down.  If we're going to find Santiago before he finds us,
we'd better get started."

Chapter 9.

Later, sydney didn't know how she did it.  Dressed in jeans and a
sweatshirt, she crawled out of.  the tent with as much dignity as she could
muster and proceeded to dismantle the tent.  She would have preferred to do
it herself, but Dillon, as cool as she, insisted on helping, and she was in
no shape for an argument.  All business, she didn't so much as flinch as his
hand accidentally grazed hers, but she felt his touch all the way to her
core.  And it hurt, dam reit more than it should have.  Swallowing the hot
lump of tears that lodged in her throat, she quietly shied away.

If he noticed, he didn't say anything, but his jaw was a block of granite and
he didn't seem the least inclined to break the silence that grew colder by
the second.  Without a word, he started to repack the tent in its carrying
case.

Her heart bruised and battered, she would have given anything to be just as
aloof, but she just didn't have it in her.  The silence ate at her until she
couldn't stand it.

"Tell me   more about Santiago," she said, wincing at the edge
of desperation that sharpened her voice.

"What's his MO.?"

For a moment, she didn't think he was going to answer her.  His gray eyes
shuttered in the morning light, he finished repacking the tent, then
deposited it in the back of the Jeep, along with the sleeping bag.

"He's a tricky son of a bitch who doesn't make many mistakes,"

he finally replied stiffly.

"He's not the type to do things on the spur of the moment.  He bides his time
and works out all the kinks, then, when he's covered all his bases and is
sure nothing can go wrong, he strikes."

"So you don't think his breaking out of prison was just a fluke?  A mistake
by a guard that he impulsively took advantage of?"

His mouth curled contemptuously.

"If a mistake was made, he had some of the thugs on his payroll engineer it.
He's too careful to leave anything to chance; By the time he broke out of
that prison, he'd planned this whole scenario down to the smallest detail.
Then he came looking for me."

Something in the way he said the last sentence--as if a final showdown with
the man who had put a bullet in his back was a fated confrontation that was
going to happen regardless of what they did to prevent it--chilled her to the
bone.  Fear clenching in her gut, she wanted to reach out to him, but he'd
already 'made it painfully clear that he didn't want anything more from her
than she'd already given.

Forcing back the hurt that threatened to choke her, she frowned.

"But how did he find you so quickly?  He had to have help" -- "Angelo,"
Dillon retorted, his mouth twisting as if the name left a bad taste in his
mouth.

"He and Santiago have been as thick as thieves for twenty years.  He was his
eyes and ears when he was locked up, and you can bet that Jeep
of yours that he was right there waiting for him when he broke out.

He'd do anything for him, including kill.  "

"Wonderful," she drawled.

"Now there are two of them to contend with.

So where the devil are they?  They didn't just drive into town and take a
room out on motel row.  "

His gaze narrowed on the distant horizon, he studied the endless miles of
ties err that surrounded them.

"No, but they had digs when they got here.  Locating a deserted, out-of
the-way ranch and renting it under an assumed name, complete with references,
would have been a piece of cake for Angelo."

"A deserted ranch, hmm?"  Chewing her bottom lip, Sydney scanned her brain
for a likely place that met that description.

"Last I heard, the Dawson spread was still empty.  And the Crazy Rabbit has
been on the market for years, ever s'nice Cecil Jennings hung himlf from the
windmill when all his cattle died in a drought.  The high school kids say its
haunted."

"Does it have an airstrip?  Santiago wouldn't have chanced driving all.  the
way from Flor!"  da, not when he knew the Feds were scouring the country for
him," he added.  " They set up roadblocks the second they reali ed he was
loose, and he knew he had to get out of there fast.  He's a licensed pilot
and has his own plane.  If Angelo met him somewhere with the Cessna, he could
have been in the air before the DEA had even been notified of his escape.  "

"Then we'd better check out the Dawson place first," Sydney replied.

"I know it's got an airstrip, but I'm not so sure about the Crazy Rabbit.  I
was only out there once--to cover Cecil's death--and as far as I know, he
didn't have a plane."  ' Since she was more familiar with the area than
Dillon, Sydney drove, taking little-used back roads as they headed for Frank
Dawson's place, which was twenty miles away in  the southeast
corner of the county.  They didn't pass a single vehicle, but Dillon didn't
relax his vigilance for a second.  Seated tensely next to her in the
passenger seat, he kept an eagle eye out for Riley and the DEA agents who, if
they chose to, could arrest them for interfering in a government
investigation.

Her gaze lifting to her rearview mirror for the umpteenth time, Sydney let
out a sigh of relief.  The road behind them was still empty--she just prayed
it stayed that way.

"How are we going to know the agents if we do stumble across them?  Do you
know them?"

"No.  Riley said they were rookies, but don't worry.  I'll know them when I
see them."

"How?  They're not going to be wearing a sign around their necks with DEA s
on it."

For the first time since they'd made love, the sternness that hardened his
features softened slightly.  He didn't smile, but there was a definite twitch
to his lips.

"They might as well be.  They've got a look to them you can't mi."

Now that he mentioned it, Sydney knew exactly what he was talking about.
She'd noticed it before but hadn't been able to put a finger on what it was
about him that reminded her of Riley and vice versa.

They were both tall and dark-headed, but there the physical resemblance
ended--except 'for a self-confidence, a stay hess a quiet fearressness that
stuck out all over both of them.  And now she knew why.  It came from putting
their lives on the line and facing the worst that humanity had to offer, then
living to tell about it.

The Dawson ranch came into view then, effectively ending the conversation.
Her hands tightening on the steering wheel as Dillon straightened in his
seat, Sydney lifted her foot from the accelerator and let the Jeep coast as
she nodded toward the cattle guard a hundred yards in front of them on the
right.

"That's the back entrance," she said quietly.

"If you stay on this road another mile, it intersects the
highway that runs right in front of the main gate."

 "Where's the main house and landing strip?"

"From this entrance?  Maybe a couple of miles.  I'm really not sure.

They're much closer to the main entrance.  In fact, you can just make out the
house from the road.  "

It was a tempting thought, just driving by and checking the place out from
the Jeep as they shot past, but Dillon knew Santiago too well.

Wherever the bastard was, he'd have guards posted to watch every vehicle that
came within a half a mile of the place.

"We'd better play it safe and scope the place out from here.  Let me check
the drive first, though, and see if anyone's been through here recently."

Climbing out as soon as she braked to a stop in front of the cat fie guard,
he knelt down to examine the dusty dirt drive that led in and out of the
ranch.  If it had been used anytime in the past few weeks, there was no sign
of it.  Which didn't necessarily mean that Santiago wasn't using the
place--he was clever enough not to leave tracks.

"Nothing there," he told Sydney as he rejoined' her in the Jeep.

"But let's not take any chances.  Go slow so we won't kick up any dust, and
stop the second you get a glimpse of the house."

Moving at what was little more than a crawl, they crossed the cattle guard
and carefully made their way deeper into the interior of the ranch.  It was a
nerve-racking pace, and time dragged.  His eyes narrowed on the road in front
of them, Dillon leaned forward in his seat as they approached a blind curve
around a pile of huge weathered boulders that looked as if it had just been
dumped there by the hand of God.

"Let's stop here," he said suddenly, not liking the looks of things.

He'd learned a long time ago not to go rushing around a corner without
knowing what was on the other   side.

"I'd rather walk around this than chance coming face-to-face with something
we're not ready for."

Her foot already on th brake, Sydney said agreeably, "That sounds good to
me.  Lead the way."

Grabbing the binoculars from where she'd stowed them behind the seat, she
cased open her door and soundlessly stepped out of the Jeep.  It was still
early yet, and cold, the bite of the wind sharp as it swirled around them.
It could have been twenty below in the shade, however, and it still wouldn't
have been as chilly as Dilloh's eyes as he joined her.  As cold and gray as
an Arctic dawn, they spoke of a resolve that went soul deep.

Shivering, Sydney didn't want to think about the !  dnd of pain he must have
endured to put that look in his eyes.  It must have been horrible, and the
worst of it was, there was nothing she or anyone else could do to change the
past or make his future any brighter, not when he walked around with a bullet
in his back.  Her heart breaking or him she silently followed him around the
curve.

What had once been the headquarters of the Dawson ranch lay a quarter of a
mile away, and even at first glance, it was obvious the place was deserted.
The airstrip was a pothole-ridden accident waiting to happen, and the roof of
the house and barn were both in sad shape.

Sydney counted six broken windows just on one side of the old ranch house and
didn't see how anyone could stay there even one night without being very
uncomfortable.

Dillon, however, was taking no chances.  He held the binoculars to his eyes,
examining every inch of the place several times, searching for signs of life.
But there were none.  Satisfied, he dropped the binoculars.

"If Santiago's been here, he's gotten a lot less particular than he used to
be.  How far's the other place from here?"

"" The Crazy Rabbit?  About fifteen miles.  It's farther
north, back toward town.  "

"Can we reach it by avoiding the main-roads?"

"It'll take some maneuvering, but it can be done.  It'll just take longer."

"We've got all day," he drawled, and turned back toward the Jeep.

If they'd taken the most direct route, they could have been scoping out the
Crazy Rabbit Ranch in a LITTLE under fifteen minutes.  The more circuitous
one, however, took time, and it was another twenty minutes before they turned
onto a narrow road and Sydney announced, "The main entrance is on the left
two miles ahead at the end of the road.  As far as I know, there is no back
one."

Dillon straightened, interest sparking in his eyes.

"The end of the road, huh?  It sounds like this place might have definite
possibilities.  It's private.  Santiago wouldn't have to worry about being
spotted by someone driving by" -- Her gaze directed straight ahead, Sydney
said,

"Uh-oh.  Looks like someone's had trouble.  I wonder what they're doing way
out here."

Dillon took one look at the car a half mile ahead that appeared to be
stranded on the side of the road with its hood up and he said sharply,

"Pull over behind that cactui.  If we're lucky they haven't seen us:" "Who?"
Confused, Sydney instinctively did as he said, abruptly turning off the road
behind a large ocot'dlo cactus.  The spindly arms of the plant didn't offer
much cover, but there was nothing else to hide behind.  Turning to Dillon,
who was already studying the scene up ahead with the binoculars, she said,

"It's just a couple of guys who had car trouble.  Why are we hiding?"

"Because those guys," he retorted, "have no more had car trouble than we
have.  They're DEA.  Take a look."

  "You're kidding!"  Taking the binoculars from him, she
adjusted them to her eyes and almost laughed at the sight of the two young
men trying their best to look stranded.  They weren't dressed in suits as
she'd half expected, but they might as well have been.  Their new jeans were
starched, their Stetsons tilted at a comical angle and, judging from the
gingerly way they walked around the car, they were having a tough time
adjusting to new cowboy boots.  Together, they gave a whole new meaning to
the term tenderfoot.

Grinning, Sydney lowered the binoculars.

"Surely they don't think they're fooling anyone?  They look like a couple of
extras out of a Oene Autry movie."

"Rookies," Dillon said in disgust.

"It sticks out all over them.  Look at the fools.  They're parked right in
front of the entrance to the damn ranch!  Idiots!  Don't they know there's no
way Santiago's there?

If he was, he'd have already killed them and taken off.  C'mon, let's get the
hell out of here.  "

Sydney didn't have to be told twice.  Careful not to spin her wheels in the
loose gravel on the side of the road, she swung the Jeep around in the
opposite direction and beat a hasty retreat.  Still muttering about.  the
incompetency of young jackasses who didn't have the sense to know when they
were in danger, Dillon swiveled around in his seat toward the back to make
sure they hadn't been spotted.

Her own gaze lifted to the rearview mirror, Sydney asked worriedly, "Did they
see us?"

"Hell, no.  They're too busy adjusting the set of their cowboy hats.

Boneheads!  They're hardly old enough to shave, and they think they can catch
Santiago.  "

Shaking his head over the incompetent bureaucrat who sent them there in the
first place, he pulled his cellular phone from his pocket and quickly punched
out the number of the sheriff's office.  The minute the dispatcher came on
the line,  .  he growled,

"Myrtle, this is Dillon.  Patch me through to " Dillon?  " she echoed,
shocked.

"Land's sake, boy, where are you?

Riley's been turning over every rock in the county looking for you.  "

At any other time, Dillon would have been amused by the old-woman's blatant
busybody ness but not today.

"It doesn't matter where I am, Myrtle.  Get Riley on the line.  Now."

"Well, you don't have to get hurry about it," she re-totted, stung.

"Jeez, everybody's in a bear of a mood today.  I don't know what's got your
shorts in a twist, Dillon Cassidy, but next time you want to jump down
somebody's throat, pick on somebody else!"

Struggling for patience, he sighed.

"I'm not in a bear of a mood, Myrtle.  I'm sorry if I was short with you.  I
just need to talk to Riley.  It's important."

"Well, why didn't you say so?"  she said, mollified.  "Hang on and I'll patch
you thrpugh."

Before Dillon could do more than grind his teeth on an oath, Riley was on the
line.

"It's about time you called in.  I was beginning to get worried.  Are you
okay?"

Expecting him to rage at him the way he had the last time they'd talked,
Dillon arched a brow in surprise.

"I think I've got the wrong number.  This can't be the same Sheriff Whitaker
who ordered me to get my butt back to the safe house last night."

Chuckling, Riley drawled,

"Cut the crap, Cassidy.  I was hot that you didn't let me know what you were
up to before you took off, that's all."  His tone turning somber, he added,
"And you were probably right to do it.  Your place and Sydney's were trashed
last night."

  Dillon swore, but he wasn't surprised.  Santiago was
obviously through with his little game of cat and mouse and ready to close in
for the kill.

"Did anybody see anything?"

"No.  The bastard's as slippery as a damn shadow.  I had a man at each house
and he still got past them without them even noticing him.  Any idea yet
where he might be holed up?"

"Not a one."  He told him about the Dawson ranch, then the situation at the
Crazy Rabbit.

"Those two yo-yos better be thanking their lucky stars that Santiago wasn't
there," he concluded irritably.

"You should have seen them.  They were parked right in front of the ranch
entrance like a couple of homesteaders putting down roots.  I couldn't
believe it!  These are the two wonder kids who are supposed to crack this
case wide open?"

Riley swore long and hard in his ear.

"If this is an example of the kind of help we can expect, we're in big
trouble.  I'll get on the horn and see if I can get them reassigned.  In the
meantime, you might as well know--we've got another problem."

"Worse than Fred and Barney trying to trap Santiago?  This I gotta hear."

"Somebody's turning 1-10 into a drug pipeline between Tucson and E1 Paso.
The Feds have confiscated ten shipments in just the last two weeks alone.
And guess, just  where the Feds say it's all cfiming from."

His gut twisting, Dillon didn't have to guess.  He knew.  "" Here.

Santiago's flying it in from South America.  "

"Got it in one," be said approvingly.

"You've got to give the jerk credit--he hasn't wasted any time.  He's already
got a major distribution center up and running, and it's barely been a month
since he escaped.  I don't know how the hell he's done it.  You can't do
something like that from just anywhere.  You've got to have
a runway, trucks--the whole nine yards."

"And that right there limits his choice of hideouts.  From what Sydney tells
me, there aren't that many places around here that are vacant, let alone
equipped with an airfield."

"And the few that are available are going to be the first place we look."

Dillon agreed.

"He knows that.  Which means we need to concentrate on less likely places.
Any suggestions?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."  He rattled off alist of a dozen places that
normally wouldn't appeal to a man who had, through his drug sales, become
accustomed to a more affluent life style But for anyone trying to keep a low
profile, they were perfect.

"I don't see any other way to do this but to divide the list up between us
and check them out separately.  That's going to leave you and Sydney on your
own if you stumble across Santiago, but I can't give you any protection
without tipping the bastard off as to your whereabouts."

"He'll be watching you, that's for sure," Dillon agreed.  "If for no other
reason than to make sure you aren't closing in on him."

Glancing over at Sydney, who had her ears blatantly cocked to the
conversation and her eyes on the road, he said,

"Don't'worry about us.  We'll stick to the back roads and keep our eyes
peeled.  If we see anything, you'll be the first to hear."

He went over the list with him then, deciding which properties they would
each check out.  As soon as he hung up, Sydney said,

"Santiago's up to more dirty tricks, isn't he?  He's flying in drugs."

"And shipping it up and down the interstate between Tucson and E1 Paso like
candy.  The Feds can't stop it."

Her hands tightening on the steering wheel, Sydney felt sick at the thought
of what could happen if Santiago decided to lace crack with
the same aspirin that killed Lawrence Osborn at the Crossroads.

"We've got to stop him before we've got a real disaster on our hands.  What's
the first ranch on the list?"

"The Dry Gulch," he retorted.

"It sounds like a place where snakes hang out."

"Then Santiago ought to feel right at home."  Chuckling, she turned left at
the next intersection and headed for the southwest corner of the county.

"From what I know of the place, there's nothing there but dust and rocks."

The Dry Gulch did, indeed, turn out to be a bust.  Rundown and deserted, the
old windmill near the deserted house creaking eerily in the wind, it had the
look and feel of an old ghost town and gave Sydney the creeps.  Suppressing a
shiver, she couldn't get away from the place fast enough.  Glancing over at
Dillon, she asked,

"Where to next?"

"The High Chaparral.  You know it?  Riley said the Rios family owns it."

Sydney nodded.

"Actually, there's nobody left but a sister, and she moved to town years ago.
Said she couldn't stand the loneliness of the place.  It's pretty remote."

They headed farther south, racing again.  t the clock and the catastrophe
they both knew Santiago could set into motion whenever the mood struck him.
Unwilling to waste time by stopping to eat, they ate on the run, snacking on
the dried fruits and granola Sydney had raided from her kitchen.  Rabbit
food, Dillon called it with a grimace, but it was better than nothing and
allowed them to keep moving.

Unfortunately, the Rios place was as deserted as the Dry Gulch.  This time,
when they stopped to check it out, however, Dillon took the time to stretch
his back.  Then they were moving on.

They drove out two tanks of gas and checked out more than
half of the properties that Riley had suggested, ignoring the tiredness that
pulled at them as the day lengthened.  But then, before either of them was
ready to call it a day, the sun set, enclosing them in shadows that seemed to
come out of nowhere to wrap them in intimacy.  Just that quickly, the
awareness that had been a silent passenger in the Jeep all day was there
between them, a living, throbbing, physical thing that would no longer be
ignored.

Staring straight ahead into the darkness, his expression harsh in the glow of
the dash lights, Dillon said gruffly,

"We might as well find a place for the night.  We've done all we can do for
today."

Her heart thumping just at the thought of crawling back into her tent with
him, Sydney knew she couldn't do it.  She couldn't lay beside him all night
long, so close she could feel every breath he took.  Not after the loving
they'd shared this morning.  Not without going quietly out of her mind.  Up
until the moment she'd gone into his arms and given her-serf to him, she'd
foolishly thought she had some control over the feelings he stirred in her so
effortlessly.  Now she knew better, and it scared her witless.

"There's a canyon about ten miles from here," she said stiffly.

"It forms the western edge of the Double R and runs for miles.  It's pretty'
rough territory, but there's a creek that flows all year and a line cabin
that's kept stocked with food.  Harley told me about it.

The Rawlingses keep it up for their hands, in case they get caught in a storm
or hurt or something and can't make it back to the bunkhouse.

I don't think they'd care if we pitched the tent there and one of us used the
cabin for the night.  "

She couldn't have been any clearer if she'd posted a sign.  Dillon didn't
have to worry about her losing her head--not to mention her heart--again
because it just wasn't going to  happen.  As far as she was
concerned, the time she spent in his arms this morning never happened.  And
even if it did, it wouldn't be repeated; she'd make sure of it.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she expected to see relief
written all over his face, but his expression was shuttered, his thoughts
carefully concealed from her.  "Fine," he said shortly.

"One place is as good as another."

Without a word, she turned onto the rocky path that led to the canyon.

The night sky was thick with stars by the time they reached the cabin, but
their faint glow hardly penetrated the inky blackness that shrouded the
canyon.  Stepping from the Jeep, Sydney glanced around in wonder as her
pupils adjusted to the darkness, unable to believe her eyes.  If she hadn't
known better, she would have sworn the desert was a thousand miles away
instead of just beyond the rocks that marked the entrance to the canyon.

Except for an .  Oemsional mesquite, trees were scarce in the des erst but
here they were thick as thieves--juniper, pine and aspen that caught the
whisper of the wind in their branches and softly murmured in reply.  Their
intoxicating scent filling her lungs, Sydney stood transfixed while some
where off to the right and out of her sight, the creek bubbled merrily.

Delighted, she couldn't believe she'd lived in Lordsburg for years without
even suspecting such a wilderness was nearby.  Huge boulders, like dark,
hulking shadows, seemed to loom in the darkness, while high above the canyon
floor, sheer rock cliffs rose toward the sky, dark, silent sentinels that
stood guard in the night.  Untouched by man except for the rough cabin that
blended in with the trees, it must have looked much the same when the first
pioneers stumbled across it while looking for the California gold fields.

"This place is something else," Dillon said softly, his
husky voice pitched low so that it hardly caused a ripple in the stillness
that surrounded them.

"And you say the Rawlings family owns this?"

She nodded.

"Every inch."

"Then why aren't they living here instead of in the dsert, for God's sake?"

"Kat does," she said, referring to the only sister among three brothers.

"After she married Lucas Valentine, they built a place at the other end of
the canyon.  But you can't run many cows through these trees.  The ranch
headquarters was built by a cowboy looking to get rich after the Civil War,
and evidently he knew what he was doing.  The family's been in the cattle
business ever since."

"Well, they can have the rest of the place--I'll take thin."  Sydney had to
agree.  The canyon had a serenity to it that called to her soul, and had
circumstances been different, she would have claimed a spot on the porch of
the roughhewn cabin and just listened to the soothing murmur of the creek for
hours.  But she wasn't on vacation, and Dillon wasn't with her by choice.
They still had the night to get through, and although separate sleeping
quarters would definitely help, bedtime was still hours away.

Dragging in a bracing breath of pine, she forced a bright smile.

"Well, we might as well get the tent out and set up, then see about supper,"
she said cheerfully as she turned to the back of the Jeep and opened the
tailgate.

"It's been hours since the granola bars ran out, and my stomach's starting to
think my throat's been cut."

Before she could pull out the bright orange nylon bag that held the tent,
however, Dillon was there before her, taking it from her.

"I'll do this," he said firmly.

"You've been driving all day and you're probably tired.  Why don't you go
take a bath in the creek?  By the time you're finished, I'll
have a campfire going, and then we can scrounge around in the cabin for
something to eat."

"Oh, but I couldn't.  You have to be tired, too--'" "I'll take my turn while
you're cooking supper.  Go on," he urged, pressing her bag of clothes into
her arms.

"It doesn't take the two of us to put the tent up."

He had a point, she reflected ruefully.  And she really did need some time to
herself.

"All right," she said, giving in.  "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Take your time," he said, already turning away to find a flat, rock-free
stretch of ground where he could pitch the tent.

"We've got all night, and it's only going to take a few minutes to open a can
of stew and heat it."

We've got all night.

His words dodging her every step as she struck off through the trees toward
the creek, she tried to focus her thoughts on Santiago and the search they
would once again pick up tomorrow, but the solitude of her surroundings made
that impossible.  With every whisper of the wind, she was reminded that they
were alone.  again.  In the majestic quiet of the canyon, she could call out
and only he would hear.  Only he would answer.  And later, when one of them
was in the cabin and the other in the tent, only he and the memory of the
heaven she'd found in his arms would fill her dreams.

Just thinking about it made her heart lurch in her breast.  "Stop it!"

she ordered sternly as she finally reached the creek.

"You're acting like a lovesick teenager.  You're on the trail of one of the
biggest stories of your life and all you can think about is a man who doesn't
want you in his life.  Accept it and get over it, for God's sake!"

Muttering curses, she tossed her makeshift duffel bag to the ground and sat
down on a nearby boulder to tug off her shoes.  Beside her, the creek gurgled
and danced, and be fore she quite realiTed how it happened,
she found herself grinning.

She could have a broken heart later.  Right now she was going skinny-dipping
for the first time in her life and she intended to enjoy it!

She had, thankfully, brought everything she would need for a few nights away
from home, including her favorite Opium-scented soap, and within seconds she
had everything laid out on the grassy bank of the creek.  Her fingers lifted
to the buttons of her blouse, she glanced around, feeling naughty, exposed
and daring at one and the same time.  But there were no Peeping Toms in the
darkness for her to worry about, only Dillon struggling with the tent a
hundred yards away.

Through the trees, she just caught a glimpse of him, the campfire he'd
already built providing enough light for him to see what he was doing.
Reassured, she quickly shed her clothes and sank into the water.  "Oh!"

The water was like ice, straight out of the Arctic.  Gasping, she
instinctively lurched to her feet, shivering, only to discover that the wind
that played tag in the tops of the trees was colder than she'd first thought.
Teasing and taunting her, it snaked around her bare body, dragging goose
bumps in its wake, chilling her to the bone.  A strangled laugh of
frustration catching in her throat, she quickly plopped back down in the
water and reached hurriedly for the soap.

As far as baths went, it was the fastest--and coldest--she'd ever taken in
her life, but she'd never felt so refreshed Ten minutes after she'd stumbled
from the creek and snatched up her shirt to dry herself, her heart was still
thundering and her skin tingling.

Knowing now why people joined polar bear clubs and went swimming in the
Atlantic in the dead of winter, she couldn't seem to stop smiling as she
pulled on her clothes and shoes, then made a beeline through the trees to the
campfire.

  His back to her as he added more wood to the fire, Dillon
heard her long before she stepped into the small clearing near the cabin
where he'd pitched the tent and built the fire.  She'd been gone hardly any
time at all, which didn't surprise him.  If he xaembered his geography, just
about all of the rivers and streams in this part of the state had their
headwaters in the mountains to the north.  At this time of the year, the
water would be frigid.

A slow grin starting to curl one corner of his mouth, he added a last log to
the fire and turned to face her.

"That was quick," he began, intending to tease her about the water.  But the
words died on his tongue at the first sight of her.  Lord, she was gorgeous!
The chilly water had put roses in her cheeks and a sparkle her eyes, but it
was the smile on her lips that was unconsciously provocative.  As seductive
as a siren's, yet still somehow as fresh as a young girl's, it reached out
and clutched his heart, instantly captivating him in spite of the alarm bells
clanging in his head.

"The water was freezing," she said, laughing as she moved to the fire and
held her hands out to the dancing flames.  Closing her eyes, she sighed
dreamily.

"Oh, that feels good?

Unable to drag his eyes away from her, Dillon watched the firelight turn her
cry skin golden and her strawberry-blond hair to fire.  All too easily, his
blood heated and his body hardened.  Dressed in faded jeans and a White
long-sleeved tailored cotton shirt that fell halfway down her thighs, there'
was nothing the least bit tantalizing about her clothes, but all he could
think of was stripping her down to bare skin and laying her down in the pine
needles.  If he could find a way to hang on to his self-control, he could
make love to her until they were both too weak to move and the fire was
nothing but ashes.

And then what?  the caustic voice in his head drawled.  Are
you going to push the lady away again when you finally come to your senses?
Is that when you're finally going to remember that damn bullet in your back?

Stiffening, he said tightly,

"While you were at the creek, I checked out the canned goods in the cabin.
We've got two choices for supper--canned stew or canned stew."

Sydney chuckled.

"Then I guess we're having canned SteW."  ' "Right."  The clean clothes and
tot let articles he'd retrieved from the Jeep earlier were lying on a nearby
rock.  Grabbing them, he brushed past her.

"While you're heating it up, I'll be at the creek."

Cooling off.

He was gone before she could say another word, his long legs quickly carrying
him away from her and into the night.  Her smile abruptly vanishing, Sydney
stared after him, chilled again in spite of the nearness of the fire.  It
was, she realized somberly, going to be another long night.

Chapter 10.

Supper was a silent affair.

Hardly touching the food in her bowl, Sydney sat across the fire from Dillon,
her back propped against a convenient log, her eyes drawn like a magnet to
his brooding figure.  No man had a right to look so good by firelight, she
thought resentfully, swallowing a tasteless bite of stew.  He'd shaved, then
donned jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt that she vaguely relembered Riley
wearing.  But she'd never noticed them fitting Riley half so well.  Softened
by countless washings, the faded material stretched across his wide
shoulders, emphasizing their breadth, and all too clearly she remembered the
feel of his muscles under her hands and the way his bare skin heated at her
touch.

Suddenly flushed, she set her bowl down with a clatter on the ground next to
her.

"I've had all I want," she said huskily.

"I think I'll work some."

Desperate for the distraction, she jumped to her feet and quickly retrieved
her laptop from the Jeep.  But even as she settled back by
the fire to record her notes and impressions about the search for Santiago,
Dillon was pushing to his feet and gathering up the dirty dishes.

"I'll rinse these at the creek, then I'm turning in," he said coolly.

"I left your sleeping bag in the cabin for you.  I'll take the tent."

"But you should be taking the sleeping bag since you're sleeping outside."

"I found some old wool army blankets in the cabin.  They're scratchy as hell,
but they're warm.  So don't lay awake all night worrying about me freezing to
death.  I'll probably be warmer than you."

Reminding her to put out the fire before she went to bed, he strode off
toward the creek, and Sydney found herself struggling with the perverse need
to call him back.  Let the man go, she sternly ordered herself.  While you
still can.

It was good advice, but that didn't make it any easier to turn back to her
computer.  All her senses attuned to his whereabouts, she knew the exact
moment he returned from the creek.  Staring blankly at the.  screen she heard
him crawl into the tent, but even then, she couldn't concentrate.  The
silence that surrounded her was too thick, the thunder of her heartbeat in
her ears too loud, the need to go to him almost more than she could bear.
She tried to remind herself of the lessons she'd learned from Adam, the
heartbreak she'd suffered from trusting the wrong man too much.  She didn't
need anyone in her life--she enjoyed her independence.  But at that moment in
time, with the darkness pressing in on her and a future without Dillon the
only one she could see stretching out before her, she'd never felt so lonely
in her life.

Lost in thought, she sat there until her computer beeped a warning that her
battery was getting low.  Shocked to discover that she'd been brooding for
more than an hour, she  quickly saved the little bit that she had
managed to write, then hit the power switch.

"You're getting too old for this, Syd," she mumbled to herself.

"Go to bed!"

Pushing stiffly to her feet, she quietly returned her computer to the Jeep
and retrieved her flashlight from behind the driver's seat, then kicked some
dirt over what was left of the fire.  The night turned abruptly darker and
colder.  Hugging herself, she lingered only long enough to make sure that
every ember was dead, then hurried to the cabin, stepping around the darkened
tent without a sound, the soft glow of the flashlight lighting her way.

The cabin was little more than a one-room shack, and the only bed was a bunk
built into the side of one wall.  Long enough for the tallest cowboy, it had
a thin mattress that looked only marginally softer than the wood floor, but
for a ranch' hand caught too far from the bunkhouse at the end of the day, it
was probably more comfortable than a king-size bed.

Knowing she was lucky to have it, she laid the flashlight on a crudely made
wooden table that sat next to the bed, then tugged off her shoes and jeans.
She hadn't noticed it until then, but there was a draft somewhere--the cold
night air brushed against her bare legs, sending goose bumps racing across
her skin.  Snatching up her sleeping bag, which DiLlon had tossed onto the
bed, she quickly scrambled into it, sighing in relief when its warmth closed
around her.  Seconds ago she would have sworn she'd never be able to sleep,
not when her thoughts kept drifting outside to the tent and Dillon, but as
soon as she switched off the flashlight, she couldn't seem to stop yawning:
Closing her eyes, she settled more comfortably into the sleeping bag.

Dillon was almost asleep when he heard her scream.  His heart stopping in mid
beat he jerked up, throwing off the army blankets and
grabbing his gun in one smooth motion.  Within three seconds flat," he was
running for the cabin, bursting through the door like a commando on a rescue
mission, his .38 gripped securely in his two hands, his sharp eyes already
searching for the enemy.

The cabin was empty, however, except for Sydney.  Dressed in her blouse and
little else, she was standing next to the bed, muttering corses as she
pounded the mattress with a flashlight.

"What the devil are you doing?"  Dillon demanded, lowering his pistol.

"You scared the life out of me!"

"Out of you?  What about me?  There was a scorpion in my bed?

"Did he sting you?"

"No, I just felt him on my leg."  Giving the mattress another fierce wallop,
she gingerly lifted up one corner and directed the beam of the flashlight to
the darkness underneath.

Watching her,

"Dillon almost laughed.  He couldn't believe this.  She'd gone after some of
the most notorious criminals in Chicago, interviewing thieves and pushers and
murderers just to get a story, but it took nothing more than a bug on her leg
to make her scream in the night.

"Sydney..."  Smothering a grin, he set his gun on the bedside table and
reached over to take the light from her.

"Are you sure it was a scorpion?  Did you see it?"

"No, but" -- "Maybe it was just an ant or something."  Dragging the mattress
completely off the bed, he inspected the wood frame of the bunk, as well as
every inch of the floor, but the place was surprisingly clean.  There weren't
even any cobwebs in the corners, and the mattress was just as bug-free.
Checking both sides, he flipped it back onto the bunk, then
picked up the sleeping bag from the floor.  When he found nothing on the
outside, he quickly turned it inside out.

There weren't any scorpions, but there was a string that had come unraveled
from a side seam.  Arching a brow at her, he started to grin.

"Could this be your scorpion?"

"No, of course not.  At least I don't think so."  Suddenly not so sure, she
frowned, trying to remember what exactly had sent her scrambling out of her
sleeping bag like a woman possessed.  Now that she took the time to think
about it, she had been half-asleep.  She'd turned over to get more
comfortable.  and something slid across her calf.

"Oh, God."  Heat stinging her cheeks, she couldn't help but laugh.

"I

don't suppose it would do much good to mention now that I usually don't have
a problem with bugs, would it?  "

"Not a bit."

"It's just scorpions," she assured him.

"They're just so wicked looking."

"Everybody's got their hang-ups," he agreed dryly, his gray eyes glinting.

Cocking her head, she smiled up at him.

"That's true.  What's yours?"

You.  The admission hovered on his tongue, unspoken.  Staring down at her,
caught in the warmth of her teasing smile, Dillon knew she didn't have a clue
how tempting she looked dressed in nothing but a long-tailed shirt that ended
at midthigh, but he'd had a hard time taking his eyes off her legs from the
second he'd crashed through the door.

"I need to get out of here."

The words were half mumbled to himself, a warning that a smart man would have
heeded immediately.  But the thought had hardly registered when he saw her
eyes flare and she realized just what her state of undress was doing to him.

A delicate blush slowly sp'dled into her cheeks, but she
didn't Dance away.

"That probably would be for the best," she said faintly.  "It's late."

She nodded, but made no move to show him the door.  "We're both tired."

She couldn't have been more agreeable if she'd been a saint.  Or more
desirable if she'd stood before him stark naked.  His throat as dry as dust,
the spicy scent of the perfumed soap she'd used earlier teasing him, seducing
him, he told himself one last time to get the hell out of there.  But when he
moved it wasn't toward the door.

"Nothing's changed," he warned her in a low growl that was sandpaper rough.
Taking the single step that eliminated all but an inch of space between them,
he stood so close that he could almost feel her breasts rise against his
chest as she dragged in a small, quick breath in reaction.  But still he
didn't touch her, not until they reached an understanding.  "I have nothing
to offer you."

"Just tonight," she whispered.

"No strings attached."  Her words held a promise, something he couldn't give
her.  Guilt twisted in his gut, but it was too late.  He wanted her more than
he could remember ever wanting a woman in his life, and right or wrong, there
was no walking away from her.  Not now.  Taking her hands, he carried them to
the buttons of.  his shirt.  When she slipped the first one free, he dropped
his head and took her mouth in a kiss that he only just then realized he'd
been starving for all day.

Bemused, the taste of her going to his head like a straight shot of vodka,
he.  couldn't for the life of him figure out what she did to him.  Granted,
she was beautiful, but he wasn't a green kid.  He'd kissed his share of
pretty women, but none of them had ever knocked his feet out from under him
the way Sydney did.  He didn't like it, couldn't explain it, but
every time he really let himself look at her, his heart jerked in his
chest like a teenager's.  He didn't have a clue how it had happened, but she
was everything he'd ever wanted in a woman.  And he couldn't have her.

Just tonight.  No strings attached.

Her promise echoing in his ears, haunting him, offering him what he himlf
claimed he wanted, he closed his arms around her, his mouth heated and tender
on hers.  They had all night.  Somewhere in the back of his head the thought
registered, reminding him that he could take his time with her and make every
moment last.  But already the minutes were slipping through his fingers with
a speed that shook him to the core.  Urgency tearing at him, he fumbled for
the buttons to her blouse with fingers that were suddenly anything but steady.

Her heart jumping at the first blind touch of his fingers at her breast,
Sydney felt the hunger, the incessant need that coiled through his body like
liquid steel.  Breathless, her heart pounding out a driving rhythm, she
wanted to tell him that there was no hurry--neither one of them was going
anywhere tonight--but he ripped her shirt from her then and his hands cupped
her breasts.  His fingers teased and treasured her nipples, sending a rush of
dizzy heat straight to the core of her.  Moaning, she clung to him, her knees
buckling.

"Dillon!"

"I'm here, sweetheart," he rasped, nipping at her mouth, the lobe of her ear,
the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat as he pulled her hard
against him.

"Let's go to bed."

The bunk was only a step away and though it wasn't in--tended for two, she
was more than willing to squeeze into it with him.  if she could have found
the strength to move.  But all her concentration was focused on him--on the
way his breath shuddered through his lungs when she ripped his shirt open and
flicked her tongue against his small, flat nipples, on the
way he tensed as she reached for the snap of his jeaus.

Given the choice, she would have undressed him with painstaking slowness and
delighted in the fire she lit in his blood, but the second her fingers closed
around the tab of his zipper, his hand gripped hers, stilling her.  In the
soft glow of the flashlight, which had fallen to the floor without her
noticing, his face was etched in tight lines, his gray eyes dark and
turbulent as they met hers.

"Let me," she whispered huskily in the sudden silence.  He wanted W--he loved
the feel of her hands on him--but he was too hot, his control ready to
shatter at her slightest touch.

"Next time," he proml.  ned in a rough growl, only to recall too late that
this was all there would ever be for the two of them.  And it wasn't enough,
dammit!

Suddenly furious at the Fales, at.  Santiago at the doctors who had, in their
wisdom, decided that it was better for, him to live with a bullet in his back
rather than chance the operation, he wanted to rage, to throw something, to
hit somebody square in the gut.  But the only one there was Sydney, with her
sweetness and fire, her passion for life, not to mention truth and justice.
He didn't want the ugliness of his past to touch her in any way.  Not
tonight, not ever.

The fury suddenly draining out of him, his hand tightened on hers, but only
to help her tug the zipper down.

The rasping sound was like the unexpected blast of a gun in the silence.  His
smile crooked, he leaned down to give her a slow, lingering kiss.

"You're asking for trouble, honey," he warned roughly when he finally lifted
his head.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but you've got me hotter than a firecracker."

He watched her blue eyes darken to sapphire with the unexpected admission,
the sensuous smile she made no attempt to hold back slowly slide across her
mouth.  Oh, she   knew all right--he could see the knowledge in
her eyes.  And it delighted her.  Tenderness curled in him, sweet and strong
and oh, so right, and just that quickly, he knew he would have given her his
heart if he'd had one to give.

The thought shook him to the core, but before he could figure out when she
had come to mean so much to him, her hands glided slowly up his chest to push
his shirt off his shoulders, each little brush of her fingers setting off
small sparks under his skin.  Swallowing a soundless groan, he Iosed his
eyes to better savor every nuance of her touch, the furrowed lines that
weathered his brow etched with intense pleasure.

His head thrown back as if he were in pain, he fought the need to tumble her
onto the mattress and take her  a wild man.  But the burning deep in his gut
told him he was fighting a losing battle.  Her name a hoarse whisper on his
lips, he felt her start to tug his jeans down, and the friction of the denim
against his arousal was slow torture.

"Enough!"  he said thickly, and pushed his jeans the rest of the way off with
a savage motion.  Kicking them out of the way, he swept her up in his arms,
startling a laugh from her, and bore her down to the bunk.

"You're driving me crazy, woman."

"Good," she purred.

"Because that's what you do to me, too."

The admission was as close to a declaration as either of them was willing to
get.  Then her arms were twining around his neck, his hips settling against
her and neither of them could think straight.  His head lowered, her mouth
lifted sweetly to his and there was no more time for conversation.

He kissed her as if there was no tomorrow, as if the world began and ended
with just this: a sharing of breath, the heated press of mouth against mouth,
the hot rush of blood through their veins.  Her head spinning, Sydney would
have sworn she knew what making love was all about, but
every time he touched her, kissed her, rubbed his body against hers in a
carnal caress that left her breathless and aching for more, she was struck
again and again by how little she knew about the needs and wants of her own
body.  With the slow glide of his finger, he could make her tremble, while
the hot flick of his tongue could push her over the edge into mindlessness.
And when he entered her by slow, gradual degrees, taking care with her to
make sure she was with him every step of the way, he filled her with a
yearning that brought the sting of tears to her eyes.

She would member this, she promised herself with a sob as her mind began to
blur and her body to tighten with anticipation.  Every touch, every brush of
his mouth, every groan she drew from him with flattering ease.  When she was
old and gray and he was just a memory that no longer had the power to hurt
her, she would remember it all and try not to cry for all the years she had
missed out on loving him.

But for now he was hers, just hers, if only for one night.  Holding him as if
she would never let him go, she moved with him, her hips lifting to his as
they both caught a rhythm that was older than time.

Her heart slamming against her ribs, her lungs straining, she rushed with him
to the edge of white-hot rapture, where she hovered, wanting to savor the
moment.  But the need was too great, his instinctive knowledge of her body
too profound.  Murmuring her name like a cadence, he moved over her, in her,
driving deeper, taking her higher.  Helpless, she shattered.

Long after their bodies cooled, long after she fell asleep in his arms,
Dillon lay awake, unable to stop touching her, holding her, his thoughts in
turmo'd.  He loved her.  Stunned, torn between the need to shout with triumph
and curse the Fates at one and the same time, his arms tightened around  204
 her, drawing her closer, even as his stomach knotted with tension.

Nothing had changed.  He still couldn't have her.

Grimly staring at the darkened ceding, he had no choice but to accept the
inevitable.  He wouldn't saddle her with half a man.  He loved her too much
to do that to her just because he didn't want to live without her.  A lot of
women might be able to handle that kind of thing, but not Sydney.  She was
too passionate about life, too active, too physical.  She went at everything
full speed ahead and she needed a man who could keep up with her.  For now he
could, but tomorrow that could all change.

He had to leave before that happened.  Before he found himself stuck in a
wheelchair.  Before the need he saw in her eyes changed to pity.

Before they both began to hate what he was destined to become.

There's no time like the present.  Cassidy.  What are you waiting for?

Stiffening at the thought, he instinctively tried to reject it--he wasn't
ready to give her up yet, damn fit But there was no denying that conditions
couldn't have been more perfect if he'd arranged them himself.  Yesterday,
they'd eliminated all but a few places where Santiago could be hiding.  There
were closing in on him, tightening the noose, and there was a good chance
that between the two of them, he and Riley would have him in custody within
twenty-four hours.  It wasn't going to happen, though, without a fight, and
he didn't want Sydney anywhere near the bastard when they cornered him.  If
he left her here at the line cabin, he could continue the search without
having to worry about her.

She would be safe--from both him and Santiago--but she wouldn't thank him for
abandoning her in the middle of nowhere.  She would, in fact, never forgive
him for coming between her and a story.

Regret left a biter taste in his mouth.  Given his choice,
he would have preferred to part as friends, but that was a pipe dream and he
knew it.  There was too much emotion between them, too much fire, for either
one of them to ever settle for anything as tepid as friendship.  They could
be lovers or enemies but nothing in between.

Which meant he had to leave.  Now.  While she was warm and soft and naked in
his arms, as trusting as if they'd slept together for years.

She would be safe here, and he would have Riley send one of his deputies for
her first thing in the morning o Later, he never knew how he did it.  Needing
to love her one more time more than he needed his next breath, he had to
force himself to release her.  His jaw rigid, he froze as she murmured in her
sleep.  If she so much as opened her eyes, he knew he'd never be able to walk
away, but she only shifted against him, searching for a more comfortable
position, then lay still again.  Slowly, s'ently, Dillon let out the breath
he'd been holding and eased the rest of the way out of the bunk.

Deprived of her body heat and the warmth of her sleeping bag, he swallowed a
curse as the cold night air hit him.  Naked as the day he was born, he tried
to remember where the hell he'd dropped his clothes, but Sydney's hands had
been driving him wild at the time and he had only a vague recollection of
tearing everything off and reaching for her.  Swearing under his breath, he
dropped soundlessly to his knees and blindly searched the floor with his
hands.  Expecting Sydney to raise up any moment and ask him what he was
doing, he sighed in relief when he finally found his jeans and shirt
half-hidden under the bunk.

He was almost to the door when he remembered that his gun was still on the
bedside table, where he'd laid it once he'd realized that the only bogeyman
after Sydney was an   imaginary bug.  Stopping in his tracks,
he reluctantly turned back toward the bunk, all the while listening for any
change in Sydney's breathing.  But she didn't so much as stir a muscle, not
even when he searched the tabletop for the gun in the dark and made enough
racket to wake the dead.  His fingers closing over the pistol just seconds
before he almost sent it clattering to the floor, he grabbed it and hurried
to the door.

Seconds later, he was dressed and store ping into his boots, which he'd left
in the tent without a thought when he heard Sydney scream earlier.  A quick
search of the Jeep revealed that her keys were still in the ignition--he
wouldn't have to hot-wire it.  So all he had to do was leave her a note,
unload her computer, then get the hell out of there.

It should have been simple, writing her a quick explanation of why he had to
leave her, but his mind was a blank slate.  Seated in the front seat of the
Jeep, the dome light shining on the blank notepad he'd found in the glove
compartment, he stared down at it in frustration, conscious of every tick of
the dock on the dash.  Finally, disgusted, he wrote a few curt lines that
didn't come close to what he wanted to say, then scrawled his name across the
bottom.

He left the note on the cabin steps, where she wouldn't miss it, weighted
down by her computer.  It was, he told himself as he started her Jeep and
drove away, the right thing to do.  But being right didn't stop him from
feeling lower than dirt.

The morning was overcast, the sun nothing but a fuzzy disk in the sky that
did little to take the damp chill from the air.  Warm as toast under her
sleeping bag in the cabin, Sydney stretched languidly, coming awake slowly,
images from the night drifting in and out of her consciousness.  Dillon,
searching the cabin for bugs kc a dragon slayer of old.
Dillon, warning her that nothing had changed, then loving her with a
gentleness that had brought tears to her eyes.  A sleepy smile curling the
corners of her mouth, she reached for him, needing to recapture the magic of
the night one more time.

But the bed was empty beside her, the mattress cold.  Her eyes flying open in
surprise, she bolted up, shivering as the morning air caressed her bare
shoulders.  The cabin was empty--the silence fairly shouted in her ears--the
only sign that Dillon had been there at all was the shirt he'd stripped from
her last night and dropped to the floor.  Dropping back down to the mattress,
she laughed shakily.  She hadn't dreamed it.

He was probably at the creek, she decided, grinning as she pictured him
washing the sleep from his eyes in the cold water.  Talk about a wake-up call
He'd probably be back any second.  Then they'd talk--about last night.  and
this need they had for each other that could no longer be ignored.  He might
claim there was no place for her in his life, but every time he touched her,
kissed her, his body told a different story.  Pretending otherwise wasn't
going to make it go away.  They had to deal with it.

It was going to be all right, she assured herself.  It had to be.

Nothing else was acceptable.  But when she glanced at her watch twenty
minutes later and he still hadn't put in an appearance, she started to get
concerned.  Where was he?  It didn't take that long to wash up at the creek.
Unless something had happened to him.

Her heart stopped at the thought.  Dear God, could Santiago have found them,
after all?  Panic racing like wildfire through her blood, she threw off the
sleeping bag and struggled into her clothes, cursing her stiff, unsteady
fingers as they fumbled with the buttons of her shirt.  She was '
still straggling with them when she jerked open the door.

She saw her computer first, sitting on the orphan who didn't have anywhere
else to go.  It closed in its carrying case, the one she kept in the car she
was caught in an unexpected rainstorm without brella, but she hardly noticed.
Instead, all her focused on the single sheet of paper that had been
underneath the laptop.  Obviously torn from notebook, the ruffled edges at
one end fluttered in t morning breeze that raced unchecked through the I had
to leave.  You know why.  You'll be safe One of Riley's men will come for you
first morning.

He'd signed it simply Dillon, nothing more, then t in her Jeep.

Staring down at his hurt f'erst, so strong and fierce it stole her breath and
her eyes.  He'd left her, just walked away meant nothing.

As if she had meant nothing.  couldn't even manage a sob.  She loved him,
hadn't realized just how much until last night rushed into the cabin with his
gun drawn, ready scorpion.

From the tender way he'd made love to her, he felt the same way.

She'd obviously been wrong.

It was then that the anger hit, a red-hot wave of swept over her in a rush
and practically set her hair Not only had he left her, he expected her to sit
dling her thumbs like a good little girl until one deputies could find the
time to come for her.  And while he would be out searching for Santiago.

Like hell!

Crumbling his note in her clenched fist, she would have burned it if the
campfire had still been lit, but the only right thing she'd done last night
was put out the fire.  Well, one of them, anyway, she fumed, whirling to toss
the note into a corner .  God, how could she have been so stupid?  While
she'd been lying in bed, dreaming of happily-ever-afters and undying
declarations of love, he'd already run off in her car, not only leaving her
stranded, but cheating her out of the biggest story to hit town in years!

She'd kill him.  No, she thought furiously, killing was too good for him.
When she caught up with the rat, she was going to string him up by his thumbs
and leave him to twist in the wind.  And then she'd have Riley arrest him for
stealing her car.  Then she'd get serious about revenge.

But first, before she did anything, she was going to tell him exactly what
she thought of him.  And to do that, she had to find a phone.

Too mad to care.  that she might have to walk twenty miles or more before she
reached the nearest ranch house, she scrambled through her bag of clothes and
pulled out the first pair of jeans and sweatshirt she came to.  The jeans
were too baggy and the sweatshirt was her favorite color--red--and clashed
horribly with her hair, but she wasn't out to impress anyone.  Especially a
tall, good-looking former DEA agent who had a real talent for driving her
right up the wall.

She could tell him off just as easily dressed as a bag lady as she could in
silk.  And boy, was he going to get an earful!

Already anticipating what she would say, she hurriedly dressed, then hid her
computer in the far back corner of the bunk.  Normally, she wouldn't have
even considered leaving it behind, but she had a long walk ahead of her.  And
while it didn't weigh all that much, a couple of pounds could
get awfully heavy when it had to be carted all' over the countryside.

Closing the door behind her, she struck off down the dirt road that led to
the highway.  Kat Rawlings's place his farther north through the canyon, but
she had no idea how far it was or how rough the terrain was along the way,
and her flats weren't exactly made for hiking over rocky ground.  " So she
stuck to the main road when she reached it, heading north.

For the first mile, her anger alone set the pace and it was a clipped one
But she couldn't sustain it.  A stitch in her side pulled painfully every
time she took a step, and she Was forced to slow down.  Furious with Dillon
all over again, she took great delight in picturing his face when he
discovered she hadn't stayed at the cab' to

Caught up in the image, she didn't hear the car approaching from the north
unt'd it was almost upon her.  Suddenly realizing a potential ride was about
to pass her by, she waved frantically, trying to flag the driver down.

"Hey, stop!  I need a lift...."  she shouted.

But it was too late.  The brown sedan was already past her and showed no
signs of slowing down, which was surprising.  People around Lordsburg were
usually pretty quick to stop and offer assistance when they came across
someone in trouble--it was one of the things she especially appreciated about
living in a small town.  You could usually depend on someone to offer a
helping hand when it was needed.

And anyone looking at her could see that she was of some help.  She'd hadn't
walked forty miles from just to get some exercise!

"Thanks for nothing!"  she yelled after the retreating we, hicle.

Turning north again, she was still muttering when she heard another vehicle
approaching, this 1 the south.  Relieved, she sighed,

"Finally!"  and quickly stuck her thumb out.

Expecting her rescuer to be a local rancher or cowboy in a beat-up pickup,
she was surpsed to see the same brown Ford that had passed her only moments
before pull up beside her.  The driver, a nondescript man with one of those
faces that just seemed to blend into a crowd, quickly leaned over and rolled
down the passenger window, a friendly grin tilting his mouth.

"Hey, aren't you Sydney O'Keefe?"

It wasn't a question that normally would have set alarm bells ringing in her
ears, but she hadn't fox gotten that it was only a couple of days ago that
Santiago had sat next to her at the Crossroads and offered her a deadly drug.
He'd been disguised at the time, but there was no question that this man
wasn't him--he was too big and his coloring was all wrong.  The swarthy skin
of his beefy forearms, revealed by the rolled-back cuffs of his shirt, was a
very natural-looking bronze, his hair dark, not blond.  Unless he'd gained
forty pounds in the last two days and had a Hollywood makeup artist dye his
hair and skin, he couldn't possibly be the drug lord.

But he was a stranger, and Sydney had no intention of taking any chances.
Standing well back' from the car, she nodded.

"Yeah.  How'd you know?"

"A waitress at the diner in town pointed you out to me one day last week.  Fm
new in town, just moved here from Chicago.  She said that's where you were
from originally, too."

It was a plausible explanation, one that Sydney normally would have accepted
without a second thought.  But it did nothing to quiet the alarm bells still
clanging in her head, and that worried her.  Her instincts didn't usually
steer her wrong.  And right now, they were telling her that something  212
 wasn't quite right here, especially this man's accent.  If he was
from Chicago, she was a Gypsy fortune teller.

Her heart starting to pound out a panicky rhythm in her chest, she cast a
surreptiti9us look up and down the road, but there wasn't another vehicle in
sight.  Forcing a smile, she said,

"No, kidding?  What part of Chicago?"

"The South side.  How about you?"

"The same."   She laughed, then wished she hadn't when it caught in her
throat.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you Maybe I'll see you around town."

Not waiting for a response, she quickly resumed walking, but he easily kept
up with her just by lifting his foot from the brake and coasting along
beide her.  When she shot him a narrow-eyed look, he merely smiled and said,
"Can I offer you a ride somewhere?  What are you doing out here, anyway?  I
thought you lived north of town."

As far as Sydney was concerned, he knew far too much about her for a man who
had supposedly only recently moved there.  Where she lived was no secret--her
address was in the phone book--but she couldn't think of a single innocent
reason why this man would look it up.

"No, thanks," she said, declining the ride without offering an explanation
for her presence there or verification of where she lived.

"It's a good morning to get some exercise."

"But you shouldn't be all alone out here," he insisted.

"If your car broke down, I'd be happy to give you a ride into town."

He was, Sydney almost retorted, a regular prince.  The only problem was he
hadn't been willing to stop, let alone come to her assistance, until he
recognized her.  And that was really starting to worry her.

Who the devil was he?  And what did he want?

Afraid she'd made a drastic mistake in leaving the canyon, she instinctively
knew she couldn't let this man see her fear.  Stopping in
her tracks, she decided it was time to get tough.

"Look, I appreciate the offer--I really do.  But the truth is I'm out here by
myself because I want to be alone.  I don't want a ride.  I don't want
anything except for you to go away and leave me alone."

She couldn't have been clearer if she'd carved it in stone, but when she
turned and started walking again, the brown sedan was right bide her,
trailing her, stalking her.  Her eyes trained straight ahead, she swallowed
as sick dread spilled into her stomach.

Don't panic, she told herself.  You can handle this jackass.  All you have to
do is use your head, don't go anywhere near his car and keep him talking
until someone comes along.  You're not on the far side of the moon even
though it might look like it.  The deputy Dilloh's sending for you is bound
to come by any second, and between the two of you, you can send this jerk
packing.

It was a good plan, one that might have worked if her companion hadn't run
out of patience.  Suddenly swerving over to the shoulder of the road without
warning, he braked to a screeching halt directly in front of her.  Startled,
she gasped and found herself looking at the business end of a .  38.

"Get in," he growled, leaning ac pounds ss the bench seat to shove open the
passenger door.

"You and I are going for a little ride."

For all of two seconds, Sydney seriously considered running for it.

But something about the glint in his black eyes told her that he would take
great delight in shooting her, then leaving her body out here in the desert
for the buzzards to pick clean.

"Who are you?"  she demanded hoarsely.

 "Angelo.  Now are you going to get in the car or do I get to pull
this' here little trigger?  Either way is okay by me."

Angelo, she thought shakily, the last of the blood draining from her face.
The man who did Santiago's dirty work.  Unable to manage a word of protest,
she got in the car.

Chapter 11.

By eight o'clock in the morning, Dillon had checked the rest of
the places on Riley's list.  Too uptight to even think about finding a place
where he could bunk down for the rest of the night after he'd left Sydney in
the canyon, he'd called Riley on his cellular phone to tell him about the
change in plans and arrange a ride for Sydney in the morning.  He then spent
the ret of the night driving over back roads, looking for Santiago under
every rock and crevice that was disguised as a ranch.  But the man was 'as
elusive as the dev'fi himself and nowhere to be found.  The last place on the
list was as deserted as the first, leaving Dillon no choice but to call Riley
again and give him the bad news.

"Well, Fm finished," he said in disgust as soon as his friend came on the
line.

"I checked every place you suggested, but I didn't find a damn thing."

Riley swore.

"I was almost positive he was holed up at the Tripper place.  You didn't see
anything?"

  "Nothing.  In fact, I pretty much had the roads to myself
most of the night.  I didn't even see another vehicle until a damn trucker
pulling a trailer full of cat fie almost hit me pulling out of the Lazy Susan
out on Highway 70 around dawn.  If I hadn't swerved off the road, the damn
jackass would have flattened me."

"I don't know how some of these idiots got their commercial license,"

Riley retorted.

"Well, what now, buddy?  I haven't had any better luck than you have and
we've just about run out of places to look.  You know the bastard better than
I do.  Where the hell do you think he is?"

Dillon rubbed his scratchy eyes tiredly.

"Damned if I know.  I know he's here.  I can smell him" -- "Wait a minute,"
Riley cut in suddenly.

"Back up.  You said you saw a cattle truck pulling out of the Lazy Susan?
Are you sure it was carrying cattle?"

"Of course.  The sun was already coming up, and the damn trailer almost
sideswiped me.  It was loaded with white-faced Herefords.  Why?"

"There aren't any cattle on the Lazy Susan, Dillon.  Tom and Susan Anderson
bailed out of the cattle business months ago and sold their entire herd.  The
last I heard, they were on an extended trip to Texas to buy quarter horses
and aren't expected home for another three weeks."

 "Does it have a landing strip?"

"One of the best in the county."

Dillon swore, wanting to throw something.  He'd been right there and hadn't
had a clue!

"Dammit to hell.  That's it, then.  Somehow Santiago found out the owners
were gone and just moved in and no one even noticed."

"It's the perfect setup," Riley agreed.

"The bastard's been flying in drugs from Mexico, then concealing it in cattle
trucks and hauling it to Tucson and E1 Paso right under our noses.  Son of a
bitch!"

"I'm only ten miles frm there," Dillon said grimly, already
swinging the Jeep around to head back in the opposite direction.

"I'm going after him."

"Danunit, Dillon, this isn't the time for you to play the goddamn Lone
Ranger!  Wait for backup.  You hear me?  Twenty minutes, that's all I'm
asking.  Give me and the rest of the men time to get there.  You've waited
this long.  Another few minutes isn't going to kill you."

The speedometer climbing toward eighty, Dillon would have liked nothing
better than to rush in with his gun drawn and take on Santiago face-to-face.
He'd been waiting for this for a long time, and by God, nobody was going to
stop him.  But he wasn't a fool.

Revenge was one thing, stupidity another.

"Twenty minutes," he agreed curtly.

"Is there a back entrance?"

Riley told him where it was and promiqed to get there as fast as he could
round up his men.  He also had to put in a call to the DEA.

Dillon didn't care if he called in the National Guard, just as long as he got
Santiago.  Agreeing to meet him there, he hung up and turned right at the
next ranch road be came to.

The Lazy Susan was a two-thousand-acre spread in the western part of the
county.  Rockier than most of the other places Dillon had investigated, it
had a back entrance that wound through a series of jagged outcroppings that
gave a commanding view of the ranch headquarters a half a mile away.  Parking
well out of sight behind the rocks, Dillon checked to make sure his.  gun was
loaded, tucked into the waistband of his jeans, then grabbed the binoculars.

Sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Sydney was waiting patiently for a
ride at the line cabin on the Double R, he climbed the highest rock
promontory and stretched   out on his belly with the field
glasses focused on the compound.  He didn't have to wait long to get an
eyeful.

He'd hardly settled into position when a cattle truck roared through the
front entrance of the ranch and braked to a stop at the large barn near Tom
and Susan Anderson's house.  A dozen men rushed out.

Within minutes, the cattle in the truck were unloaded into the nearby corral
and the floorboards of the trailer were popped up with crowbars.  Anger
seething in him, Dillon watched Santiago's men conceal under the floorboards
hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of what looked like heroin, then
reload the cattle.  The entire operation took less than fifteen minutes.

Cursing himself for not bringing a da mera Dillon had to admit that this time
Santiago had outdone himself.  No wonder the Feds hadn't been able to
pinpoint how the drugs were being transported up and down the interstate.  No
one would think to look under manure for the heroin, and the smell would
throw off the dogs at state border crossings.

Pulling back as the truck drove out of the compound, he just barely resisted
the urge to charge down from his observation point and stop it.  Dammir,
where the hell was Riley?  He should have been here by now.

Without warning, his cellular phone rang like an alarm in the silence.

"Damn!"  Muttering a curse, he hurriedly snatched it out of his pocket and
answered it before it could give away his hiding place.

"Where the hell are you?"  he demanded in a terse whisper, expecting the
caller to be Riley.

"A truck just pulled out" -- "Dillon?"

At the familiar sound of Sydney's sexy voice, he frowned.  How the devil had
she managed to call him?  There was no phone at the cabin.

"Sydney?  Damreit, where are you?  Riley said Joe couldn't get out to the
canyon till ten."

"I wasn't thinking straight" -- That was all she had a
chance to say.  Then a smooth, o'dy voice straight out of one of Dillon's
worst nightmares mockingly taunted, "I've got her, Mr. Cassidy.  And if you
want her back, you're going to have to talk to me face-to-face ... when I say
and where I say.  Got it?"

Every drop of blood in Dillon's body-turned to ice.  "Damn you, Santiago.  If
you hurt her, you're going to answer to me, you son of a bitch!  You hear me?
If you so much as lay a finger on her, I'll make you wish you'd never been
born."

"Now, now, Mr. Cassidy, is that any way to talk to the man who holds the
lady's life in his hands7 1 wouldn't push me if I were you.  If I chose to, I
could make sure she was never seen or heard from again.

And you know I can do it.  Is that what you want?  "

If he could have got his hands on him then, Dillon would have choked the life
from him without a qualm.  Forget the legal system.  The bastard was evil
incarnate and deserved to die.  And he had Sydney.

Just thinking about her in that lowlife's hands sickened Dillon.

Santiago would hurt her--and laugh while he did it.

God, he had to get her back!  And the only way to do that was to pretend to
cooperate.  Rage burning like an inferno in his gut, he said coldly,

"All right, we'll talk... anywhere you want.  You set the time.  After you
let Sydney go."

Amused, the drug lord laughed.

"Surely you don't think I'm that stupid, Agent Cassidy."

"Just plain old Mr. Cassidy will do," Dillon retorted coldly,

"I'm no longer with the agency."

"Oh, yes," the other man purred smugly.

"It seems I did hear that I was responsible for ending your government
ca-reef.  And the Feds wanted me to think you were dead.  Wouldn't it be
tragic if Miss O'Keefe ended up that way in  stead of you?
You'd have to live the rest of your life knowing it was your fault'."

It was a threat, pure and simple, one Santiago wouldn't bat an eye at
carrying out.  His hands curling into fists, Dillon snarled,

"Damn you, you scum ball don't even think about trying it" -- Not the least
impressed with his fury, Santiago laughed, delighted that he could push his
buttons so eas'fiy.

"Or what?  You'll come after me and squash me like a bug?  I don't think so.
I've been here for weeks and you didn't even know it.  So don't threaten me,
Cassidy.

I have your woman.  And if you want her back in one piece, you'll meet me
when I tell you to.  I'll call you back with the time and place.  I suggest
you be ready.  "

Dillon was still swearing when Riley and his men arrived a few minutes later
and climbed up to join him at the observation point.

"He's here," he told Riley curtly.

"I just watched his hired thugs concealing heroin in a cattle truck--it's
under the floorboards.  But that's not the worst of it.  He's got Sydney."

"What?  How the hell did that happen?  I thought you left her at the line
cabin at the canyon."

"I did.  But either she hiked out on foot or Santiago knew we were there all
along and grabbed her the second I left."  Guilt twisted his insides.
Repeating the rest of his conversation with the drug lord, he stared at the
Lazy Susan headquarters in the distance, searching for some sign of Sydney.
There was none, of course, but he knew she was there.  He could almost feel
her standing at one of the windows of the clapboard ranch house, staring back
at him.

"This is all my fault," he said harshly, half to himself.

"I should have waited until Joe got there before I left, but I thought she'd
be safe."

 "There's no way you could have anticipated this," Riley assured
him.

"The bastard's as tricky as they come, but that doesn't mean he's won yet.
Quinn's flying in some of his best men from Tucson--they should be here
within the hour.  And don't forget--Santiago doesn't know that we know where
heis.  He won't meet you at the Lazy Susan and give away his hiding place.
He'll set up a trap for you and probably take most of his men with him to
make sure you don't try to pull a fast one.  While you and the DEA go after
him, I'll take my men in after Sydney."

It was the only logical thing they could do.

"I want her safe,"

Dillon said.

"Do what you have to do."

"I'll treat her just like I would Be/ca," Riley replied.

"In the meantime, I'm more worried about you.  You know Santiago's not
meeting with you to shoot the breeze.  He's going to kill you if he gets the
chance."

"Then I'll have to make sure he doesn't get the chance."  After that, there
was nothing more they could do but wait.  And Santiago didn't drag that out.
An hour later, he called.

"I'll meet you at dawn at the line cabin," he told Dillon the second he came
on the line.

"Don't be late," he warned, then hung up.

The wheels in his head already turning as he repeated the message to Riley
and his deputies, Dillon guessed immediately what Santiago had in mind for
him.  With the cabin surrounded by the high cliffs of the canyon, he could
move his men into place in the rocks long before dawn, then blow Dillon away
the second he stepped out of the Jeep.

Echoing his thoughts, Riley said,

"It's a perfect place for an ambush.  With his men hidden in the cliffs,
waiting to pick you off, you'd never stand a chance."

"If we let him get as far as the canyon," Dillon said.

"I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen.  When Quinn's men get here,
we'll set up our own trap between here and the   canyon.  Once
Santiago leaves the ranch--and Sydney--we'll have him.

He'll never know what hit him until it's too late.  " ' As far as plans went,
it was a good one--simple, uncomplicated, with the odds of anything going
wrong slim.  But no one knew better than Dillon just how wrong the most
perfect plan could go when it came to second-guessing criminals.  If Santiago
did the expected, the slime was as good as back in prison.  If he didn't...
Dillon didn't even want to think about it, not when the bastard had Sydney.

Standing at the window of the large bedroom she had been given at the Lazy
Susan, Sydney watched as the last faint gleam of twilight faded from the
western sky and the stars appeared one by one.  She'd lost track of the hours
she'd stood there, waiting for the night .  and escape.  God, she had to get
out of here!  Now, while there was still time to possibly get to Dillon.  She
had to warn him, stop him.  He was going to walk into a trap because of her.

The thought had eaten at her like a cancer ever since Santiago had forced the
number of Dilloh's cellular phone from her, then made her stand there and
listen as he called him to set up the meeting with him.  Afterward, he'd
gleefully plotted Dilloh's death with his men, not the least bit concerned
that she was openly listening.  The moment she'd been dragged before him by
Angelo, she'd been warned that there was no way out.  With a smugness that
had nauseated her, he'd pointed out the guards posted around the compound,
guards who had been ordered to shoot to kill if she so much as stepped foot
outside without him by her side.

Too late, she now understood how Dillon could hate the man.  He was totally
without conscience.  He'd talked of killing Dillon, of killing her, as if
they were nothing more than bugs who got in his way and had to be stepped on.
Repelled, unable to eomprebend how anyone could be so are
oral she'd questioned him about the drugs and the in-rio cent kids whose
lives would be ruined by it, about the murders he'd committed just to taunt
Dillon with his presence in Lordsburg, and he'd only shrugged and explained
that he was a businessman who did what he had to do to ensure that that
business flourished.

Sickened, she'd wanted to rage at him, to fly at him and literally scratch
his eyes out, but she'd forced herself- to play the helpless female instead,
to tearfully plead with him to reconsider.  She would have gladly got down on
her knees and begged him for Dilloh's life, but he didn't give her the
chance.  As cold as stone, he laughed at her efforts and told her she was
wasting her time.  Because of Dillon, he'd spent nearly a year of his life
penned up like an animal in prison, and no man did that to him and got away
with it.  Just as judgment had been passed on him, he had passed it on
Dillon.  He would die at dawn.

Determined to do whatever she had to to warn Dillon, she'd retreated to her
room then to wait for the night, intending to slip out under the cover of
darkness.  But as she now searched the deepening shadows outside for signs of
the guards, security lights sprang on, lighting every inch of the compound
until it was as bright as day.

"Oh, no!"

she cried.  Now what was she supposed to do?

Panic seizing her, she could feel time slipping through her fingers in a
terrifying rush.  It was hours yet before Santiago and his men would leave to
set up the ambush at the canyon, but she couldn't wait until they were gone
to escape.  She was miles from the line cabin and she'd never reach Dillon in
time if she didn't leave soon.

Turning from the window, she stared at the comfortable furnishings of her
surroundings, her mind working furiously She wasn't a prisoner in her
room--Santiago was too   confident of the shooting skill.  q of
his guards to resort to locking her up.  Every door in the house was
unlocked; if she wanted to try to escape, all she had to do was make a run
for it.  through a hail of bullets.

There had to be another-way, she thought in growing desperation.

Within a couple of hours, Santiago and the men he would take with him to the
canyon would go to bed and be up again at three so they would have plenty of
time to reach the canyon and get into position before Dillon arrived.  The
house would be quiet and dark, the halls deserted, the guards outside
hopefully relaxed.  If she was going to make a move, she would have to do it
then.

The idea, when it came to her, was so simple she couidn't believe she hadn't
thought of it sooner.  A distraction.  She needed a distraction, one that
would draw even the guards from their posts, one that would cause such chaos
that no one would notice when she slipped outside and escaped into the
desert.  And nothing did that like fire.  Once everyone was asleep, she could
start it, then make a break for it while they were trying to put it out.  By
the time Santiago thought to check on her, she would be long gone.

Smiling for the first time since she'd been captured, she returned to the
window to study her escape route.

From his position atop the rocky promontory a half a mile away, Dillon
watched the last light wink off in the house.  It was barely nine o'clock and
not, he knew from the times he'd set up surve'tllance on him in the past,
Santiago's usual bedtime.  Theman never slept before two or three in the
morning.  unless he meant to make a move in the middle of the night.

His 'smile grim with anticipation in the darkness, Dillon couldn't wait for
the bastard to do just that.  This time he was ready for him.

Glancing to where the three agents Quinn sent talked quietly
with Riley's men, he freely admitted that he'd had his reservations about
letting the Feds in on his plan2 They might have been handpicked by Quinn,
but they were still government agents with their own agenda, which might
interfere with his.  They had rules to follow--he didn't, not when the
bastard had Sydney--and he wasn't letting them or anyone else get in his way.

When they'd arrived a little over an hour ago, however, they'd been quick to
assure him that they were there to help, not take over.  They just wanted
Santiago back in custody.  If Dillon was able to get revenge by helping them
capture him, that was all right by them.

Already anticipating the satisfaction he would feel when he slapped handcuffs
back on his old enemy, it was several moments before Dillon caught on the
breeze the first faint scent of something burning.

StraighteningS suddenly, he frowned, wondering what could possibly be burning
out in the middle of the desert.  Grass fires were a real danger during the
long, dry summer, especially during lightning storms, but that was still
months away.

Then he saw the ghostlike smoke rising from the left wing of the ranch house.
Before he saw the flames, a second spiral of smoke curled lazily in the
night sky, this one rising from the opposite end of the old wood frame house,
near the garage: Tensing, Dillon didn't wait to see more.  Grabbing the rifle
Riley had loaned him when he'd arrived, he said harshly, "The plans have
changed, guys.  Sydney's not waiting to be re cued--she's set the house on
fire and all hell's about to break loose down there.  Let's go!"

The smoke in the study was so thick, Sydney could hardly breathe.

Choking, hot tears streaming from her burning eyes, she blindly made her way
toward the room's only pelled, unable to comprehend how
anyone could be so are oral she'd questioned him about the drugs and the
innocent kids whose lives would be ruined by it, about the murders he'd
committed just to taunt Dillon with his presence in Lord burg, and he'd only
shrugged and explained that he was a businessman who did what he had to do to
ensure that that business flourished.

Sickened, she'd wanted to rage at him, to fly at him and rite rally scratch
his eyes out, but she'd forced heel to play the helpless female instead to
tearfully plead with him to reconsider.  She would have gladly got down on
her knees and begged him for Dilloh's life, but he didn't give her the
chance.  As cold as stone, he laughed at her efforts and told her she was
wasting her time.  Because of Dillon, he'd spent nearly a year of his life
penned up like an 8nimal in prison, and no man did that to him and got away
with it.  Just as judgment had been passed on him, he had passed it on
Dillon.  He would die at dawn.

Determined to do whatever she had to to warn Dillon, she'd retreated to her
room then to wait for the night, intending to slip out under the cover of
darkness.  But as she now searched the deepening shadows outside for signs of
the guards, security lights sprang on, lighting every inch of the compound
until it was as bright as day.

"Oh, no!"

she cried.  Now what was she supposed to do?

Panic seizing her, she could feel time slipping through her fingers in a
terrifying rush.  It was hours yet before Santiago and his men would leave to
set up the ambush at the canyon, but she couldn't wait until they were gone
to escape.  She was miles from the line cabin and she'd never reach Dillon in
time if she didn't leave soon.

Turning from the window, she stared at the comfortable furnishings of her
surroundings, her mind working furiously.  She wasn't a prisoner in her
room--Santiago was too   confident of the shooting skills of
his guards to resort to locking her up.  Every door in the house was
unlocked; if she wanted to try to escape, all she had to do was make a run
for it.  through a hail of bullets.

There had to be another way, she thought in growing desperation.

Within a couple of hours, Santiago and the men he would take with him to the
canyon would go to bed and be up again at three so they would have plenty of
time to reach the canyon and get into position before Dillon arrived.  The
house would be quiet and dark, the halls deserted, the guards outside
hopefully relaxed.  If she was going to make a move, she would have to do it
then.

The idea, when it came to her, was so simple she couldn't believe she hadn't
thought of it sooner.  A distraction.  She needed a distraction, one that
would draw even the guards from their posts, one that would cause such chaos
that no one would notice when she slipped outside and escaped into the
desert.  And nothing did that like fire.  Once everyone was asleep, she could
start it, then make a break for it while they were trying to put it out.  By
the time Santiago thought to check on her, she would be long gone.

Smiling for the first time since she'd been captured, she returned to the
window to study her escape route.

From his position atop the rocky promontory a half a mile away, Dillon
watched the last light wink off in the house.  It was barely nine o'clock and
not, he knew from the times he'd set up surveillance on him in the past,
Santiago's usual bedtime.  The man never slept before two or' three in the
morning.  unless he meant to make a move in the middle of the night.

His 'smile grim with anticipation in the darkness, Dillon couldn't wait for
the bastard to do just that.  This time he was ready for him.

Glancing to where the three agents Quinn sent talked quietly
with Riley's men, he freely admitted that he'd had his reservations about
letting the Feds in on his plan They might have been handpicked by Quinn,
but they were still government agents with their own agenda, which might
interfere with his.  They had rules to follow--he didn't, not when the
bastard had Sydney--and he wasn't letting them or anyone else get in his way.

When they'd arrived a little over an hour ago, however, they'd been quick to
assure him that they were there to help, not take over.  They just wanted
Santiago back in custody.  If Dillon was able to get revenge by helping them
capture him, that was all right by them.

Already anticipating the satisfaction he would feel when he slapped handcuffs
back on his old enemy, it was several moments before Dillon caught on the
breeze the first faint scent of something burning.

Straightening suddenly, he frowned, wondering what could possibly be burning
out in the middle of the desert.  Grass fires were a real danger during the
long, dry summer, especially during lightning storms, but that was still
months away.

Then he saw the ghostlike smoke rising from the left wing of the ranch house.
Before he saw the flames, a second spiral of smoke curled lazily in the
night sky, this one rising from the opposite end of the old wood frame house,
near the garage: Tensing, Dillon didn't wait to see more.  Grabbing the rifle
Riley had loaned him when he'd arrived, he said harshly, "The plans have
changed, guys.  Sydney's not waiting to be rescued--she's set the house on
fire and all hell's about to break loose down there.  Let's go!"

The smoke in the study was so thick, Sydney could hardly breathe.

Choking, hot tears streaming from her burning eyes, she blindly made her way
toward the room's only   window as chaos erupted all around
her.  She'd set the fires carefully, knowing that anyone waking from a sound
sleep would instinctively try to make their way to the front or back door
before they realized they could escape through any ground floor window.  So
she'd locked the doors, then set fires at the entrance to the living room and
kitchen, as well as at each end of the hall where the bedrooms were located.
Then all she had to do was sit back and wait.

It hadn't taken long to wake the household.

The guards outside had noticed the flames first and had come running, only
to-be brought up short by the locked doors.  Shouting and banging, they woke
up the others, but by then the house was full of smoke.  In their confusion,
the occupants of the other bedrooms did just as she.  expected and stumbled
through the smoke to the front and back doors, where they coughed and shouted
for help.

Quickly raising the window, Sydney unhooked the screen, and slipped outside.
The floodlights illuminating the compound were still lit, but smoke hung
thick and heavy in the night air, providing the only cover she was likely to
get.  Her heart hammering, she glanced around, but she was out of sight of
both the front and back doors, which was why she had chosen the study to
escape from.

Knowing this was her only chance, she dragged in a bracing breath and started
running toward the darkness that waited just beyond the reach of the compound
security Her blood roaring in her ears, she never heard the man behind her.

Then he grabbed her by her hair, nearly yanking it out by the roots.

She screamed, clutching at her head as she was jerked back against a hard
male body.

"Not so fast, sweetheart, " Santiago growled icily in her ear as he wound his
fingers deeper into her hair and jerked her head back.

"Your little trick might have fooled the others, but I knew
what you were up to the minute I smelled the smoke.  I ought to kill you for
this right now and be done with it."

Grimacing in pain, Sydney could do nothing to stem the tears streaming from
her eyes.  She'd been so close.

"No!  Please..."

She would have begged then, promised him anything, just to buy some time
until she could figure out a way to escape and get to Dillon, but before she
could manage another word, the sound of several rifles being cocked was like
an explosion in the night.  Behind her, Santiago stiffened just as Riley
stepped out of the darkness.

"Riley ... thank God?  Her knees going weak at the sight of him and his
deputies, their rifles loaded and ready, Sydney was never so glad to see
anyone in her life.  If Riley was here, then Dillon had to be also.  Her
heart starting to pound in her breast, she searched the darkness for him, but
nothing moved but Riley's deputies as they fanned out behind him.

"You're not killing anyone ever again, Santiago," Riley said coldly.

"Let her go.  We've got you surrounded."

"You haven't got jack squat, Sheriff," the other man retorted, and quick as
lightning, he whipped an arm around Sydney's throat to pin her against him as
a shield, the .  38 he held to her head as black as sin and very businesslike.

"One move and she dies right here," he said sharply when Riley swore-and
automatically took a step forward.

"I mean it.  You so much as blink, and she's history."

Standing well back in the darkness, Dillon instinctively jerked up his rifle
and took aim the instant Santiago touched Sydney.  Rage flared red-hot in his
eyes at the thought of that piece of slime laying so much as a finger on her,
but as much as he wanted to pull the trigger, he couldn't do it, not when
the bastard held Sydney so close.  If his aim was off the
slightest bit.  Swallowing a curse, he lowered the rifle, every nerve in his
body tight with fury.  This wasn't supposed to happen, dam reit He and the
agents Quinn had sent had kept out of sight in the shadows just in case
backup--and an element of surprise--was needed.  Knowing just how slippery
and evasive Santiago could be when he was cornered, Dillon would have sworn
he was on guard, ready for anything.  But nothing could have prepared him for
the sight of Sydney held in front of Santiago like a human shield.  If he
could have got his hands on the man then, he would have torn him limb from
limb, to hell with the consequences.

But as much as he wanted to launch himself at the drug lord, he didn't dare
make the mistake of letting him know he was there.  From the moment he'd
escaped from prison and made his way to New Mexico, Santiago's every move had
been calculated to taunt and mock him.  He'd killed twice before without
batting an eye.  He'd take great delight in killing Sydney right in front of
his eyes just to show him that he could.  Sick with frustration, he had no
choice but to stand there, helpless, as the bastard took a step backward,
toward the barn, dragging Sydney with him.

Just then, Santiago's men came running around the corner of the burning
house, only to stop short at the sight of Riley and his deputies spread out
before them at the edge of the light, their rifles aimed right at them.

"You even think about going for your guns and you're dead men," Riley warned.

Caught off guard, they hesitated, glancing to their boss for guidance.
Santiago, however, wasn't worried about anyone's neck but his own.  " His
eyes locked on Riley, the gun he held to Sydney's temple never wavering, he
forced her to take another step back with him, his smile triumphant in the
glare of the fire that was quickly consuming the ranch house.

"It looks like we've got us a little standoff," he taunted.

"Whoever blinks first loses.  What do you want to bet it's going to be you,
Sheriff?  Huh?"

Quietly circling around behind Riley, shadowing the drug lord's every move,
Dillon could practically see the tension crawling up his friend's back.
There was nothing Riley hated more than a cocky bastard who thought he could
outsmart the law, but you'd have never known it.  His rifle trained with
deadly accuracy on the other man, he said in a voice that was remarkably cool
and steady,

"I don't think either one of us wants a running gun battle here, so why don't
you tell me what it is you do want?  Maybe between the two of us, we can come
up with a solution we can both live with."

"A free ride out of here," Santiago retorted coldly.

"I've got my plane at the landing strip behind the barn.  The lady lives to
see the next sunrise if you let me fly out of here without interference."

"Alone?"  Riley clarified.

"You'll leave the girl behind?"

"Of course.  I won't need her once I reach the plane."  No!  Dillon almost
shouted, outraged.  The bastard was lying.  He would say anything, do
anything, to get out of a tight spot.  There was no way he was going to give
up a hostage until he was sure he was safely away from there.  And once he
had no use for her, there would no longer be a reason to keep her alive.

Riley had to know that, Dillon silently assured himself.  He'd told him
everything there was to know about the scumbag--he killed just for the hell
of it; it was that easy for him.  He wouldn't know a scruple if he tripped
over it, and no one in their right mind made a deal with him when he was
holding a gun to Sydney's head.  Any second now, Riley was going to tell him
to stuff it.

  But Riley was caught between a rock and a hard place.  Even
though Dillon was still well behind him in the shadows, he could feel
Dilloh's silent anger, the fury his friend didn't dare voice--not if he
wanted to keep Sydney alive--and he didn't blame him for wanting to commit
murder.  If it had been Becca in Santiago's clutches, he would have felt the
same way.  Just thinking about giving in to the dirt bag demands turned his
stomach, but he had them both over a barrel.  Unless they wanted to watch
Sydney die right before their eyes, he had to agree to whatever he wanted.

"You hurt a hair on that girl's head and I'll personally hunt you down like a
rabid dog," Riley said coldly.

"You understand, Santiago?

You hurt her and you're dead, no questions asked.  "

"No!"  Sydney croaked, her fingers biting into the arm that pressed against
her windpipe.

"Dammit, Riley, you can't let him do this!"

Alone in the dark, Sydney's strangi ed cry stabbing him right in the heart,
Dillon almost lost it then.  Rage blinding him, he suddenly found himself at
the edge of the light and had no memory of how he'dgotten there.  All his
thoughts centered on getting his hands around Santiago's bony throat, he
barely heard Riley say pointedly, "Go with him to the plane.  It'll be all
right.  I promise you."

Go to the plane.

The message couldn't have been plainer if Riley had hit him right between the
eyes with it.  Dilloh's brain, clouded with anger, abruptly cleared.  God,
how could he have been so dense?  he wondered, swallowing a curse.  Go to the
plane .  Of course!  As far as Santiago knew, there was no one else there but
Riley and his deputies.  Sensing freedom at his back, he'd never expect
anyone to be waiting for him at the plane.

 ' Signaling his intentions to the nearest DEA agent, who was
fifty yards away to his right in the dark, Dillon silently headed for the
airfield by clinging to the shadows and cutting a wide circle around
Santiago.  Not sure what to expect, he darted around the back side of the
barn, out of sight of the others, only to stop in consternation.

L'fice the rest of the ranch, the landing strip was lit up like a Christmas
tree, with Santiago's Cessna sitting right in the middle of a stark white
circle of light.  Not even God himself could have Shuck up on it without
being seen.

Swearing under his breath, Dillon hesitated.  The second he left the
protection of the barn, anyone who cared to look in the direction of the
airstrip would see him.  But with Santiago and his men watching Riley and his
deputies like hawks, expecting some kind of a trick, that wasn't likely.
Setting the rifle against the barn wall, he pulled his gun from his shoulder
holster and took a quick look around the corner of the barn.

The tense scene had changed little since he'd dart be' hind the barn.
Santiago was still slowly backing toward the barn with Sydney captive before
him in a choke hold, his .  38 gouging her in the temple.  Riley and his
deputies hadn't moved, but they hadn't dropped their rifles, either.  Across
the compound, Dilloh's eyes met his friend's.  Riley didn't move so much as
an eyelash but there was no question that he'd seen him.  The glint in his
eyes told Dillon the next move was his.  Giving him a silent nod, ha pulled
back behind the barn, tugged off his boots and silently ran to the Cessna in
his stocking feet.

They were going to let him take her.  Cold with fear, Sydney wildly looked
around for Dillon, but there was no sign of him.  Riley and his deputies were
the only hope she had of being rescued, and they weren't doing a damn thing
to help  her.  Hurt, more scared than she'd ever been in her life,
she was suddenly furious.  Damn them, what was wrong with them?  This was the
man that had put a bullet in Dilloh's back!  They all knew he couldn't be
trusted as far as he could spit, yet they were just standing there, letting
the lying snake carry her off.  Didn't they know he was going to kill her?

"Let go of me!"  she choked out fiercely, struggling against the suffocating
hold across her throat.

"Just shoot me here and be done with it.  Do you hear me?  I don't care what
you do to me, but I'm not getting on that plane with you!"

"You'll do as you're told," he said through his teeth, jerking her more
firmly against him as they reached the tarmac of the landing strip.

"Or I'll put a bullet through that tin-star friend of yours before he can
even think about squeezing the trigger of that rifle of his.  You don't
believe me, just keep struggling, lady."

She knew he would do it.  He was that arrogant, that ruthless.  He'd shoot an
innocent man right between the eyes without a second thought just to prove he
was the one calling the shots.  Her stomach knotting with frustration, she
blinked back furious tears, knowing when she was beaten.  Without a word, she
went still in his hold.

He laughed softly in her ear, the wicked sound raising goose bumps up and
down her arms.

"Thata girl.  I knew you had a brain under all that red hair.  Easy now, the
plane's right here.  Don't even-think about' trying anything."

The gun still pressed to her temple, he released her to fumble behind him for
the door latch, his gaze still trained on the sheriff and his men, who
tensely watched his every move.  When the door finally swung open, Sydney's
heart stopped.

The harsh order was meant to be obeyed without question, but
even when she had a gun pressed to her head, Sydney found she hadn't lost her
spunk.

"The hell I will.  You Said" -- Snarling a curse,.  he grabbed her and shoved
her into the dark interior of the plane.  Before she could push herself up
off the floor, he was jumping in after her and slamming the door shut.

"Get in the passenger seat and shut your trap," he 'snapped, jerking her up
and planting her where-he wanted her before he slipped into the pilot's seat.
A split' second later, the motor roared to life.

Long past panic, Sydney glanced frantically around for a way out, but the gun
was lying in his lap and the man was lightning quick.

"You can't do this!"  she cried,

"It isn't going to solve anything.  Dillon will come after you" "Dillon
Cassidy's nothing but a joke, a has-been," he said, laughing, as he reached
the end of the runway and swung the small plane around to prepare for takeoff.

"The man's practically in a wheelchair," he boasted.  Revving me motor, he
hardy gave her time to snatch her seat belt across her lap before he was
racing the plane down the tarmac and lifting into the air with a quick
movement that had her stomach falling to her feet; "Even when he knew I was
in his own backyard, he couldn't catch me.  What makes you think that's going
to change?"

Sydney opened her mouth to tell him that Dillon would come after her even if
he had to crawl, but she never got the chance.  Suddenly the silence was
broken by the sound of a gun being cocked directly behind Santiago's seat.

"Oh, I caught you, all right," Dillon drawled.

"You just didn't know it?"

 Chapter 12.

"Dillon!  Thank God!"  Tears
stinging her eyes, she brushed them away impatiently and tried to swivel
around in her seat to face him, but her seat belt held her captive.  Cursing
it, she fumbled for the catch.

"How did you know where I was?"

Not taking his eyes off his captive for so much as a second, Dillon said
roughly,

"Riley and I'were watching the rancti all afternoon, sweetheart, just waiting
for this jackass to make a mistake.  Did he hurt you?"

There was a hardness in his tone, a suppressed violence that warned her he'd
taken just about all he was going to take from this man.

He'd been pushed to the edge by a piece of trash he had every reason to hate
and he was just itching for an excuse to pull the trigger on the gun he held
tightly pressed to the back of Santiago's.  head.

Alarmed, she said quickly,

"No t I'm fine.  Really."

"If he touched you" -- "I didn't lay a hand on her,"
Santiago said icily, spitting the words at him like a cornered cat.

"But the night's not over yet."  And with no more warning than that, he
jerked the controls of the plane and sent it reeling sharply to the right.

Caught off guard, Dillon lost his balance and slammed into the side of the
fuselage, the force of the impact knocking his gun from his hand.  Swearing,
he dove for it just as Santiago whirled in his seat with his .  38 firmly
clasped in his hand.

"NOV' Horrified, Sydney finally released her seat belt, only to be flung half
out of her seat as Santiago jerked the controls in the opposite direction.
Sobbing, she caught herself before she could be thrown to the floor and
kicked out wildly, surprising both her captor and herself when she caught the
gun with her heel and sent it clattering toward the back of the plane.

"Bitch?  he screamed, backhanding her.

"I should have killed you when I had the chancel" Her head' snapping back
from the blow, Sydney hardly heard Dillon's bellow of outrage for the ringing
of her ears.  Then Santiago surged up out of his seat and both men were
scrambling for their guns in the dark, hitting and clawing at each' other
like animals.  Her face stinging, a bruise already forming on her cheek,
Sydney heard someone crying and didn't realize it was herself.  Dillon.  She
had to help Dillon.

But just as she pushed to her feet, Santiago found his gun.

Staggering, he fired wildly, the bullet missing Dillon by a hairsbreadth
before slamming into the plane's control panel.  Sparks flew, and just as
Dillon 'found his own gun, the Cessna took a dive.

Losing his balance, Dillon fell against t.  he pilot's seat and hit his elbow
against the dash, the blow causing his fingers to automatically tighten on
the gun in his hand.

 Santiago never knew what hit him.  The bullet struck him in the
chest, knocking him backward.  His hand clutched to the bloody wound he fell
to the floor with a groan.

Her heart stopping, Sydney wouldn't have let a dog bleed to death before her
eyes without trying to help, but in the sudden s'dence, it was obvious from
the man's labored gasps that there was nothing anyone could do for him.  In a
matter of seconds, he was dead.

Stunned, Sydney just stood there, unable to believe that the nightmare was
finally over.  Then the floor shifted under her feet, and only a quick grab
at the cop' dot seat saved her from an ugly spill across Santiago's body.
Glancing over her shoulder out the front windshield, she paled as the dark
ground seemed to be rushing up to meet them.

"Dillon!  The plane" -- "Hell!"  Quickly stepping over Santiago's slumped
body, he urged her into her seat, then slipped into the pilot's seat.
"Buckle up, honey.

This could get a little bumpy.  "

Wide-eyed, she watched him take charge of the controls and tried to take
comfort from the fact that he seemed to know what he was doing.

But they were still diving toward the ground with frightening speed, and
nothing he did seemed to slow them down.

"Bumpy I can handle,"

she said hoarsely, clinging to her seat.

"Right now I'm more concerned about whether or not you have a license to fly
this thing.

You do know what you're doing, don't you?  "

His smile grim in the darkness, he said,

"The operative word here is fly.  I've got a license to do that.  Crash
land-ingsfall into a different category."

She paled.  'Oh God!  You don't mean"-- " I'm afraid so.  Some of the
controls were damaged by that bullet Santiago fired into the dash.  " His
fingers curled tightly around the throttle, he pulled back on it, trying to
slow them down, but it was a lost cause.

"The best I can do is try to find a smooth place to bring
her down and hope we don't go nose first into the dirt.  Take a look outside
your window and see if you can see a good spot."

Forcing back the lump in her throat that threatened to choke her, she did as
he asked.  What classified as a good spot to die?  she thought wildly,
fighting hysteria.  The land was as flat as a washboard, but this far west of
Lordsburg, there were occasional outcroppings of rock that rose up from the
arid landscape like dark giants waiting to flatten them.  One miscalculation,
and there would be nothing left of them to bury.

"There!"  she cried, suddenly pointing to a smooth, pale, uninterrupted
stretch of desert sand off to her right in the distance.

"Can we make it?"

Glancing back and forth between the altimeter and the expanse of sand that
gleamed like .  a beacon in the night nearly a half mile away, he nodded
stiffly.

"It's going to be by the skin of our teeth, though.

We're dropping fast.  " Reaching over suddenly, he grabbed her by the back of
the neck and squeezed softly: " I love you, honey.  Now put your face in your
lap and your arms over your head.  We're going in.  "

Not giving her time to say a word, he pushed her head down and braced himself
for impact.  But nothing he could have done could have prepared either of
them for that jarring first thud with the ground.

Screaming and groaning in protest, the plane sounded as if it were tearing
apart as it bounced and skidded over the rough terrain, out of control.
Cursing, every bone in his body rattling, Dillon hit the brakes and struggled
to regain control, but the desert continued to whiz by at what seemed like
the speed of sound.

The un constructed sand quickly gave way to arroyos and cactus.  Then
suddenly, from out of nowhere, a red boulder as large as a two-story building
rose up before them.  There  was no time to think, no time to do
anything but jerk the wheel sharply to the right.  Shuddering, 'the Cessna
made a wild, forty-five-degree turn .  only to fishtail into the rock.

Caught on the boulder's jagged edges, the metal covering of the fuselage
ripped, the high keening sound echoing in the night like the cries of a woman
in labor.  A curse trapped between his clenched teeth, Dillon felt the seat
belt cut into his hips and thanked God for it.  A split second later, the
force of the impact threw him against the side of the plane and slammed his
head against the metal framework.  Pain, radiating down his spine like a
white-hot bolt of lightning, burned all the way to his toes.  Then everything
went black.

Long after the plane had finally staggered to a stop, Sydney sat bent over in
her seat, her face pressed painfully to her knees, her fingers clutched in
her hair.  Silence engulfed her, cold and clammy, the pounding of her heart
frenzied in her ears.

They were safe.

The thought came to her slowly, pushing past the fear shrouding her brain.
Holding her breath, she slowly unclenched her jaw, half expecting that slight
movement to set the plane in motion again.  But nothing moved.  Laughing
suddenly, she traightened.  They were safe.  t "Dillon!  My God, you did it!
I don't know how, but we're still in one piece."

Reaching over to touch him, she froze when she saw him slumped against the
side of the plane, his face ashen in the darkness.

"Dillon?  Dillon.t" Whimpering, she clawed at her seat belt and never
remembered unlatching it.  Suddenly she was free and on her knees at his
side, her fingers trembling as she felt for the pulse at his
throat.  When she finally found it, tears of relief flooded her eyes.  It was
strong and steady.

"Dillon?  Honey, can you hear me?  C'mon, wake up.  We, re safe."

The pain in his head throbbing in time with the beat of his heart, Dillon
heard Sydney calling him from a long way off, but his eyelids were so heavy,
he couldn't force them open.  Frowning, he groaned.

"Oh, thank God!"  Sydney exclaimed, cradling her palm against his cheek.

"Are you okay?  What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," he murmured, a twinge of a smile working
its way across his mouth as he finally managed to open his eyes.

"The last thing I remember was a big rock."

Glancing at the huge boulder that had sheered off one of the wings before
stopping the plane in its tracks, she grinned.

"A rock is something you trip over when you're hiking.  That thing could give
Gibraltar a run for its money.  Did you hit your head?"

Still not totally alert, his eyes started to drift shut again.  "I must
have... can't remember.  Everything's numb."

Needing to touch him, she started to brush the hair from his forehead, only
to freeze.

"Numb?  Where?"

"My legs..."  Rousing, his eyes flew open.

"Ican't feel my legs."

The nightmare that followed was straight out of hell.  Sydney, stubbornly
refusing to believe the paralysis was anything more than a temporary
condition caused by the crash, chattered like a magpie, afraid that if she
stopped, she would start to cry.  In direct contrast to her nervous yarn-roe
ring Dillon's silence was chilling.

His thoughts and expression closed to her, he didn't say a word.  Not when
she got on the radio and frantically called for help.  Not when
Riley and an ambulance finally arrived thirty minutes later.  Not once
during the long drive to the hospital in Silver City did he even look at her,
let alone speak.

Her heart breaking for him, for them, Sydney refused to leave his side until
she was forced to as he was wheeled into the emergency room.  Stopping the
nurses before they could take him away from her, she.  leaned down to hug him
and tried not to cry when he made no attempt to return the embrace.  "This
doesn't change anything," she whispered fiercely.

"You told me you loved me, and I'm holding you to it.  Because in ease you
hadn't noticed, Dillon Cassidy, I'm crazy about you.  You got that?  I don't
care if your skin turns green, your hair falls out and you can't do anything
but crook your little finger.  I love you.  Nothing's ever going to change
that."

For a minute, she thought she actually got through to him.  Something
flickered in his eyes, a small spark of emotion that, even if it was
negative, was better than total indifference.  Then Riley was there, leaning
over her to gently pull her back.

"There's a waiting room down the hall on the left," he said gruffly.

"C'mon.  I'll buy you a cup of coffee."

She didn't want coffee.  She didn't want anything but Dillon.  He was
gone, however, whisked away behind swinging double doors she wasn't permitted
to enter.

"He's going to be all right," she said fighfiy; her flashing blue eyes just
daring Riley to disagree with her.

"The crash probably dislodged the bullet, but as soon as the doctors remove
it, he'll be fine.  You'll see."

A wise man, Riley didn't disagree.

Three hours later, the doctor that came looking for them in the waiting room
couldn't be nearly as optimistic.  An older man who performed everything from
appendectomies to heart surgery at the small hospital, Dr. Leirue had
done the best that he could, but he was no expert on sp'mal
injuries and didn't claim to be.

"At this point, all we can do is wait," he said tiredly.

"If the nerves were just bruised, they should heal pretty quickly now that
the bullet's been removed.  Paralysis could last anywhere from a couple of
days to a week or two.  If the damage is more extensive..."

His shrug, the regret in his faded blue eyes, said it all.

"We just don't know."

Her heart squeezing with pain, Sydney hugged herself, her chin thrown up at a
belligerent angle.

"He'll walk out of this hospital, Doctor,"

she said coolly, refusing to accept any other prognosis.

"It may take him a while, but before it's over with, he'll walk out of here
on his own two legs.  He has to."  Because if he didn't, she'd lose him
without ever really having him.

The doctor, not the least put off by her barely suppressed hostility, smiled
and patted her on the shoulder.

"I like a fighter.  With injuries like this, sometimes attitude is the only
thing that makes a difference between winning and los' rag So you hang in
there.  He's going to need you in the next couple of days.  For tonight,
though, there's nothing anyone can do but let him rest."  Looking past her to
Riley, he suggested,

"Why don't you both go home and get some sleep?

Thingsql look better in the morning.  "

Sydney didn't want to go, but Riley was insistent.

"You're not going to do him any good by wearing yourself out pacing the halls
till dawn.  You've had a rough night yourself, Syd.  Not many people go down
in a plane and live to tell about it.  Let me take you home and I'll come
back with you first thing in the morning."

She knew he was right, but her house was nearly thirty miles away from the
hospital and everything inside her protested at the thought of being that far
away from Dillon.  If something happened during the night, she'd never be
able   to get to him in time.

"All right, I'll leave.  But I'm not going home.  I'll stay at a hotel until
I'm sure he's going to be okay."

They both knew that under the best conditions that could be awhile, but Riley
only thanked the surgeon for everything he'd done, then got her out of there
while she was willing to go.  The nearest hotel was within walking distance
of the hospital, but Sydney didn't have so much as a penny with her to book a
room.  She'd had to leave her purse behind when she erawied out o the study
window at the Lazy Susan, and the place had burned to the ground.

"You can pay me back later," Riley told her after he put the room on a credit
card and gave her what cash he had on him.

"I'll get your things from the cabin and have someone drive up your Jeep
tomorrow so you won't be afoot.  If you think of anything else you need
between now and then, just call.  Okay?"

Her smile shaky, her eyes bright with the sting of tears, she went up on
tiptoe togivq him a fierce hug.

"I will," she said thickly.

"Thanks for being here.  I don't know what I would have done without you."

"He's my friend, too, honey," he said gruffly.

"He's going to be all right.  You just keep believing that."

Sydney clung to her optimism like a lifeline," but it wasn't easy.

The following morning, Dillon was awake and alert.  and still paralyzed from
the waist down.  His face carved in stone, he listened as the doctor told him
there was every reason to be hopeful that he would regain feeling in his legs
sometime soon, then dismissed him simply by turning his face to the wall.
When she tried to talk to him, she got the same response--nothing but
silence.

Twelve.  : twenty-four.  thirty-six hours after the
operation nothing had changed, and you only had to look at his somber face to
know that he was convinced it never would.

She was losing him.  Frantic with worry, Sydney could feel it in her bones,
but nothing she said got through to him.  He didn't want her there--be
eonldn't have made it clearer if he'd shouted it from the rooftop.  Hurt,
constantly battling tears, she haunted the hospital hallways like a ghost
that didn't know where it belonged, until Riley, watching it all, finally had
had enough.

"Here," he said, shoving her laptop into her arms when he arrived the second
evening following Dilloh's operation.  "In case you've forgotten, girl,
you've got a beHuva story to write.  Harry and Marge have covered for you
over the last couple of days, reporting the basic facts of the story.
itself.  Everyone knows by now that Santiago is dead and his men were
captured at the Lazy Susan, but the real news is what happened in that plane
before it went down.  The Perkinses want your firsthand account.  Don't you
think you owe them that?"

His words stung, stirring a nagging guilt.  He was right.  When she'd come to
Lordsburg four years ago with a less-than-stellar reputation, Harry and Marge
Perkins had reserved judgment about the fiasco in Chicago until they'd heard
her side of the story.  Needing nothing more than her word, they'd believed
her and not only hired her, but brought her into their fold like a long-lost
daughter.  For that alone, she owed them.  They gave her complete freedom to
go after whatever story she thought was newsworthy, and the least she could
do was give them their money's worth.

Clutching her laptop to her bregst, she nodded.

"I'll be in the cafeteria.  Call me if Dillon needs me or there's any change
in his condition."

  They both knew that neither of those things was Ytkely to
happen, but he only turned her toward the cafeteria and gave her a gentle
shove.

"Don't worry, you'll be the first person I come looking for.  Now go."

She went, convinced she wouldn't be able to write a word.  But the second she
sat down and hit the computer's power switch, the emotions she hadn't allowed
herself to feel since Dillon realized he was paralyzed came surging forward.
Rage, resentment, contempt of a drug dealer who was less than human,
helplessness in the face of an injury she couldn't make better with a little
TLC.  Her eyes trained unseeingly on the backlit screen, she wrote like a
woman who was possessed, driven, her fingers flying over the keys.  When she
was finished, she didn't have to read the piece over to know that it was the
best thing she'd ever written.

And the response when it came out in the paper was flatteringly positive.
Calls came into the Gazette from all over the county and state.  Harry and
Marge Perkins were ecstatic, especially when the story was picked up by the
wire Sydney knew she should have been dated--it wasn't every day that her
work was read across the country.  She even got a job Offer from a paper in
L.  A.  that she would have jumped at a lifetime ago.  But she didn't want
another job.

She loved her adopted family at the Gazette--even Blake Nickels when he was
being his most irritating--and couldn't imagine Yn, ing anywhere else.

Without Dillon, however, she was stunned to discover, nothing meant anything.
Once that would have terrified her.

She'd always prided herself on her independence.  Even when she thought she
was desperately in love with Adam she'd always known, deep down inside, that
she could get by him.  didn't want to even think about living
without Dillon.  She loved him more than she'd ever thought it was
possible to love anyone.

And he felt the same way about her.  Oh, he'd only said the Words once--and
only when he thought they were about to die--but she read him like a book.
He wouldn't be trying nearly so hard to push her out of his life if he wasn't
nuts about her.  Why, she wondered in growing frustration, out of all the men
in the world, did she have to fall for one with an overdeveloped sense of
honor?  Any other man would have been thankful to have her at his side at
such a horrible time, but not Dillon.  Oh, no.  He was the one going through
hell, and all he seemed to be worried about was not saddling her with a
paraplegic.

"And he wasn't going to get away with it, dam reit she fumed as she returned
to the hospital after spending the morning at the paper.

They were made for each other and it was high time he admitted it.

Her eyes sparking fire, she marched into his private room and found him doing
the same thing he'd been doing every time she visited him for the past three
days--staring out the window like a man who didn't have a thing to live for.
Before, her heart had contracted with pain at the sight of him, but not this
time.  Oh, no, she thought grimly.

He had more than enough, pity for himself; he didn't need any more from her
or anyone else.

Her hands planted on her hips, she stood at the end of the bed and glared at
him.

"You're letting him win, you know.  I hope you realize that.,"

She saw in an instant that she'd caught him off guard.  He wanted to ignore
her, but he couldn't.  A frown creasing his brow, he dragged his gaze from
the boring scene out the window and looked at her for what seemed like the
first time in days.  That was all the encouragement she needed.

  "Santiago," she clarified flatly, ignoring the fact that he
hadn't asked for an explanation.

"You're lying here feeling sorry for yourself when he's the one who's lying
cold in his grave.  Dam mR you ought to be celebrating.  Not because he's
dead but because he'll never hurt anyone ever again."

"Oh, yeah," he drawled, his mouth twisting bitterly.  "I've got a lot to
celebrate.  Shall I jump in a wheelchair and dance a jig for you?

You see, I've got this small problem.  My legs don't work.  "

He threw the words at her like darts and had no idea how each one made her
want to sing.  He was.  talking to her.  Finally!  Cxripping the metal foot
board of the bed, she retorted, "Maybe now they don't, but what about your
head?  Your heart?  Are those still working?"

"Of course," he snapped, scowling.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"I don't know--you tell me," she challenged.

"Three nights ago, when there was a good chance we were both going to die in
a plane crash, you told me you loved me.  Do you remember?"  To his credit,
he didn't glance away, Iut there was a flush in his cheeks that said louder
than words that that was something he wasn't ready to talk about.

"I'm not likely to forget it," he muttered.

"What about it?"

"Did you mean it?"

"Of course I meant it!"  he growled, insulted.

"Do you think I go around telling women I love them just for the hell of it?
What kind of man do you think I am?"

"The kind I love," she said softly, the sheen of tears stinging her eyes.
Daring to xeaeh out to him, she clasped his bare feet through the sheet that
covered them and began a gentle massage.

"I love you and you love me," she said huskily.

"Can't you see that nothing else matters?"

 Caught in the warmth of his heated gaze, she thoughl a moment
that she'd finally gotten through to him.  No  in her life had ever looked
at her with such longing.  barriers he'd erected over the past three days to
keep h a distance were stripped away, his heart and soul there her to see.
If he'd just held out his hand to her, she w have gone into his arms in a
heartbeat.

But then he glanced away, his expression once again st "What matters is I
can't ask you to tie yourself to a  who can't even walk you down the aisle,"
he said col "You'd end up hating me, and I can't say I'd blame yo " Danunit,
there's more to you than your legs"-- " That's easy for you to say.  I don't
see you having problem standing on yours.  "

Frustrated, she unconsciously tightened her grip on feet, wanting to shake
him.

"Don't you understand?  I'd care about your legs!  It isn't individual parts
that make'.  what you are.  I love you--Dillon Cassidy,.  former D agent,
lone ranger, the man who would kill a scorpion v a gun for me, the man who
makes me laugh and cry: ache so badly that most days, I can't think of
anything you: I love you on your feet, in bed, any way I can get y it doesn't
matter.  I'll always love you.  Always."

Caught up in the moment, in her need to make him nally see how she felt about
him, she didn't-realize 1 tightly she was gripping his feet.  Then the toes
on his foot moved under her hand suddenly, tickYmg her pa Stunned, her gaze
flew to his.

"Dillon?"

He was as tense was a newly strung barbed-wire fence, eyes, dark with
intensity, narrowed on where her fin!  covered his toes.

"It could have been a spasm .... " He was afraid to hope, she realized, her
heart breaking him.  After three days of trying to come to grips with the v
real possibility that he would never walk again, he wa,
going to take any chance that someone up there was playing a little trick on
him.  Blinking back tears, she squeezed his toes, the smile that bubbled up
inside her refusing to be contained.

"Do you really think it was a spasm?"  she asked softly.

Staring at his feet, his heart slamming against his ribs, Dillon didn't know
what to think.  He could have sworn he felt the caress of her hand against
his toes through the sheet.  But he'd discovered over the past few days that
he had a damn fine imagination.  Every morning when he woke up, he was so
sure he'd moved his legs in his sleep that he actually checked, but they were
always in the same position.

A muscle clenching in his jaw, he couldn't find the words to tell her how
much he wanted to believe that if she trailed her hand up from his toes to
his thighs that he could feel every hot, sweet brush of her fingers.  If this
was just another cruel case of wishful thinking, he didn't think he could
stand the disillusionment.

"Maybe you'd better get the doctor," he said huskily.

"Just in case."

A single tear spilling over her lashes, she nodded.

"I'll be right back."

Fifteen minutes later, after a quick but thorough exam, a beaming Dr. Leirue
gave Dillon the good news.

"Well, young man, it looks like you, re definitely on the mend.  You'll need
therapy--I can't say how much at this point--but the damage doesn't seem to
be nearly as extensive as I first feared.  In fact, if you continue to
improve the way I think you will, I see no reason why you won't be back on
your feet within a matter of weeks."

His hand tightly wrapped around Sydney's, who he'd insisted stay by his
bedside during the examination, Dillon couldn't seem to stop smiling.

"A matter of weeks, huh?  I'm on having a hot date that night.  You Linda
Turner - see, there's a certain lady I'm going to walk down the aisle if she
can throw a wedding together that fast, and it's important that I be able to
moYe under my own steam."

His faded blue eyes bouncing from Dillon to Sydney and back again, the doctor
laughed and headed for the door.

"I know an exit line when I hear one.  Congratulations, you two.  Make sure
you send me an invitation."

For several long tense moments after the door swished shut behind him, the
s'dence was so loud that Dillon could have sworn it echoed.

HIS hand still wrapped around Sydney's, he felt her fingers tremble and was
suddenly afraid he'd just blown it.  Just because she claimed she loved him
didn't mean that she was ready for marriage.  She'd almost made the plunge
once before only to discover she was about to tie herself to a man who not
only didn't put any stock in her word, but wouldn't stand by her in the
biggest professional crisis of her life.  After that, who could blame her for
avoiding anything that even hinted of commitment?

"Did I make a mistake?"  he asked quietly.

"If you're not ready for marriage, I won't push you, honey.  We can take this
as slow as you ant" -- "No!  I..."  She laughed shakily, her fingers
tightening around his.

"You just caught me off guard.  Everything's changed now.  I wasn't sure you
would want to still hang around here."

"Hang around?"  he repeated, frowning.

"What are you talking about?

What's changed?  "

"You," she said shnply.

"That bullet in your back was the only reason you retired from the DEA.  Now
that it's..  been removed and you'll be on your feet soon, I'm sure your old
boss would be thrilled to have you back."

He didn't deny it--he couldn't.  They both knew his physical condition had
forced him into early retirement.  "I'm sure he would, but I was thinking
about retiring long   before Santiago shot me, honey.  If you
don't believe me, ask Riley.

Two years ago, I was out here for a short visit and told him I was thinking
about getting out of the business.  I was 'fired of putting my life on the
line day in and day out and not ever seeming to get anywhere.  I wanted more.
"

Tugging on her hand, he pulled her down until she perched on the side of the
bed beside him, her hip snug against his.

"When I first moved out here, I just wanted to hole up somewhere and lick my
wounds.  With my govern-meat retire meat I didn't need to work, but I had
th6ught that one day I would try my hand at writing a book about some of my
experiences with the DEA.  But I didn't even want to think about that at
first.  I was in such a foul mood, I probably would have snapped at a rattler
if it'd looked at me wrong.  Then I met you."

His voice dropping to a low rumble, he cradled her fingers in his and slowly,
absently, ran his thumb back and forth across the soft skin of her hand,
unable to get enough of touching her.

"I took one look at you and never knew what hit me.  Even when I kept telling
myself that there was no place in my life for any woman, I knew it was too
late.  I already loved you."

There were tars in her eyes when he finished, tears she made no attempt to
hide.  A crooked grin tilling up one corner of his mouth, he slipped an arm
around her shoulders.  "Those better be tears of joy, sweetheart, or I'm in
trouble.  Are you going to marry me or not?

Give it to me straight--I can take it.  "

"Yes."  Promising herself to him with nothing more than that, she gave him a
quick kiss, pulled back with a grin and slipped off the bed.

"Hey, where're you going?"  he protested, grabbing for her and missing.

"Come back here, woman.  We just got eagaged!"

"Later," she promised, her blue eyes laughing as she blew
him a kiss.

"I've only got two weeks to put a wedding together.  I've got to get busy!"

She was gone before he could stop her, her wave jaunty as she slipped out the
door.  Listening to the brisk clicking of her heels as she hurried down the
hall, he couldn't help but grin.  Lord, she was something.  And in a few
weeks she would be his.  Forever.  He couldn't wait.