Twice Tempted
by
harper allen


Twice Tempted

HARPER ALLEN

^SILHOUETTE

INTRIGUE

For Wayne Moi non plus, babe.

Author's Note

The bridge in Twice Tempted is loosely based on the John Weeks
Footbridge in Cambridge, but poetic license has been taken with its
location and many of its details.

Chapter One

Annie didn't think she could stand it if she let him get away.  She'd
never wanted any man as badly as she wanted Lucky Logan tonight.

His stride was deceptively loose-jointed and lazy, but those long legs,
in worn and faded blue jeans that molded themselves to every muscle,
set a pace that she was beginning to find exhausting.  She'd been
following him at a discreet distance for a couple of hours now, and
although she worked out every day, at five foot three she had to take
two steps for every one of his.  Since she couldn't let him catch sight
of her until the right moment, she'd been forced to keep dodging behind
other passers-by or stopping hastily in front of store windows,
pretending to study displays of clothing she had no interest in buying,
then hurrying to get him in view again.  Once or twice she'd thought,
with a heart-stopping fear, that she'd lost him.

She wasn't the only woman watching him with more than a passing
interest, she noted with a possessive flash of irritation.  Even as the
thought crossed her mind, a jogger in thigh-hugging bicycle shorts and
a T-shirt with the word Harvard stretched tightly across her chest
tossed her auburn ponytail and veered slightly in Lucky's direction to
give him a better look.

He's mine, college girl, Annie thought aggressively.  So just wheel
that aerobicized little tush around and back off.  The redhead glanced
flirtatiously at Lucky and then passed him, heading towards Annie.

Even before he turned to watch her jog lightly away, Annie had dropped
to one knee and was pretending to tie a shoelace, the bill of her Red
Sox ball cap hiding her flushed face.

That had been close--too close.  Whether he'd consciously noted her
appearance or not, he might have caught a glimpse of her out of the
corner of his eye, she thought in chagrin.  Of course, he'd been
focusing his attention on a pair of tanned legs in spandex, not on the
shrimpy blonde in the ball cap and scuffed sneakers hovering in the
background of his view, but even so, she was letting her personal
feelings jeopardize the task she'd set herself for tonight.  Sure, she
wanted to introduce herself to Lucky Logan--but at the right
psychological moment, and on her terms.  For the love of Mike, Annie
told herself disgustedly, she didn't want to scare the man off before
she'd had a chance to talk to him!

She chanced a quick look upwards through her lashes and saw that he'd
set off along the jogging path once more, his hands stuck in his
pockets and his head turned to watch the last of the scullers on the
river, their oars dipping in and out with military precision as the
setting sun turned the placid surface of the water to fire.

Straightening up, she dusted off the knees of her jeans and hurried
after him, this time taking the precaution of keeping a little farther
back.  Lucky was moving more slowly now anyway, like a man with no
worries on his mind and no particular place to go.

Of course, he couldn't know he had an unbreakable date with her this
evening.

He really was a devastatingly attractive man, she thought in
appreciation.  She'd seen him mostly from a rear view ever since she'd
started following him, but even that hadn't been a hardship.  As her
sister Bridie would have said, the man had buns to die for.  His
shoulders, straining the seams of a faded navy sweatshirt, looked like
they belonged on a linebacker, and below the raggedly cut-off arms of
the sweatshirt he had the biceps of a jock.

He fit right in with the joggers and the in-line skaters who were
speeding along the path, but there was still something that set him
apart.  The redhead hadn't been the only woman to spare him a prolonged
glance.

Earlier, Annie had been pretending to study a rack of postcards outside
a souvenir store and she'd watched him approach.  Half-hidden behind
the display and jostled by tourists trying to decide whether to choose
a view depicting the Boston skyline or a card showing a statue of Paul
Revere, she'd had the chance to study Lucky's features as he'd walked
by.  Lost in thought, he'd had his brilliant green eyes narrowed
against the sunlight, half-veiled by his lashes.  Lashes a model would
kill for, she'd thought, fascinated.  On Logan, they only served to
emphasize the hard masculine planes of his face, the almost sensually
chiseled cut of his mouth.  He'd been yanked from his reverie by a
toddler running into his knees, and while the child's mother
apologized, Annie had watched in fascination as that mouth relaxed into
a grin, perfect teeth flashing white against the tan of his face.

He'd raked a thick strand of midnight-black hair out of his eyes and
had bent down to lift the startled toddler back into her mother's arms,
seemingly oblivious to the fact that the little girl's fingers had been
sticky with chocolate and had left starfish-shaped imprints on the
front of his sweatshirt.

Gorgeous.  Good with children.  The man was almost perfect.  She gave a
deep unconscious sigh.  She didn't meet too many like him in her line
of work.  Well, she'd be get ting to know Lucky a whole lot better
before the night was over, she told herself with a surge of
satisfaction.  From the first moment she properly introduced herself to
the man, Annie guessed, she was going to be the most important female
in Lucky Logan's life.

It looked as though that moment had almost arrived.

In the last half hour, the joggers and strollers had thinned out, but
though she'd lost the cover of the crowd she felt less exposed now than
she'd been earlier.  Dusk was falling quickly, and already a faint mist
was rising from the river beside her.  Lucky became a broad-shouldered
shadow up ahead, and even when the ornate park lamps came on, piercing
the growing dusk with hazy disks of yellow, she still had to
concentrate to keep him in sight.  But that was good, she thought,
speeding up a little.  That meant that he wouldn't be alerted to her
presence ahead of time.

A chill rippled through her that had nothing to do with the dampness
rising from the Charles River or the growing coolness of the
late-spring evening.  How would he react?  Her glance darted from the
deserted park on one side of her to the water, flowing dark and silent,
on the other.  If anything went wrong, she was on her own.  She chewed
nervously at the underside of her lip.  She couldn't count on anyone or
anything getting her out of a bad situation if Lucky decided he didn't
want to go along with her plans.  All she could count on was herself.

That was enough, she thought with grim determination.  She wanted Lucky
Logan.  She was going to get Lucky Logan.  Once she put her proposition
to the man, he'd have no choice but to go along with her, no matter
what his private feelings on the matter might be.  She could be very
convincing when she had to be, Annie reflected, a wicked half-smile
lifting the corners of her mouth.  No man yet had walked away from her
when she'd poured on that irresistible persuasion.

And although he didn't realize it yet, Lucky was already cooperating
with her.

In the daytime, the massive stone bridge across this narrower stretch
of the river was a charming anachronism, a graceful half-moon curve
from one bank to the other, rising at its highest about fifty feet
above the Charles River.  But its fairy-tale appearance couldn't hide
the fact that the river below picked up strength as it flowed under the
stone arch.  Even experienced scullers found this part of the river a
challenge.  Annie'd brought her niece, Mary Margaret, here in the past
and together they'd watched the rowing teams straining their muscles to
negotiate the treacherous current.

And although the bridge was small compared to some of the others that
crisscrossed the river, such as the Longfellow or the Charleston, it
still seemed dizzyingly high when you were standing in the middle of it
looking down.  She couldn't have asked for a better place to confront
Lucky and limit his chances of running out on her if she'd chosen the
location herself.

Fortunately for her he'd walked into the trap of his own free will.

Keeping to the shadows wasn't hard.  It was almost fully dark now.

Still, she moved with the caution of a thief, careful not to make the
slightest noise that would attract the attention of the man ahead of
her.  Following him onto the bridge, she halted in mid-step as he
slowed near the crest of the span and looked casually around.

Barely daring to breathe, Annie held the uncomfortable position for
what seemed like an eternity.  Her weight balanced on one leg while the
other froze in the stride she hadn't completed as she wondered
frantically whether he'd heard her.

Apparently not, she told herself in relief as he turned to lean on the
stone balustrade and look out over the water.  She allowed herself to
start walking again, but her heart was still racing and she felt an
almost uncontrollable impulse to bend down and massage her thigh
muscle.  She resisted the impulse and tried to ignore the cramping
twinge in her leg as she crept silently closer to him.

It was nearly time.  One wrong move now could wreck everything she'd
been working for.  Her plan was to get a little nearer to where he was
standing, lost in thought, under the dim gleam of one of the lights on
the bridge.  At the critical moment she would step out of the dark
and-Lucky lifted his gaze from the river, his whole attitude changing
from studied casualness to a tense alertness, like a wolf scenting
danger long before it appeared.  Annie's breath caught in the back of
her throat.  But this time the man she was watching so intently turned
his attention to the far side of the bridge, as if he'd heard something
or seen a movement coming from that direction.  Slowly he pivoted until
his body was facing away from Annie.  His arms hung loosely at his
sides.  It was an oddly open stance, as if he was trying to appear as
non-threatening as possible.

And it was enough to convince Annie.  The man was vulnerable.  The
situation was perfect.  The time was.  now.  Stepping quickly from the
shadows, she brought both arms up in front of her, elbows locked and
the heels of her hands pressed together in a steadying grip.

"Freeze, scumbag!"

It was a pickup line that never failed to work .  especially when she
was aiming her Glock 19 semi-automatic at her quarry.  Even as Lucky
Logan spun around in shock at the sound, Annie lined up her sights on
his torso.

"I said freeze!"  The damp air had gotten into her lungs and her voice
broke on the shouted command, she heard with a spurt of annoyance.
Damn!  She needed all the authority she could muster at a time like
this.  Psychology was everything at the moment of confrontation, and
since she didn't have the bulk and the height to impress the skips, she
tried to rely on her voice.  She cleared her throat impatiently and
advanced.

"Keep your hands away from your body, Lucky.  Turn and assume the
position against the bridge."

"What the" -He darted a quick look over his shoulder as if to gauge his
chances of escape, but then focused his attention on Annie.

"Who the hell are you, lady?  What's this all about?"

"It's a retrieval."  Never taking her eyes off him, she slid one hand
around the back of her belt and felt for the pair of cuffs hidden under
her windbreaker.

"I'm Bail Enforcement Agent Annie Ryan, and I'm here to take you in."

She was close enough to him now to see the interplay of emotions on his
features--surprise, disbelief, and then a dawning realization that what
she was saying was true.  But what she really needed to see in a skip's
eyes was acceptance of the situation.  That meant they were ready to
start cooperating.

Lucky wasn't exhibiting that at all.  It wasn't a good sign.

"A bounty hunter?"  he exploded incredulously.

"A damned bounty hunter?"  He glanced once more over his shoulder and
then took a step towards her.

"Look, you've got no idea what you're screwing up here" -- "Stop right
there, Logan!"  Annie stopped fumbling for the cuffs and her hand flew
back to the butt of her gun, steadying her aim.

"No stupid moves or someone gets hurt--and it's not going to be me.
You're probably thinking you've got a real good chance to take someone
my size.

That could be the biggest mistake you make in your whole life.  "

Under the careless strand of blue-black hair that fell across his
forehead, his eyes narrowed.  The lights reflecting on the river threw
back a shimmering glitter into his pupils, and for a long, tense moment
she thought that she was going to have to use her weapon.  She didn't
want to, but sometimes you just didn't have a choice, she thought
warily.  She wasn't about to let her scruples get in the way of
surviving another working day and going home tonight to the family she
loved.

Even as her finger got ready to tighten on the trigger, she saw the
look she'd been hoping for enter Lucky's eyes, and some of the
tenseness drained out of her.

"You're telling me I missed a damned court date?"  One corner of that
well-cut mouth lifted wryly, and with a shrug he turned wearily towards
the stone railing of the bridge.

"Don't you ever cut a guy some slack?"

"Cutting slack isn't in my job description.  You were due to appear
before Judge Deakin today, and when you didn't show, the rest was
inevitable."  Keeping a few cautious yards between them, Annie once
more reached for her cuffs.

"It's nothing personal, Lucky."

That wasn't strictly true, but by this time Logan had his back to her,
bracing himself against the railings.  He couldn't see the quick color
that came to her cheeks as she let the lie slip out.  Face it, Ryan,
you were interested in the man before you even laid eyes-on him, Annie
chided herself as she undipped the pair of handcuffs from her belt.

The steel bracelets were cold and slightly damp from the chill of the
fog that rose around them.  One of the last romantic criminals--a world
away from the perps you usually hunt down.  No wonder you asked Lew to
assign Logon to you.

An international jewel thief, wanted in half the capitals of Europe and
more than a few states right here in the good old U.

S.

of A. " Lucky Logan was a legend, and a colorful one.  It didn't hurt
that the man was heartstoppingly good-looking, either.  But at that,
she reined in her thoughts decisively.  Intriguing and attractive as he
undoubtedly was, Logan was still a skip and her paycheck was riding on
bringing him in.  She couldn't afford to let herself think of him any
other way.

"Keep your left hand on the railing and put the other one behind your
back, Lucky," she instructed him.  That had been one of the details
she'd absorbed earlier today while she'd been tailing him--the man was
right-handed, so that was the first wrist to be cuffed according to
procedure, even though the inch-thick file on Liam "Lucky" Logan had
contained no mention of violence.  No, he wasn't going to be a problem
at all.  Except for that one moment when she'd first confronted him, he
hadn't given her any reason to think he might not comply with all her
instructions and go along with her peaceably.

His reaction was almost a let-down.  It wasn't that she'd hoped for a
fight, but she'd expected something more from the fabled Lucky Logan.

Some last-ditch maneuver, a totally unexpected and daring dash for
freedom.  After all, the man had his reputation to live up to, didn't
he?

A reputation that was probably as unearned as the rest of his
possessions, she told herself pragmatically.  She of all people should
know better than to invest a perp with some kind of romantic aura.  It
was better this way for both of them.  Logan wasn't a fool.  He'd have
the best lawyer money could buy in court for him tomorrow, and by
evening the odds were he'd be out again on bail--although not with the
bonding company she worked for.  Lew Jacobs was a great believer in
"once burned, twice shy."

Of course, even Jacob's Bail Bonds had been taken in by the man
standing in front of her.

"A river, a bridge, the moon..."  Lucky's words were pensive, but there
was a smile underlying them.

"And a blonde beside me."

He'd turned his head to look at her, and the smoky green of his eyes
picked up the reflections from the water again.

"It's crazy, isn't it?

A romantic setting like this, and you're holding a gun on me.  "

His voice was hypnotically low, so low that Annie found herself
straining to hear him.  She almost leaned forward to catch his words,
until she realized that was exactly what he wanted her to do.  She drew
back abruptly.

She'd underestimated him.

Logan wasn't resigned to being brought in--he was about as resigned to
capture as the wolf he'd reminded her of a few minutes ago, facing a
dog-catcher.  He'd just been lulling her suspicions while he considered
his options.

But his options were nil, and she intended to see they stayed that
way.

"You're not my first, Logan," she said tensely.

"I've seen all the tricks and heard all the lines.  Don't even think of
it."

For the first time the man in front of her looked at her as if he were
really seeing her.

What he saw wasn't too prepossessing, she knew.  She'd borrowed a
T-shirt from Mary Margaret that morning, since she'd found out at the
last minute that all of hers were in the wash, and under the dark blue,
partially unzipped windbreaker was a faded picture of a leprechaun
wearing a green hat and holding a shamrock, with the words Kiss me, I'm
Irish on it.  The rest of her wasn't exactly a sight to inspire fear
either.  From beneath the Red Sox cap, wind-tangled blond strands
curved against her temples and the nape of her neck in what her sister,
Bridie, resignedly called her Tom Sawyer haircut.  Instead of a steely
and threatening gaze, her ga mine look was emphasized by wide-set,
violet eyes.

Her appearance was definitely a professional liability at a time like
this, but on the other hand, when she was tracking down a skip, no one
ever suspected her of being an agent.  She'd brought in perps that none
of Lew's other employees had even been able to get close to.

She couldn't get a date, Annie thought wryly--all the eligible men in
the neighborhood where she'd grown up and still lived looked at her and
saw only the pint-sized tomboy with scraped knees and a killer pitch
that they'd played sandlot ball with.  But she was hell on rounding up
any male with a rap sheet.

Like Lucky Logan.  The slight smile on his face had been replaced by
irritation.

"Look, any other time I'd trot along with you to the authorities and
give myself up, but not tonight.  Prior engagement," he said through
gritted teeth.  , The man was everything they said he was, she thought
with reluctant admiration.  "Right.  Dinner with the Ken- nedys?
Tickets for the Boston Pops?  Or maybe a reunion with your good buddies
down at the 5th Precinct?  Guess which one I'm betting on, Lucky?  Come
on, you know you'll be able to resume your social obligations by
tomorrow night--but right now you're under arrest."

"You're like a miniature bulldog."  He shook his head slowly, those
smoky green eyes locked on hers as if he was trying to read her mind.

"There's no way I'm going to talk you out of this, is there?"

"No way at all," Annie agreed smoothly, forcing herself to ignore the
"miniature bulldog" comparison.  She held out the cuffs while still
covering him with the Glock, and jerked her head at the bridge
parapet.

"Let's get this over with."

"Yeah, I guess I don't have a choice," he said, so glumly that she
actually found herself feeling a little sorry for the man.  He turned
once more towards the railing and stared disconsolately down at the
black water glinting far below, and sighed heavily.

"Hell of a way to end an evening, though."

He knew how to push all the right buttons, she thought in annoyance.

All she was doing was her job, for heaven's sake, but somehow she was
beginning to feel like the bad guy here.  If he hated being behind bars
so much, why didn't he go out and find an honest career, instead of
trying to blame her for taking him in?  She took a step towards him.

Cuff him, hand him over to the boys in blue and collect the receipt for
him, Ryan, she told herself briskly.  Then go home and put those green
eyes and that roguish half smile right out of your mind, girl.

The man was dangerous, no matter what the file on him said.

It happened in an instant.

So swiftly that he seemed to become a blur of movement, Lucky Logan
vaulted lightly to the top of the stone balustrade.  For a split second
his silhouette was poised there against the moon as she instinctively
leapt forward to stop him.  And then, just as her frantically reaching
fingers brushed against the denim of his jeans-He stepped off the
bridge into the void.

"Logan, no!"  The scream tore at her vocal cords, but the gathering fog
muffled her words as effectively as if she'd shouted them into cotton
batting.  As she rushed to the parapet and looked over in numbed shock,
she was just in time to see a dark shape plunge cleanly through the
swift-moving current below.

The man was certifiable!

Why?  Why had he done it, why had he taken such a desperate, crazy
chance?  Straining her vision against the mist and the night, waiting
fearfully to see if he'd made it, the unanswerable questions raced
through her mind.

Whether he was an expert swimmer or not, he'd had no idea what lay
directly below the bridge, or how far out the pilings extended
underwater.  Even now he could be dead or unconscious.  With fingers
that felt suddenly numb and clumsy, Annie jammed her gun back into her
shoulder holster and shoved the handcuffs into the pocket of her
windbreaker, never taking her rigidly fixed gaze from the unbroken
blackness of the water far below.

He'd had no reason to jump--no reason to take his life into his hands
in such a last-ditch bid for freedom.  He'd known as well as she had
that re-booking him was just a formality, that with the legal hired
guns he could afford he'd be out again within twenty-four hours.  He
wasn't a murderer or a rapist--and even they were in and out of the
system with alarming rapidity.

But Lucky was a thief, and not just an ordinary break-' and-enter hack.
His modus operand!  was well known, his targets never anything less
than the cream of the world's most precious jewels.  There would have
been no problem with granting him bail once more, on the unspoken
understanding that he'd be pulled in immediately if there were a major
jewel theft committed in the city.  On top of that, he'd already stolen
the only gem in Boston that would interest him.

That was why he'd been in jail in the first place--because of the
Rubicon sapphire.

He wasn't going to make it, she thought desperately.  Her eyes were
blurred with tears from the chill wind that was coming off the river,
and she impatiently scrubbed the back of her hand against them.  Lucky
had been underwater for over a minute now, and even if he'd let himself
be carried along by the current, she would have seen him break the
surface of the water farther on.

He'd thrown his life away for a damned jewel--a jewel that by all
accounts he'd only had in his possession for a few hours.  She felt a
spark of helpless anger at the futility and waste of it all.

According to the police report, lifting the fabulous Rubicon sapphire
had involved delicate manipulation of an infra-red alarm system, a
nerve-wracking encounter with the small army of burly guards
responsible for the security of the priceless Imperial Russian
treasures on exhibit at the Danninger Museum, and finally a
death-defying scramble across treacherous tiled roofs in the dark.

But with his usual nerve and skill, Lucky Logan had pulled off the
caper of a lifetime--almost.

An hour after the heist, he'd left his luxurious tenth-floor hotel
suite with every intention of catching the next flight out of the
country.  He'd flashed his charming smile at the only other occupant in
the elevator, a very pregnant woman, and pushed the button for the
lobby.

At which point his fabled luck, at long last, had run out.  The
elevator had jammed between floors and the woman had gone into
hysterics and then labor.  While workmen tried to get the elevator
operational again and a television news crew set up cameras in the
lobby, Lucky had helped bring a seven-pound two-ounce baby girl safely
into the world.

He was a hero for about two minutes after the elevator doors finally
opened, but even as a reporter from News at Eleven was asking him how
it felt to witness the miracle of birth first-hand, a sharp-eyed cop
was checking the description of the Rubicon thief with Lucky's features
and running his name through police computers.  The news clip had ended
with him being Mirandized and led away in cuffs, even though the police
apparently hadn't found the Rubicon on his person.

Bail had been high, but an anonymous friend had put up ten percent and
Annie's boss had covered the rest.  No one had thought the man would
run.

They'd read him all wrong, Annie thought with a sinking heart as she
stared at the black glitter of the river.  His file had been filled
with enough examples of the man's daring escapades to demonstrate that
with Lucky Logan, you had to expect the unexpected.

All she knew of him had been gleaned from a handful of newspaper
clippings and police reports, and from their brief confrontation a few
minutes ago.  However quixotic and romantic, he'd been a thief and a
criminal and the two of them would always have been on opposite sides
of the law.  He wasn't anything like her--he took dangerous risks and
lived for the moment, while she did everything in her power to minimize
the risks that were unavoidable and plan carefully for the future.

' But when she'd looked into his eyes, she'd felt as if he was the
first man who'd really seen the true Annie Ryan.  It had been a
disconcerting, oddly exhilarating feeling, as if she had escaped for a
few moments from a cage she'd been in for a long, long time.  None of
that mattered now, though.  She'd forced him into taking one last
gamble, and he'd lost.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw his head break the
surface of the water.  The wet tracks on her cheeks dried immediately
in the night air and her eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Keeping his face turned to the shadows.  Lucky swam just enough to stay
afloat, the moonlight delineating the muscles in his upper arms as he
allowed the current to carry him downstream away from her.  If she
hadn't been watching so intently she never would have seen him.

"Damn you, Logan."  Her grip on the railings went slack with relief,
but over-riding that emotion was a growing feeling of angry
humiliation. While she'd been standing here going crazy with worry,
he'd been trying to get away without alerting her.  And she'd actually
been stupid enough to convince herself there could have been some kind
of bond between them.

He'd done it again--slipped free from a seemingly impossible trap with
all the style and insouciance he was noted for.  He'd pulled it off a
hundred times in the past:

escaped from a millionaire's zealously guarded mansion without arousing
even a whimper from a pack of Dobermans; walked away from the palace of
a dictator disguised as one of his bodyguards; shuffled wearily past an
army of security, dressed in the worn robes of a simple country priest,
in one of Europe's most tightly-guarded museums.

But this time he'd slipped by Annie Ryan.  And despite her reluctant
admiration for his daring, there was no way she'd let him get away with
it.  The only bond between them that she would allow herself to
recognize from now on was the bail bond he'd violated and she was
determined to enforce.

The stone railing had been about waist-high on Logan.  For Annie it was
an effort to swing one leg over it, and when she did she felt her heart
swoop nauseatingly as she nearly overbalanced.  She closed her eyes
instinctively, her legs feeling like rubber.

"You were right.  Lucky," she murmured shakily.

"Hell of a way to end an evening."

She didn't want to do this.  As she opened one eye and peered nervously
down, all she could focus on was the ghostly white gleam of her
sneaker-clad foot on the edge of the bridge.  If she looked past it
there was nothing but empty space, and she didn't want to look at empty
space.  If she let herself actually look at the drop below, Annie knew,
she'd probably solidify here, straddling the bridge, until someone
found her in the morning and peeled her off her perch.  Looking wasn't
a good idea.

"So don't look, Ryan.  Just swing the other leg over and push off," she
told herself bracingly.

"If he did it, so can you."

The only thing wrong with that line of reasoning, Annie thought as she
gingerly pivoted the weight of her body onto the leg on the outside of
the bridge and then started to inch her other one over the stone rail,
was that cat burglars were used to high, dangerous places.  Remembering
that earlier might have saved her from what she was going through now,
she reflected in disgust as the thigh muscle in her awkwardly extended
leg began to cramp up.

"You forgot he was a skip.  It's your job to bring skips in, Ryan," she
grunted under her breath as she maneuvered her suddenly unwieldy leg
over the rail.  Her fingers felt slightly slick, as if they'd been
rubbed raw by her death- grip on the rough stone.  "Annie Ryan always
gets her man, and Lucky Logan isn't going to be the first exception."

With that, her foot slipped and she felt herself falling off the
bridge.

Chapter Two

His lungs bursting, Logan made himself stay underwater for as long as
possible before coming to the surface and gulping in some sweet, badly
needed air.  A bounty hunter!  Of all the dirty tricks fate had played
on him in the last few days, this had to take the prize.  She looked
like a kid still in junior high--except for the solid piece of iron
she'd been training on him.  The way Annie Ryan handled that gun told
him he wasn't dealing with a rank amateur, but a professional as
dedicated and single-minded as himself, even if the two of them didn't
exactly have the same goals in mind.

When he'd come to that realization, he'd known he had no choice but to
pull an unexpected stunt like jumping off the bridge.  Anything less
and she'd have had the cuffs on him before he'd known what was
happening. She was good.

But he was better, Logan thought.

Despite the fact that it was all in a day's work for him, he'd had to
force himself to make that leap.  It was one of the best-kept secrets
in his very secretive life that he had no head for heights--and neither
did the bounty hunter, from the way she was peering over the parapet at
him when he shot a look back over his shoulder.

She swung one leg over the railing as he watched.

He coughed furiously as he swallowed a mouthful of river water in
consternation.  What was her problem?  She'd given him a good scare up
there on the bridge.  She'd thrown a monkey wrench into his
arrangements--he was going to have to do some fast talking later on
tonight to salvage the situation--and she'd forced him into taking a
chilly moonlit swim just to stay out of the hands of the law.  So why
couldn't she call it a night, like any sensible person would, and admit
she was beaten?

The fog swirling up from the river thickened for a moment, obscuring
his view.  He found himself treading water nervously, wondering whether
she'd actually have the nerve to make the jump.

What had he called her?  A miniature bulldog?  He'd seen on her face
when he'd made the comparison that it had stung, and at the time he'd
wished he could take back the words.  But she'd stood there covering
him with her weapon and barking out orders at him, and he'd known she
had no intention of letting him go.  All that fierceness coming from
someone who looked more like a teenage babysitter than a coldly
dedicated hunter had seemed somehow incongruous.  Like Gidget with a
gun, he thought ironically.

But appearances were deceiving, as he knew only too well himself.  And
for a moment there on the bridge, he'd been positive that the real
woman behind those big violet- blue eyes was absolutely nothing like
the Annie Ryan she presented to the world.

So what had driven her into a profession where every day she pitted
herself against criminals on the run?  Did she have some kind of death
wish?  Logan didn't think so.  The woman who'd confronted him on the
bridge was too vibrant, too invested in life to take it casually.

Which left his original question unanswered: what compulsion drove
Annie Ryan, bounty hunter?

There was a story there he'd never hear, he thought.  He was just as
driven as she was, and in a few minutes he was going to have to get the
hell out of here.

Just then the mists parted like a piece of shattered silk, and he saw
that she'd continued to maneuver herself over the stone parapet.  She
wasn't backing off, he thought in reluctant admiration.  God knew what
was going through her mind as she clung like a limpet to the cold stone
of the bridge while forcing herself to get into position to jump.  But
he figured quitting wasn't part of it.  She had a job to do, dammit,
and if it meant jumping into the Charles River in the dead of night,
then Annie was about to jump.

It was too bad her job entailed taking him in, or he just might have
stuck around.  It was always instructional to watch a professional
doing a job with meticulous dedication.

With a small shock of self-discovery, Logan realized that he was
actually putting off his escape.

He pulled himself up short and deliberately shut his mind to further
musings.  He had to stop wasting valuable time daydreaming about a
woman he didn't intend to meet again.  He started swimming for the
nearby bank, but found it impossible to drag his gaze away from the
small figure on the bridge.

He saw it happening as if someone was running a movie in slow motion.

The foot that was wedged into the stone on the outside of the bridge
slipped.  By then Annie's center of gravity had shifted enough so that
when she started to overbalance, her body began to fall inexorably away
from the bridge.  Oblivious to the bone-chilling cold numbing his
limbs, Logan watched helplessly as both of Annie's legs swung into
space.

All that prevented her from falling was her grip on the stone
railing.

And it was apparent that, with all her guts and courage, even Annie
Ryan couldn't fight the forces of gravity that slowly weakened her
precarious hand-hold.

"Dammit, Annie--push off!"

He barely knew that he'd shouted the words at her.  She didn't have a
chance if she slid straight down, he thought urgently.  She was bound
to hit one of the carved medallions that protruded from the structure,
and even a glancing blow could knock her unconscious long enough so
that she wouldn't survive in the water.  The only recourse she had now
was to shove herself clear of the bridge while she still could.

And time was running out for her.  Maybe it was his imagination, but he
swore he could see her hands slipping slowly on the damp stone.  If she
didn't act now.  Two white blurs--those dumb little-kid running shoes
that she was wearing, he thought disjointedly--swung, in what must have
been an incredible effort, back up to the stone facing of the bridge,
but even as they did he saw her grip fail and the top half of her body
fell backward into thin air.

She'd left it too damned late.  She'd left it too late, and now she was
going to smash into the bridge while he watched, and there was
nothing--nothing--he could do about it.  Logan bit down hard on his
bottom lip, not noticing when the warm taste of blood mingled with the
cold river water he'd swallowed.  He began swimming back upstream.  All
that was left for him to do was to track her fall with his gaze and
pray that he'd be able to recover her body before the river swept it
away.  He forced himself to keep his eyes fixed on her as her arms flew
out in a useless attempt at saving herself.

Then the icy hand that was painfully squeezing his heart relaxed as he
saw Annie's feet give a mighty shove even as she started her free
fall.

It was enough to propel her safely out from the protruding and
potentially lethal facade, and he found himself grinning stupidly as
she hit the river with a splash.  The woman was nothing less than
amazing.  She'd managed to twist herself around like a cat while she'd
fallen, handling the situation as coolly as a paratrooper making his
hundredth jump.

"That's my girl, Annie.  Now just come up for air so I can get the hell
out of here with a clear conscience," he said under his breath.  It was
a damned shame they'd had to meet like this, he thought with sharp
regret.  Annie Ryan intrigued him--there was no use pretending she
didn't.  The contrast between that urchin-like exterior and the forged
steel personality would have been worth investigating.  But there was
no chance they'd ever meet again.  He'd see to that.

Still .  if only he'd had this one night with her.  If they'd met under
different circumstances, he could have asked her out for--aw, hell--a
cup of coffee or something.  Yeah, he would have liked that, Logan
thought with sudden surprise.  He would have liked that a lot.  But
somehow he had the feeling that a single night wouldn't be nearly long
enough to get to know a woman like Annie Ryan.

Smooth move, Logan, he muttered to himself.  You find a woman worth
taking all the time in the world over, and it turns out she's the
bounty hunter assigned to bring you in.  He had to get a normal life,
he thought in disgust.  However, right now he had to concentrate on
dumping the blonde that intrigued him so much, not picking her up.

The mist cleared.  The moon, full and yellow, hung in the sky like a
stage prop in a low-budget little-theater production and, like an
actress making a belated entrance, the woman who had occupied his mind
for the last half hour popped to the surface of the river.  Her hair
was plastered over her features as she glanced wildly around and caught
sight of him, but even so he could see that her mouth was wide open.
She looked furious.

' 7 said freeze, Mister!  "

Thrashing around in the water, she fumbled with the zipper of the
windbreaker she was wearing.  The next minute, to Logan's stupefaction,
she was levelling the damn Glock at him again.

Didn't she ever give up?  He couldn't believe the tenacity of the
woman. There she was, sinking underwater again, still holding that
cannon in both hands and bawling out instructions at him.  With some
reluctance, he realized that although he'd forgotten their respective
roles long enough to indulge in a few foolish daydreams, she obviously
hadn't veered one inch from her plan to take him in.  But she'd never
get off a decent shot while she was struggling to stay afloat and she
was professional enough not to risk it.  While she was bobbing around
in the middle of the Charles and threatening him with a gun she wasn't
going to use, he might as well strike out for dry land.

' And put Bail Enforcement Agent Ryan completely out of his mind while
he was at it, Logan thought wryly.

He swam a couple of yards closer to shore and looked back.  He couldn't
hear her yelling at him anymore, and for some reason he felt uneasy.

He was just in time to see a blond head sinking for the third time
beneath the water.

For crying out loud--she couldn 't swim!

"Of all the damned stupid" -Logan bit back the rest of his sentence and
abruptly changed course, heading with powerful strokes towards the spot
where Annie had disappeared.  He'd been right the first time, he
thought grimly.  She was a bulldog.  A crazy bulldog, who didn't know
when to quit.  Coming after him off that bridge had been one thing.

That had taken cojones, and he didn't care if the term was sexist or
not.  It fitted Annie Ryan.  But coming after him when she knew damn
well she couldn't survive in the water was just plain insane.  What had
she been hoping-that she'd land close enough to him that she could
hitch a tow to shore before snapping the cuffs on him?

A pale glimmer just beneath the surface of the river caught his eye and
he dove.  Her hair floated eerily around her head, soft strands moving
lazily back and forth like some aquatic flower.  A few feet away in
either direction and he'd never have seen her, despite the moonlight,
he thought with a flash of fear.  All that fiery determination and
courage would have been quenched in a matter of minutes.

It didn't bear thinking about.  Reaching for the collar of her
windbreaker, he resolutely shut his mind to what might have been and
focused on the task at hand.  As he surfaced with her he shifted the
position of his arm into a classic life-saving clasp, keeping Annie's
head above water but making sure she wouldn't impede his progress if
she regained consciousness while he was still trying to get her to
shore.  The cold made him clumsy, and he could feel his own strength
rapidly ebbing away.

She was heavier than he'd have guessed from her size and slight build,
Logan thought.  Then he remembered the ironmongery she'd been carting
around.  A gun, handcuffs--he wouldn't be surprised if she had an Uzi
and a machete strapped somewhere out of sight.  He felt his foot stub
against something and it took a moment to realize that they'd reached
the near bank.  With the last of his strength he dragged her
unconscious body onto the mud and clambered up beside her.

She lay there, her face white and her arms flung out awkwardly at her
sides.  At the edge of the water her sneaker-clad feet pointed
defenselessly at the moon, and Logan's heart turned over.

There was no way he was going to let Annie Ryan slip away from him.  If
he had to trade his own soul for hers he was going to make sure she
came out of this.

"You've got a damn job to do, Ryan!  You've got a skip to bring in--you
can't give up now!"

His voice was hoarse and his hands were shaking, from cold and from
desperation.  Hastily checking that her airway was clear, he was about
to press his mouth to hers when her eyes, just inches away from his,
flew open.

"I'm not drowned, Logan."  She sounded defensive, her flat South Boston
accent suddenly noticeable.

"My leg cramped up and then the cold got to me, but I'd have gotten out
of the damn river myself."

She stared defiantly up at him like a street-comer tough, her hair
matted with mud, a piece of river-weed draped across her cheek, her
stupid Kiss Me, I'm Irish T-shirt sticking to her body, and he felt a
fuse deep within him start to burn.  Five minutes ago she'd been
planted underwater like a water-lily and now she was telling him that
she'd have gotten out of the damn "rivah" herself?  That was taking
Southie moxie way past the limit, he thought, ready to explode.

Then he saw the shadow that flitted briefly behind that stony gaze.

She'd been afraid.  And she wasn't going to let anyone-least of all the
skip she'd been tracking--know it.  The fuse of frustration inside him
sputtered and died.

"Yeah, I figured that," he lied.  He couldn't resist picking the piece
of weed off her cheek, but he kept his touch impersonal.  Her skin felt
like satin.  Her eyes narrowed like daggers.

"No, you didn't."  It sounded as if she was spoiling for a fight.

"You thought I needed saving.  You were about to give me the kiss of
life, Logan--admit it."

What did she want from him?  Was her pride so touchy that she couldn't
accept the olive branch he was offering?  Not when it's so obvious,
Logan, he told himself with rare insight.  That was it, he realized.

For Annie, being patted on the head and placated like a child would be
the supreme insult, and that's what it must have seemed to her that he
was doing.  He already knew that behind that blond urchin haircut and
those blue-violet eyes lurked a tiger, rather than a cute kitten.  How
was he supposed to show her he recognized the fact?

"Either that, or you were about to make an extremely tasteless move on
a woman you thought was unconscious," she continued with cold
sarcasm.

"Which was it, Logan?"

He couldn't help himself.  He'd given up hoping for any sign that she
was grateful he'd saved her from drowning, but now she was accusing him
of being some kind of weird pervert.  Maybe another man would someday
get past her defenses, but it obviously wasn't going to be him.  Not
tonight.  Not ever.

"The tasteless pass, of course," he said shortly, before he could stop
himself.

"The erotic T-shirt got me all hot and bothered."

"The erotic" -Annie squinted down at her chest suspiciously.  Her eyes
widened and a corner of her mouth quirked upwards in surprise, but when
she spoke her voice held the tough, no-nonsense tone that he'd come to
expect from her.

"Oh, right.  I can see how it might arouse a man."

"Well, it was wet, sweetheart.  And don't forget that I thought you
were in no state to protest," Logan drawled.

An urgent voice in his head told him it was time to cut and run, that
as soon as she got back her strength she'd be whipping out those
handcuffs again.  He ignored it.

"Yeah, I was planning a pretty exciting night for myself before you
came to," he went on uncontrollably.  His words were sharper than he'd
intended but dammit, her accusation still rankled.  He knew to her he
was just a skip, like all the others she hunted down, but was her
opinion of him that low?

"Logan.  Shut up for a second."

She was still giving out orders, he noted, but for the first time since
they'd met she sounded tentative.  That drill- sergeant voice had
softened to a smoky contralto.  When she continued her tone sank even
lower, until he could barely hear her.

"I guess you just saved my life."  It wasn't easy for her to say, he
could tell.  Although he was still poised over her, somehow she managed
to avoid his eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is" -she came close to stumbling over the word,
but finally she forced it out "--is... thanks."

A few minutes ago he'd been chilled to the bone.  Now he felt like he
was being stroked with midnight-blue velvet, as that husky whisper
wrapped around him.  Then she looked up at him.

This time he was the one who wanted to look away.  It was like having a
searchlight turned onto the most hidden recesses of his soul, revealing
every secret he'd ever hoped would stay hidden, Logan thought
apprehensively.  Her gaze was that uncompromising, that direct.

Now he knew how she'd felt out there in the river, going down for the
third time.  At a certain point you didn't want to fight it anymore.

You just let it wash over you and welcomed the sensation.

His eyes held hers and it seemed like time crystallized into this one
fragile moment.  The moon shone full on her face, turning her features
to alabaster.  The lushness of her bottom lip seemed incredibly ripe,
the thick sweep of her lashes was thrown into mysterious relief by the
light flooding down on them, and even the tangled honey strands curving
towards the delicate bones of her temples didn't look cute or tomboyish
anymore.  They made her look like she belonged in a rumpled bed,
waiting for him, he thought with a sudden surge of raw desire.

Her pupils widened slowly, and in that moment Logan could tell that he
wasn't alone in feeling the mood between them inexplicably and
irrevocably shift down to a more elemental level.  He was so close to
her that he could hear the tempo of her breathing deepen and slow as it
feathered against his skin, and suddenly he knew that his last shred of
control was about to give way altogether if he didn't put the brakes on
now.

"You'd better bring the gun out, sweetheart."  He tried to defuse the
situation with a light tone.  It didn't work.  He went on hoarsely.

"It's about the only thing that'll stop me from kissing you right
now."

"I think I'm lying on it," Annie said in a husky whisper, not breaking
their gaze.

She didn't look a damn bit like a little kid right now, he thought with
the part of his mind that was still functioning.  She looked like some
kind of river nymph with her wide, moonlit eyes staring challengingly
up at his.  Drops of water beaded her skin like small, perfect diamonds
floating on cream.

And that was part of his persona, wasn't it?  The famous Lucky Logan
never could resist a perfect gem, he thought hazily.  He ran his thumb
gently along her top lip and brought it away wet, as if it were
sparkling with liquid jewels, and then he lowered his mouth slowly to
hers to steal the rest of them.

he tasted wet and cool, Annie thought as Lucky's mouth came down on
hers.  Like a lover in a dream, unreal and magical.  in fact, the whole
situation was dreamlike, so perhaps she really had drowned and this
wasn't actually happening.  Certainly the real Annie Ryan would never
let a near-stranger go ahead and kiss her, the way she was doing with
Logan, but there was no air of reality to this scene at all.  She'd
drowned, she thought languorously.  She'd drowned and she was being
kissed by a man who didn't exist.

Except that his lips were no longer brushing hers.  Without warning his
kiss deepened, and just as immediately she found herself opening her
mouth to receive him, to draw him in.  Suddenly nothing was
dreamlike.

Everything was sharply real, every sensation almost painfully acute.

How had she ever thought he felt cool?  His mouth was hot and she could
feel an answering heat in herself, building up from some secret part of
her that she hadn't even known about, a part of Annie Ryan that was
totally unlike the rest of her personality.  A bright sliver of fear
shafted through her.  She was always in control, but right now, right
here with this man, she had the crazy impulse to abandon every ounce of
control she had and act on her most basic desires.

Short strands of his hair fell forward in blunt wet blades against her
skin.  Acting almost of their own volition, her hands moved up to his
face, the unshaven line of his jaw scraping like carbon grit against
her palms, and her fingers weaved into that cool midnight-black silk,
sliding through it and pulling him deeper into her.  He tasted like
Bushmill's whiskey splashed into strong black coffee--sweet and
intoxicating and burning.  She could get drunk on this.  She was
half-way there already.  Through the thin nylon of her windbreaker she
could feel the heat of Logan's outspread hand lifting her from her
prone position to meet his mouth more fully and the tightening of his
biceps against the side of her breast where his arm encircled her.

It was like falling from the bridge all over again.  It was a
weightless, reckless feeling.

But she wasn't reckless or impulsive, and before tonight, she'd always
kept her feet firmly planted on the ground.  Life was random enough as
it was--the only way a person could protect herself and the ones she
loved was to play by the rules and try to make sure the rest of the
world did too.

Right now the two of them were breaking every rule in the book.

It had to stop.  The thought drifted through her mind and she clung to
it like a drowning woman clutching a life line.  No matter how good
this felt, it couldn't be right.  Pulling slightly away, she looked up
into his face.  and felt her determination waver.

The devil-may-care Lucky Logan that she'd seen throughout the day, the
casually tough man who made his living stealing from other people and
slipping away into the night before they'd even realized they'd been
robbed, couldn 't be the man who was even now looking at her as if she
was the most valuable thing he'd ever seen.  The hand that had been
around the back of her head slowly moved to the pulse-point at the side
of her neck and then continued a stroking path to the corner of her
mouth before she could put her weakening intentions into words.

"I finally figured out what makes you look so sexy," he whispered.  His
voice was hardly louder than the faint breeze sifting through the
leaves of the trees in the park beyond.

"Everything else about you looks like it belongs to Doris Day, but
you've got a bad-girl mouth, sweetheart."  His smile flashed wickedly
in the shadows as he lightly traced her top lip with the tip of his
middle finger.

"Wide and full and erotic, especially teamed up with those couple of
freckles on your nose.  Pure hell on defenseless males like me."

The surge of desire that Annie thought she'd conquered ran through her
with greater force than ever.  His finger was brushing her parted lips
and what she wanted to do more than anything was to take it gently
between her teeth and draw it into her mouth.  She wanted to have some
part of him inside her, she thought urgently.  They were lying on the
soaked grass of a riverbank, her hair was flecked with mud and her
clothes were wet and cold.  None of that mattered.  She was never going
to see the man after tonight.  She didn't have to care about him, worry
about him, make him a part of her life--but she wanted to take this
further.  She wanted to live on the edge with Lucky Logan for one
night.

It was the stupidest impulse she'd ever had, she thought abruptly.  And
if she didn't break this off right now she might just carry through on
it.

"But I'm not a bad girl, Logan," she said, shifting position slightly
and slipping one hand into her windbreaker pocket.

"I'm one of the good guys."

He realized what she was doing a split second after the cold steel
snapped around his wrist and those dark green eyes narrowed in
instantaneous reaction as the cuff ratcheted into place.  Then he was
on his feet and half-way up the bank, the loose cuff gleaming in the
moonlight.  Lucky Logan was about to make another lightning-fast
escape.

Not if she could help it, Annie thought grimly.  Lunging towards him on
her hands and knees, she wrapped both arms around one of his legs.

"Don't even try it, Lucky!  You're under arrest and I'm taking you" The
rest of her sentence was lost as she tugged at his leg and he lost his
precarious balance on the slippery grass.  Both of them fell backwards
into the shallow water at the edge of the river.

Normally she'd care, she thought.  But since she couldn't possibly get
any wetter or muddier tonight, what did it matter where she took him
down?

"Come on, Annie!"  Logan gasped.

"I thought we had something going here!  You're not seriously thinking
of selling me out now, are you?"

He dodged as she made an abortive grab for the free- swinging cuff, and
the move took them into deeper water.  It was only up to his knees, but
she was wading through it up to her thighs.  That old height thing
again, she thought in frustration.  Why did it always seem to work out
that her skips were all over six feet tall?

"I'm not selling you out.  Lucky," she panted, facing him.

"I'm just doing my job.  You steal jewels and I put you back in jail.
Hey, you're right--we do have a relationship going for us."

"I like smart-mouthed women."  He waded back a few feet from her,
almost stumbling on the muddy river bottom, but never taking his eyes
from her.

"And I like the way you kiss.  But let's forget about this bondage
stuff, Annie, and keep things nice and normal."

He was trying to get into deeper water.  He knew as well as she did
that the odds were rapidly shifting to his favor the farther in he
went. With another step or two he'd be completely out of her reach and
able to dive into the Charles again.  He'd saved her life--without
Logan she'd never have made it out of the river tonight.  She was
grateful to him for that.  She owed him for that.  But it wasn't enough
to erase the principles of a lifetime.

And neither was her ill-advised attraction to him enough to make her
forget how things really stood between them.  She liked the way he
kissed, too, Annie thought.  Her lips still felt soft and swollen, and
if she touched them with the corner of her tongue she could still taste
him on her.  She'd lied to him just now--the relationship between them
was something a lot less complicated than that of a skip and a bail
agent.  If circumstances shifted half a degree into an alternate
reality, she and Logan wouldn't be here facing each other like
antagonists.  They'd be making exquisitely slow love together with the
whole night ahead of them.

Her legs felt weak.  She knew it had nothing to do with the cramp she'd
suffered earlier, and with an effort she brought herself back to the
real world.

It was time to take off the kid gloves and treat Lucky Logan like she
would any other skip.  Reluctantly she reached inside her jacket and
pulled the Glock out of her shoulder holster.

"The position, Lucky.  This time let's try it against the riverbank."

Chapter Three

"I could have taken it away from you when you were unconscious.  I
should have."

Lucky's words were the first either of them had spoken for over half an
hour.  Squelching through deserted city streets on their way to where
Annie had left her car hours earlier, both of them had maintained a
chilly silence.  He hadn't taken too well to finally being captured,
she thought wearily.  She didn't feel that great about the situation
either. She'd told him to shorten the rangy stride that she'd had so
much trouble keeping up with before, and with his hands behind his back
and his pace accommodating hers, he gave the impression of wearing
leg-irons and chains.

He wasn't trying to make any part of this easy for her.  But knowing he
was manipulating her didn't make her feel less guilty.

"Then why didn't you?"  she snapped.

"You've lifted gems from right under the noses of armed guards.  Lucky.
What stopped you from taking a gun away from a semi- drowned woman?"

"God knows," Logan replied shortly.

"Chalk it up to a bad mistake in judgment.  You looked so damned
helpless."

"I'm from South Boston--helpless gets weeded out pretty quick in my
neighborhood.  You picked the wrong woman to play the strong,
chivalrous male with."  Her tone was distant.

"That's my car over there."

She jerked her head at the dirty brown Buick sitting all by itself
under a streetlight in front of a run-down group of stores and a
laundromat.  This section of the city wasn't a dangerous one, but signs
of impending decay were ominously noticeable.  Several of the
storefronts were boarded up and graffiti had been spray-painted on the
sides of some of the buildings.  The interior of the laundromat with
its rows of washers and dryers was brightly lit, obviously as an
attempt at security, although it was closed for the night.

At least the area was deserted, Annie thought thankfully.  She hated
doing her job in front of a hostile audience.  She could hear a siren
wailing far away and a motorcycle cutting the silence a few streets
over, but apart from that the night was surprisingly quiet.

There was a ticket on the Buick's windshield and she let her breath out
in a sharp sound of annoyance.  She was tired, muddy and shivering.

In the next fifteen minutes she'd be turning her skip in at the nearest
police station and she' actually felt guilty about it.  Did she need
any more aggravation right now?  / don't think so, Ryan, she thought
tiredly.  But you can bet it's not over yet.

She had to stay alert for this last part of her job.  Her prisoner was
cuffed and she was armed, but that didn't mean that she could relax.

The next step was going to rile him even more than being escorted from
the river at gunpoint, Annie thought with grim certainty.  Skips always
hated it when they were told to get into the back seat and lock
themselves to the length of chain bolted to the frame of the Buick.

In the end, even Logan would have to comply.  So why did she find the
image of him shackled to solid steel like a chained wolf so
repugnant?

Maybe because you never got up close and personal with a skip before,
Ryan.  Maybe because you let the lines between you blur a little--make
that a lot--and Logon stopped being just a job to you.

She brought the unwelcome train of thought to an abrupt halt.  Some
other time she'd try to figure out why she'd behaved so
uncharacteristically with a man she hardly knew, but right now she
couldn't afford to let herself think about what had happened between
them on the riverbank.

"This is where you picked up my trail?"  Logan asked.  He'd moved
closer to her and for one irresponsible second she wanted to touch him.
 She stepped away, maintaining the distance between them.

"How'd you know where to find me?"

"Pure, dumb luck," she answered, raising her voice a little as the
motorcycle she'd heard earlier downshifted with a throaty rumble a
couple of streets away.  She kept him in the corner of her vision as
she reached over and ripped the ticket out from under the wipers.

"I

was looking for another runner--Benny Lopez.  His girlfriend works at
the laundromat and I've found him there before.  " " But this time
instead of finding Benny you saw me walking down the street.  " He
looked peeved.

"Hell, I was just killing time this afternoon.  I could have turned
down the next block instead and you'd never have laid eyes on me."

"Maybe you should think about changing your nickname," she told him
dryly.

"But I would have found you eventually--you just made it a little
easier for me."  She unzipped the side pocket of her windbreaker and
pulled out a heavy set of keys.

"No wonder it was so hard to haul you to shore."  Lucky raised an
eyebrow and nodded at the key-chain, a small gold-tone statue of a dog
with most of the gold worn off.

"I should have guessed you were carrying bullion along with everything
else."

Flustered, she looked at the cheap figurine and then closed her fingers
around it, hiding it from his gaze.

"Oh, that.  It's supposed to be a collie, though it doesn't look much
like any dog I've ever seen.  My niece bought it for me one Christmas
because it reminded her of the dog we had at the time."

"A guard dog to watch over you on the job?"  Lucky's voice had lost its
edge, and the green eyes were curious.

"Something like that."  Annie didn't like the direction the
conversation was taking and she deliberately didn't volunteer any
further information.  He was entirely too observant, she thought with a
twinge of dismay.  She had that key-chain in and out of her hand
several times a day, and he'd been the first person to ever comment on
it.

This way, at least Buddy'll be with you when you're working.  Aunt
Annie.  He can protect you from the bad guys.

It had been several Christmases ago, Annie remembered, and Mary
Margaret must have been what--four years old?  No, she'd been five. 
The year after that, the real Buddy had been run over by a car and the
little girl had sobbed as if her heart would break.  It had been too
soon after the other accident that had torn her whole world apart, and
although only a few months earlier she had sat dry-eyed and seemingly
uncomprehending through her father's funeral service, the loss of Buddy
had affected her so much that both her mother and Annie had been
desperately worried about her.  At one point Bridie had even considered
sending the child to a counsellor.

Annie unlocked and opened the driver's-side door and then used a second
key to open the rear passenger door.  The locks worked independently,
and there was an iron grille separating her from the skips she
transported.  Most of the time the elaborate precautions weren't
necessary, but her father had an ex-cop's healthy respect for safety
procedures, and when she'd started as a bail enforcement agent she'd
promised him never to let herself get careless.  It hadn't completely
reassured Patrick Ryan about his daughter' schoice of career, but it
had eased his worries a little.

"See that second pair of cuffs attached to the chain on the floor,
Logan?"  Annie cleared her throat as he threw a careless glance towards
the back seat.

"Get in and snap the open one around the connector shackle of the ones
you're wearing.  I'll be watching, so don't think you can fake it."

He'd ducked his head a little to look inside the car, but now he
straightened to his full height and pivoted slowly to face her.  The
interest he'd shown a moment ago when he'd asked about the key-chain
had vanished.  The man who'd kissed her as if he was giving away his
very soul had gone.  There wasn't even a trace of the easy-going good
humor that he'd shown earlier in the day.  Annie forced herself to
stand her ground, but for the first time she was uncomfortably aware of
the tightly leashed power he'd kept under control until now.

"No."  The one-word answer was flat and uncompromising, forced out
between barely parted lips.  A muscle in his jaw moved as he stared
back at Annie.

"Don't give me that, Logan."  She met his stare with one of her own and
kept her voice even.

"I've got a one- woman arsenal here.  You know if I have to use the
Taser I will, so don't force me."

She would, too, Annie thought grimly.  Sending a jolt of electricity
through a man didn't make her feel good, but it was better than having
to take him down with a bullet after he'd gotten the jump on her.

Logan knew the rules.  If he chose to disregard them, he was going to
have to live with the consequences.

And so would she.

"Don't push me, Annie."  The tense set around his mouth tightened, but
to her relief his voice had lost its dangerous edge.

"I'll get in the damn car like a model prisoner, but I won't secure
myself to the chain.  It's an old phobia, okay?"

The sound of the motorcycle grew louder, but she noted it with only
part of her mind.  She owed him.  He didn't have a rep for violence,
and all he'd tried to do so far was escape, not disarm her or catch her
off-guard.  And for God's sake, she'd given him a much easier
opportunity back at the riverbank.  Maybe the man had been in a car
accident once, maybe he just couldn't stand the thought of being
totally helpless if something happened.  She wasn't about to pry, and
she wouldn't insist on the extra precaution.  In her heart of hearts,
Annie thought, she didn't really believe he'd hurt her.  That's what it
all came down to.

"Logan, if" -He moved with frightening speed for such a big man. 
Before ^he knew what was happening, he'd grabbed the open rear door of
the Buick and slammed it powerfully against her, knocking her backwards
into the open driver's space.

Her head hit the steering wheel hard.  A bright flash of pain shot
across her field of vision and for a second she couldn't move as she
nearly lost consciousness.  Then instinct took over.  Even as she slid
sideways onto the driver's seat the Glock was in her hands, the trigger
in firing position.

"Down on the ground, Lucky!  Now, dammit!"

She'd trusted him!  How could she have been so stupid as to trust a
skip?  It was her first coherent thought.

"Drive, Annie!  Start the car and drive!"  Logan was in the back seat,
his face close to the wire grille.  His voice was harsh and cracked.

"He's coming back!"

"You bastard!"  Her breath was shallow and she could hardly get enough
air to talk.

"If I even see your eyes blink you're a dead man, Lucky.

Don't move!  "

Take a deep breath, Ryan.  Then go shut the rear door, get back in the
car, and dump his sorry butt in the nearest lock-up.  And hope you
never see his lying face again.

He reached his cuffed hands over and slammed his door shut.  Before
he'd even finished she had the gun aimed through the grille at him.

Her nerves were as tightly strung as piano wire and her head felt like
someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

"I'm telling you for the last time.  Lucky--stay where you are and
don't" -- "Drive or duck, Annie.  That biker's coming back and he's
gunning for us," He jerked his head at the windshield.

"And whatever he's packing's got a hell of a lot more firepower than
that Glock of yours.

Look at the laundromat.  "

"What biker" -She didn't trust him anymore, but as the ringing in her
ears subsided she realized that she could hear the throaty rumble of a
motorcycle getting closer.  It had the distinctive coughing sound of a
Ducati.

She'd heard it earlier, just before Logan had attacked her.

"The Italians sure know how to build a bike, Annie.  It sounds like the
devil's percolator and it drives like a bat out of hell.  One of these
days Bridie's gonna buy me a Duke for Christmas, right darling'?"  Sean
had been tinkering with the old Suzuki he'd bought and his mild blue
eyes had glinted mischievously as he'd teased his wife and Annie.

Motorcycles had been his passion.

She thrust the memory aside.  Out of the corner of her vision she
cautiously took a quick look at the laundromat-and gasped.  Its bleak
fluorescent lights shone down on a scene of destruction.  The front
window hung in shards and inside, rows of broken dryer windows hung on
their hinges like smashed glass eyes.

If the line of fire had been a foot lower it would have stitched its
deadly seam right across her--except that Logan had knocked her down
out of harm's way.

"Assault rifle.  The only reason he missed us is that he almost lost
control of the bike, but he'll compensate for the kick-back this
time.

For the love of God, Annie, will you get us the hell out of here?  "
His face was white under his tan.

"This is going to turn into a shooting gallery again in a few seconds,
and we're sitting ducks."

"But why?  Who is he?"

"I don't know!  Let's go, sweetheart!"

He was lying, she thought in sudden certainty.  Or at least not telling
her the whole truth.

The sound of the motorcycle filled the empty street with an
ever-increasing scream.  Tearing her gaze away from the laundromat, she
saw that it was only a block away and coming up on them--like a bat out
of hell, Sean.  You were right.  Annie slammed her door and snapped the
Clock's trigger back to safety, tossing it on the seat beside her
before jamming her key into the car's ignition.  The sweetly reassuring
growl of the souped-up V-8 engine sprang into life.

"Grab something back there and hold on.  Lucky," she said between
gritted teeth.

"It's going to be a bumpy ride."

It was their only chance, she thought, as the Buick shot onto the
street, its tires squealing.  She let the engine revs build and then
shifted smoothly to second gear, mentally thanking Sean again.  Her
brother-in-law had taught her all she knew about driving fast in an
emergency, and she couldn't have had a better teacher, Annie thought.
The most important thing he'd taught her was to close her mind to
everything else and concentrate on the road.  She quickly considered
her options.

There were no handy cross streets to escape onto between them and the
motorcycle.  Making a U-turn and heading in the opposite direction
would take time they didn't have--the biker would close the gap between
them long before she'd outrun him.

"What the hell are you doing?"  Logan's voice was right by her ear, his
face as close to hers as the grille allowed.

"We're heading right for him, Annie--he'll get us as we pass him!"

"Trust me," she said tersely.

"I know this area."

There were only about fifty feet between the Buick and the motorcycle
now--she could see the rifle strapped to the side of the machine and
the full-face helmet the biker wore.  It obscured his features
completely.  Could be a woman, for that matter, she thought briefly.

But I'm not planning to find out.

Just as the biker reached down for his weapon, she hit the brakes and
spun the steering wheel violently.  The back end of the Buick slewed
around sickeningly until they were facing the side of the street.

Without even letting the car rock to a stop, she pressed down on the
gas pedal and they shot forward.  "Are you insane?"  Logan was staring
straight ahead and their eyes met briefly in the rearview mirror.

"What's your plan, Annie?  Because if my choice is between taking a
chance on that maniac's shooting skills and driving straight into a
brick wall, let's turn back now."

"Breathe in, Logan--it's a tight squeeze."  She shut everything else
out of her mind as she aimed the Buick into the darkness between a
boarded-up shoe store and the grimy facade of a restaurant.  She'd lost
Benny Lopez down here once, after sitting for three and a half hours in
this greasy spoon and drinking at least six cups of vile coffee while
waiting for him to show.  Afterwards, angry with herself, she'd scouted
the area to ensure that Benny wouldn't get the drop on her the same way
again.  She'd discovered that she could have followed him in her car
down the narrow alleyway beside the restaurant with at least a couple
of inches left over on either side of the Buick.

Of course, she'd been taking it slow when she'd tried it that time, not
barreling along at full speed in the dark.  Annie hit the high beams
just as they slipped in between the two buildings and the alleyway
jumped into sharp relief.  Through the windshield the hood of the Buick
seemed enormously wide and un maneuverable and the crumbling brick
walls pressed in on the car like two pieces of bread on a ham sandwich.
Annie jumped as a discarded bottle exploded beneath the tires.  It was
all she could do not to jerk the steering in reaction when she saw a
cardboard box in their path.

" Okay, Ryan, keep the darn wheels straight and don't freak out here.

Sure, the walls are right up to the car windows, but you can do it.

Somewhere behind her on the street, she knew the biker would have
overshot the alley opening.  But he'd realize soon enough where she'd
gone, and he wouldn't have any trouble at all guiding a motorcycle
through the narrow passage.  With any luck, though, she and Lucky would
be a couple of blocks away by then.

The side-view mirror scraped against the wall and snapped off.

"You're doing good, sweetheart.  You're doing great."

His voice was a soothing murmur by her ear.  Her hands took a firmer
grip on the wheel.  Overcorrecting could be fatal, but for a moment the
impulse had been almost irresistible.  Logan seemed to know
instinctively how she felt.

The next moment the end of the alleyway shot up in front of them and
they were safely through, jolting over the curb.

"Ever thought of driving a taxi?"  Logan's dry comment was casual
enough, but his voice sounded rusty and strained.

"If this bounty hunter gig doesn't pay enough, you could moonlight on
the side."

"It pays just fine."  She felt light-headed with relief and delayed
reaction and her next words were spoken without thinking.  "Bringing
you in is going to cover the check for my sister's operation."

"Operation?  What's the matter with her?"

She'd forgotten his cat-like curiosity, she thought in chagrin.  For a
while there they'd been on the same side, but she wasn't going to open
up enough to him to tell him about Bridie.  She didn't want him
learning anything about her family, even though he'd sounded as if he
really wanted to know.  and even though for a moment she'd really
wanted to tell him.

It was an unwelcome revelation.  Instinctively she shrugged it away.

She wasn't about to let him get that close to her.  What had happened
to Bridie was still too fresh, too painful to discuss with a
near-stranger.

Jeffrey Haskins had been out on bail, awaiting his trial on a
drunk-driving charge--his fifth.  Although he was in his early
twenties, he'd been released into his father's custody, and Haskins
Senior had had the responsibility of seeing that his son didn't have
access to liquor or a vehicle.  The night that Jeffrey had run a red
light and ploughed into Sean's motorcycle, he'd had an open bottle of
Southern Comfort on the seat of the Porsche he'd been driving.

Sean Connor had been killed outright.  Bridie hadn't walked since.  It
had been the second time the Ryan family's world had been ripped apart,
and Annie had vowed it would never happen again.

Her father.  Bridie.  Mary Margaret.  They were all she had left of the
people she loved, and if eternal vigilance was the price she had to pay
to keep them safe then Annie knew she'd do it gladly.  That was what
love was all about.

"Your sister--what's the operation for?"  Logan's quiet question pulled
her back to the present and Annie knew that he was watching her in the
mirror.  She turned down a one-way street, trying to get her emotions
under control.

"She was in an accident."  Her reply was clipped and businesslike.

"But I'd rather ask the questions right now, Lucky--especially since we
both almost got killed back there.  I get the feeling that you weren't
particularly surprised when that maniac came out of nowhere and started
shooting up the street, so level with me.  Who was he?  Why was he
gunning for us?"

"Your verb tense is wrong," Logan said shortly.

"He still is."

Even before he'd spoken her subconscious had picked up the throaty
rumble of the bike, and by the time she'd verified the single headlight
in her rear-view mirror Annie realized that escaping this time from the
unknown biker was going to be almost impossible.  They were in an
industrial area and except for the motorcycle, the Buick was the only
vehicle around at this time of night.

"You seem to know your way around this part of town," Logan said.

"Can we lose him by slipping down a side street?"

She thought rapidly.  The surrounding neighborhoods were blue-collar
residential with shoddily built row houses jammed shoulder to shoulder.
Children would be sleeping in bedrooms.  Their parents would be
watching the eleven o'clock news in their living rooms or getting ready
for bed themselves.  People would be walking their dogs, leaving for
work on a graveyard shift, getting a late-night snack out of the
refrigerator.  A stray bullet tearing through a peaceful home could
turn this quiet neighborhood into a scene of tragedy in an instant.

"I can't do that," she said slowly.

"We'd be putting innocent people in jeopardy.  Lucky, and that's out of
the question.  We're going to have to ditch the car and take our
chances on foot.  The Buick's fast but he's faster--and a lot more
maneuverable."

In the mirror she saw him scan the passing buildings, most of them
surrounded by chain-link fencing.  His features looked harsh in the dim
light.

"I didn't scoop you out of the Charles just to watch you get shot."

The biker was gaining on them fast, even though the Buick's accelerator
was pressed to the floor.  In a minute the killer would be within
range. She felt an icy trickle of sweat between her shoulder blades at
the thought.

"You're not responsible for me, Lucky.  I'm responsible for you--or had
you forgotten that fact?"  she snapped.

"And if you'd told me from the start that someone was gunning for you,
I could have taken precautions, called for help.  He is gunning for
you, isn't he?"

"Yeah, it's me he wants.  At least, that's the only theory that makes
sense," Logan said.  His breath was warm against the back of her
neck.

"This isn't your fight, Annie.  And no matter who's responsible for
who, I don't intend to let you get killed over something that's got
nothing to do with you."

"It's the first time all night we've agreed.  Lucky, because I don't
intend to die" -Her reply was cut short as a burst of gunfire came from
behind them, and the steering wheel jerked out of her hands.  She
struggled to regain control of the car and was forced to slow down.

"He's blown out a tire.  I've got to pull over and then we'll make a
run for it."  The slapping thump of the destroyed tire sounded almost
louder than the screaming of the motorcycle's engine and she shouted to
make herself heard.

"Lucky?  Are you ready?"

There was no answer from the back seat, and all of a sudden Annie
realized why.  It was the reason why the gap between her and the
motorcycle was getting larger, even with her reduced speed.  The biker
had stopped following her.  The back door of the Buick was swinging
open.

Lucky Logan had escaped--but this time he'd run into danger to lead it
away from her.

Chapter Four

"Don't tell Pa any of this, Bridie."  It was the next morning and
Annie's face was white with fatigue.  She'd changed into sweat pants
and another of Mary Margaret's T-shirts, this one with a Tyrannosaurus
Rex roaring across her chest.  Bridie wheeled expertly across the
kitchen floor to the washing machine and added softener to the rinse
cycle.

"I would if I thought it would do any good," she answered tartly.

"But he hasn't been able to talk you into changing careers yet, so I'm
not going to worry him with it.  The police didn't find the biker or
this Log'an fella?"

She had the same flat accent as Annie, only in her it was more
pronounced.  To look at her, you'd expect the bell- like vowels of the
Queen's English to come out of that perfectly formed mouth.  She looked
like an angel that had stepped from an old stained-glass window.

Everything about her glowed, from the cloud of strawberry-blond hair
that fell gently to her shoulders to the porcelain complexion Annie had
always envied.

An angel who'd not only lost her wings, but whose ability to walk had
been stolen from her.  Annie started to get up from her chair to help,
but sat back down again as Bridie waved her away impatiently.

"You're bushed and I don't appreciate being treated like an
incompetent, sis."  The angel facade shattered with her blunt words.

"So drink your tea and tell me the rest of the story before Pa gets
up."

"There's nothing much more to tell."  She automatically stirred another
teaspoon of sugar into her mug.

"I had to file a report at the police station and they told me that
there'd been no trace of Logan when they reached the area.  The biker
obviously took off when he heard the cruisers coming."

"So you lost a skip.  This Logan--why didn't he scram when he pulled
you out of the river?"  Bridie was pouring a capful of fabric softener
as if the task took all of her concentration, but her forget-me-not
blue eyes darted a limpid look at her sister.  Annie blew on her tea
noisily.

"I had the cuffs on him."  She didn't meet Bridie's innocent blue
gaze.

"But you said you had to pull your gun on him to cuff him.  He could
have gotten you to shore and then left before you knew what was
happening--or did he have to give you the kiss of life?"

"I told you, I wasn't anywhere close to drowning, and no, he did' not
have to give me mouth-to-mouth.  He was going to, but then I opened my
eyes."  Annie took a hasty swallow of tea and immediately regretted
it.

She gulped it down and felt it scald her esophagus all the way to her
stomach.  Bridie wheeled back to the table and took a delicate sip from
her own mug.  "Was he as much of a babe magnet as his photo in the
paper?  The Globe ran a blurry little black-and-white picture when he
was arrested for stealing the Rubicon, but even so, he looked like a
darling' to me.

Totally edible, sis--even if he is a bad boy.  "

The trouble with her sister's angelic looks, Annie thought, was that
they masked a basically devilish personality And Logan's curiosity was
nothing compared to Bridie's.  One way or another Bridie was going to
get the full story out of her, so she might as well cave in and spill
the details now.

"Okay."  She thumped her mug of tea onto the oilcloth- covered table.

"The man kissed me.  Satisfied?  He was a babe magnet, as you so
maturely put it, he kissed me and I kissed him back.  He kisses great,
if you want a rating on the experience too."  She knew that the heat in
her face had nothing to do with the tea she was drinking, and she gave
her older sister a peeved glance.  Bridie's creamy complexion never
changed.  Heck, Bridie could find herself naked in the middle of Boston
Common and Annie would bet that that pale skin wouldn't hold the
faintest touch of pink.

Her own face felt like it was on fire.

"There was a full moon, he'd just saved my life and he said my T-shirt
turned him on," she added weakly.

"Sweet Mary and all the saints."  Bridie was staring at her intently,
all mischievousness gone.

"You fell for him, didn't you?  You fell for a skip."

"I did not fall for a skip.  I felt a momentary surge of lust for a
skip, and if I make it to Mass this Sunday--which I doubt--I'll confess
to Father Murphy, say ten Hail Marys and forget all about it.

I did not fall for a skip.  Falling for a skip would be an incredibly
stupid thing to do, not to mention that I'll never see the man again.
"

She lifted her steaming mug of tea, remembered just before she burned
her mouth again, and put it down.

"He's gorgeous.  Very sexy.  It was a shallow reaction on my part."

Bridie was rolling her wheelchair back and forth, an inch at a time.

It was a habit she knew drove her sister crazy, because the wheels gave
a tiny squeak every time she did it.  It was something she did when she
wanted Annie off balance in an argument, Annie knew, but this time she
wasn't going to crack.

Bridie's chair moved back an inch, and then forward again.  Her
attention stayed on her tea.  The wheels squeaked again.

"All right!  There was a brief moment when I felt something more
between us--but then I came to my senses and pulled the Glock on him.

Is that what you wanted to hear?  "

"You're nuts."  The wheelchair came to an abrupt halt.  "You'd die
rather than admit that you might feel something for him.  Don't forget
who you're talking to, sis--you'd never have let the guy touch you if
you hadn't liked him just a little bit.  Why is it so hard to admit
it?

What are you so afraid of?  "

"Afraid?  I'm not" -- "You're petrified of attaching any importance to
a relationship," Bridie interrupted.

"Okay, so this probably won't go anywhere, what with him a jewel thief
on the run and you hunting him down.  But dam it all, Annie, the man
saved your life--what?  Three times in an evening?

You must have wished just for a second that you'd met under different
circumstances.  "

"What I felt for Logan was purely carnal," Annie insisted.

"Don't try to make it into Romeo and Juliet, even if there was a faint
similarity to the balcony scene."

"What's purely carnal, Aunt Annie?  Is there any toast, Mom?"

Both sisters spun around as seven-year-old Mary Margaret, in grubby
blue jeans and a pajama top, came into the kitchen.  Bridie's eyes met
Annie's over the mugs they both hastily raised to their mouths.

"Sometimes your Aunt Annie uses words she doesn't really understand,
sweetie," Bridie said, swallowing with difficulty.

"Why aren't you properly dressed?"

"I wanted to wear my leprechaun shirt, but I couldn't find it."  Mary
Margaret padded lightly over to the counter in her bare feet and looked
over at her mother.

"Can I put the bread in myself?"

"Just don't try to get it to pop up before it's done.  And bring it
over to the table to put the jam on."  Bridie watched out of the corner
of her eye as the little girl carefully dropped the slices into the
toaster.

"You'll have to wear something else today--your aunt was fooling around
in your T-shirt last night and got it dirty."

"You always borrow my stuff.  Aunt Annie."  Mary Margaret sounded fed
up.  She put her hands on her non-existent hips and faced them.

"Sometimes I think you buy me clothes too big just so they'll fit
you.

Isn't that my T-Rex shirt?  "

"Sorry."  Annie looked down guiltily at the dinosaur lurching from one
breast to the other.  "How about we go to the Science Park this
afternoon and after we make our hair stand straight up at the
electricity exhibit I'll buy you a new tee?  Kid-size only, I
promise."

"Could we go to the Aquarium instead and look at the eel garden?"  Mary
Margaret was busy slathering grape jelly on her toast.  She looked up
just in time to see her mother making gagging gestures at her aunt, and
frowned defensively.

"They're not gross, Mom.  They're cool.  Maybe I could get a T-shirt
with eels on it."  She took a huge bite of toast and looked up
expectantly, her mouth ringed with purple.

"Puh-lee se Bridie rolled her eyes dramatically.

"What if they come to life in the water the first time I have to put it
in the washer?"

"Like that would happen," Mary Margaret said scornfully, but with a
gleam of interest in her eyes.

"Anyway,

Aunt Annie's not afraid of eels.  She'd zap them with her Taser, right
Aunt Annie?  "

"The electric ones might zap me right back.  Besides, your Mom would
just switch the washer over to spin and dry them right back onto your
shirt where they belong, champ," Annie said lightly.

"Okay, it's a date--the Aquarium after lunch, but not unless you get
that revolting purple off your face.  It looks like you're wearing some
kind of punk lipstick."

"Cool!"  Mary Margaret yelped, cramming the last crust into her mouth
and sliding off the kitchen chair.  "It goes with my tattoos."

She ran out of the kitchen and Bridie looked over at her sister in
resignation.

"Great.  Stick-on tattoos, punk lipstick.  Next she'll be wanting a
nose-stud.  I wasn't like that at her age.  She takes after you, not
me."

"I put one green rinse on my hair when I was young and wild, and I have
to hear about it for the rest of my life," Annie said.

"Sorry sis, but the kid's all you, through and through.  Don't forget
that little rosebud on an unmentionable part of your body."

She regretted the words as soon as she'd said them.  Bridie, about to
move away from the table, stopped, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

Then she saw Annie's stricken expression and gave a wavering smile.

"That was for Sean.  We can talk about him, sis.  It hurts more not
to."

She looked down at the chair she sat in, at her feet, in fluffy pink
slippers, resting uselessly on the metal foot plate

"That drunk took a lot away from me, Annie.  But he couldn't rip the
memories out of my mind, and he couldn't take my darling man away from
me completely.  The only way that could happen is if we try to pretend
he never existed."

Annie started to say something comforting, but her sister head jerked
up.  Her eyes were shiny but her voice was fierce and low.

"Sean did exist.  He was my husband and I loved him completely, from
the very first day I saw him in high school.  We made a child together.
We laughed together.  We argued, we worried, we made love together.  I
was his and he was mine, and he still is.  So don't stop talking about
him on my account, because sometimes I feel like I'm the only person in
the world who remembers him at all!"  "I remember when he took that old
motorcycle apart on the living room floor, and when you asked him what
he was doing he said it was performance art."  Patrick Ryan walked into
the kitchen and casually poured himself a mug of tea, not glancing at
either of his daughters.

At fifty-nine, he still looked like what he'd been for thirty years--a
Boston-Irish beat cop.  Only a close observer could notice the
stiffness in his left arm, and the fact that it never moved higher than
the level of his waist.  He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and
sat down.

"He was a lad, that boyo.  He could charm the birds right out of the
trees."

Bridie stared at her father for a long second, the anguish on her
features slowly fading.  She smiled, her eyes still bright with unshed
tears.

"He was that, Pa, wasn't he?  He was quite a lad, my Sean."  She turned
from the table, her leanly muscled arms propelling the wheelchair with
ease.

"I can't be sitting around here in my robe all morning gabbing with you
two.  I've got to finish those bridesmaids' dresses for the Connelly
wedding today, and if you can spare the time.

Pa, maybe we could nip out this morning and pick up some groceries. 
"

"My day's free," her father said easily.

"We'll leave whenever you're ready, Bridget Catherine."

She made a face at him and wheeled out of the room.  Annie could hear
the soft swish of the rubber tires on the polished wood of the floors
as she left.  She met her father's eyes.

"Thanks, Pa.  You're quite a lad yourself.  I don't know why I find it
so hard to talk about Sean in front of her."

"You do it from the best of motives."  He gave her a wry smile.

"Always trying to wrap this family up in cotton wool, aren't you?  And
then you go out and take on a career that's guaranteed to turn my hair
white with worry."

"I don't wrap everyone in cotton wool," she protested, ignoring the
last half of his sentence.  "How do I do that?  By being glad you
didn't get involved in that corporate security company with your old
pals?"

"It might have been exciting.  O'Neil and Russell aren't shooting it
out with industrial spies every day, but their agency is picking up a
lot of important contracts around Boston."  He looked over at her and
shrugged with his right shoulder only.

"But until they get a larger staff, I guess there would be a little
leg-work involved.  I'm probably not capable of taking the punks down
by force anymore.  Good thing I'm needed around here, isn't it?"

"We wouldn't have made it without you to hold us all together when
everything seemed so hopeless.  After Sean died, Bridie couldn't go on
living in Cambridge alone with Mary Margaret, and I didn't mind giving
up my tiny apartment to move back home."  Annie darted a look to the
doorway and kept her voice down.

"But some things, like lifting her in and out of her chair and
converting the house for her disability, would have been physically
beyond me, Pa.  She needs you.  We all need you here."

"Bridie needed me," Patrick Ryan corrected his daughter.

"Have you taken a good look at your sister lately, darling'?  There's
not much she needs physical help with these days, and after her
operation she should be almost as mobile as you and I, God willing."

"If it goes well," Annie said in an undertone.  "But what if it
doesn't?"

"It will.  We have to think that, for her sake," he said with an edge
in his voice.  "We have to respect her decision to go through with it
and support her."

"But it's so risky!"  She raked a distracted hand through the short
strands on top of her head, making them stick up in disarray.

"Sometimes I just wish she could accept" -- "What?  That she'll never
walk again because her sister's determined not to let her take a
chance?  No."  Her father's eyes, the same blue as Bridie's, bored into
her.

"We all have to live our own lives, Annie.

Maybe bad things will happen to one or another of us--they have in the
past and I'm sure they will again.  But loving someone doesn't have to
be a burden.  Let Bridie go and accept the fact that you can't keep
everyone safe all the time.  Don't put your sister in a cage, however
protected and comfortable it is.  She won't thank you for it in the
long run.  "

"I'm ready.  Pa.  Where's the list?"

Bridie's entrance prevented Annie from defending herself, but after her
father and sister left the house, she felt a spurt of resentment.

Even when Mary Margaret, a ball-cap turned backwards on her head and
her pockets bulging with marbles, announced that she was going next
door to play, Annie's response was subdued, her mind still on the
unfairness of her father's accusations.

He'd practically come out and said that she didn't want Bridie to get
better!  It just wasn't true!  And if he thought that she saw loving
her family as a burden, then he was way off the mark.  She cupped the
teapot with her hand, scowling.  She was still exhausted from the night
before, and somehow this morning had turned into "Pick on Annie Day,"
she thought childishly.  First Bridie, then Pa.  She wouldn't be
surprised if Mary Margaret gave her a stern lecture on some aspect of
her personality at the Aquarium later today.

She smiled reluctantly.  Not Mary Margaret, She thought the sun and the
moon rose and set on her fabulous bounty hunter Aunt Annie.  The remark
about zapping the eels had been typical of her hero-worship, although
it wasn't something Annie wanted to encourage.  She didn't like to
present what she did as glamorous.  Mary Margaret had to learn that
real criminals weren't like the bad boys on television and the
movies.

Most of the skips Lew's agency went bail for and had to bring in were
just plain dumb.  They were thugs, nothing more and nothing less. 
Okay, Lucky Logan was the exception, she thought grudgingly.  But even
he was basically a thief when you looked past the daring escapes and
the extravagant life-style.

She shoved the vision of a pair of dark green eyes and a sexy smile out
of her mind with difficulty.

There was another reason why she didn't want Mary Margaret placing too
much importance on her job.  Occasionally, she wondered if Bridie felt
her daughter was starting to compare the two of them.  Having a mother
in a wheelchair was sometimes hard for an energetic little girl to
take.  Annie had taken over some of Bridie's role--last summer she'd
coached the pee-wee girls' softball team-and she was aware of how easy
it would be for Bridie to feel that her disability was creating a wall
between herself and her daughter.

Bridie was a great mom, Annie thought fiercely.  She didn't want Bridie
thinking otherwise.

Which didn't mean that sometimes Bridie's insight wasn't way off
base--like this morning.  Annie snorted.  She'd been dead wrong about
Annie's feelings for the gorgeous Mr.  Logan.  Clearing the table with
more vehemence than she usually gave to household chores, Annie groped
for the word she was looking for.  Lust.  That was it, pure and simple.
Couldn't a woman admit to being strictly interested in a man for his
body in this day and age?  Did that mean she was afraid of anything
deeper?

"I think not, Ryan," Annie mumbled to herself, pouring hot water and
detergent into the sink and snapping on a pair of bright yellow rubber
dishwashing gloves.  She flexed her fingers like a surgeon.  "If you
ever see Lucky Logan again you'll be back in your respective roles of
skip and bail agent, and there won't be any hearts and flowers getting
in the way of you taking him in.  A one-night stand would have been
interesting, but I'm not about to start picking out silverware
patterns."

Just as she plunged her hands into the suds, the doorbell rang, and she
cut off her monologue with a pithy expression she'd picked up from one
of her skips and only used when she was completely alone.  Saturday
morning.  It had to be someone selling something, and of course
Murphy's Law dictated that he couldn't have come two minutes earlier,
before she'd girded herself for battle' with the breakfast dishes.  She
started to tug the rubber gloves off, but then decided that wearing
them might emphasize the fact that she'd been interrupted in her
work.

"We don't need any more magazine subscriptions, no matter how sorry you
feel for them, Ryan," she told herself sternly as she walked to the
front door.

"Whatever he's selling, you don't need, want, or have to have.  Be
firm."

She opened the door, suds dripping down her arm, and looked straight
into the brilliant green gaze of Lucky Logan, skip at large.

"Ms.  Ryan?"  Glancing down at a notepad he was holding in his hand, he
frowned dubiously.

"Ms.  Annie Ryan, Bail Enforcement Agent?"

"You owe me a pair of handcuffs, Lucky.  But don't worry, I've got a
spare.  Step in while I get them."  She kept her voice cool to hide her
stupefaction.  The man had the nerve of the devil, showing up like this
when he knew she would take him in on sight!  What was he trying to
pull here?

Instead of the sweatshirt and jeans she'd seen him in before, he was
wearing a well-cut charcoal-gray suit.  The snowy cuffs of a dress
shirt protruded an exact quarter-inch from the sleeves of his jacket,
the white contrasting markedly with the tan of his hands.  His shoes
were black brogues, polished to a high shine.  In them she could see
the garish yellow reflection of her dishwashing gloves.

She hastily peeled them off, her puzzlement growing.  Lucky didn't have
a hair out of place.  The wayward strand that had kept falling into his
eyes last night was neatly groomed.

"I'm not Lucky, Ms.  Ryan."

His voice was the same as she remembered, she noted with a small sense
of relief.  Same dark-honey tones, deep and smooth.  If he hadn't been
a thief he could have made a pile' of money doing voice-overs for
commercials, she thought appreciatively.  He could sell anything to any
woman with that voice.  She pulled herself up short and narrowed her
eyes at him.  It was time to get down to business.  She didn't know
what his little con game was, but as she'd told herself earlier, she
wasn't buying.

"Not lucky enough to get away from me a third time, no," she agreed.

"Or are you turning yourself in?"

He snapped his leather notebook shut decisively, carefully replacing it
and the silver ballpoint pen he'd been using into an inside pocket of
his jacket.  From another pocket he pulled out a flat wallet-like case
and flipped it open.

"Matt Logan, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ms.  Ryan.  Lucky is" his
eyes flickered closed for a split second as if he had a headache
"--Liam, alias Lucky, is my brother."

He was good, she thought, impressed.  The ID looked pretty real, but of
course he'd have access to the best forgers.  For whatever reason, the
man had come to her to turn himself in, but he just couldn't resist
putting on a show to add to the fund of stories about the mysterious
Lucky Logan.  He had style.

And even in a suit and tie, looking like the perfect stuffy FBI agent,
he was pure male.  A tom-cat swaggering along the top of a fence
couldn't exude more appeal to the female of his species than Lucky
Logan did to the average woman.

The average non-bounty-hunting woman, of course.  To her he was
attractive, sure, but basically just a skip.  Just a skip, she repeated
mentally, dragging her gaze from those smoky green eyes.  "Yeah, that
would be your evil twin brother, right?"  she retorted.

Retreating into the hallway a pace, she felt around the back of the
door.  Hanging on a coat hook was a heavy jacket that she'd worn a
couple of days ago, and in the pocket was a pair of-' "Just like old
times by the riverside, huh?"  Moving swiftly, she locked a handcuff
around one strong tanned wrist.  The other cuff she attached instantly
to a sturdy drainpipe running down the outside of the house.

Lucky sighed, not struggling.

"Actually he ;'s," he said wearily.

"Just let me get my car keys and leave a note for the family and I'll
be right with you, Logan," Annie said.

"Oh, and I have to run next door and ask Mrs.  Singh to look after my
niece while I'm downtown handing you over.  Is what?"  she asked
belatedly.

"He is my twin brother.  I personally don't think we look that much
alike, but as you can imagine, it hasn't helped my career any."

This was getting stale, she thought in disappointment.  "I got the
joke. I just don't think it's funny enough for a whole act.  Lucky. 
Now how about dropping it and let's get on with business.  Wait here
while

I"

"Jack?"  Lucky called over his shoulder.

"Can you explain things to Ms.

Ryan?  "

There was a dark blue Taurus parked on the street, and as she watched,
a man got out of the driver's seat and started up the walk towards
them.  He was dressed as conservatively as Lucky, but he was a couple
of inches shorter, about ten years older, and his sandy hair was
thinning on top.

Joe Fed, definitely.  He had to be the real thing, Annie thought in
confusion.  What the heck was this all about?

"Hold it right there, mister," she barked.

"Toss your badge over and don't get any closer."

"She still thinks I'm my brother," Lucky said expressionlessly.  '
"Give her your ID, Jack.  The sooner she checks us out the faster I get
off this drainpipe."

Moving slowly and carefully, the other man drew an identical wallet
from his pocket and threw it gingerly over to her.  Annie let it drop
at her feet and then, without letting her gaze waver from the two men
in front of her, she nudged it towards her with the toe of her
sneaker.

"There's a phone right here on the hall stand.  I'm going to call the
feds right now and tell them to come and pick you two jokers up," she
said tensely.

"Until they arrive, I want you both to play a new game--statues.  The
first to move loses, because right beside the phone is my gun.
Understand?"  She was lying.  In a home with a child, even a child as
sensible and mature as Mary Margaret, it would be criminally
irresponsible to leave a weapon out, but all she could hope for was
that they wouldn't call her bluff.

There wasn't a chance they were telling the truth, but the FBI took
impersonation of their agents very seriously.  Within minutes they'd
have someone here.

With a cold feeling in her stomach she prayed that Mary Margaret
wouldn't show up before the feds did.

"Just make the call, Ms.  Ryan," the second man said.  He shot a
disgruntled glance at Lucky.

"Ever since they made him my partner this kind of thing's been
happening all the time.  They're probably sitting by the phone waiting
for it to ring."

Lucky's features looked like they were carved from stone, but he didn't
say anything.  While she dialled the operator and asked to be put
through to the local field office of the FBI, he stared straight ahead,
as if he'd somehow removed himself mentally from the scene.

"Logan and Cartwright, yes."  The female voice at the other end of the
line sounded bored, as if she'd gone through this before.  "Read me
their badge numbers just to make it legal, but they're supposed to be
contacting you today."

"Wait a minute."  Annie felt like she was in some weird kind of reverse
universe.  This was too bizarre.

"Are you seriously telling me that you have an agent called Matthew
Logan, and he's a dead ringer for Lucky Logan, the jewel thief who
stole the Rubicon a while back?"

"His brother.  His twin brother," the switchboard operator said.  She
read off two series of numbers.

"Those the badge numbers they gave you?"

"Uh--yeah.  Yes, that's right."  He was only a couple of feet away, and
she darted an incredulous look at him.  His brow was knitted and he was
staring at his shoes.

"Cartwright's around forty, going a little bald up top,

about five-ten.  And Agent Logan"-the voice on the phone suddenly
sounded human and dropped suggestively to a purr " --Matt Logan's tall,
dark and handsome, with green eyes to die for, right?  "

Annie let her glance slide unobtrusively over at him.

"More like emerald, I'd say," she mumbled, one hand shielding the
receiver.

"With flecks of gold or amber in them."

"I've never gotten close enough to see the flecks."  The female agent
sounded slightly wistful.

"But one other thing--if you really have got Logan handcuffed to your
house I'd advise you to release him now.  The man's only drawback is
that, where his brother's concerned, he's got no sense of humor at
all."

Chapter Five

It was an exact description, Annie thought as she slowly hung up the
phone.  But how could she have guessed that the man chained to her
drainpipe wasn't the skip she'd spent most of last night with?  Surely
she should have been able to spot some small difference in the two
brothers!  After all, she'd kissed Lucky.  How much closer could she
have gotten to him?

Don't forget, for part of that time you had your eyes closed, Ryan.

Now, his kiss--that you'd be able to tell from any other man's.

"I take it everything checked out?"

Matthew Logan's dry voice held a faint edge of impatience, and she
jerked her attention back to him.  The white cuff of his shirtsleeve
had a small spot of rust on it from the old drainpipe, but otherwise he
looked as immaculate as if he were waiting outside the office of the
Director of the FBI himself.

"What?  Oh, right."  In consternation, she fumbled in her coat pocket
for the key to the cuffs.

"I'm sorry about all this, Agent Logan.

Agent Cartwright, you can move now," she called out to the other agent.
" Hold on a minute.  Agent Logan.  I can't seem to find--here it is. 
"

She unlocked the cuffs clumsily, almost dropping the key in her haste.
She was acting like ^ ^itz, she told herself.  It wasn't her fault
she'd taken him for his black sheep of a brother.  Apparently it
happened yi the time.  You'd think he'd be used to it, but the way he
was pulling down the sleeve of his jacket and dusting off his cuff made
her nervous.  He didn't even crack a smUg Lucky's, she'd heard, could
charm the diamonds off a duchess's neck.

She believed it.

"You filed a report with the police last night on my brother," Logan
said.

"Do you i^nd if we come in and talk to you about it?"

"Of course not.  Come in."  She sounded more like herself, she thought
thankfully.  Professional and competent.  Then she saw a blur race
through the legs of Agent Cart- wright, heading for the open door,
"Watch the dog!"  She slammed the door behind the two men, almost
knocking Cartwright over and just in time to see a pair of pleading
brown eyes looking up at her from the step.

"He's a stray, and he keeps trying to adopt us," she explained
lamely.

"I see."  Matt Logan sounded supremely bored as they followed her into
the kitchen.

"You should call to have him picked up."

The idea had crossed her mind, but having him express it so
dispassionately seemed somehow callous.

"I haven't been able to bring myself to do it yet," she said.

"My niece would never forgive me if I did, anyway."

Because Mary Margaret still thought that she'd weaken and let her keep
the mutt, Annie thought.  But Agent Logan hadn't come here to talk
about dogs.

"Why is the FBI involved in this?  I thought Logan-Lucky, that is--was
the responsibility of the local law."  She watched in fascination as
Matthew Logan nipped open his notepad and withdrew his pen from his
pocket.  He uncapped it and wrote the date across the top of a new
page.

All of his movements were economical and precise.  While his partner
Cartwright sagged into his chair like a tired bloodhound and nodded
enthusiastically at her suggestion of coffee, he sat bolt upright and
severely declined.  Annie felt as if she'd tried to bribe a Doberman on
guard duty with a doggie treat.

"The FBI is involved because my brother's behavior could very well
cause an international embarrassment for our government," he said,
still busy writing.  He shot a brief look at his watch--a plain,
stainless-steel chronometer that she thought was exactly what he would
wear--and wrote the time beside the date and her name.

"The Rubicon belongs to the Russians, as you know.  If it hadn't been
for a bureaucratic foul-up, we'd have had custody of him right from the
start, and we would not have entertained the notion of bail for him."

It was his brother he was talking about, but the man sounded as if
Lucky Logan was someone he'd never met-someone he would never care to
meet in' any capacity other than a strictly professional one.  She knew
she should be on the side of law and order, and she was--but even at
his worst Lucky hadn't been half as aggravating as the man sitting
beside her right now.

"The Russians.  Of course, the Treasures of Imperial Russia Exhibit,"
she said.

"It was quite a daring heist, wasn't it?"

"Foolhardy and criminal acts are my twin's speciality."  Logan's green
gaze, exactly like Lucky's, narrowed at her as she poured a cup of
coffee for his partner and came back to the table with it.

"You sound as if you find him glamorous, Ms.  Ryan."

He was definitely disapproving, she thought with a touch of
annoyance.

"Call me Annie, Matt," she said evenly.

"Since we're both professionals in the same field, more or less.  And
how about you come right out and tell me why it was necessary to
interview me in person.  Was there something you thought I might have
left out of my police report?"

"Great Java," Cartwright intervened diplomatically as he hastily set
his mug down.

"Don't get us wrong here, Annie--nobody's accusing you of anything.
It's just that this is a potentially explosive situation and we need to
go over everything that happened last night.  Maybe Lucky said
something that you didn't think was important enough to write down, or
maybe you can remember some minor detail that could give us an idea of
where he might have been planning to go."  "He was planning to go to
jail.  I was planning to put him there.  And the only reason my plan
fell through was that somebody started shooting at us and Lucky escaped
from my car while I was trying not to get us killed, gentlemen."  Her
voice was low and vehement.

"I didn't give him a lift to the bus station and lend him fifty bucks
to make his getaway, if that's what you're implying."

"Please don't take this so personally, Ms.--Annie."  It sounded as if
using her first name.  was abhorrently informal to Logan, but he went
on.

"However, there are some inconsistencies in your report that we'd like
to clear up for our own peace of mind.  You said that he wasn't secured
inside the car, but as I walked up your driveway I couldn't help but
notice you've got a steel eye-bolt on the floor of the rear section.
Why wasn't he cuffed to it?"  "If you saw that you must have seen the
grill between me and the skips I transport," she hedged.

"It's not strictly necessary to secure them to the eye-bolt.  The back
doors can't be unlocked from the inside."

"If they're locked in the first place," Logan said.

"Which they weren't."

"It was an emergency situation, as you'll note from my report.  We were
being shot at."  Was the man deliberately trying to rile her?  If so,
he was making a big mistake.

"Perhaps I misunderstood.  Jack, do you have a copy of that report on
you?"

For the first time, Logan smiled at her, but it was nothing like
Lucky's grin.  Matt Logan's smile was politely perfunctory.  It held no
warmth, and his eyes stayed as coolly watchful as ever.  Annie had the
sudden fanciful notion that if she could somehow see behind that smile,
she would find an intricate and finely tuned machine, tiny gears
whirring as precisely as a Swiss watch, instead of a real flesh-and
blood man.

Lucky was a criminal.  He'd lied, conned and tried to escape from her
during their brief time together.  But he'd also unhesitatingly risked
his own life for hers.  He hadn't taken the time to weigh all his
options or consider the consequences of his actions--he'd acted.

Just like when he'd kissed her.

Bridie had been right--he could have dragged her to shore and then run.
Those few crazy moments in the moonlight had cost him dearly and in the
same situation, his by- the-book brother would never throw away his
freedom on an impulse.

"Yes, here it is.  The way I read this, you and Lucky were standing by
the car having a brief discussion for a couple of minutes before either
one of you realized you were in any danger.  Would you care to tell me
what that discussion was all about?"  Logan's eyes bored into hers.  "I
would have thought that instead of chatting with the skip you were
supposed to be escorting to the authorities, you would have been more
concerned with following normal procedure and getting him safely
secured for transport."

"Matt, she's on our side," Cartwright interjected uncomfortably.

"Let me handle this, Jack."  Logan didn't look at his partner.

"Well, Annie?"

There was no inflection in his voice at all.  He sounded like an
accountant trying to track down a possible discrepancy in a column of
figures.  He wasn't going to understand, she knew.

"He asked me not to secure him," she said wearily.

"He's your brother--you must know he has a phobia about it."  "If one
of your skips had a phobia about being cuffed, would you indulge him? 
I'm sure many of them have phobias about being put behind bars again. 
Does your concern for their psychiatric well-being extend to letting
them go if they ask you nicely?"

"Of course not."  She held onto her temper with an effort.

"But he doesn't have a rep for violence and I felt I was justified"
"No, he doesn't have a rep for violence.  It's one of his few redeeming
features."  Logan was rolling the silver pen between his fingers
unconsciously, with short, abrupt movements.

"But he does have a rep for pulling off seemingly impossible escapes.
And he's also got a quite a reputation with the opposite sex--not that
there's any reason for me to believe that was a factor, from your notes
here.  They are complete, aren't they?"

No, Annie thought with a surge of white-hot anger.  She hadn't
mentioned anything about their encounter on the riverbank, and she
wasn't about to now.  It had nothing to do with Lucky's escape.  It had
nothing to do with his hard- eyed brother.

"Look--this was a unique situation," she said in a low, vehement
tone.

"As I stated in my report, he'd pulled me from the river that same
evening.  I felt I owed him for that, at least.  The eye-bolt is an
extra precaution that really isn't" -- "But you'll agree that if he'd
been secured to it we wouldn't be here interviewing you and trying to
find him," he over-rode her.

"Probably not.  You'd likely be down at the morgue making a positive ID
on your twin brother," she snapped, rising from her chair so quickly
that it nearly fell over.  She put both palms on the tabletop, bracing
herself, and leaned forward, bringing her face to within a foot of his.
Her eyes blazed pure violet.

"But I don't think that would bother you at all, would it, Logan?  Do
you hate him that much?"

For a moment the echo of her accusation hung in the silent room.

Logan's expression was rigidly set, his mouth a grim line.  Only his
fingers, so tightly clenched around the silver pen that the tan had
faded to white around his knuckles, betrayed the strength of his
emotions.  Then Cart- wright cleared his throat nervously in an obvious
attempt to break the tension and the pen dropped from Logan's hand to
the table.  It rolled off onto the floor but he didn't seem to
notice.

"I don't hate him.  He's my brother--my twin," he said in a monotone.

"I'm just doing my job."

He had something in common with his brother besides their looks, Annie
thought--they were both liars.  This wasn't just a job to Matt Logan,
even if he'd managed to convince himself that it was.  She'd exposed a
nerve.

"He's still got the Rubicon," Cartwright said bluntly.

"The Russians want it back--like yesterday," he added with a sour
smile.

Shaken, she slowly lowered herself back down to her chair.  She stared
at the two agents in bewilderment.

"I don't understand.  He didn't have it on him when he was arrested,
and the word was that he'd probably already passed it on to his
buyer."

"He couldn't have.  There wasn't time."  Logan was perfectly in control
of himself again and he bent down to pick up his pen as if Annie's
outburst and his reaction to it had never occurred.

"He had to have hidden it somewhere safe and picked it up again when he
was let out on bail.  There wasn't even enough hard evidence to charge
him with the Rubicon theft or else he never would have been released
without handing it over.  He was officially charged with the theft of a
ruby necklace a year ago--a job he probably didn't do, but it was
something to hang on him while the Rubicon job was being
investigated."

"And you think he had it on him last night when I found him?"  A
suspicion was beginning to dawn in her mind.

"He's a man on the run.  We've blocked his bank accounts, posted
look-outs at his usual haunts.  Any old girlfriends that we know about
are being watched, and he'd realize that."  He studied her intently.

"We don't just think he had the Rubicon on him last night--we know
it.

He's got nowhere to hide the thing and he needs to unload it.  "

"Oh, my God..."  She remembered the way Lucky had stood on the bridge
before he'd known she was there.  He'd held his arms away from his body
and had seemed to be waiting for something or someone on the other side
to approach him.

"I think I may have interrupted the hand-over," she said slowly.  "He
said I had no idea what I was screwing up for him.  He said he had an
appointment he had to keep."

Logan was writing as she spoke.  He looked up.

"Anything else?"

"I don't think so.  I didn't take him seriously anyway-not until he
jumped."

"Off the bridge," he said unnecessarily.  He bent his head to his
notebook again, but not before Annie saw the tiny twitch at the corner
of his eyelid.

It was a giveaway.  Whatever he said, however he acted, there was still
some shred of feeling inside the man for his twin, she realized.  In
his eyes she'd seen a brief glimpse of fear for his brother's safety.

What must it be like for him?  He'd know the death-defying details of
every one of those risky exploits.  He'd know that it was just a matter
of time before Lucky's nickname failed him.  She felt a rush of
compassion for the straight-arrow Matt Logan, always aware of but
unable to prevent his brother's rashness.

Her compassion was snuffed out with his next words.

"If he gave it to you for safe-keeping, we'll find out sooner or later,
Annie."  He closed his notebook and laid the pen beside it neatly.

"I know you're holding something back."

It took a moment for his words to sink in.  When they did, she felt as
if she'd been slapped across the face.  It was the supreme insult. 
This man--this pompous, humorless, unpleasant FBI agent who probably
had a picture of J. Edgar hanging in his office, she thought
disparagingly--this Matt Logan was accusing her of being a criminal, no
better than the scum she hunted down every day.  How dare he!

"You got that right," she smiled thinly.

"Guilty as charged, Agent Logan--I have been holding back on you.  But
I guess I'll have to come clean now."  Out of the corner of her eye she
saw Cartwright looking at the two of them like a man watching an
accident about to happen.

"I've been holding back my real opinion of you, Logan.  I've been
holding back what I'd really like to tell you to your face.  I've been
holding back, with great difficulty, my suggestion about where you
might like to put that nifty little notebook and pen set of yours"
"Annie, come on now.  Matt's under a great deal of stress here but I'm
sure" -- Cartwright's bloodhound demeanor was more pronounced than
ever, his mouth sagging in dismay.

"I'm under stress too!"  she retorted.

"I lost a skip last night and nearly got killed on top of everything
else!  Probably the only reason it wasn't a member of my family going
down to the morgue today to make an identification was because Lucky
Logan bailed me out of the situation, using his own life as collateral.
Lucky.  The good-for-nothing black sheep of a brother you feel so
superior to, Agent Logan."

"I'll note your comments," he said stiffly.

"Right now we need to" -- "You need to take a look at your attitude,"
she interrupted.

"I'm damn good at my job and I won't have anyone implying that I'm not.
I'll cooperate with you fully, and if I run across your brother again
I'll do my duty--but after meeting you, he has my sympathy."

"If I see him first I'll convey the message, Ryan."  He stood up,
looking suddenly intimidatingly tough.  All at once the suit and tie
seemed like a civilized disguise, the correct manner nothing more than
a mask.

"And I appreciate your offer of cooperation, because we're going to
search your vehicle.  I take it we don't need a warrant?"

"It's possible Lucky might have stashed the stone there, Annie,"
Cartwright said into the silence.

"Without your knowledge, of course."

He shot an angry look at his partner.

"You really think I've got it, don't you?"  She drew herself up to her
full height and stared up at Logan.

"Go ahead and look.  Maybe you'd like to try for a strip-search while
you're at it.  Maybe you get off on flashing your tin badge at women
and having them cower in front of you."  She gave a thin smile.

"Don't mess with me, Logan."

"A strip-search isn't necessary."  Cartwright was already out of the
kitchen, and Logan started to follow his partner.  Then he stopped.

"But if it was, I wouldn't be using my damn badge to persuade you,
Ryan.  Count on it."  He turned on his heel and walked out.

he didn't look anything like the man who'd shown up on her doorstep
earlier.  The suit jacket was flung carelessly on the front lawn and
the black brogues were scuffed and dusty.  As Matt maneuvered himself
out from under the Buick, Annie surveyed him with satisfaction.  There
was a smear of grease high on one cheekbone, and although he'd rolled
his shirtsleeves up, the once-immaculate white fabric was creased and
dirty.  He'd lost a button.  She could see it at the edge of the grass,
but she didn't point it out to him.

"You know, I'm not absolutely sure now that Lucky did have an
opportunity to reach down under the car," she mused.

"Oh, well.  Better safe than sorry."

Logan stood up and turned away from her, his shoulders set.  He had a
large oil stain on his back.

"Find anything, Cartwright?"  "A little over a dollar in change, two
empty potato-chip bags and a couple of paperbacks," Cartwright said. 
He glanced at the covers and held them out to Annie.

"This must be how you fill in those long hours on stakeout, right?
Interesting mix--Maximizing Your Firing Capacity and a Harlequin
romance."

She took them from him.

"I'm a woman of many facets, Jack.  Just like the Rubicon, which I take
it you didn't find."  She stepped back to place the books on the porch
and felt something under her foot.  She looked down.

"I'll get that if you don't mind," Logan said through his teeth.  He
bent down and tugged his notebook out from under her sneaker.  His hair
was falling into his eyes and as he shrugged into his jacket he raked
it back in frustration.

"It looks like we're finished here, unless you want to take a look
under the hood, Matt," Cartwright said mildly.  His partner turned a
cold stare on him and said nothing.

"Well, that's it, then.  We appreciate you letting us take up your time
like this, Annie, especially since it looks like we were barking up the
wrong tree anyway."

Logan was already on his way to the Taurus at the curb.  He stopped at
the driver's side.

"On behalf of the Bureau, I echo that."  It seemed an effort for him to
choke the words out.

"Here's my card in case you remember anything else you feel inclined to
share with us."

He wasn't even bothering to use her name anymore, Annie thought.  All
he wanted to do was to get the hell out of here and forget he'd ever
met her.  She smiled pleasantly.  She could afford to be magnanimous
now. Matt Logan was a beaten man.

"You bet.  Ill remember anything."

As Logan handed her his business card, Cartwright climbed into the
passenger seat of the Taurus.  Logan shifted position so that he was
-blocking the other agent's view of them and as she reached out to take
it from him he moved swiftly, imprisoning her wrist in a strong grip.

"Why?"  His voice was barely above a whisper, harsh and urgent.

"You're not the type to risk everything for a kiss in the moonlight, so
what is it about him?  Is it just the thrill of the forbidden, flirting
with the wrong side of the law?  Is it his romantic reputation?"

"Let me go.  Agent Logan.  You're way out of line here."

She tried to pull her hand from his as she ground out her command, but
he only held it more firmly.  His face was inches from hers.  Someone
watching them from the other side of the street might think they were
lovers, prolonging a reluctant farewell.

His head was bent towards her and his mouth was close enough so that if
she rose up slightly on her tiptoes, she'd be able to kiss it.

He'd respond if she did, she knew suddenly.  He wouldn't be able to
stop himself.  What was between them was too bright and sharp for mere
dislike.  It ran deeper than that;

so deep that on some barely conscious level she knew that if she and
Matt Logan were ever forced together in the future they'd either be at
each other's throat or in each other's bed.

She knew which option she'd choose.  She could handle him as an
enemy.

"I've seen it a hundred times in the past.  He's charming, Annie.  He
lives on the edge and I guess that's attractive to a woman.  It worked
on you, didn't it?"

Abruptly he released her hand and stepped back.  She felt as if the
world around her had suddenly lost a hairbreadth of focus--just enough
that her senses no longer felt so painfully acute.  The real man who'd
revealed himself to her for the last few seconds had vanished behind
the unreadable mask of the perfect agent again.

"You've got the stone.  You know where to reach me."

He turned on his heel, got into the Taurus and drove off.  She watched
him come to a full stop at the intersection half a block away, put on
his turn signal and pull smoothly and unhurriedly into traffic.

He drove like he did everything else--with absolute precision and not
an ounce of passion.  But it was all a lie.  Maybe he thought he and
Lucky were nothing alike, but the wild streak was there in both of
them.  Lucky's was visible.  Mart's was buried so deep that he probably
didn't even know he had one.

But she'd caught a glimpse of the fire that raged in him.  He was right
to keep it locked away under that icy exterior, Annie thought with a
slight shiver.  If he ever unleashed it completely the flames could end
up engulfing not only himself, but anyone who was foolish enough to get
close to him.

"Aunt Annie!  Can Ranjeet come with us to the Aquarium this
afternoon?"

Mary Margaret's plea broke into her troubling thoughts, and she looked
up to see that her niece was in the middle of a game of marbles on the
Singh's driveway, two doors down.  She strolled over to watch, glad to
return to normalcy.

"Hi, guys.  Who's winning?"  she addressed the semicircle of rumps
hunched over in concentration.

"Me," Mary Margaret said with callous honesty.  She'd tucked her
red-gold hair up under her cap and was preparing to shoot again.  With
her baggy jeans and unlaced hightops, she looked as tough and feisty as
the rest of her companions, all boys.  But appearances could be
deceptive, Annie thought with amusement.  Mary Margaret was tougher.

"Yes!"  The little girl pumped a grubby fist into the air and turned to
her aunt.

"Big Blue wins again.  Can Ranjeet come with us?"

"Sure, if his mom says it's okay," Annie answered distractedly.

"What do you mean, " Big Blue?  "" "My new marble.  Go ask her,
Ranjeet."  Mary Margaret looked up as another player prepared to
shoot.

"It's awesome.  I left my catcher's mitt in your car Monday after
practice and when I got it this morning, I found Big Blue in the thumb.
Do I have to ask the other kids on the team if they lost it.  Aunt
Annie?"

She held it out for Annie to see and, bending down slowly, her aunt
took it from her.  It was blue, all right.  And big--almost obscenely
so. Mary Margaret was right.  Even begrimed with grease and dust, it
was awesome.

It was a long way from the Imperial Court of St.  Petersburg to a
cutthroat game of marbles in a Southie driveway, but judging from the
pile of recently won aggies and cat's- eyes beside her niece, the
Rubicon sapphire was still performing like an aristocrat.

Chapter Six

"Back away from the chocolate chip cookies and nobody gets hurt,
lady."

Annie spun around guiltily as Bridie wheeled herself noiselessly into
the kitchen.  Her sister was wearing a quilted dressing gown and her
hair hung over her shoulder in one thick braid.  She frowned at Annie
in mock disapproval.

"Those are for that do at your darling niece's school on Monday.

Although if her behavior at the dinner table tonight was any
indication, maybe chocolate's not a good idea.  "" She was all wound up
from our trip to the Aquarium.  Who knows, you might have a future
marine biologist on your hands," Annie said, snaffling another
cookie.

"Last one, I promise."

"She was a brat."  Bridie sighed and took a cookie for herself from the
plate.

"I really shouldn't.  I can't burn the calories off like you can.  So
are you going to tell me why that visit from the FBI upset you so much
today?"

"Gosh dam, let's see," Annie stared up at the ceiling in intense
concentration.  "Agent Logan practically dismantled my car in the
driveway looking for the Rubicon sapphire, accused me of lying to him
and finally told me that I was holding it for his brother, whom I'd
apparently fallen for at first sight so hard that I was willing to
break every law in the land for him.  Apart from that, he was
charming."

"Nothing like Lucky?"

"He looks like him, but when the personality gene was handed out he
must have been somewhere else spit-shining his shoes," Annie said
sarcastically.

"Of course, when the honesty gene was handed out, Lucky wasn't in line
either, was he?"  Bridie said.  She nibbled delicately at her cookie
and looked up at her sister quizzically.

"Too bad you couldn't put the two of them together in one man.  You'd
have Mr.  Perfect."

"Or maybe the experiment would go wrong and you'd end up with an
arrogant, overbearing jerk who lied his head off," Annie mused.

They stared at each other.  Bridie was the first to crack, but in a
moment both of them were laughing so hard that she was holding onto the
arms of her chair for dear life, and Annie was doubled over.

"Dam!"  she swore weakly.

"Obviously it's been done before."

"Many times," Bridie agreed, gasping for breath.

"Remember Duke Krasinski?"

"Oh, my God--the date from hell.  What was I thinking, to go out with
him?"

"I don't think it officially counts as a date when it only lasts
forty-five minutes and he has to get his nose taped at the emergency
ward, does it?"  Bridie asked.  "That was an accident.  I was nodding
off in the middle of him droning on about his promotion and the next
thing I knew there was a hand half-way up my skirt.  I was so startled
my head just jerked up involuntarily."  Her laughter subsided into a
sigh.

"I sure know how to pick 'em, don't

Absent-mindedly she reached for another cookie but Bridie's hand shot
out and slapped her wrist.

"It works out exactly the way you want.

You'd run a mile if you ever met someone you could get serious about.

That's why you were so attracted to Lucky--because you know there's no
future with a thief on the run.  " She looked up at Annie soberly.

"And if you don't expect a future with someone, then you're not worried
about them being ripped away from you, right?"

"That's getting old, sis.  Drop it, okay?"  Annie turned away in
irritation and poured herself a glass of milk.  She suddenly wished it
was something stronger, but she hadn't felt much like eating today and
milk was probably a safer bet than a shot of Pa's Irish
whiskey--especially since she was going to need all her wits about her
later on tonight, she thought nervously.

Still, there were times when Bridie's big-sister concern came close to
driving her to drink.  Even with her back turned she could feel those
periwinkle-blue eyes on her as she drank her milk.

"Mom's death wasn't your fault, Annie," Bridie said.

"She never would have wanted you to close yourself off like this."

The quietly spoken words were tender and her tone was gentle, but to
Annie it was as if her sister had tossed a grenade into her lap.  She
felt her whole body go rigid, and she spun around to face Bridie in
shock.

"Is that your theory?  That I feel responsible for what happened to
Mom?"  she snapped.  Her lips felt numb and the words seemed to tumble
out by themselves.

"Because if it is, you'd better turn in your mail-order psychiatric
degree.  Unless the truth is that you've always blamed me a little bit
for that night!"

"That's crazy and you know it!"  Bridie's expression was stunned, her
face white.

"No one ever blamed you except yourself.

For heaven's sakes, Annie, you weren't much older than Mary Margaret at
the time she was killed--what were you supposed to do?  "

"Exactly."  Annie slammed her milk glass down on the counter sharply.

She swore briefly.

"So why would you think that what happened all those years ago is still
affecting me?  I grew up without a mom.  I missed her--I still miss
her, just like you and Pa miss her.  Just like you miss Sean.  Does
that make you responsible for his death?"

She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but it
was too late to retract them.  It was too late to erase the stricken
look in Bridie's eyes, to take back the pain she'd caused her.  But she
had to try.

"Bridie, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to" -- "It was my fault that Sean
was killed," her sister said in a whisper.  "That drunk was behind the
wheel--but Sean wouldn't have gone out at all that night if I hadn't
persuaded him to.  I wanted some time alone with him, just the two of
us, and his parents had offered to look after Mary Margaret for a few
hours so I thought..."  Her voice broke.

Annie knelt swiftly by her sister's wheelchair.

"Of course it wasn't your fault.  How can you even think that?"

"He'd had a long day at work.  He was tired, maybe his reactions were
slower than usual, maybe he might have been able to do something" "--He
was in the middle of an intersection when a drunk driver sped through a
red light, for God's sake!"  Annie said urgently.

"Bridie, Sean never had a chance!  There was nothing he could have done
to prevent that accident!  Nothing you could have done."

"It doesn't have to be logical."  Bridie met her sister's gaze.  Her
hands gripped the arms of her chair tightly.

"I know in my mind that I really wasn't responsible, but some nights I
lie in bed alone and my heart just keeps crying out for him.

That's when I think, what if I hadn't asked him to take me out for a
ride?  What if we'd just .  just stayed home?  "

Annie wrapped her arms around her sister's strong shoulders, feeling
them shake.  She'd had no idea that Bridie'd been carrying such a
burden of guilt for all this time.  Even so, Annie should never have
lashed out at Bridie the way she had.  What had prompted her to react
so defensively?  Bridie had been off base in her assumptions about the
way their mother's death had affected Annie, but she'd only brought up
the subject out of concern.  And I came back at her with the sharpest
weapon I could find, Annie thought in shame, as if I was under
attack.

As if I felt threatened.

"I went down to the jail that night," she said, prying up the fingers
of Bridie's hand with difficulty and holding them in her own.

"I went down looking for Jeffrey Has- kins.  I think I wanted to kill
him."

Bridie raised her head slowly and looked at her.

"You never told me this.  What were you thinking of, Annie?  You would
have been charged with murder!"

"The doctors didn't think you'd make it through the night.  Sean was
dead.  Haskins had destroyed my family."  Her eyes were dark with
memory.

"I hadn't been able to prevent that from happening, but I thought I
could make sure he never had the chance to do it again.  Then I ran
into Dave Bunt."

"Pa's old sergeant."  Bridie was returning her grip, her eyes fixed on
her sister's set face.  "Yeah.  He knew me well enough to see that
something was wrong, and when he asked me what I was doing, I told
him."  Annie made a sound that might have been a laugh.

"I guess I was a little crazy at that point.  He drove me home and
stayed the night, and never reported the incident."

Bridie closed her eyes briefly.

"Thank God."

"I do," Annie said.  She felt the steel of the wheelchair cold against
her thigh as she knelt there and she took a deep breath.

"Most of the time."

"Does Pa know about this?"

"No one knows except Dave Bunt, and now you."  She swallowed past the
lump in her throat that suddenly made it hard to speak.

"I guess I want you to know that I don't always do the right thing,
sis.  But I love you even when I'm being horrible.  I'm sorry for what
I said."

"I've always known that."  Bridie looked up, her smile faint but
visible.  "Just like you know I love you even when I'm being an
irritating big sister, right?"

"Right," Annie laughed weakly, relief flooding through her.

"Pa should be back from his block safety meeting soon."  Bridie tucked
a stray strand of red-gold hair back into her braid and propelled
herself over to the kitchen counter.  "What the heck--I can whip up
another batch of these tomorrow.  Let's put on the kettle and have tea
and cookies waiting for him."

"For an irritating big sister, sometimes you come up with pretty good
ideas," Annie said huskily.

"Once in a while."  Bridie looked up at her, her eyes bright.

"But the best one I ever had was when I was five years old.  Know what
it was?"

"What?"  Annie paused, the kettle in her hand.  "I told Mom and Pa I
wanted a little sister for Christmas instead of a doll.  They said
they'd see what they could do."  She cleared her throat, turning to the
counter and peeling back the plastic wrap from the plate of cookies.
From outside came the sound of the van turning into the driveway.

"No returns or exchanges after all this time, sis."  Annie's voice was
soft and her hand touched the bright rose- gold of her sister's hair so
lightly that Bridie didn't notice.

"You've left it too late to take me back now."

she'd left it too late to take the Rubicon to Matt Logan, Annie thought
nervously a few hours later.  But she'd never intended to.  From the
moment she'd first laid eyes on the thing, glittering through its
coating of grime in Mary Margaret's hand, she'd known exactly what she
was going to do.

She sat on the edge of her bed in the dark, looking down through the
open window at her car parked directly below.  She was a bounty hunter,
dammit!  If fate handed her a second chance to bring her skip in, she'd
take it.

There's the little matter of possessing stolen goods, Ryan.  What makes
you so sure Logon won't have you charged with that when he finds out
you had the Rubicon and didn't tell him?  He wouldn't, she answered
herself.  Not if she delivered his brother at the same time she handed
over the stone.

It wa's a trap, with the Rubicon as bait.  Matt Logan might have had
his suspicions that Lucky had stashed the sapphire during that wild
ride last night, planning to come back and retrieve it.  But, despite
the fact that he'd thought she was lying to him this morning, he had no
hard proof that his theory was correct.  The only person who knew for
sure that Lucky would be back to collect his ill-gotten gains was.  Me,
Annie thought in satisfaction.  And I'll be waiting for him.  She heard
a faint noise from down below and froze, straining her eyes to see
through the darkness.  It came again, a curious whining sound.  Then
she saw the small figure trotting disconsolately down the drive to the
sidewalk and she relaxed.  The mutt was persistent, she thought with
reluctant admiration.  He'd been hanging around for weeks now, and he
hadn't given up yet.  If Mary Margaret hadn't gone through so much in
the last few years she might even have caved in and allowed him to
become part of the family.  But it was too soon--the child was still
too emotionally vulnerable.  She'd never forgive herself if she let
Mary Margaret have a pet right now and something happened to it.

The house was quiet, and when she glanced at the faintly luminous dial
of her watch she saw that it was after two o'clock.  If he was going to
show up at all it would be soon, she thought, moving closer to the
window and feeling the cool night air on her face.  He'd go directly to
the Buick and the baseball glove that she'd replaced on the seat, and
when he did, she'd creep down the back stairs and have him covered
before he even realized that the sapphire wasn't there.

She darted a swift look at her dresser where the Rubicon gleamed coldly
in the moonlight.

He'd used her.  She shifted position slightly, still keeping to one
side of the open window.  She'd thought that he'd risked his life last
night to draw the shooter away from her, but his priority had always
been that damned stone.  He'd been protecting it, not her.

"I don't owe you a thing.  Lucky," she murmured under her breath.

"You played me for a fool right from the start, but it won't happen
again."

The worst of it was, there had been some truth in what Bridie had said
this morning.  Annie's face warmed as she remembered how vehemently
she'd denied her attraction to Lucky, and how easily her sister had
guessed that she was lying to herself.  She might as well admit it--she
hadn't been able to forget that kiss all day, hadn't been able to
control the slow heat that ran through her every time she thought of
it.  His hands on her, the taste of him, the way his wet clothes had
clung to that leanly muscled body like a second skin.  And the look in
his eyes when he'd held her as if he didn't want to let her go.  While
she was at it, she thought uncomfortably, she might as well admit that
what she'd felt for the man hadn't been exclusively physical.

She had fallen for him a little, despite everything she knew about him.
How stupid could she get?

He was undeniably good-looking.  Those eyes, that midnight-black hair,
those broad shoulders that even his immaculately cut jacket couldn't
completely conceal, Annie mused.  He was devastatingly-She pulled
herself up short.  She'd never seen Lucky in a suit--for some reason,
it was Matt Logan she was visualizing.  And that really was ridiculous,
because if there was one man who was definitely not on her fantasy
list, it was Agent Logan.

There was a soft click as the door to her Buick was opened.

He was there!  Adrenaline surged through her as she saw the shadowy
figure in the driveway leaning into the unlocked car, but she
controlled her racing pulse and stood up, keeping to the edge of the
window frame where she could see but not be seen.  It was Lucky, all
right.  Her plan had worked and he'd walked straight into the trap
she'd laid for him.

Hastily slipping out of her room and down the back stairs, she pulled
her Glock from her shoulder holster.  One of the few things she and
Matt Logan agreed on was that his brother wasn't a violent offender,
but the gun would persuade Lucky that running wasn't an option.  All
she had to do was hand him over to the police tonight like a special
delivery parcel, and then tomorrow she'd have the satis fac don of
watching Agent Logan's chiseled jaw drop as she told him she'd got both
Lucky and the Rubicon back.

She edged round the corner of the house, thankful that her father and
Bridie were sound sleepers and that for the past few months the
nightmares that Mary Margaret had suffered from after the accident
seemed to have stopped.  She didn't want her family involved in this at
all, no matter how charming a criminal Lucky was.

She rounded the last corner of the house and stepped into the driveway,
the Glock preceding her as she trained it on where Lucky was--where
Lucky should have been.  Although the door to the Buick was still open,
there was no one there.

A slight movement caught the corner of her eye, and she looked up just
in time to see the dark silhouette slipping in through her open bedroom
window.

He was in the house!  Suddenly it didn't matter what Logan's rap sheet
said--her heart felt like it was going to explode as she spun around
and headed for the back stairs at a run.  Her father and Bridie had
their rooms on the first floor, but Mary Margaret's room was just down
the hall from hers.  Dear God, what if she came wandering into the
bedroom while Lucky was there?  Who knew how he'd react if he was
startled?

If anything happened to Mary Margaret, Annie knew she would never
forgive herself.  As she crept down the hall she noted with relief that
the little girl's bedroom door was closed.  She felt almost weak with
reaction, and then anger kicked in.  Nobody got this close to the
people she cared about!

She pushed her door open and raised the Glock.  "Freeze, Lucky.  And
this time don't try any swan dives."

She flicked the switch by the door on with one hand, and the shaded
lamp by her bed spilled a warm golden glow into the room.  He was
dressed in a black sweater and jeans, and he had his back to her.  One
leg was already thrown over the windowsill.  He did as she said, and
froze.

"Maybe it's time for me to look into another career," he said
conversationally, still not moving.

"I think I'm losing my touch."

"You'll lose more than your touch if you don't stop talking and get
back in the room," Annie said repressively.

"I'm in no mood for lighthearted charm, Lucky.  Or sudden moves.  Keep
your hands in plain view and take it real slow."  "Did I forget our
anniversary or something, sweetheart?"  Logan gripped the sides of the
window frame and straightened up to his full height.

"I mean, last night you were going to hand me over to the cops, but you
still laughed at my jokes."

The man was impossible, "I was being polite.  I forgot my manners when
I found out you'd used my car as a hiding place for your loot, Lucky.

Turn around.  "

"It was a spur of the moment decision."  He pivoted slowly and faced
her, and although she'd been prepared for it, the' full force of his
magnetism struck her like a blow.

He didn't have to steal, she thought helplessly.  All he had to do was
ask nicely, and most women would hand their jewelry over.  That little
half smile hovering at the corner of his mouth was the clincher, but
the silky wool sweater, its sleeves pushed halfway up strong forearms,
and the button-front jeans riding those lean hips didn't hurt either.

In her softly feminine room his overwhelming maleness was an almost
physical force.  Contrasted with the white- painted window trim his
skin looked dark gold, and the lace of the curtains seemed more fragile
as he leaned against them and met her suddenly uncertain gaze.

"I never planned on involving you further," he said slowly, his green
eyes regretful.

Okay, now that was a lie, she thought briskly, forcing herself to
ignore the husky note in his voice and concentrate on the words.  She
felt as if she'd just been doused with ice-water.  It was a welcome
jolt back to reality.

"Give me a break," she said bluntly.

"You had every intention of involving me.  That's why you broke the
dome- light in the car--because you knew you'd be sneaking back here
tonight if you could, and you didn't want it coming on when you opened
the door."

The half smile slipped and then he rallied.  "A stray bullet.  I'd say
we both had a narrow escape last night."

"It was crushed, not shattered.  You had to have done it while I was
busy trying to dodge that maniac on the bike, which takes this out of
the realm of a spur-of-the-moment decision."  She gave him a half smile
of her own.

"Any other lame excuses I can shoot down?  I'm on a roll here,
Lucky."

"It's not just that I put the damn jewel in the car, is it?  It's
because I brought this whole mess too' close to your family."  He
wasn't smiling this time, and suddenly his expression was more like his
brother's than his own.

"I'm sorry for that, Annie.  I realized you'd discovered it when I
found that the baseball glove was empty, and then I saw the open
window.  Like I said, I must be losing my touch-- I'd thought I'd be in
and out in a second.  But I'd never have hurt anyone in this
house--including you."

He had a patent on phony sincerity, she told herself dubiously.  But
somehow she found herself believing that this time, at least, he was
telling the truth.  If she wanted to blame anyone for this, she should
be blaming herself.  Using the Rubicon as bait had been her plan after
all, and what was bait for if not to attract a catch?  She'd been too
self confident, too sure that she could confine the take-down to the
driveway, but she shouldn't have taken even that much of a risk.  Now
she was stuck in her bedroom with a jewel thief who could make Houdini
look like a butterfingers.  What the heck was she going to do with
him?

They couldn't leave the way he'd come.  Maybe Lucky Logan could scale
walls with ease, but there was no way she could cover him and make it
down herself without breaking her neck.  And she wasn't about to lead
him through a sleeping house in the dark, she thought, her unease
growing.  It would be too easy for him to escape, especially since
there was no way he'd believe she would use her gun.  He'd proven last
night that handcuffs weren't a deterrent when he felt like making a
fast departure.

There was only one solution, but she refused even to consider it.

"You're trying to figure out what to do with me now, aren't you?"  He
was studying her with interest.

"You've decided that we can't leave by the window and you won't risk
playing blind-man's-bluff with me in your house.  Which means that
you're probably going to keep me here in your bedroom until morning,
right?"

"In your dreams, Logan."  Her response was nervously automatic, but he
was right.  What else could she do?  She'd painted herself into a
corner. And if she was forced to keep him here all night, what in
heaven's name was she going to cuff him to?

"You'll have to cuff me to the bedstead," he said thoughtfully.

"It's about the only thing that's sturdy enough.  You're right, this is
like in my dreams--my dream last night, anyway."

"I don't want to hear about it, Logan."  She could feel the color
rising in her cheeks.

"Maybe you're under the mistaken impression that I invited you here for
a sleepover,

but to me this is a simple problem in logistics.  One--I need to keep
you locked up until I can get you out of here safely.  Two--To do that
I'm going to have to cuff you.  Three-- I'm not cuffing you to my
bed.

So all I have to do is find something strong enough to secure you to
for a few hours and my problem's solved.  "

Nothing could be farther from the truth, she thought.  If she was
actually considering spending the night with Lucky Logan, her problems
were just beginning.  She darted a quick look at him from under her
lashes and felt the now- familiar weakness in her knees, the molten
warmth spreading through her veins.  Maybe if she'd never kissed him in
the first place she wouldn't be feeling so vulnerable now, but she had.
She remembered exactly how it had felt, and ever since last night she'd
been aching to experience it again.

Staying away from him would take all the will power she had and then
some, but there really wasn't any other option.  She'd just have to
cuff him to something strong enough so that she could concentrate on
standing guard over her own impulses for the next few hours.

She looked expectantly around the room she'd slept in since she was a
little girl, as if it might have possibilities she'd never seen before.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that slow, heart-stopping grin
spread across his features.

"I like sleeping on the left side, sweetheart," Lucky said.

"this is cosy."  He was propped up with four feather pillows behind his
head, his long legs almost touching the ornate iron foot board.

"You don't have to cover me with that cannon all night.  I can't go
anywhere."

He shouldn't be able to, she thought, eyeing him from across the
room.

His right wrist was encircled by heavy stainless steel, and the other
cuff was snapped around solid Victorian iron.  She'd seen the bed in
the window of a Charles Street antique dealer last summer, and although
it had been more than she really should have spent, she hadn't been
able to resist it.

The man attached to it right now was another story, she told herself.

Nothing he said was about to make her relax her vigilance.

"I take it this wasn't the way it was in your dream."  As soon as she
uttered the words, she knew they were a mistake.

"Well, there were handcuffs."  He slanted a lazy look at her through
half-closed eyes.

"But you were wearing them.  And not much else, as I recall."

The sensually teasing note in his voice did nothing to dispel the
erotic image that flashed through her mind.  He'd fantasized about
her.

He'd dreamt about her.  She'd affected him the same way he'd affected
her, and he'd known the same dry-mouthed frustration she'd been feeling
since they'd broken off that kiss last night.  But he'd continued the
encounter between them in his imagination.  With an effort she turned
the conversation back to a safer subject.

"Your brother told me you had a reputation.  Lucky.  I'm immune to you
now that I've been warned."

"Matt?"  His eyes flew open and he seemed suddenly tense.

"He talked to you about me?  What did he say?"

"He came here looking for information and the Rubicon."  She sat back
in the overstuffed easy chair a few feet away from the bed, hoping he
hadn't noticed her momentary susceptibility.

"There's no love lost between you two, is there?"

"We were separated when we were just kids.  Our parents died in a plane
crash and we were brought up by different branches of the family."  He
shrugged.

"We don't have much in common."

"You don't seem to have anything in common.  Tell me, was he always so
stuffy and strait-laced?"

"Is that the way he seemed to you?"  He frowned.

"I guess he does give that impression at times.  My mother's side of
the family took him in when we were orphaned, and they were old
money--wealthy and conservative.  He spent most of his childhood at
boarding schools."

"That would have been hard on him," Annie said slowly.

"First losing his parents and his twin, and then being shipped off to
school like an unwanted package."  It explained the spit-and-polish
demeanor that had irritated her so much, she thought.

"My mother's parents were a lot older than the grandparents who adopted
me.  Matt always cared for them, and they did their best by him," Lucky
grinned.

"But I got the fun side of the family."

"Your father's parents?  What were they like?"

"Sam was a trapeze artist when he was younger--he's my grandfather.

Yvonne, my grandmother, was the daughter of minor royalty, without a
penny to her name but with a face so beautiful that people would stop
in the street and stare at her.  " He smiled.

"That's what Sam says, anyway.  It's not hard to believe--she's still
lovely."

"So you were brought up in a circus?"  she asked curiously.

"Hell, no.  Yvonne made Sam quit the trapeze act when they got married,
and they became the most famous husband-and-wife team of jewel thieves
of their day."  He lay back on her satin pillows, obviously enjoying
her stupefaction.

"I'm carrying on the family business, sweetheart."

She was startled into laughter.  "No wonder you two are like night and
day!"  she said.

"Doesn't he sometimes wish your positions had been reversed?"

"He'd never admit to it, but the life he leads has got to drive him
crazy once in a while."  Lucky raked his free hand through his hair.  '
"I mean, look at him--always having to be so careful, so conservative,
just to live down the blot on his family tree.  He nearly didn't get
into the Bureau because of his background, and he's had to fight for
every promotion.  Having him on my case is probably a test of his
loyalties--they insisted on calling him in on this."

"Why wouldn't they?  One of their agents is the brother of the criminal
they're trying to find--of course he'd be assigned to you."  She was
surprised to hear an edge in her tone, and she lowered her voice.  '
"The one man who knows you better than anyone else and you didn't think
he'd get involved?"

"And the one man who might not be completely objective about putting me
behind bars."  He looked up, black hair falling into his eyes and his
mouth thinned to a humorless line.

"If he hadn't been given the case he would have-asked for it."

"He wanted the chance to hunt you down?  But why?"  If it was anyone
other than Agent Logan, Annie thought, she wouldn't believe it.  But
after their conversation today she'd known he was being driven by an
overwhelming emotion where his brother was concerned.

"Who knows?"  A shadow crossed his face.

"Maybe he's got some crazy notion that he can save me from myself.
Maybe he's doing it because he cares."  He shrugged, but she had the
impression that he wasn't as unaffected as he was pretending to be.

"And maybe he's doing it because his whole life he's been confined to a
stifling mold, and you've always been a free spirit.  Maybe he can't
stand that," she suggested, her eyes narrowing as she recalled their
encounter.

"He really got to you, didn't he?"  Lucky looked taken aback at the
vehemence of her reaction.  "What was it about him that riled you so
much?"

"That damned notebook!"  she retorted heatedly.

"The man must sleep with it.  It's probably the.  most meaningful
relationship he has."

"That's it?  That's your main objection to him?"  He was sitting bolt
upright on her bed now, leaning towards her and only restrained from
coming closer by his shackled wrist.  He looked incredulous and she
felt compelled to explain.

"Oh, it just seemed typical of his whole persona--uptight, by-the-book,
meticulous."  She frowned.

"I got the feeling he forces himself to act that way--that he's afraid
if he relaxed that iron control even a little, he might never be able
to get it back again."

"That's crazy.  That's like saying he's as wild as I am, only he won't
admit it," he said flatly.

"I know him, and believe me, Matt's exactly what he appears.  He's
nothing like me."  He nodded at the dresser, his features relaxing into
his usual casually amused expression.

"And that damned blue rock isn't exactly going to bring us closer."

He'd obviously said all he was going to about the relationship between
him and his brother, Annie thought, stifling her curiosity with
difficulty.  Even the Rubicon was a preferable subject.

"Strange that you didn't have it on you when you were picked up by the
police," she probed delicately.

"What a busy few hours you must have had--stealing the world's most
valuable sapphire, preparing to skip the country, delivering a baby in
an elevator.  When exactly did you hide it, and where?"

"If I tell you all my secrets you won't find me mysteriously attractive
anymore," he said with an infuriating smile.

"And I still have high hopes for this bed, sweetheart.  It's warmer
than that riverbank last night."

"What happened on the riverbank was a one-time-only deal, Lucky," she
countered, willing her gaze away from his with an effort.

"Chalk it up to the moonlight and the fact that you'd just saved my
life."

He looked thoughtful.

"That's all it takes?  Because if we switch off this lamp I figure
there's still plenty of moon out tonight.  I saved you more than once,
so you still owe me."

"From the biker, you mean?  I'm glad you brought that up."  She stood,
suddenly needing to put some distance between them.  Sitting there,
letting that rough purr of a voice wrap itself around her was
altogether too dangerous.  He was evading all her questions with ease,
and it was time she re-established the lines between them before they
blurred completely.

"You can keep all the other secrets you want.  But when someone comes
that close to killing me, I have this insatiable curiosity to find out
more about him.  Who was the shooter, Lucky--the person you were
meeting on the bridge when I showed up?  Was he after the jewel?"

She was beginning to think he wasn't going to reply when he finally
spoke.

"He wasn't my buyer," he said heavily.

"I'm guessing he was a third party who somehow found out about the deal
I'd arranged and was there to hijack the stone."

"Who was your buyer?  How do you know this biker wasn't working for
him, trying to double-cross you?"  she demanded, not satisfied with his
cryptic explanation.

"I can't tell you that."  He looked up at her, his expression closed
and unreadable.

"You'll just have to trust me on this one, Annie."

He'd manipulated and maneuvered her for long enough, she thought with
growing heat.  And she'd cooperated all the way down the line, letting
herself be swept away by her hormones every time she looked at him.

Even now she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, wanted to
forget that the two of them were on opposite sides, but if she didn't
take a stand now, she never would.

"Trust you?"  She forced a low, incredulous laugh, and had the
satisfaction of seeing that she'd disconcerted him.  His eyes darkened.
"After you left the hottest piece of stolen goods in Boston on the back
seat of my car?  After you got me on the FBI's list of suspected
accomplices?  I don't think so."  "I risked my life for you when I took
off on foot last night," Lucky said.  He swung his legs off the side of
the bed and started to stand, but then he was jerked back by the
handcuff.  He swore under his breath.

"You risked your life for the Rubicon.  You led that biker away from
the stone, not me.  All I was to you was a convenient patsy--and I fell
for it, dammit!"  She leaned over the bed, her face close to his.  '
"Was that what the kiss was all about?  An insurance policy to keep me
on your side if you needed to?"

"For a smart woman you can be awfully dumb sometimes.," he ground
out.

There was no trace of his normal lazy attitude now, Annie noted.  She
was seeing the real Lucky at last, and he was mad enough to discard his
evasive tactics and tell her the truth for once.  "I didn't plan on
hauling a bounty hunter out of the river last night.  I didn't plan on
taking one look at her when I did and feeling like I'd just had the
breath knocked out of me.  And I certainly didn't plan on kissing
you--in fact, that was just plain stupid on my part."

"It was stupid on my part too!"  she hissed back.

"I've been thinking about you all day, replaying every minute of what
happened between us and wishing we hadn't stopped when we did.  Don't
you think I know how crazy that is?"

Their faces were only inches apart, both of them glaring at each other.
She was so close to him that she could feel the heat he gave off and
see the specks of hazel in those furious green eyes.  He smelled like
plain soap and water, she thought foolishly.  Then she saw the faint
ridge of color ride high on his cheekbones under his tan and the hazel
in his eyes deepened to a tawny gold.

"Maybe we're both not too smart."  His voice was a husky whisper.

"But I bet we'd be hell in bed together.  Get rid of the damn gun and
kiss me, Annie."

Chapter Seven

Last night she'd had an excuse, however flimsy, for her
uncharacteristic behavior with this man, Annie thought.  Tonight the
only excuse she had was that she just couldn't say no to him--not when
he was sprawled there on the edge of her bed, holding her with that
steady green-gold gaze.

"Stop looking at me like that, Logan," she said.  She heard the
unsteadiness in her own voice.

"It's not fair."

"I don't give a damn about fair.  I'll use everything I've got to have
you, even if it's just for one night."  Without | breaking eye contact
with her, he moved a fraction of an | inch closer.  Before she knew
what he intended, the tip off his tongue licked against the curve of
her lower lip.  "No j holds barred, Annie," he said as she caught her
breath.  He tasted her again.

"I'm not the Logan who follows the rules."

Slowly he reached out and pulled her to him with his free arm.  She
felt the hard solidity of his chest against her breasts and only
stopped herself from falling into his lap by bracing one knee on the
bed.  Her leg was trapped between the lean muscles of his thigh and the
pillows, and her arms were around him.

Behind his back she was still holding the Clock.

"Okay, I do have one rule," he whispered into her hair.

"Tell me this isn't what you want too, and I'll quit right now."

"I don't know if I want this.  All I know is that I've been thinking
about it since we first met."  She felt boneless and light-headed, as
if her body was about to disobey her mind and melt against him.  She
pulled back with an effort.

"But that doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything."  His cheek was lightly sandpapered with
stubble and as he moved from her hair to her lips it felt as if she was
being stroked with tiny rough wires.  He didn't kiss her, although his
mouth was touching hers and she could feel the warmth of his breath and
the slight movement of his lips as he spoke.

"I'm a liar.  I come from a long line of thieves and con-artists.  So I
don't expect you to believe me when I tell you that everything changed
for me last night when I first saw you."

He closed his eyes briefly and she felt his lashes, like thick silk
brushes, fan against her.  He was so close it was as if he was speaking
directly into her soul.

"You'll think I'm lying when I say that for the last twenty-four hours
I've been telling myself to stay the hell away from you, and it hasn't
worked.  But you'd never have caught me tonight if I hadn't wanted you
to, Annie.  I knew what I was doing.  I knew I was trading my freedom
for a few hours with you, and whatever you decide I know I made the
right choice."  He kissed her finally, but so lightly it was more like
a sigh at the sensitive corner of her mouth.  He stared straight into
her eyes; his own gaze wide and sincere.

"So... am I telling the truth, or not?"

"You're probably lying.  It's what you do."  She whispered the words
against his skin, her eyes locked directly onto his.  Just as she had
on the bridge last night, she had the impossible conviction that she
was looking past all the outward layers to the real man behind
them--flawed and imperfect, but with a core of strength and his own
personal inviolate integrity.  With sudden certainty she knew that this
was a watershed moment that would only come to her once.

She could turn away.  Maybe she should turn away, let the moment pass,
choose the safe course of action.  It would be the right thing to do.

Letting this go any further would be foolhardy.  It wasn't anything
she'd done before--setting aside all her values, everything she'd
always believed in, for a few hours with a man she'd probably never see
again.

But if she could see into his soul, he could see past her defenses and
shields the way no one else had ever done.  She didn't know how she
knew it, but she did.  It was as if on some elemental level the two of
them had no secrets from each other and no need for secrets, like
lovers meeting again after being too long apart.

Behind his smoke screen of lazy teasing was the fact that he'd been
willing to trade his freedom for one night with her.  He'd felt that
inexplicable recognition too, It was all worth it to him, no matter
what.  And if she let herself look past her own hesitation and
apprehensive qualms, she knew that in her heart of hearts it was worth
it to her too.

Just this once.  Just this once, and just with this man.

She stood up and took a step back, placing the gun on the dresser and
still not taking her eyes off him.  He looked like a thief, dressed all
in black so that he could disappear into the night.  But he wasn't
stealing anything from her.  Whatever he received from her she was
giving him of her own free will, and she had every intention of taking
what he had to give in return.

There was going to be no holding back tonight.  It would only be worth
it if they both took it to the limit.

She moved back to the bed and a corner of his mouth lifted.

"Absolutely no chance this damn cuff's coming off, is there?"

He didn't sound hopeful.

"No chance in this lifetime," Annie replied steadily.

"We'll just have to figure it out as we go along."

He gave that killer smile, his eyes dancing wickedly.

"You're going to have to do most of the work, sweetheart, since I'm at
a disadvantage here."

"Your police file says you're a resourceful man, Logan," she said
solemnly.

"Prove it."

She was watching him so closely that she saw the rhythm of his
breathing deepen, saw the faint pulse beating at the side of that
tanned neck.  He put one hand out and hooked his fingers into the waist
of her jeans.

"Make me, Annie."

This time she let herself fall against him, and as they tumbled back
onto the pillows he swung his legs up onto the bed and reached around
to hitch her more securely against him.  His hand, cupping her inner
thigh and wrapping tightly around her jean-clad derriere, sent a shock
of pure desire spilling through her.

And then his mouth opened against hers and she felt a white-hot heat
race like lightning along her nerve-endings, electrifying all her
senses.  When they'd kissed last night she'd been afraid of losing
control, but now she felt a dark and urgent need to cast off the last
of her inhibitions.  She felt his tongue deep inside her and she met it
with her own, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Take this thing off."  He pulled away from her, his breathing
shallow.

"I have to feel you."

The heat inside her started to turn to ice.

"I can't do that.  And if you thought" -- "The sweater, Annie."  He cut
across her words abruptly.

"I'm beginning to like the bondage, sweetheart, but rip the damned
sweater.  It's the only way I can get it off."

With one swift movement he pulled it over his head and stared defiantly
up at her.  She saw what he meant.  Without un cuffing the wrist that
was still secured to the bedstead he couldn't draw his right arm out of
the sleeve.  His eyes glittered in the lamplight, humor replacing the
spark of frustration.

Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.  The quote fit Logan perfectly, Annie
thought.  He was sin personified.  He was everything the nuns at St.

Margaret's had warned them about when she'd been a schoolgirl, and
everything that a grown-up woman had schoolgirl fantasies about.  And
now it was time to make those fantasies come true--all of them.

With both hands she held the seam of his sweater and pulled.  The fine
material resisted and then gave way completely, ripping jaggedly along
the seam until it separated, slipping away from his body.  She pushed
it to the floor and let her gaze linger on him.

His skin was dark gold, smooth and taut over tightly defined muscle,
like some primitive sculpture meant to capture the essence of virility.
The same black hair that -sprinkled his forearms made a light tracery
on his chest and tri angled down the flat surface of his stomach,
disappearing at the buttoned fly of his jeans.  It was.  irresistible. 
No holding back, she told herself, putting aside the last flicker of
apprehension that constrained her.  To the limit--everything you 'we
ever wanted or dreamed of wanting.

Slowly she bent her head, keeping her eyes on him and watching his
reaction.  Like a cat at a saucer of warm milk, she licked the silky
pelt.  He tasted like salt and skin.

A shudder ran through him and she heard him gasp.  His left hand sank
into her hair and she felt his fingers tighten.  She flicked her tongue
again, teasingly, and then she gave a tiny nip just under his
ribcage.

Logan's eyes were closed but his lips were parted, and he grasped her
shoulder and pulled her up to him.

"You're a biter, sweetheart," he breathed.  His lashes lay against his
skin like shadows.

"That's good."

As he spoke he was fumbling one-handedly with the buttons on her shirt,
and then he jerked at it impatiently, opening it through sheer force.
Annie saw him open his eyes, and she felt suddenly as exposed as if
there were a spotlight on her.

She was wearing a chocolate-colored bra, and the dark- brown lace was a
sharp contrast against the pale cream of her breasts.  He held his
breath for a second, looking at her, and then he let it out in a
sigh.

He touched her with a feather-light stroke, nudging past the lace.

"You're beautiful," he said simply.  He moved her bra strap off her
shoulder and took the weight of her in his hand, his thumb circling her
nipple.  He watched in fascination as it tautened under his touch, and
then spoke softly.

"Let's make love, Annie.  I want to do everything with you.  I want it
to last all night long."

He raised his head and took her breast gently into his mouth,
continuing with his tongue what his hand had been doing.  She bit her
lip and arched her back, tiny bursts of sensation exploding through
every part of her body.  Her hair felt damp on her forehead.  "Let's
make love."  There were other ways he could have put it, but his words
had been old-fashioned.  Romantic.  Making love meant more than just
the physical act--it involved a certain tenderness.  It was two people
committing to each other, Annie thought, even if it was only until the
moon outside her window faded into dawn.

She reached down and undid the first button on his jeans, the denim
tight with his need already.

"Let's make love, Logan.  All night long."

"Wait, Annie."  His voice was barely under control.  He looked at her
hungrily, half leaning on one elbow, his expression haunted.

"I didn't come here planning this.  What I mean to say is--I'm not the
kind of guy who carries one in his wallet in case he needs it."  He
managed a rueful smile that somehow looked forced.

"Not since I was an optimistic teenager, anyway.  Do you have
anything?"

"I've got a sister with an offbeat sense of humor," Reaching over to
her night-table drawer, she pulled out a package.

"Valentine's Day last year--her way of telling me to get a social life.
I hope they don't glow in the dark."  She peered closer at the fine
print on the side of the box and her eyes widened.  Logan saw what she
was looking at.

"Just my size, sweetheart."  He laughed at her expression and then
pulled her down onto his chest as if he was handling spun glass, the
teasing note in his voice softening to tenderness.  "This is going to
be right, Annie.  For both of us."

He was a big man.  She felt ridiculously small on top of him, and then
it was as if the pieces of a puzzle had fallen precisely into place.

Her hair swung forward as they kissed, blond against the darkness of
his, and when at last there was nothing between them except the touch
of skin against skin her hands slid over his body as if they'd known
him before, finding the secret places, the sensitive spots, that seemed
to set him on fire.  Straddling Logan, and feeling his hand against the
softness of her inner thighs, Annie closed her eyes and caught her
breath in a small gasp.  Nothing could get better than this, she
thought as his fingers pressed hot against her, moving back and forth
with her. She felt a melting pressure building inside her, and when
suddenly he stopped, she felt as if she'd been poised on the edge of a
high board ready to jump and had abruptly been pulled back.

"I want to taste you," he urged her huskily.  Without waiting for her
to move closer, he half lifted her with one hand, his arm slick with
sweat and corded with muscle.  And then all she knew was that she'd
never felt anything like this before, she'd never known that she could
want anything this badly, and she wasn't sure if she could stand it.

She was there, back on the high-dive, and suddenly she was plunging
through space, gasping and shuddering and feeling as if the very air
against her skin was too much to bear.

"Wild honey."  Logan was kissing her stomach.  It felt like he was
rubbing her with velvet the wrong way, rough and silky at the same
time.

"You taste like wild honey, Annie.  Get your Valentine's present and
let's celebrate the holiday now."

He was funny and sweet and sexy and inventive in bed, she told herself
with an inner rush of pure desire.  And he was all hers for tonight.

With hands that seemed all of a sudden clumsy and nervous, she tore
open the package and paused.  She looked up at him pleadingly.

"Not one-handed, I can't.  I can see there've been some serious gaps in
your education, sweetheart."

"I'm an Irish Catholic girl from Southie, Logan--what the nuns didn't
teach us we learned all by ourselves."  She slipped the thin latex over
him triumphantly.

"That's where you bad boys come in."

"Yeah, this is where the bad boy comes in," he breathed.

"Take me, Annie."

She felt him start to enter her, hard and full, and for a second she
panicked.  She couldn't do this.  She was just too small, or he was the
wrong size for her, but it wasn't going to-He was in, gently moving and
watching her through green-glazed eyes, and she realized that the
flicker of pain had gone as soon as she'd relaxed.  Now there was just
a feeling of completeness, of absolute satiation.  She moved her hips
against his tentatively, her knees gripping him.  He swore faintly and
his words were slurred and low.  "We can do this fast or slow, but if
you want slow tell me now.  Tell me before it's too late, Annie."

"I want it fast this time."  She looked at him through her hair and bit
hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.

"I don't think I can wait any longer."

She saw the heat rise under the tanned skin of his face and then he was
holding her and going deeper.  She was bent over him, her mouth open
against his, feeling him thrust and withdraw over and over again and
matching his moves with her own.  His breath was torn and shallow, and
then those eyes opened briefly and locked onto hers.

"Come with me, sweetheart.  I don't want to go crazy alone."

It wasn't Valentine's Day, she thought disjointedly, it was the Fourth
of July, because fireworks were exploding inside her, incredible
pinwheels of-brightness bursting one after another through every fiber
of her being.  She was high in the night sky, almost touching the moon,
and then she was flying down through the air only to climb skywards
again.

And then she wasn't airborne any longer.  She was lying in her own bed,
lying on top of the man she'd just made love to--his mouth on her hair,
one strong arm keeping her close, the other still locked to an
extravagantly Victorian, deceptively fragile-looking iron headboard.

And on the dresser across the shadowy room the cool blue of a sapphire
glittered in the moonlight.

the headboard had been difficult to get free from, Logan thought,
grimacing and rubbing his wrist.  Of course, most of the night he'd had
no desire to slip out of his bond.  Even now he wished circumstances
were different and he could stay, but he couldn't afford to wait
another minute.  It was time to leave her.

He picked up the ruined remains of his sweater and balled it up in his
hand absently, his whole attention focused on the woman curled up like
a sleeping kitten in the tangled mass of sheets.  Annie Ryan.  Two days
ago he hadn't even known she existed, and now she was the most
important thing in his life.

And when she found out what he'd done, he wouldn't have a chance in
hell with her.

She stirred and he held his breath, not moving.  She murmured something
and clutched at a blanket, her breathing slow and regular again.  It
had sounded like she'd said his name, Logan thought.  He'd like to
think so, at least.  It would be something he could take away with him,
one last treasure he could steal from her.  Without lifting his gaze he
knew that the Rubicon was an arm's length away, sitting on the dresser
beside her gun.

It was worth a king's ransom.  Once he had thought it was worth risking
his neck for.  Now it was just a piece of blue stone that was going to
take the woman he loved away from him.  His eyes darkened in memory as
he remembered the way she'd been poised above him, her neck thrown
back, those short blond tendrils curling in towards her cheekbones.

She had a habit of biting her bottom lip in passion that had driven him
mad with desire all night.  The last time they'd made love, just as the
absolute blackness of the night was starting to seep away, he'd held
her so tightly he'd been afraid he'd hurt her.

He was going to rip her world in two, and there wasn't a thing he could
do about it.  He had a job to do.  It was all he knew, all he was good
for after so many years.  Right now he hated it, almost as much as he
hated himself.

All she'd remember were the lies he'd left her with.  She'd never know
that when it had counted, he'd told her the truth.

The next minute he was out the window, melting into the dying night.
she'd dreamt that she'd called his name and he hadn't answered, but
that's all it had been--a dream, Annie thought drowsily.  She'd wakened
twice in the still hours of the dark and he'd been there, rousing at
her lightest touch, wanting her.  And taking her.  She stretched
luxuriously, and slid her bare leg over to his side.

He wasn't there.

Her eyes flew open in shock and the first thing she saw was the window,
still slightly open.  A faint dawn breeze lifted the sheer gauze of the
curtains and touched her skin.

She was icy cold, but it had nothing to do with the temperature in the
room.  He'd gone!  She started to sit up.  Somehow he'd escaped
from-There was a dull clanking sound and she fell back onto the bed. 
Around her wrist was the silvery bracelet of the handcuff that had
secured him--still sized for him and slipping easily from her hand. 
She felt a spark of anger fan to life inside her, but immediately it
was overshadowed by another emotion.

Dear God, the Rubicon!  How was she going to explain her reckless
irresponsibility to Agent Logan?  She'd probably spend the next five
years in prison, she thought in irrational panic.  And somewhere out
there Lucky would be living high, thanks to a daring theft and a
stupidly gullible woman.  How could she have been so trusting, when
she'd known from the start the kind of man she was dealing with?

It wasn't there.  She knew in her heart it wasn't there.

Slowly she turned her head and looked at the dresser in defeat.

The next moment she was flying across the room, hardly daring to
believe what she saw.  Not until she'd picked it up and its solid
weight lay in her hand could she accept that it was real.

She wasn't wearing anything and the room was cold, she realized
belatedly.  Hurriedly lowering the window and scrambling back under the
covers, she stared at the jewel in her palm, her thoughts chaotic.

What was it supposed to be--a fair trade?  Was that why he'd left it,
but seized at his freedom?  And had all the rest been his way of
sweetening the deal for both of them?

She didn't want to believe that.  The imprint where his head had lain
was still on her pillows; she thought she could still smell the scent
of him, faint but unmistakably male, lingering in her bedroom.  Her
lips were swollen from his kisses.  How could it have meant nothing
when she could still taste the man, Annie thought in desperation.  He
couldn't have been just using her after everything he'd told her last
night.

I'm a liar.  I come from a long line of thieves and con- artists.

But he hadn't lied to her.  She'd lied to herself.  She'd used every
flimsy scrap of argument she could muster to persuade herself that
throwing all her scruples to the wind was justified.  She'd even
halfway convinced herself that she was a little in love with him, and
that had been the biggest lie of all.

Or was it?  He'd left her the Rubicon.  Who could blame the man for
escaping from custody when he had the chance?  She wouldn't be feeling
this betrayed if all she'd felt for him was desire, Annie told herself
with brutal honesty.  Would she?

She forced the unwanted thought aside quickly and stared at the huge
sapphire still clutched in her hand.  For whatever reason, he'd left
her this, and now she had to deliver it to the other Logan--the Logan
who'd never understand, who'd never lose his head or his heart and who
was so dedicated that he wanted to see his own brother behind bars.

She wasn't going to let him know what a fool she'd been, she decided,
drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them for a warmth
that she suddenly needed.  If she'd learned one thing from his twin, it
was how to lie.

As she laid her head on her knees the Rubicon, shimmering wetly, fell
from her fingers and onto the empty bed.

"he should be here soon, Ms.  Ryan."

The receptionist at the FBI field office was too professional to show
curiosity, but Annie knew she had to be wondering about her.  She
fidgeted nervously on the edge of an uncomfortable molded-plastic
chair, wondering where the heck Agent Logan was.  All she wanted to do
was hand over the stupid hunk of rock that was jammed into the pocket
of her jeans and get out of here, and the man had to pick this day to
be late for work.

She was not looking forward to meeting him again.  Annie stared at the
floor glumly.  She noticed her shoelace was dragging and bent over to
tie it.

"You wanted to see me?"

A pair of gleaming brown oxfords was inches from her face, and she
resisted the startled impulse to jump to her feet.  He'd caught her
off-balance, but she didn't want to let him know that.  She'd need all
the psychological advantages she could get in the coming confrontation.
Tying her laces in a neat bow and evening out the loops with a fussy
flourish, she looked up casually and felt her assumed confidence take
an immediate nose-dive.

The one psychological weapon he had that she'd overlooked was the fact
that he was Lucky's twin.  It didn't seem possible that those strong,
capable-looking hands now holding a briefcase and a sheaf of papers
weren't the same ones that had stroked and teased her all night long.

That unexpectedly erotic mouth, firmed to a polite line--hadn't that
mouth covered hers, hadn't it spent hours doing indescribably delicious
things to her body in the dark?  Starting with her toes, and working up
to-She jerked herself back to the present and the man who was actually
standing in front of her.

"Could I have a few moments with you in your office?"  she asked.  She
glanced over at the receptionist who was signing for a courier
delivery, and lowered her voice.

"I, uh--I've got something I think you might be interested in."

She sounded as if she was trying to sell him dirty pictures, she
thought in embarrassment.  But if her furtiveness struck him as odd, he
didn't show it.

"Of course.  Follow me, Ms.  Ryan."  He smiled remotely.

"Annie, I mean."

She didn't like hearing him use her first name, she thought, trudging
along a seemingly endless hallway behind him.  She wished she'd never
insisted on it now.  Except for the toneless inflection, Matt's voice
was too similar to his brother's for comfort.  Annie closed her eyes
and immediately she could hear Lucky gasping out her name, over and
over again as the two of them moved together on her bed.

But the Logan she had to concentrate on now was Matt.  He didn't have
the dash and charm of Lucky, and for that she was grateful.  Even
without being distracted by him it was going to be hard enough making
her glossed-over account of how she'd come into possession of the
Rubicon sound convincing.  Those cool green eyes probably never missed
a trick, she thought despondently.  He'd take one look at her face and
know she wasn't telling the whole truth.

He was wearing mismatched socks.  As he stopped in front of a door with
his name on it and took a key from his pocket she nearly barreled into
him in astonishment.  Mr.  Perfect had one dark brown and one navy sock
on, she realized as he ushered her into his office.  They were pretty
close in tone, but they definitely didn't match.  It was as shocking as
if any other man had forgotten to put his pants on, Annie thought,
stupefied.  And now that she took a closer look at him, she realized
that his hair was still damp from his morning shower and his perfectly
knotted tie was a tiny fraction askew.  Maybe he was human after all.

"Sit down.  Can I get you anything?  Coffee?"

He raised one eyebrow inquiringly and she shook her head.

"Nothing, thanks.  I don't want to take up too much of your time."

That was an understatement--she didn't want to be here at all.  But
maybe it wasn't going to be as gruelling as she'd expected, she
thought.  The socks were a tip-off that Matt Logan wasn't infallible.

For the first time since she'd woken up this morning she began to think
there was a chance of getting out of this without having to spill all
the details of her personal life to Lucky's brother.

She was about to speak when he forestalled her.  With his first words
she felt her eyes widen in shock.

"Before you say anything, Annie, I want to tell you I'm sorry for
leaving you the way I did.  The situation got out of hand and both of
us let our emotions take over, but that was my fault.  I shouldn't have
let things go so far."  He looked down at his hands and gave the desk
blotter a nudge, lining it up with the letter-tray and appointment book
that sat beside it.

"I

couldn't blame you if you didn't want to see me again after everything
that's happened between us.  "

Chapter Eight

She felt as if she'd just had the wind knocked out of her as she stared
at him in stunned recognition.  How had Lucky managed to pull off this
incredible masquerade right here at his brother's office?  He was
taking an insane risk--Matt could walk in at any moment.  But that
wasn't the worst danger he was in, she thought with growing outrage.

Things got out of hand?  He shouldn't have let it go so far?  Is that
how he intended to dismiss last night--and her?  The man was in a lot
deeper trouble than he knew.

"You were more than cooperative, allowing us to search your car like
that, especially without a warrant, and I'm afraid that my frustration
in coming up empty-handed had affected my attitude by the time
Cartwright and I took our leave of you."  He looked up and met her
blank gaze.

"Again, my apologies.  Now, what was it you needed to see me about?
Annie?"

She was sitting there with her mouth slightly open, she realized
belatedly, closing it with a snap.  God, Matt Logan must be wondering
what was the matter with her!  He'd been apologizing for their
confrontation yesterday, she thought in relief.  And she'd been about
to demand an explanation of why he'd made love to her all night long
and left her this morning!  Her blood ran cold when she realized how
close she'd come to making a total fool of herself in front of him.

Suddenly she didn't want to deal with the Logan men anymore.  Either of
them.

"Here's the Rubicon."  She stood up briskly and pulled a plastic
dinosaur out of her pocket.

"Oh.  Hold on a minute.  Here--no, wait."

He watched silently as she tossed the dinosaur, a small penknife, and a
piece of string covered with lint onto his immaculate desk.  Digging
deeper, Annie triumphantly pulled out a plastic sandwich bag secured
with a twist-tie and placed it on the center of the blotter, which had
been pushed sideways by the dinosaur.

"My niece found it in her baseball mitt.  I didn't know until after
you'd left, but at least you've got it now.  I guess the Russians will
be glad to see it back, won't they?"  She jammed the rest of the junk
back into her pocket and glanced at her watch.

"Can you sign some kind of receipt saying that I've handed it over to
you?  I've got a full schedule ahead of me today and I'd like to get
going as soon as" -- "What the hell is this stuff?"  His unflappable
facade showed a tiny crack as he unwrapped the sandwich bag and held
the Rubicon gingerly in his hand.  It was covered with a flaky
substance.

"Bread crumbs.  I couldn't find a clean bag," she said impatiently.

"So like I said, if you can just give me a receipt" -- "I can't do
that.  The only person who can sign for the Rubicon is Dmitri
Kortachoff, the exhibit director."  He dropped the sapphire back into
the sandwich bag and dusted the crumbs from his hands dismissively.

"This isn't an umbrella you're dropping off at the lost and found,
Annie.  At the very least I'm going to have to take a statement from
you and then we'll arrange to hand the jewel over to Kortachoff
together."

He picked up the phone.

"Mrs.  Hendricks, can you put me through to Dmitri Kortachoff?  Try him
at his hotel first."

He motioned to Annie to sit down again while he spoke and reluctantly
she sank back into her chair.  She might have known it wasn't going to
be that simple, she thought.  Any minute now he'd be dragging out that
notebook and wanting to know everything she'd done from the minute he'd
pulled out of her driveway yesterday to when she'd shown up at his
office today.  He'd certainly want to know why she hadn't notified him
as soon as she'd realized that Mary Margaret's Big Blue was the Rubicon
sapphire.

"He can meet us in fifteen minutes at the museum."  Logan hung up the
phone and drummed his fingers on the desk, frowning.

"He's understandably eager to see the Rubicon right away, so I'll have
to get your statement later."

She had an idea.

"Why don't you just deliver it yourself, and I can give my statement to
Cartwright?"

He shook his head decisively.

"I'm the' agent in charge.  It's my case."

His gaze sharpened as her face fell.

"Do you have a problem dealing with me because of yesterday?  I've
expressed my apologies, but all I'm asking for now is an hour of your
time so we can wrap this up."

He was already halfway to the door, not waiting to hear her objections,
and Annie knew she wasn't being given a choice.  In his own civilized
way he was just as persuasive as Lucky, she thought as she followed him
out the building and into the parking lot.  She felt as if she'd spent
the last forty-eight hours being manipulated by one Logan or another,
and she was getting tired of it.

She just had to hold on for another hour or so and her involvement with
him would come to an end, she told her self staunchly.  Surely she
could bear his abrasiveness for that long.

And if she found his company hard to take, she could derive some
comfort from the fact that he obviously didn't enjoy hers either.  The
short drive to the Danninger Arts Museum was marked by an uncomfortable
silence.  Not until they pulled up across from the charmingly historic
building that was the temporary home for the visiting exhibition did he
speak, but when he did there was an odd note in his voice that put her
instantly on guard.

"I was way out of line saying what I did about you and my brother."

He got out of the car, and waited for her to do the same.  They crossed
the cobblestoned street to the sidewalk in front of the museum, Annie
tense with an apprehension she didn't fully understand.

"We ran a background check on you--and before you explode, it wasn't my
idea.  It's standard procedure in a case of this magnitude."  He
shrugged broad shoulders.

"You came up squeaky clean, Annie.  Obviously not the type to be swayed
by a little sweet-talk and a charming smile."  He flashed one of his
own at her, but it didn't reach his eyes.  That green gaze studied her
carefully, noting her reaction.

He reminded her of some big cat.  A tiger, so assured of his own power
that he could afford to toy with his prey before he moved in for the
kill.  He could even afford to let her think she was safe, that she'd
out-maneuvered him-but it was all an act.

He knew.  She had no proof, nothing but a gut feeling to go on, but
somehow she was sure that Matt Logan knew exactly how she'd spent her
night.  It was in his voice, his eyes, his double-edged comments.  He
knew.

He watched her appraisingly for a second.  Then he broke off the eye
contact between them abruptly, glancing upwards with obvious
reluctance.  She followed his gaze and repressed a shudder--Lucky had
scrambled over this treacherous-looking roof not long ago, in the dark,
with a pack of security guards at his heels.  Beside her Logan paused,
the muscle at the side of his jaw suddenly tense, the corners of his
mouth visibly white.  His whole attitude was so changed that she
wondered if she'd merely imagined the silent confrontation that they'd
just had.

"I'll say this for him--he seems to have overcome the fear of heights
he used to have when we were kids.  One false move and he'd have fallen
all the way down those slate tiles to the ground."  He took a deep
breath, switching his gaze to the Jaguar parked on the cobblestones in
front of the elegant row of old homes, most of them now displaying
discreet signs with the names of galleries and privately owned
museums.

"That's Kortachoff's car.  He's here already."

She'd read about the Treasures of Imperial Russia exhibit when it had
opened.  The major museums had vied for the honor of hosting the
visiting show, but the Russian exhibit director had chosen the
exclusive location of the Danninger as a fitting setting for his
exquisite collection.  He'd been right in one way, Annie thought as she
and Logan passed through the delicate wrought-iron gate and mounted the
shallow steps.  Polished brass fittings gleamed against the dark-green
paint of the door, the walkway was ornamented with manicured box shrubs
in antique urns, and the Italian Revival brick of the building gave off
a mellow glow in the morning sunlight.  It wasn't a czar's palace, but
the quiet elegance seemed more suitable than a large public museum as a
temporary home for the imperial gems.

But Kortachoff must have regretted his decision the minute he'd been
notified of the Rubicon's disappearance.  Though the security in this
building was state-of-the-art, it still would have been easier to crack
than that at Boston's famed Museum of Fine Arts, Annie mused.  Heisting
the Rubicon from this place must have been child's-play to a master
thief like Lucky.  The fact that all the buildings on the street were
attached would have been an added bonus.  He'd simply skipped from roof
to roof until he could make his final getaway.

They were ushered inside by an armed guard and she felt immediately out
of place in her jeans.  Logan, with his Brooks Brothers' suit, tailored
so perfectly that the shoulder holster he was wearing was barely
noticeable, fit right in, projecting detached courtesy and tough
ruthlessness in equal measure.  When he flashed his badge at the guard
the man immediately escorted them along a sumptuously appointed hallway
and up two sweeping flights of marble stairs, finally ushering them
into the exhibit room.

"The Director will be with you in a moment," he said in a thick
accent.

"You will wait for him here, please."

He closed the door behind him as he left, and Annie found herself
gaping at her surroundings.  Originally this must have been a small
ballroom, she thought, turning slowly around and taking in the spacious
sweep of white marble floor, the gracious Palladian windows opening
onto a tiny balcony over an enclosed courtyard, the huge and glittering
chandelier that cascaded like a frozen waterfall from the exact center
of the high ceiling.  The walls were hung with pale-blue silk and small
gilt chairs were scattered about, upholstered in the same material.

But the setting, breathtaking as it was, paled in comparison to the
blinding display of jewelry around her.  Glass cases, each one
individually lit, seemed to float at waist- height on clear columns.

Inside, nestled on white velvet as if they were resting in snow, blazed
the Treasures of Imperial Russia--a necklace of pigeon's-blood rubies,
a bracelet set with square-cut emeralds, pearls and diamonds and smoky
topazes encrusted on a tiara that must have been cruelly heavy on the
tsarina who'd worn it so long ago.  From every corner of the room
jewels flashed and glowed--it was like Aladdin's cave.

In the middle of the room, directly under the brilliantly lit
chandelier, sat a display case apart from the others.

It held a large gold egg, paved with diamonds and hinged in the middle.
A Faberge egg, she realized, extremely valuable in its own right.  Some
of them had been equipped with musical workings, some had held
miniature scenes constructed entirely of precious jewels.

This one was exquisite--and empty.

"Typical Lucky," Logan drawled, but his eyes were chips of ice.

"He leaves the egg there to make a good newspaper photo the next
morning, and to show he's above stealing anything but the cream of the
collection."  "Or maybe he left it there because he knows exactly how
to push your buttons," she said absently.

"Maybe it was personal."

She'd spoken without thinking, but she could have inadvertently hit on
the truth, she realized.  She looked up at the man beside her.

"He did this to somehow get back at me for something?"  He smiled
disbelievingly, but his eyes narrowed beneath the straight dark
brows.

"He didn't break my toy train set, for God's sake--he stole the
Rubicon.  He's not a boy anymore, and this wasn't a prank."

"I know that."  His attitude was insultingly patronizing.  Coupled with
the fact that his very size made her feel at a disadvantage, she wasn't
about to let him get away with insinuating that she wasn't thinking
straight when it came to Lucky.

"I also know that this wasn't a homicide.  The man didn't injure
anybody.  He stole a big damn stone, but you're acting as if he should
be shot on sight."

"Get one thing straight, Annie.  I'm not the bad guy here."

There was no heat in his words.  He was leaning negligently over the
display case, not even facing her, his hands casually in his pockets.

And he was furious, she knew.

They were right back to where they'd been yesterday-on opposite sides
of an unscalable fence, the damped-down antagonism that for a while
they'd tried to cover with awkward courtesy flaring up again.

What was it about her that infuriated him so much?  Was it the fact
that he knew she'd been attracted to the brother who was his exact
opposite?

That was it, she told herself slowly.  Every time Lucky's name came up
in her presence his facade of stiff good manners fell away to reveal a
rawer emotion, as if she was somehow part of what he felt for Lucky.

She'd known yesterday that his reaction to her was stronger and more
complex than simple dislike.  It held another, more dangerous component
that he wasn't admitting even to himself.

Maybe it was time she brought it out into the open, she thought with a
flash of anger.

"I'm just saying you're probably not the most impartial investigator
that could have been assigned to this case.  Lucky might be using that
against you," she said coolly.

"You're so blinded by family rivalry that you can't even see it."

"Rivalry?  There'd only be rivalry if we were competing against each
other for something," he said, turning to confront her.  His hands were
still in his pockets, his jacket pushed back, and across the crisp
white of his shirt she could see the worn brown leather of his shoulder
holster.

"And he's got absolutely nothing I want."

"You're lying.  Agent Logan.  I've had a hundred skips hand me stories
and some of them were pretty plausible.  It's taught me what to look
for."  There was a knife-edge of challenge in her tone.

"Is it that he lives the life you secretly wish you had?  Is it that
the rules never seem to apply to him, and you have to go by the book?
Or is there something more involved here?"

He was standing so close that she could smell the faint scent of gun
oil from the weapon concealed under his suit jacket.  Suddenly
apprehensive, she started to turn away from him but he reached for her
wrist before she could move.  His grip was strong enough that she was
forced to meet his gaze.

"You fight dirty, Annie," he breathed.

He had the same erotic mouth as his brother, she noted
inconsequentially.  A pulse was thudding at the side of his throat and
all of a sudden it didn't seem like a confrontation anymore.  She
swallowed, her mouth dry.

"Keep that in mind, Logan," she warned, her voice not as steady as she
would have liked.

"You don't want me as an enemy."

"So why don't you tell me what I do want you as?"  he said evenly.

"You've got theories on everything else about me--what's your guess on
that?"

His thumb was moving on the inside of her wrist in unconsciously slow
strokes.  His eyes were locked on hers, dark green on dark violet, and
the two of them were no more than inches apart.  She felt a heat rising
inside her that she told herself was anger.

She'd guessed right.  Behind that glitteringly hostile gaze was a
smouldering fuse of pure desire, whether he acknowledged it or not.

All it needed to fan it into racing, explosive life was one move on her
part.  Her smile was enigmatic, but her words were calculated as she
deliberately made that one move.

"I don't have to guess on that one, Logan.  I know what you want, even
if you won't admit it to yourself."  She raised herself up on her
tiptoes and pulled him closer, her fingertips resting lightly on the
material of his suit.  Her voice was low and suggestive.

"You don't want to fight with me.  You want a much more intimate
relationship with me--but you couldn't ever allow that to happen.  That
would be against the rules, wouldn't it?"  she murmured confidingly.

"And there's no guarantee that I'd say yes, so you're just not going to
take that chance.  But it's burning you up, isn't it?  It's making it
very, very hard to deal with me with any kind of impartiality or
professionalism, and that's totally unacceptable to you."  She looked
at him and stepped back, releasing him.  There was a flush of color on
her cheeks but her eyes were hard.

"Am I right.  Agent Logan?"

For a moment she thought she'd pushed him too far.  His eyes were slits
as he looked down at her, and the thumb that had been unconsciously
circling on her wrist moved to the sensitive hollow in the palm of her
hand.  Without volition, her fingers curled lightly inward, and Logan
started to pull her closer.

Then he took a deep, ragged breath.  Any emotion that she'd thought
she'd seen vanished from his features, to be replaced with his usual
detached expression as he dropped her wrist and lifted his shoulders
slightly, once again hiding any sight of the holster under his
jacket.

Voices came from the hall and he nodded.

"Kortachoff.  Let's play nice in front of him, okay?"  His voice was
almost steady, she noted.

Steadier than hers would have been if she'd had to speak right now, she
thought shakily.

He took a few steps across the marble floor and then turned to her as
the door began to open.  "Oh.  Yeah--you were right, Annie.  But I'm
not your type, am I?"  He flashed her a tight grin and moved forward to
greet the man who entered the room.  "Agent Logan, is it true?  The
Rubicon--it has been recovered?"

Standing a few feet away as Logan spoke with the Russian and the
entourage of assistants and staff that had followed him in, Annie
scrambled to collect her composure.  The last thing she'd expected was
that he would admit to the suspicion she'd put to him.  And that was
all it had been, she confessed to herself--a suspicion.  It had been
based as much on her reaction to him as anything that he'd ever
revealed to her.

They'd only met twice, but both times there had been undercurrents in
their dealings with each other.  Right from the start they'd been
natural antagonists, even though they were supposed to be working on
the same side.  Neither of them had wanted to admit the truth--that
every confrontation had been edged with a dark, unacknowledged heat.

But she'd slept with his brother, for God's sake!  She'd slept with
Lucky just last night, and she still couldn't get him out of her mind,
despite telling herself that he'd used her.  She'd already made one
stupid mistake that she knew she wouldn't get over for a long time--was
she trying to convince herself she could assuage the pain by making
another?

Maybe she was attracted to Matt, Annie thought grimly.  That would be
understandable--the two brothers were mirror images of each other, and
obviously she was irrationally vulnerable to something about the Logan
men's identical good looks.  But if it had been foolish to let herself
get involved with Lucky, it would be criminally stupid to do the same
with Matt.  He might look like his twin, but he wasn't a substitute for
the man who'd walked away from her.

She'd be wise to remember that for the remaining time she was forced to
deal with him.

"And this is Bail Enforcement Agent Ryan, who retrieved the Rubicon.

Unfortunately, as you know, we haven't apprehended Lucky yet," Logan
said smoothly, glossing over the uncomfortable reference to his
brother.

"We expect to have him back in custody soon."  "The Rubicon, Miss
Ryan--you have it?"

Dmitri Kortachoff was suavely distinguished, his thick dark hair
silvered at the temples, a heavy gold signet ring on his left hand.  He
wore an Italian suit and tasselled loafers, but although he gave an
outward impression of confidence and success, he wasn't entirely able
to mask his emotions as Annie handed over the twist-tied sandwich bag
with its precious contents.

His dark eyes held hers.

"The Russian government is forever in your debt, Miss Ryan.  You have
restored the Rubicon to its rightful owners."

He took her fingers and pressed his mouth to them gallantly.  The
extravagant gesture took her by surprise, and as she felt his lips on
her skin she wanted to snatch her hand back.  She restrained herself
with difficulty.  It would have been gauche and rude, she thought as he
raised his head and smiled at her, but nevertheless for one moment
she'd felt violated, as if she'd been forced into an intimacy with
someone she disliked.

How provincial can you get, Ryan?  A little continental smoothness and
you 're totally flustered, she told herself chidingly.  She caught
Logan's sharp glance on her and realized he'd guessed exactly what was
going through her mind.

How infuriating, she thought in annoyance.

"Stand back," the Russian commanded the jostling crowd around them.

"Natashya--my loupe."  A slim blond woman, wearing oversized
tortoise-shell glasses and with her hair scraped severely back, stepped
up nervously and handed him a silver jeweler's loupe.  Kortachoff took
it from her and waved her away.

Squinting, he positioned it over his eye.  Withdrawing the Rubicon from
the plastic bag and letting the bag drop to the marble floor, he
frowned.

"Chamois," he barked, snapping his fingers impatiently.  Natashya
hurried forward and placed a small square of soft leather in his
outstretched palm.

"That wouldn't have been a peanut butter sandwich, would it?"  Logan
said in an undertone.  Annie shot him a quelling glare and then fixed
her attention back on Dmitri Kortachoff.

The exhibit director wiped the sapphire clean and re-set the loupe in
his eye.  The room suddenly fell quiet as he held the stone up to the
light of the brilliant chandelier and peered at it.

What a showman, she thought, amused.  Still, this was his big moment.

Let him milk it for all it was worth, but then she was out of here.

She was going to insist that Cart- wright take her statement when they
got back to Logan's office--or maybe she'd simply say she had nothing
more to add to what she'd already told him.  With luck she'd be able to
make him disappear from her life as fast as his brother had.

Then all she'd have to do was to forget she'd ever met either of
them.

"We've got trouble."

Logan's murmur was almost inaudible.  His eyes were fixed on the
Russian.  Annie craned her neck to see what was happening, but there
were people in front of her.  She had the sudden certainty that Mary
Margaret had somehow damaged the pride of the Treasures of Imperial
Russia exhibit yesterday in a hot game of marbles.

But it was worse than that.

"It's a fake!"

Dmitri Kortachoff tore the jeweler's loupe from his eye and swung
around to face her.  The crowd in front of her parted like magic and a
sea of shocked faces turned her way.  Kortachoff, no longer urbane,
held the blue stone in one trembling hand, while with the other he
pointed accusingly at her.

"It's a fake!  She's replaced the Rubicon with a fake!"

She stared at the huge, apparently worthless rock that was being thrust
in her face, but all she could see was a pair of lying green eyes and a
roguish grin.  It made sense now, she thought numbly, her stomach
turning over in a sickening free fall.  She felt Logan grasp her by the
elbow as she swayed, her balance suddenly insecure.

Everything made perfect sense now.

She shrugged off Logan's steadying hand and drew herself up to her full
height, her face white with rage.  "Lucky, you bastard," she hissed
under her breath.

Chapter Nine

"I had to cuff you.  It was the only way I was going to get you out of
there without Kortachoff starting a riot."

She had a smudge of ink on her thumb from having her fingerprints
taken.  Annie scrubbed at it with a tissue, but it wouldn't come off.
"And once you had me cuffed, you just had to march me down to the
police station and have me charged with stealing the Rubicon.  It was
the logical thing to do, wasn't it, Logan?"

She gave up on her thumb and hit the bell on the desk sergeant's
counter in frustration, leaning over the partition in frustration and
raising her voice.

"Hey, Shaunessy!  You find my stuff yet?  I'd like to get my belt back
on before my jeans fall down."

"Seemed weird to see you on the other side of the bars, Ryan."  The
sergeant ambled out of an adjoining office with a brown paper bag and
set it in front of her.

"Sign here.  Pat know about this?"

"No, Pa doesn't know about this.  And I don't intend for him to find
out."  She scrawled her signature and grabbed the bag, taking out her
cell phone and belt.

"So tell the other fellas to keep a lid on it, will you?"  Her voice
broke from gruffness to a plea, and she felt a stupid prickle of
moisture behind her eyelids.

"Sure.  The boys know this is all some kind of a screw up, anyway."

He glowered significantly at Logan, who was leaning against a bulletin
board with his arms crossed negligently, watching a hooker being booked
with mild interest.  Shau- nessy turned back to Annie.

"Saw Pat with Bridie down by Faneuil Hall the other day."

He pronounced it "Fan-yuhl," his accent even flatter than Annie's.  He
was making a point, she realized, touched.  He was emphasizing that
they were locals and Logan was the interfering outsider from the
Bureau.

"Probably going to the Hay market.  Bridie likes to buy her vegetables
there and Pa doesn't mind taking her--not when she makes her corned
beef and cabbage for him."  Annie forced a smile.

"I thought your pa was packing a few extra pounds.  Home cooking'll do
that to a man."  Shaunessy leaned on the counter, obviously settling in
for a chat.

"Heard he turned down O'Neil and Russell on their offer.

Their security company's taking off like a rocket, but hell--Pat's paid
his dues.  Why shouldn't he sit back and collect his disability?  "

He chuckled.  "Bet he misses the excitement sometimes, though.  He
comes in and shoots the breeze with the fellas once in a while."

"Pa comes down here?  To the station?"  She'd been about to leave, but
his last sentence stopped her.

"I didn't know that."

"Once a cop, always a cop, I guess."  His smile faded and he clenched a
meaty hand around his pen.  "And Paddy Ryan was one of the best.  That
punk who shot him took a lot more away from him than just the use of
his left arm."

"But Pa didn't die, and that's the important thing," she said flatly.

"He's well out of it, Shaunessy.  He not out there putting his life on
the line every night, wondering if some creep who just did a hit of
diesel is going to pull a gun on him again."

"Someone's got to do it, Annie."  Mild blue eyes held hers for a moment
and then softened.

"But I expect you're right.  He's well out of it.

Tell him I was asking about him, will you?  "

"I'll do that.  And Shaunessy" -Annie paused, clutching her paper
bag.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Logan moving away from the
bulletin board toward her.  "--thanks.  For everything."

"This'll all get sorted out in no time, don't you worry."  The sergeant
shoved a piece of paper across the counter.

"Badge number and signature, Agent Logan.  We got to keep this all
official, don't we?"

"Thanks."  Logan sounded unruffled, despite the fact that the room was
filled with hostile eyes.  Coolly he snapped one handcuff around his
left wrist and the.  other around Annie's, ignoring her stunned look.

"Ready, Ryan?"

She'd never been so humiliated in her life, Annie thought miserably as
they walked out of the station.  Despite the fact that everyone had
shown their support for her, the last hour had been gruelling.  She was
one of the good guys-she wasn't supposed to be dragged in here like one
of her own skips.  And for him to put the cuffs back on her now as if
she was Public Enemy Number One was completely unnecessary.

But being printed had been the worst--having her fingers held, one by
one, rolled on the pad, and then pressed onto a file-card.  She'd stood
there numbly, unable to respond to the awkward small-talk of the woman
who was performing the unpleasant duty, feeling as if with each print a
barrier was being erected between her and her old identity.

Lucky had done this to her.  Lucky had set her up.  He'd known the
consequences of what he was doing, and he hadn't thought twice.  He
must have had a stone made for him on short notice--something capable
of fooling a layman for just long enough so he could sell the real one
and make arrangements to leave the country.  When he hadn't heard any
news yesterday about the Rubicon being handed back to its rightful
owners, he'd figured out that either she hadn't found it yet, or she
was holding on to it in the hopes that he'd show up to retrieve it.

He'd known all the time that she was setting a trap for him, and had
neatly turned it back on her.

And now she was shackled to his brother, not even knowing where he was
taking her.  All she knew was that there was no way she could make Matt
Logan believe she'd had nothing to do with switching the Rubicon.

"Hold out your hand."  They were standing beside his Taurus and he
fished a key out of his pocket.  The next minute the steel encircling
her wrist was gone.

"Get in."

For some reason he didn't think she was Dillinger anymore, Annie
thought.  But obviously she was still in his custody.  She turned to
him.

"Logan, we've got to talk.  It looks bad, but I didn't" -- "Yeah, you
didn't switch the Rubicon."  He started the engine.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's true!"  She heard the
desperation in her voice and took a deep breath.

"I swear I didn't take it."

"Annie."  Logan switched the car off and looked at her steadily.

"Shut up for once and listen to me.  I know you didn't do it."  He
gestured at the glove box.

"There's a first-aid kit in there.  Get it out for me, will you?"

There was no expression on his face.  She couldn't read the man at all,
she thought, bewildered.  If he believed her, why had he had her
arrested?  Why the charade with the handcuffs, even after they'd left
the station?  Wordlessly she handed him the first-aid kit, almost
expecting him to pull the Rubicon out of it.

Instead, he tipped a small bottle of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad
and reached for her hand.  Slowly and methodically, he wiped away the
last traces of ink from her thumb.  He looked at the rest of her
fingers, cradled lightly in his, and then curled them back into her
palm.  A smell of alcohol pervaded the interior of the car.

"Why?"  Her one-word question was so quiet it hardly broke the silence
between them.  She held his eyes with her gaze.

He could have thought she was talking about the Rubicon, but he
didn't.

"I saw your face when they printed you--you felt like a criminal.  And
I feel responsible for that."  His voice was low and calm but he was
twisting the cap onto the bottle so hard that his knuckles whitened.

"Lucky's the one responsible for this'.  But you already knew that,
didn't you?"  she said, lowering her gaze and staring at her clean
fingertips.

"I knew as soon as Kortachoff said the stone was a fake."  He started
the car again, and put it in gear.

"We can't stay here.  I'm taking you to my place."

"Your place?  Your office, you mean?"  She leaned back, suddenly
exhausted, as they swung into traffic.

"My home."  Smoothly he changed lanes, his movements unhurried and
precise.

"We'll talk there."

She knew him well enough now to note the small signs that betrayed his
unruffled facade.  He was gripping the steering wheel with one hand and
the other went unconsciously to his suit lapel, adjusting his
holster.

"Your home?  Why not the office?"  she demanded, sitting up straight.

"For God's sake, I'm not abducting you."  His voice was clipped.

"It's just more convenient this way."

"And it's a hell of a lot more irregular this way, too.  That's not
you--you never step out of line.  You do everything by the book."  Her
eyes darkened.

"What's going on, Logan?"

"I'm about to throw the damned book out the window, that's what's going
on."  They'd come to a stoplight and he turned to face her, his jaw
tight.

"Why the hell do you think I had you arrested like a common thief?  Why
parade you around down at the station where people knew who you were?
Do you think I'm such a bastard that I'd have done that without a damn
good reason?"

The light changed and he started driving again, his profile hard.

"If I'm right, my brother's little shell game might have landed you in
a world of trouble.  Somebody's after the Rubicon--someone who wants it
so badly they already tried to kill you and Lucky for it."

"The shooter on the motorcycle," Annie said faintly.

"But he was after Lucky, not me."

"He was after the stone.  The real one."  He glanced over at her.  "And
with you trying to pass off the fake in front of Kortachoff and about
twenty other people today, the general consensus is going to be that
you must know where the genuine article is.  Whoever the shooter was,
you can bet he's looking for you right now."

She slumped back in her seat and stared out at the passing scenery with
unseeing eyes.  Everything about the man she'd spent last night with
was false.  She had to accept that.  But would he knowingly have put
her in danger?  Or was Matt Logan's assessment of his brother so
tainted that he could attribute any crime to him, no matter how
heinous?

They were in the Beacon Hill area, and he slowed to turn onto Chestnut.
She might have known he lived in an area like this, she thought dully,
as the Taurus stopped in front of an elegant eighteenth-century brick
town house.  Lucky had said that their mother's side of the family had
been old money.  She just hadn't realized how old and how much money.

"You don't believe me," Logan said.  He shot her an appraising glance
as they got out of the car and approached the house, his mouth
tightening grimly at her silence, but he didn't press the subject.

Only after he'd unlocked the front door and stepped inside to disable
the security system did he speak again, his words commonplace enough.
"The living room's through there.  I'll be with you in a minute."

The perfect host, she thought with a flash of frustration-next he'd be
asking her if she wanted to freshen up after their journey.  What did
it take to ruffle him?  Once or twice he'd come close to revealing the
man inside, but he'd always made an immediate recovery, closing himself
off behind that seamless exterior and sealing up any cracks that might
have appeared so perfectly that a minute later they were invisible
again.

She stepped into the living room and paused.  It was perfect, like a
room out of Architectural Digest.  Filled with a balance of antiques
and modern furnishings, the common denominator was that everything was
tasteful, exquisite, and obviously valuable.  Heavy silk draperies,
caught back with thick tasselled cords, partially veiled a set of
white- panelled French doors.  Through the glass she glimpsed the
gardens beyond.  A small bronze statue of a girl sat on one of the
antique mahogany tables that dotted the room, an enormous arrangement
of fresh flowers in a crystal vase graced a sideboard, and several
paintings hung at focal points on the pale green walls.  She perched on
the edge of a rose velvet sofa, almost afraid of marking it. 
Unclipping her cell phone from her belt she placed it gingerly on a
nearby table.

Perfect, beautiful--and soulless.  No, she corrected herself, gazing
around once again.  That was wrong.  This room reflected someone's
soul.

But for some reason, she was pretty sure it wasn't Logan's.

"I need a drink.  You could probably do with one too."

She hadn't heard him walk into the room.  Shrugging off his jacket and
tossing it onto a spindly gilt chair, he set a heavy crystal tumbler on
the low table in front of her.  He still wore his gun, she noticed.

He sank into a nearby wing chair, his head tipped back and his eyes
closed, his own glass carelessly held between two fingers over the edge
of the chair's faded silk arm.

"You looked like a Scotch drinker."  He didn't open his eyes.

"I'm not much of a drinker at all," she replied.

"But when I do, it's Irish whiskey."

"I'll get some in for next time."  He rubbed his cheek wearily and
sighed.

"God, I need a shave and about ten hours' sleep.  And it doesn't look
like I'm going to get either for a while."

Aside from the slight shadow on his jawline the man looked as perfectly
groomed and unreal as ever.

"Yeah, you look terrible," she said sarcastically.

"Big date last night or something?"

"Or something," he agreed noncommittally.  He took a healthy swallow of
Scotch and paused, holding the wet crystal rim against his bottom
lip.

The single cube of ice clinked like a far-off bell.

"You don't like me, do you, Annie?"

The question caught her off-guard and she looked away.  Nervously she
picked up her own glass, and then she put it down again, harder than
she intended.

"No, I don't," she said flatly.

"That's tough, honey."  Setting his glass on the table, Logan gave her
a brief cold smile.  He started rolling up his shirtsleeves, focusing
his attention on the task as if it were the most important thing on his
agenda.

"I'm not Lucky, but I'm all you've got right now."

The brief kindness he'd shown earlier in the car might never have
happened, judging from his harsh tone.  All of a sudden she needed that
drink.  Annie swallowed a mouthful of single malt scotch as if it were
punch and then took another.  It was time for both of them to lay all
their cards on the table because if he was right, the stakes in this
game had gotten too high to continue bluffing each other.

"You know about last night, Logan," she said as the liquor spread a
slow heat in her stomach.  "I know that you know... and you know that
too.  So, no more games.  I slept with your brother.  He's a bastard,
but he's great between the sheets.  We did it all night long, and then
you got to watch him do it again to me today--big-time."  She stood up
jerkily, her eyes like amethysts in her white face.

"Anything else.

Agent Logan?  Do you want more details?  "

"God, no."  He drained his glass and stood to face her.  A strand of
hair had fallen across his forehead, but he didn't seem to notice.  '
"Except one.  How the hell can you still be attracted to him?  He's a
crook, a thief--he's got the morals of an alley cat and if you read his
file you had to have known that.  Is that what you like?"

"I like that better than a man with no emotions at all," she countered
swiftly, her words barbed.  For some reason his question cut her and
she felt the need to hit back.

"I like that better than a man who probably has to pull out his
calculator and his desk calendar before he decides to schedule in an
hour of" -- "You're wrong.  Lately my schedule's been shot to hell." 
He took two strides towards her and his hands were on her shoulders.

"Let's get down to basics.  You know what I want.  And even if you
don't like admitting it, you feel the same way about me.  What are we
going to do about it?"

She stared at him for a long moment.  She'd wanted to know what ruffled
him, she thought shakily.  It looked like she'd found out.  She ruffled
the imperturbable Agent Logan.  And he was right--however unwanted the
feeling was for both of them, it was mutual.  He wasn't Lucky, she
didn't like him, and she wasn't the type to make the same mistake
twice, she told herself desperately.  She'd acted way out of character
with his brother, though at least with Lucky she'd been able to tell
herself she was a little in love with the man.

But Logan and she both knew there was nothing between them except
desire.  They'd been that honest with each other.

"We're not going to do anything about it," she said hoarsely.

"We're going to pretend this conversation never happened.  Face it,
Logan--we can't even stand each other most of the time."

"You're so damned inflexible, Annie."  He spoke in a whisper, but there
was a determined edge to his voice.

His mouth, that sensuous mouth that had fitted so well with Lucky's
personality and on Matt was a startlingly erotic contrast to his normal
remoteness, was close enough that he could have kissed her.  But he
wasn't going to, she thought with acute certainty.  He wasn't going to
let himself taste her, even though she knew he needed to.

Not yet, anyway.  But the leash he kept his emotions on was frayed and
starting to break.  All it would take was a word from her and he'd let
it snap.  And all it would take was for her to move away, and he'd let
her go.

She could put a stop to this right now, just by taking one step
backwards.  She swayed towards him, a movement so infinitesimal that he
shouldn't have even felt it.

His hands slid down her shoulders to her hips, and then to the curves
filling out the seat of her faded jeans.  His arms, brown against the
white shirtsleeves, were corded with muscle but he didn't tighten his
grip on her.  If he was trying to prove to himself that he was under
control, she thought faintly, he'd overlooked one sure giveaway.  She
shifted slightly and saw that hard gaze waver as she moved against
him.

"I'm not inflexible," she said, unable to look away as his lashes
dipped to his cheekbones and his breath caught in his throat.  He
couldn't know how blatantly sexual he looked, she thought distractedly.
With an effort she continued her argument.

"But you said it yourself, Logan-you're not my type.  You're cold and
tough and ambitious.  And I'm a scrapper from Southie who hauls in
bail-jumpers for a living and isn' tlooking for hearts and flowers
anytime soon."

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and challenging.

"That's a yes?"  he asked tightly.  His hand was under her chin,
tipping her face back.  He seemed to be devouring her with that
glittering green gaze, and her lips, soft and full, parted
involuntarily.

"Yeah, that's a yes," he muttered.

His mouth was on hers, hard and hot and immediate.  This was what he
was like.  The thought tore through the part of her mind that was still
coherent.  On the outside he was cold and collected, but this fire must
have always been there, raging under the ice.

It was like being swept away by some elemental force,

a tidal wave of sensuality that drowned her before she could even think
of saving herself.  She could barely hear the tiny voice deep inside
her that was telling her that she was in danger, that she would regret
this if she didn't end it now, that this was an even bigger mistake
than last night had-His arms were around her, and, without breaking off
their kiss, he lifted her effortlessly up and deposited her on the
polished edge of the low antique sideboard, and with that the voice
inside her was overwhelmed by a flood of pure sensation.  He was
leaning over her, one knee on the sideboard, his arms braced at her
sides.  She could smell jasmine and roses, and as she moved beneath him
she felt the cold crystal vase beside her.

"You knew I wanted this, didn't you?"

Logan's voice was a rasp, his breathing shallow.  His mouth trailed
from her lips to the side of her throat, and his eyes were closed, like
a man who had reached the limit of his endurance.  With one arm he
swept the vase off the surface of the sideboard and continued kissing
her as it fell to the floor.  It shattered on a high, musical note,
like glass bells in a storm, She'd known, Annie thought, her throat
thrown back, arching itself to his touch.  And like a child with a box
of matches, she hadn't been able to resist seeing what it would be
like.  But she hadn't counted on this searing molten heat spreading
throughout her, this almost mindless obsession to have him take her
farther and deeper.

She wanted more.  She wanted to have everything he could give her.  She
wanted to feel his skin on hers, she wanted to see his hair falling
into his eyes and she wanted to hear what he sounded like when he
couldn't keep quiet any longer.  She wanted all that with an intensity
that frightened her, and she knew she'd never be able to live with
herself if she didn't stop now.

With immense effort she brought her palms to his chest, almost
faltering as she felt the trip-hammer beat of his heart.  She held onto
one last shred of sanity and spoke, her voice a thready gasp.

"I want it too.  But I'm not going to let it happen, Logan."

He stopped, and beside her she saw his fingers tighten against the
polished wood of the sideboard.  Then he looked at her, his mouth tense
as he met her eyes.  What he saw in them brought a fleeting regret to
his own.

"Good thing one of us is still thinking straight.  I sure don't seem to
be able to, lately."  His voice was harshly reluctant, and his mouth
moved slowly back to hers, as if in farewell.  His words were pressed
like promises against her parted lips.

"I should have stayed the hell away from you until I got this straight
between us.  I lied to you, Annie."

He stood up, raking a defeated hand through his hair.  It took a moment
for her to grasp what he'd just said, but when she did the heat in her
veins turned to ice.  Unsteadily pushing herself off the sideboard, she
felt something under her foot.  There was a crushed rose on the
floor.

Shards of crystal lay on the Aubusson carpet.

"Someone could get hurt on that," she said, walking over to the sofa
and inwardly marveling that her limbs still seemed to be obeying her
brain.  Her tone was flat and dangerous and she felt a ballooning sense
of outrage filling her.  She picked up her glass and drained it,
carefully keeping her voice under control.

"So you lied to me.  How about we forget about everything else that's
happened between us and concentrate on that, Logan?  Just what have you
been lying about?"

He walked over wearily and took the glass from her.

"Lucky was working for us."  He had his back to her as he dropped this
bombshell, and she could hear the brittle clink of an ice cube in a
glass.

"He was working with us when you tailed him that day."

He came back to where she was sitting, stunned, on the sofa.  He held
out her drink and she took the squat cut- crystal tumbler in both
hands, not trusting her grip.

"Lucky's working with the Bureau."  She lifted the glass to her lips
and took a tiny sip.  The ice was numbingly cold.

"Try again, Logan.

Lucky's an international jewel thief-the FBI wants him behind bars, not
drawing one of their paychecks.  "

He sat down in the chair across from her, leaning forward, his
expression remote.

"That's right.  But he's an international jewel thief with a price on
his head.  He came to us when the police picked him up."

"And you took him in out of brotherly love?"  She'd had enough of this,
Annie thought with a searing flash of anger.

"Damn you, Logan!  Stop lying to me!"  "He came to us with something to
sell--and we were in a buying mood," he continued as if she hadn't
spoken.

"He offered to give us the name of his client if we got him safely out
of the country."

She sank back against the sofa, her head pounding.  None of this made
sense.  If Lucky had been cooperating with the FBI, then why didn't
they have the Rubicon?  Why hadn't it been given back to the Russians
in a blaze of publicity?

Across from her, Logan suddenly stood up and went to the French doors
that overlooked the garden.  He stared unseeingly out at the manicured
lawn, the rose bushes.  He kept his voice neutral, as if he was giving
a report.  "Lucky stole the stone from the Treasures of Imperial Russia
exhibit just like the newspapers said.  He already had a buyer for it,
and he'd been paid for the job."

"For a jewel that hadn't even been stolen yet?"  She sat up in
astonishment.

"Lucky's a legend.  He can dictate his own terms," he said, rubbing the
back of his neck and flexing his shoulders.

"So he went ahead and pulled off another incredible heist, risking life
and limb scrambling over rooftops, getting shot at, walking away
without a scratch--and then, ironically enough, he got caught because
of one of the few good deeds he's ever done in his life."  He laughed
shortly and humorlessly.  "I picked up a copy of the Globe and read
that story in a donut shop a few days ago, while I was scoping out a
bail-jumper's neighborhood," Annie said cut tingly

"That's last week's news, Logan.  What I'm really interested in is how
you could have made a deal with him without getting the Rubicon as
collateral."

She pinned him with her gaze as she waited for his next lie.

"Oh, we had it, all right," he said abstractedly.  He looked over at
her.

"We'd never have let him get sprung from jail without it."

It was pure Logan, she thought incredulously, as he turned away and
gazed out at the gardens again.  Two minutes ago he'd been ready to
take her any way he could.  Now he was the complete FBI agent again,
giving her as little explanation as possible.  All inconvenient
emotions had been sealed over--covered up.  Eliminated.  And she was
expected to go along with it.

"Right.  Of course," she said tightly, rising from her seat and
strolling over to where he stood.

"The Bureau had it all the time, but now they don't."

He flicked a glance at her.

"I can't give you all the details.  This is strictly on a need-to-know
basis."

It was the last straw.  She grabbed a fistful of his shirt front and
pulled, her teeth gritted with frustration and her eyes blazing.

"Get this, Logan--I need to know.  Some bozo almost killed me two
nights ago, and you're so worried he might try again that you dragged
me down to the police station in cuffs an hour ago.  So my guess is
that I need to know everything."

Her voice had risen until she was nearly yelling at him, but now her
words were emphasized with a deadly calm.  "I want to hear why you
lied, how you lied, and what you lied about.  Got it?"

"Let go of the tie.  It's Sulka silk," he said, looking down at her
expressionlessly.

"The clock's running."  Annie loosened her grip and crossed her arms to
keep from revealing the fact that she was shaking with emotion.

"It's time to play straight with me, Logan."

He held her gaze for a long minute, and then he nodded slowly, his
mouth grimly straight.

"Maybe you're right.  You got pulled into the middle of this through no
fault of your own."

A brief shadow crossed his features.  He sighed and sat on the arm of
the couch, his hands hanging loosely between his knees, his tone
bleakly detached.

"Right from the start Lucky'd been the prime suspect in the Rubicon
theft, but when he was arrested he insisted on using his one call to
phone the FBI.  Said he wouldn't talk until brother Matt came down to
the station personally."  He shrugged.

"I went.  We talked.  What you didn't read in the newspapers was that
he had the stone on him and he handed it over."

"But in return he wanted to make a deal?"  Her eyes were narrow with
suspicion.

"That's my kid brother all over," Logan said tiredly.  He saw her
confusion.

"I'm the older by two minutes, though sometimes it feels like twenty
years.  Anyway, he figured he'd just dump the problem in my lap and I'd
make it go away.  He'd give us his buyer if we had the charges against
him dropped and gave him a one-way ticket out of the country.  It
sounded good."  His gaze hardened.

"So good I should have known the bastard was lying to me.  But just for
once I wanted to believe he was telling the truth."

Lucky had betrayed both of them, Annie thought.  But she'd only given
him her body--and a corner of her heart.  By turning on his own twin
he'd ripped Mart's soul in two.

It was wrong, she thought suddenly.  No matter what, they were still
brothers--twins!  There had to be a basic bond there that nothing could
break.  Lucky had tested that bond.  He'd tested it way past the point
it should have been stretched, and of all the crimes he'd committed in
his life, that had been the worst.

But he'd acted impetuously, the way he did everything else.  Matt's
retaliation would be cold and emotionless.  He'd approach it as a
mathematical problem to be solved, one step at a time, until he
logically, pitilessly, had his brother where he wanted him.  It would
be like setting a machine into motion.

And after he'd brought his brother down the machine would
self-destruct, Annie thought.  Maybe Logan wouldn't even realize what
he'd done to himself, but something inside him would be damaged beyond
repair if he allowed this icy vengefulness full rein.

"You never should have taken on this case," she said in a low voice.

"You're too close to him.  I know you were brought up by different
relatives when your parents died-but the bottom line is that once you
were two halves of the same being.  Let someone else handle him from
now on, Logan."  Her words came out in an intense rush.

"Can't you see that hating Lucky is like hating yourself?"

Slowly he turned his gaze from the garden to her.

"He's irresistible, isn't he?  A risk-taker, a rebel--the perpetual bad
boy.  And despite everything, you're still on his side."

Slowly he brought his hand up to her face and traced her mouth with his
thumb, forestalling her attempt to interrupt him.  He smiled faintly,
the dangerous edge in his voice sheathed with velvet.

"Hell, Annie--you've got it all wrong."

His palm slid to the back of her neck and he pulled her to him.  For a
second his mouth was on hers, hard and electrifying, and then he drew
back.  "The only thing I have in common with Lucky is that we both want
the same woman."

Chapter Ten

Abruptly he released her.

"Sit down.  There's more you should know."

She wanted to hear it.  But after she did, she wanted him to listen to
her, Annie thought, dazed.  Her lips felt full and moist where he'd
kissed her and her mind wasn't tracking clearly, but for some reason it
was vitally important to set him straight on one thing.  She'd fallen
for Lucky--Matt was right about that.  But she'd allowed herself to
have that one night with him precisely because she knew there was no
commitment involved on either side--because she knew that Lucky could
never become that important to her.

Bridie had been right, she thought.  Annie Ryan, intrepid bounty
hunter, was terrified of really falling in love.  She sat down on the
sofa, suddenly shaky.

"We should have given the Rubicon back to the Russians as soon as we
got it from Lucky," Logan said brusquely.

"If we had, his story would have been blown out of the water right
away.  But he said that he could give us his buyer too, if we let him
go ahead with his original plan, and someone higher up at the Bureau
thought it was worth the risk.

Lucky didn't know his client's name," he added wryly.

"He'd only ever dealt with him through a third party.  But he said he
could insist that he'd only hand the stone over to him in person."

"And that was where I came in.  He was about to meet his client on the
bridge, wasn't he?"

"We'd arranged for it to look like he'd gotten out on bail like any
normal perp," he said, nodding.

"We didn't want to Spock his buyer.

Lucky phoned a contact number and left a message telling his client
that he still had the stone stashed safely away and was ready to make
good on his end of the deal.  He was contacted that same day and told
to be at the bridge that night.  "

Annie closed her eyes as a sudden thought struck her.

"My God--you were there, weren't you?  That bridge was staked out to
catch Lucky's client when he showed up, and instead" -- "Yeah.  Instead
of his client, his bondsman's bail agent pulled a gun on him and
ordered him to give himself up."  Logan's eyes gleamed and he rubbed
his jaw thoughtfully.

"There were two dozen FBI agents hiding behind bushes having chest
pains watching you flush their carefully planned sting down the
tubes."

"Why didn't somebody tell me!"  She'd had an audience, she thought in
humiliated chagrin.  She'd come charging into a delicate federal
operation like a bull in a china shop, scaring off the criminal they'd
been after and forcing the Bureau's informant to leap from a bridge.

Her runaway thoughts came to a screeching halt.

"Just how long were we being watched, anyway?"

"Long enough," he said laconically.  His gaze held hers unwaveringly,
and she felt hot color creep under her cheekbones.

"I'm told there were a couple of minutes when the walkie-talkies fell
completely silent," he went on blandly.

"All right, Logan," she snapped.

"I get the picture.  When was the surveillance called off?"

"Too soon," he said, frowning.

"You were last seen cuffing Lucky and heading to your car.  You'd been
identified by then, and it was obvious you were taking him in to the
nearest police station, so we knew nothing about the shooter until you
called the cops for help.  And by then Lucky had disappeared.  That's
when everything hit the fan."  His expression was grim.

"We still don't know who the hell that biker was working for."

"And you weren't sure about me."  She smoothed suddenly damp palms on
her jeans.

"I guess I don't blame you."

"Cartwright was on your side from the first," he said surprisingly.

"After we left your house yesterday he kept telling me there was no way
you could be involved.  No one was watching your house last night,
Annie."

"I wish someone had been," she said tonelessly.

"When I woke up this morning and found Lucky gone I was sure he'd taken
the Rubicon.  When I saw it was still there, somehow it seemed as if
what we'd had together might-just might--have meant something.  But
even the stone he left me was a fake."

"It was the same one he handed over to us," Logan said into the
silence.

"He conned us too."

He rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulder muscles tensely defined
through the fabric of his shirt.

"He must have had the duplicate made up to leave in the Faberge egg,
but he was discovered by the guards before he could make the switch.
When he was slipping around on those roofs he wasn't carrying one
Rubicon" -- "He had two," Annie breathed in understanding.  Her mind
was racing, putting the pieces together.

"And he stashed the real one in a safe place before he went back to his
hotel.  When he was arrested, he decided to use the Bureau get the
police off his back and double-cross his client at the same time.  He
planned to be well out of the country, courtesy of a grateful FBI,
before you returned the stone to Kortachoff and found out he'd scammed
you all the way down the line."

"Except for a few minor adjustments, that's exactly how it worked out."
Logan looked at his watch.

"God knows what continent he's on by now, but wherever he is, I'm sure
he's got the real Rubicon in his pocket."

"And whoever tried to kill us two nights ago thinks it's in mine."  Her
throat felt dry.  It was unnerving to think that someone might be
stalking her.  She'd always been the hunter.  Now she was the prey.

"Having you arrested was just damage control.  I had to get you out of
there fast," he said.

"While we were at the station I phoned the office and put an alert out
for Lucky, but my guess is he's long gone.

The Bureau will issue a news release tonight making it clear that you
were nothing more than an innocent bystander, so by tomorrow morning
the heat should be off.  "

"Tomorrow?"  Her gaze nicked instinctively to the gardens outside, to
the concealing rose bushes, the high brick wall surrounding them.

"What about tonight?"

"A safe house is being arranged.  I'm expecting a call any minute" Even
as he spoke, a muted buzzing sound interrupted him.  Logan nodded.

"That's them now."

He went to his jacket, reaching into the pocket, and then frowned.

"Mine's not ringing.  It must be yours."

"Probably Lew Jacobs, wanting to know why I'm not working today."

Annie grimaced.

"What do I tell him?"

"Say you'll get back to him within the hour.  I'll tell the Bureau to
get moving on that safe house."  Logan picked up his own phone and
started punching in a number.  He glanced over at her, his eyes
narrowed to brilliant green.

"I don't think it's a good idea to keep you here tonight."

He wasn't talking about the security aspect.  He was already distancing
himself from her, she thought.  Probably he was right to do so, but
suddenly she felt as if a cold wind had blown through her, chilling her
very soul.  She picked up her phone abstractedly and hit the connect
button.

The sound on the other end of the line was barely recognizable as a
human voice at first.  Then Annie caught part of a garbled sentence.

"--got her.  They've got her!"

"Who is this?"  she said sharply.  Across the room Logan looked up,
alerted by the tension in her abrupt question.

"Can't you understand what I'm telling you?  They've stolen her,
Annie!

Mary Margaret's been kidnapped!  "

It was Bridie, her words a keening wail punctuated by breathless sobs,
and as Annie's legs gave way and she sank blindly onto the sofa, she
felt as if her whole world was falling apart.

"I ordered protection for your entire family.  First we bring her
back--then I'm going to get the son-of-a-bitch who screwed up and take
him into a back alley."  Logan's voice was low and deadly.  He swung
the Taurus onto Annie's street and glanced over at her.

"We will find her.

That's a promise.  "

She didn't respond.  She couldn't respond, Annie thought numbly.  It
was all she could do to hold on to the last vestige of self-control
that was keeping her from breaking down completely.

Bridie had been practically incoherent on the phone, barely able to
talk past the breathless sobs that had been wracking her.  But when Pat
Ryan had taken the phone from her his words had been sharp with pain.

"We got a call.  Some bastard's got Mary Margaret and he says he's
holding her in exchange for that damned Russian stone that got stolen a
while back.  He said you'd know what it was all about."  He sounded
older than she'd ever heard him sound before.

"Anne Maureen, get home as fast as you can.  We need you."

Logan had seen her stricken face and had grabbed the phone just before
it had slipped from her hand, asking her father a few curt questions
while he was steering Annie towards the door.  Then he'd proceeded to
break all speed limits on the way to her house.

There was a malignant irony in all this, she thought through a haze of
fear.  It was as if some evil fate was demonstrating to her that no
matter how many precautions she took, no matter how high a wall she
built around the ones she loved, they were never truly safe.  They
could be snatched away from her at any moment.

And as a final twist, she had brought this danger on her family
herself.  She never would have heard of the Rubicon if she hadn't been
assigned to bring in Lucky.

"Has he called back?"

Logan's swift question as he opened the car door and Pat Ryan came out
of the house was answered with a shake of the head.

"Not yet.  Let's get inside.  I don't want Bridie taking the call when
it comes."  Annie's father stuck out his hand.

"Pat Ryan.  Thanks for making it here so quickly, Agent Logan."

"Matt'll do.  A kidnapping's no time to stand on ceremony."  Logan
flashed a tight smile that disappeared almost immediately.

"Fill me in on the details."

His arm was around her as they hurried up the walk and into the
house.

Everything seemed strangely sharp and bright to her eyes--all the
familiar homey objects were somehow wrong, as if she was looking at a
garishly're touched photograph.  Just for a second, the worn carpet in
the hall, with its busy black-and-brown Oriental pattern, appeared to
be slightly undulating.  She had the crazy impression that it was no
longer anchored to the floor, but hovered a hairbreadth above it, and
that she would lose her balance if she put her foot down on it.  A
smell of spices and sugar filled the air, and she found herself
recoiling from the overly pungent scent.  Then her gaze fell on a small
jacket hanging on the hook behind the front door.  It was red
corduroy--an almost glowing red.  It looked too vibrant, like a rose in
full bloom in the middle of a dead garden.

Mary Margaret's jacket.

This was home.  This was the protected place, the sanctuary against the
randomness of the outside world.  And now something had invaded it,
exposed it, changed it so that it would never be the same.

"Give them the stone."  Bridie wheeled her chair around sharply as they
entered the kitchen.

"You have it, don't you?  They said you had it, Annie!"

She propelled herself forward Her eyes were almost colorless, only a
faint wash of blue standing out from the staring white.  She'd
obviously been baking a short while before, and the smudge of flour on
her cheek looked terribly like the ashes of a mourner.

"I don't have it."  Annie's voice came out in a dry croak.

"I never had it, Bridie."

Her sister stared a her a long moment, her fingers digging like claws
into the padded armrests of her chair.  When at last she spoke, her
words seemed to come from some dark place deep inside her.

"Get it."

She didn't understand, Annie thought helplessly.  What she was asking
was impossible.

"We're going to have to call in the police, the FBI--we'll have a trace
put on the phone" -- "If you do they'll kill her.  That's what they
said and I believe them."  Bridie's dry, stony gaze didn't Waver.

"You should have kept this from her.  You didn't.  No you have to get
the Rubicon and bring my daughter back^."

Pat Ryan stepped forward, placing a big freckled hand on her stiff
shoulder.

"Your sister's going to do all she can.  We all will, and we're going
to find Mary Margaret and get her safely home, Bridget."

His eyes were worried.

"But Annie's not responsible for this happening.  Don't lay that burden
on her."

"I'll do whatever I have to for my baby."  She moved away from his
touch, still holding her sister with )ier eyes.

"You took the burden on when Mom died, Annie.  No one else could share
it, no one could help you with it.  We were the burden, weren't we? And
when Sean died it just got worse."

"What are you talking about?"  Annie whispered.  "You were never a
burden--you're the people I love!"

"We're not people--we're figures, frozen in place like that damned
insect stuck in amber that Mary Margaret got at the Science Museum!"

Bridie said in her harsh cracked voice.

"And you run around making our world safe, fighting our battles for us,
putting the bad guys away in some losing battle to atone for God knows
what!  Of course we're a burden--so much of a burden that you're unabk
to live a normal life or get a reasonable job.  You won't even let
yourself fall in love like the rest of us mere mortals--that would just
be taking on one more worry, one more fear, wouldn't it?"

"That's not fair" -The back of Annie's hand was pressed against her
mouth and she took a stuinbling half step towards her sister.

"No, it's not fair."  A fire seemed to die out in Bridie's wild gaze.

She looked suddenly frail and trapped.

"But it's the bargain you made with your life--with all our lives.  And
you broke it when your job put my child in danger.  They let her speak
to me for a second--did you know that?"

It felt as if she was being pierced and the knife had suddenly gone in
deeper.  "What--what did she say?  Is she all right?"

"She said that it was scary but she knew Aunt Annie would be there
soon.  She said they'd be sorry when Aunt Annie showed up and kicked
their butts."  Bridie's normally soft mouth thinned to an implacable
line.

"I'm making cookies for my little girl.  She's going to be here to eat
them.  Get the Rubicon and bring her home, Annie."

She spun her wheelchair around to face the low kitchen counter where a
mixing bowl sat, half-full of dough.  Her hand reached out for the
wooden spoon propped in the middle of the sticky mass, and then her
shoulders started to heave.  In two strides Logan was in front of her,
balancing lightly on the balls of his feet as he brought himself down
to her eye level.  He grabbed her hands and held them tightly in his
own.

"Bridie, I'm Matt Logan.  My brother stole the Rubicon.  I'm going to
be working with Annie to find Mary Margaret."  His voice was steel.
Slowly Bridie raised her head to look at him, her eyes flooded and her
mouth anguished.

"They said they didn't want the FBI involved."

He fumbled in his pocket and drew out his leather ID wallet.  He threw
it on the floor without looking at it.  "Then I'll make it personal."

Watching numbly, Annie saw the crippling hopelessness on her sister's
pinched features change as a faint spark of spirit rekindled behind her
fixed gaze.  Bridie's hands, till now lying slack and unmoving in
Logan's, tightened.

"Your word."  The well-developed muscles in her arms, such a contrast
to those pitifully thin legs, stood out like cords as she returned his
grip.  "Swear you'll bring her back safe."  It wasn't a request.  It
was a command, her voice a compelling whisper.

No, Bridie!  Annie cried silently.  What her sister wanted was a
guarantee, and no one could give her that.  She flicked a pleading
glance at her father and Pat Ryan shook his head at his older
daughter.

"He can't promise you anything" -- "You've got my word."  It was as if
they were alone in the kitchen, just the woman in the wheelchair and
the man in front of it, his answer flat and uncompromising.

"We'll bring her back safe.  Both of us will."  He looked over at Annie
and then back at her sister.

Bridie held his eyes for a long moment, as if she was looking into his
very soul.  Then she nodded slowly.

"I believe you."  She released her grip on him and let her hands drop
into her lap, her mouth working as she held back her tears.

Logan stood up abruptly, turning to Pat Ryan.  Lowering his voice, he
drew the older man a few feet away while they talked and Annie heard
him asking her father to repeat everything the kidnappers had said in
their phone call.  Beside her Bridie spoke, her voice rusty with
pain.

"I can't ask you to forgive me.  What I said was unforgivable."

Swiftly Annie knelt beside her.  "No--you were right.  I should have
been more careful.  I should have guessed something like this could
happen."

"I needed someone to blame."  Bridie's lips trembled.

"It made the situation more manageable, less random.  But what I said
was wrong."

"Let's go."  Logan was beside them, leaning over to press Bridie's hand
in farewell, and Annie caught a quick glimpse of the Sig Sauer in his
well-worn shoulder holster.  He looked as coldly urbane as if he was on
his way to a board meeting.

Or on his way to a killing.  She didn't know the man at all, she
thought as she hurriedly collected her own weapon from the locked case
in her bedroom and shrugged into a concealing windbreaker.  But she was
beginning to understand that the image he projected was a thin veneer
for the real Matt Logan inside, and in the last few hours that veneer
had worn dangerously thin.

"Be careful."  As they moved to the front door her father stopped her,
his hand on her arm.

"If I didn't have to stay here in contact with those scum I'd go with
you.  I'll call your cell number as soon as I hear from them."

"And we'll let you know as soon as we get a lead on the Rubicon," Logan
said.

"We'll get her back, Pat."

"I'm beginning to think you just might."  Her father's gaze rested
briefly on the two of them, the grim-faced agent in the impeccable suit
and Annie, her head barely reaching Logan's shoulder, but with the same
cool competence about her.

"You make a good team."

Not true.  They didn't make a good team, she thought as she got into
the Taurus and Logan started the car.  She was the weak link.  She had
a healthy respect for the perps she chased down in her work, and she'd
felt fear before, but she'd never been seized with the paralyzing
terror she was feeling now.  She wasn't going to be any help at all.

She'd allowed herself to be hustled out of the house with no clear idea
of what the plan of action was, and she couldn't even seem to care.

All she could think about was Mary Margaret.  As hard as she tried, she
couldn't blot out the images that kept running through her
mind--worst-scenario images in which she got there too late to save her
niece, or she got there in time but somehow panicked the kidnappers
into reneging on their bargain.  Most likely of all was the scenario
where she and Logan never located the Rubicon.

In that scenario Mary Margaret was simply never heard of again.  In
that scenario a tough little girl who thought her Aunt Annie was the
best bounty hunter around was just.  disposed of.

In the dark interior of the car, Annie tasted blood.  She'd bitten
through her lip.  "While you were upstairs getting your gun I called
Cart- wright.  I asked him to pull up some information on the
computer."

Logan's voice barely penetrated the fog of foreboding that surrounded
her.  She forced herself to respond.

"What was he supposed to be looking for?"  She felt as if someone else
was talking.

"Lucky's bank accounts.  They're still frozen."

When she said nothing he looked sharply over at her.  The headlights of
passing traffic cut deep shadows under his cheekbones and he went on a
little impatiently.

"Don't you see what that means?  I've been operating on the assumption
that he could be anywhere in the world.  In all likelihood he's still
in Boston, trying to scrape up enough money for a plane ticket out of
the country."  "The plane ticket he would have gotten from the Bureau
if he hadn't double-crossed them.  I understand," Annie said dully.

"Well, that certainly narrows our search."  "I also requested a check
on any jewel thefts reported in the last twenty-four hours," he said
shortly.

"Cartwright should be getting back to us with the information any time
now and then we can plan our next move."

Why was he going on about jewel thefts that had nothing to do with the
Rubicon?  She stared straight ahead at nothing with eyes that felt dry
and burning.  Aunt Annie's not afraid.  She 'd just zap 'em with her
Taser.  Yesterday at the Aquarium, Mary Margaret had been fascinated by
the electric eels.  It had only been in the last few months that she'd
started acting like a regular seven-year-old instead of a politely
stiff little statue.  She and her friend Ranjeet had snickered in the
back seat of the Buick all the way home.  Mary Margaret had been giddy,
slightly show-offy and more than a bit irritating at the dinner
table.

She'd spilled juice all over the floor, insisting petulantly that she
was old enough to pour from the full carton, and at one point Bridie
had had to threaten her with no dessert if she didn't sit down.

She'd behaved like a normal little girl--something her mother and her
aunt had sometimes feared might never happen again.  And now she was
gone, Annie thought, her nails digging into her jean-clad thighs.  She
was gone and it was her beloved Aunt Annie's fault.

"You're blaming yourself.  Don't."  Logan adjusted the rear-view mirror
and overtook the car in front of him.

She didn't want sympathy from him.  It was her fault, and with a sudden
certainty she knew that her worst-case scenario would turn out to be
true.  They wouldn't find the Rubicon.  It was an impossible task, even
if Lucky was still somewhere in the city.  And they wouldn't get Mary
Margaret back alive.  She knew it, and she didn't think she could bear
kindness right now.

"If you can't concentrate on the job you're going to screw up."  His
words cut harshly into her consciousness.

"I won't take that kind of chance with your niece's life."

She felt as if he'd suddenly reached over and slapped her across the
face.  The attack was so unexpected that for the first time since she'd
gotten the phone call from Bridie an hour ago, the numbing shell that
she'd surrounded herself with cracked open slightly--just enough to
allow a spark of anger in.

"I don't screw up, Logan," she said.  Her voice shook a little and she
controlled it with difficulty.

"But I'm responsible for this.  I'm a bail agent, for God's sake--I
make enemies every time I slap the cuffs on someone and hand him back
to the authorities!  It was just a matter of time before the job
endangered my family."

"So look for another line of work when this is all over," he said
laconically.

"But try real hard to shelve the guilt trip for tonight, Annie--because
right now you're just going through the motions, and I need a
partner."

He glanced over at her in swift assessment.

"If you're not sure you can handle this, tell me."

"I can handle this, Logan."  How had she ever thought he was capable of
offering her sympathy, Annie thought with dull fury.  She'd
forgotten--human wasn't his style.

"And I don't need your advice on my future career path, either.  You
don't know anything about me or my job, so back off."

For a moment he said nothing.  She thought she saw a flash of regret
pass over his features, but when he looked over at her again his face
was expressionless.  "Your mother was killed in a convenience store
hold-up when you were twelve, with you in the car outside watching the
whole thing.  She'd picked you up from ballet class and had stopped at
the store on the way home.  You never danced again--you started taking
karate instead."

His jaw tightened.

"How am I doing so far?"

It was if there was a box of dynamite inside her, and he had pried up
the lid with a crowbar, splintering the wood and breaking the lock. 
Now he was striking a match and holding it to the fuse.

Annie felt as if she couldn't breathe.  Seemingly oblivious, he went on
like an accountant reading a bleak year-end report.

"The perp who murdered your mother was out on bail at the time he
killed her--just like the nineteen-year-old addict who shot your father
during a pharmacy break-in.  Pat Ryan nearly died in the line of duty,
and when he got out of hospital his daughter had quit her secretarial
job at a bail-bond company to become a bounty hunter."

"You said you'd run a check on me.  I should have guessed it would have
been thorough," she whispered, her face bloodless.

"It was," he said flatly.

"The police report on your mother's murder was destroyed long ago, but
the investigating officer at the time is still around.  He never forgot
the case--a young girl holding her mother's blood-soaked body on the
floor, and telling them to arrest her because it was all her fault."

"She'd given me money to pick up a quart of milk on my way home from
school, but I bought a ballet magazine instead."  Annie's voice sounded
small and far-away.  Her eyes were glazed.

"I didn't tell her until we were nearly home that night.  She was
annoyed and I was sulking when we stopped at the store... when she got
out of the car I said I wished she wasn't my mother."

She looked over at Logan, her features very still.

"A couple of minutes later, my wish came true."

Smoothly he pulled the Taurus over to the curb and turned to her.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think so."  She looked away.

"You're steel, Logan.  You've got no emotions at all--and certainly no
understanding of what I'm going through."

"I didn't mean I was sorry for you.  I'm sorry for her."  His voice
hardened.  "That twelve-year-old kid you handed a life sentence to."

His gaze was flatly accusing, and suddenly the fuse inside her flared
into flame.

"You just don't get it, do you?"  she hissed at him.

"I

caused my mother's death--and now I'm going to end up being responsible
for Mary Margaret's!  "

"Come off it, Ryan!"  For the first time since she'd known him, Logan
raised his voice.

"Your niece was supposed to be home this afternoon helping Bridie.  She
snuck out of the house to play ball down at the park.  It's her own
fault she got snatched--how the hell can you take the credit for
that?"

Appalled, Annie stared at him.  She felt curiously lightheaded and it
seemed as if she was seeing everything through the wrong end of a
telescope.  There was a painful pressure in her chest.

She exploded into action.

"You cold bastard!"  she screamed at him, lunging for him across the
car seat.  She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward, feeling
his muscles tense beneath the material of his jacket.

"She's only a child, for God's sake!  How the hell can you blame this
on her?"  She shook him, tears suddenly blinding her vision.

"She's just a little girl--it's not her fault.  Damn you Logan--it's
not her fault!"

She was screaming at the top of her lungs, her voice harsh and broken,
and she was hitting him with a clenched fist.  He didn't dodge the
blows and Annie stared into the enveloping darkness of his eyes.  The
world seemed to be tilting crazily around her, falling on her, crushing
her so she couldn't breathe.  But she had to convince him.

Pushing short blond strands of hair out of her streaming eyes, she
grabbed his lapels and brought her face to his, her features tortured
with effort.

"It's not her fault--it wasn't her fault, don't you understand?  She
saw her mother bleed to death in front of her eyes--don't you think
that was punishment enough?"  Her breath was coming in ragged gasps and
her face was wet with tears.

"It was never her fault, Logan, don't you see?  But she's paid for it
ever since."

Her voice dropped to a painfully hoarse whisper that seemed to echo in
the stillness of the car.  Her eyes, flooded with tears, widened in
shock as she realized what she'd just said and the back of her hand
went to her mouth as if to recall her words.

"I know, honey."  He moved then, his arms going around her rigid
body.

"And it's time to let it go."

A dam that had been pent up for too many years suddenly gave way in her
heart.  With a terrible wrenching sob she let herself be drawn into the
strong circle of his arms, her face pressed wetly against his
shirtfront.  She felt his hand on her hair.

"It's been so hard," she said, her words low and barely audible.

"No matter how I tried, I never could keep them all safe.  If I could
only protect the ones who were left I thought I could make up for what
I'd done--make up for Mom dying like that.  And then Pa got shot, and I
tried harder.  But when Sean was killed and Bridie came home in a
wheelchair, I knew I'd failed them."

"Down at the jail they say you bring in more bail jumpers than any
other bounty hunter," Logan said, tilting her head back and forcing her
to meet his eyes.

"You didn't fail anyone, Annie.  And it's not your fault that Mary
Margaret's been kidnapped.  You can't cover every contingency, foresee
every possible danger.  No one can."

"But what if" -She closed her eyes, one last shuddering sob convulsing
her.  She swallowed dryly and forced herself to ask the question.

"What if we don't get her back, Logan?  What if we can't find Lucky and
the Rubicon?"

"I gave my word," he said flatly.

"I don't give a damn what I have to do to get her back--and finding my
brother is the first step."

Something in his tone made her draw slightly away from him.

"He might not have the stone.  He might have sold it already.  What
then?"

"Then he's a dead man," Logan said in a voice as cold as ice.  On the
seat beside him his cell phone rang and he reached for it.

"Or he'll wish he was."

Chapter Eleven

"Thanks, Jack.  I'll get back to you."  Logan tossed the phone onto the
seat and started the Taurus.

"We've got a lead," he said curtly, pulling into the stream of
traffic.

"The jewel thefts you had Cartwright checking on?"  Annie asked.

"Yeah.  One of them had all the earmarks of a Lucky Logan heist."  He
turned into the lane that led to the expressway.

"A diamond necklace, worth at least thirty grand.  It was reported just
a couple of hours ago, and the police figure the theft must have
occurred early this afternoon.  He'll have had time by now to have
fenced it."

"So he still must have the Rubicon!"  A note of excitement crept into
her voice.

"I knew he wasn't about to sell that."  He sounded mildly surprised.

"He's going to have to find another private buyer for it--probably in
Europe, where his main contacts are.  That's why I wanted to know if
anything had been stolen today.  He needs traveling money."

"And now he has it."  She saw the sign for the Callahan Tunnel flash
by.

"So the odds are he's standing in line at the airport right now."

"Cartwright checked on that for me too.  There's an Air

Prance flight leaving for Paris in"-he glanced at his watch " --in
forty minutes.  We'll make it.  "

"If Mary Margaret's kidnappers phone back before then, I hope Pa can
stall them."  Annie gnawed her lip nervously.

"Your father's an ex-cop.  He can handle himself."  As they entered the
tunnel that led under the city's inner harbor to East Boston and the
airport, he shot her a brief glance.

"What we should be trying to figure out is who the hell's behind all
this.  Someone wanted that damned sapphire bad enough to send a hit-man
after you and Lucky the other night, and now they've resorted to
kidnapping."

"It doesn't make sense," she said, frowning.

"If the killer on the motorcycle was working for Lucky's buyer, I can
see that he would have tried to stop me from getting your brother out
of there before he could turn over the stone.  When Lucky saved my
life, the killer might even have thought there was a double-cross going
down, and tried to take us both out."

"But after that attempt failed, why assume that Lucky entrusted the
Rubicon to the bounty hunter who was trying to bring him in, and target
a member of her family?"  He rubbed his jaw.

"You're right.

Either we're talking about two different factions--the shooter and the
kidnappers--or we're on the wrong track altogether and Lucky's client
isn't even involved.  "" For all we know, Lucky himself could have been
working with the killer on the motorcycle to create a diversion. 
Except he had no way of knowing that I'd show up," she trailed off, her
brows drawn together in thought.

"He wasn't working with the biker."  Logan sounded positive.  She
looked over at him but he kept his gaze on the road.

"I don't have time to go into all the details right now, but that
wasn't part of his plan that night."

"You're holding something back," she said slowly.

"You said you'd told me everything, but there's something more I don't
know, isn't there?"

"We're here."  He turned onto the ramp that led to the departure
terminal, his gaze hooded.  He didn't look over at her.

"You have to trust me on this, Annie.  Right now we've got to
concentrate on getting Mary Margaret back safely--and for that we have
to work together as a team."  He narrowed his eyes against the bright
sodium lights that lined the curving drive in front of the terminal.
For a second he looked immensely weary.

She suddenly knew that no matter what he said, he would have given
almost anything not to have to confront his brother like this.  It was
tearing him apart.  He was a master at concealing his emotions--at
burying them so deep that he seemed to have none at all--but under that
icy exterior he had to be feeling something for the man he was about to
bring in.  Or bring down, she thought, apprehensively.  If Lucky tried
to run.  "I've got questions, Matt.  I don't like to work in the dark."
 She gave him a direct glance and saw his features tense.

"But I'll save them for later.  Let's go find your brother."

He drew the Taurus up to the curb, directly under one of the No Parking
signs lining the drop-off lane.  She saw the stiff line of his
shoulders relax slightly, but the smile he gave her was brief and oddly
remote.

"Yeah.  Let's get him."

They entered the terminal at a fast walk, Annie taking two strides to
every one of his, both of them scanning the crowd for Lucky's familiar
features.  They hadn't had to bring a photo for identification, she
thought with grim amusement.  All they had to do was ask if anyone had
seen Logan's double.

Passengers were shuffling along in line at the departure gates, most of
them with an air of pleasurable anticipation;

some worriedly slapping pockets for passports or dubiously counting
pieces of luggage.  What if he was in some kind of disguise?  she
thought suddenly.  A mustache and beard, or wearing glasses and a
concealing hat?

You'd know the man anywhere, Ryan, she told herself dryly.  You know
every inch of his gorgeous, lying hide-there's no way he could walk by
you without you sensing his presence.

As they headed towards the Air France departure gates, she kept her
eyes on the passers-by, but even without looking at him she was aware
of the man beside her.  Another snap judgment that had proved
wrong--she'd taken an instant dislike to him because he was everything
that Lucky wasn't.  Unconsciously she'd known from the first that Matt
Logan could prove much more threatening to her peace of mind than his
brother ever could and she'd done everything possible to keep him at
arm's length.

But tonight he'd broken past the barriers she'd erected.  around
herself--barriers that had been put up long ago by a grieving,
pain-ridden girl.  He'd looked past the tough image that she projected
and seen a bereft child, so weighted down with crippling guilt that she
was afraid to reveal herself to anyone--'and he'd set her free.

She'd hated him at the time.  He'd ripped open a scar that she'd hidden
for years, and he hadn't been gentle about it.  He'd done what he had
to do, even knowing that she might turn on him in her pain.  He never
took the easy way out, Annie thought slowly.  That was the basic
difference between him and Lucky.

"Agent Logan, I thought you'd already boarded.  They're about to
disengage the ramp."  A slim brunette in a tailored blue Air France
uniform paused in front of them, a small frown between her perfectly
groomed brows.

"Is there a problem?"

Logan stood stock still, looking at the woman.  His face was carefully
blank, but Annie could see a cold fury growing behind his gaze.  How
had the woman known who he was?  she thought in confusion.  He'd kept
his promise to Bridie, deliberately not identifying himself as FBI.

He'd actually left his badge on the kitchen floor where he'd tossed it,
she remembered.  So how did this airline rep know immediately that he
was with the Bureau?

"Yes, there is a problem."  His voice was as controlled as ever.  Eyes
the color of arctic ice flicked a glance at the departure gate, now
being closed.

"Tell them to hold the ramp and delay the flight.  I'm pulling one of
your passengers off."

The exquisite brows lifted in consternation.  Then the brunette's
professionalism took over and she headed swiftly towards the gate,
calling out to the attendant.

Suddenly Annie knew.

"He's passing himself off as you!"  Her gaze flew to Logan's icily
enraged features.

"That's right," he said tightly.

"If it gets confusing, just remember I'm the one with the gun and he'll
be the one who's handcuffed.  Wait here."

He walked away without looking back, broad shoulders stiff beneath the
impeccably cut suit.  Elegant, tough, and totally pissed-off, Annie
thought as she watched him enter the boarding tunnel with long easy
strides.  If the situation wasn't so serious, she'd almost be tempted
to smile at his outrage.  Almost--but not quite.  She found herself
gnawing nervously at her lip as she waited for him to reappear with
Lucky.

He had to have the Rubicon.  If he didn't, the desperate hope that
burned inside her would flicker and die--and so would her very spiht.
Matt wouldn't be able to bring her to life a second time.

She heard a muffled thud from the enclosed departure ramp, and lifted
her head, her eyes wide and staring.  Beside her the brunette from the
airline gasped.

Rounding the corner of the ramp and coming toward her were two men.

They were exactly the same height and build, both tall and leanly
muscled.  Both of them moved with a kind of casual ease, an almost
arrogantly lazy grace, except that one of them seemed to be favoring
his right leg.  The hard cheekbones in both tanned faces were
identical, a similarly dense sweep of inky lashes set off two pairs of
glittering emerald eyes, and a renegade strand of midnight- black hair
fell across both men's straight dark brows.  That erotic mouth, such a
dead giveaway to the smouldering fire behind that coolly restrained
facade, was exactly the same on both.

They were handcuffed to each other.

"I'm throwing a bash for a girlfriend who's getting married next week,"
the brunette breathed.

"I don't suppose those two moonlight at parties, do they?"

Annie's mouth was suddenly too dry to speak.  All she could do was
stand there as if she were rooted to the spot, unable to take her gaze
off the Logan brothers.

Lucky was wearing a duplicate of the suit that Matt had on, with the
same plain white shirt and subdued tie.  There was really no way to
tell them apart, she thought in confusion.  For all she knew either one
of them could be the philandering thief, or the straight-arrow agent.

It was the Rubicon all over again--one was the real thing and one was
the counterfeit, and try as she might, she didn't have a clue as to who
was who.

Or did she?  She squinted as they came closer, forcing herself to look
past the externals, studying both pairs of deep-green eyes as the two
looked up at the same moment and held her gaze.  There was a lurking
wry humor behind the chiseled features of one of them, she was almost
certain.  And the other had to be Matt.  In his hand he held a leather
ID wallet that looked a lot like the one he'd left on her kitchen
floor. Behind his eyes there was nothing but a barely controlled fury,
carefully concealed but still discernible.

He could be Lucky, though, she thought dubiously.  A man who'd just had
his flight to freedom cancelled at the eleventh hour might be more than
a little irate.

And then they were standing in front of her, one of them lifting a
corner of his mouth in an ironic half smile.

"I'm the one you want, sweetheart," he said.  His voice was dark
velvet, with an undertone of amusement.  The arm that wasn't cuffed to
his brother pulled her unresistingly to him and that lying mouth came
down on hers.

"You ever try anything like that again and I'll personally take you
apart, limb by limb."  The words were expressionless.  Logan looked
coldly at his brother as he unlocked the cuffs that shackled them
together.

"Ryan's with me-and she didn't come here to kiss you good-bye.  You're
in deep" -- "Shove it, Matt."  There was an edge to that velvety voice
and Lucky's mouth tightened.

"I'll listen to whatever else you have to say, but back away from my
personal life.  That's between Annie and me."

The security lounge that airport personnel had provided for their use
was bare and impersonal, with dull beige walls and only a few
straight-backed chairs and a wooden table as furniture--which was good,
Annie had thought at first.  She'd hoped that the very blandness of
their surroundings would remind the Logan men to keep this civilized,
but it didn't seem to be working out that way.

"You're both out of line," she said, her tone icy and her eyes hard.

"The next one who drags me into the conversation as if I'm a bone to be
fought over better remember that I'm armed."  She turned her gaze to
Lucky.

"The Rubicon--where is it?"

She was totally over him.  Whatever insanity had gripped her that
night, it had mercifully disappeared without a trace.  She'd thought
she would feel something when he kissed her, but she hadn't.  He was
sexy, handsome, and that roguish charm was as devastating as ever, but
he was wrong-he wasn 't the one she wanted anymore.

"That's a trick question, right?"  he smiled.

"You've got it, sweetheart.  I'm not such a bastard that I'd pocket a
lady's jewels as I'm leaving her bedroom."

"That's not what I've heard," she said shortly.

"But we both know that the stone you left on my dresser was a fake, so
stop stalling.  Lucky.

A child's life is at stake here.  "

He'd been about to sit down on one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs,
but at her words he halted.

"Run that by me again," he demanded.  The easy-going grin had
disappeared.

"Annie's niece has been kidnapped," Logan said, giving his brother a
searching glance.

"She'll be returned in exchange for the Rubicon--the real Rubicon.  I
hope to hell you didn't know anything about this, Liam."

The fact that he'd used Lucky's real name was a condemnation in itself,
she thought.  And his brother knew it.

"No, I didn't," he said flatly.

"We're brothers, for God's sake--have we grown so far apart that you'd
think that of me?"  His expression was oddly bereft as he gazed
steadily at the man facing him, his mirror image, and then he rubbed
his jaw wearily.

"Maybe we have."  His voice was quiet, with a note of finality in it.

Looking down, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, his
movements lacking their usual grace, "It's just a damned rock.  Who the
hell would think it was worth endangering a little girl's life for?"

He withdrew the Rubicon; huge, glittering and intensely blue, and set
it carefully on the table in front of Annie.  Reaching over, he brushed
a stray strand of hair away from her eyes.

"How do we arrange the han dover sweetheart?"

Annie averted her eyes from his and fixed them on the sapphire in front
of her.  It was blurry and out of focus all of a sudden, and she
blinked, desperately trying to hold back the tears.  That had been
true, at least, she thought.  That unexpected tenderness in his voice
hadn't been calculated or contrived--it had come straight from the real
Lucky Logan.  She was almost positive it had.

"We wait for them to contact Bridie.  As soon as they do, Pa phones us
with the time and place," she said hoarsely.  She cleared her throat
and passed-the back of her hand across her eyes.

"It'll be sometime tonight--they were convinced I had the stone all the
time."

"So we just sit and wait."  Lucky raked his hair away from his forehead
in a tense gesture.  He pulled a chair up to the table and swung his
leg over it, sitting down and using the back to support his folded
arms.

"Not exactly--we just sit and listen," Logan said tightly.

"You sit and talk.  Do you have any idea who these kidnappers might be?
Is there any chance they could be connected with that shooter on the
motorcycle who tried to gun you and Annie down the night she jumped off
the bridge after you?"  He held his brother's gaze fixedly.

If anyone could judge whether Lucky was telling the truth or not it was
Logan, Annie thought.  He was staring at his brother as if he was
trying to see into his very soul.

"The biker who shot at us?"  He shrugged.

"I'm totally in the dark about him, too.  All I can tell you is that if
I'd known this damned stone was going to cause so much trouble, I might
have thought twice before I stole it a couple of months ago."

"Yeah.  We all wish you'd get an honest job, Lucky," Logan said
abstractedly.  Then his head jerked up and his eyes narrowed.

"Okay.

Once again, real slow and clear, Liam.  You stole the Rubicon when? 
"

"You heard right.  I stole it a couple of months ago, from the private
safe of a collector in Argentina."  He grinned ruefully.

"I was there for a black diamond that had once belonged to Marie
Antoinette.  It disappeared from a museum a few years ago and I knew my
mark had it."

Logan had been sitting on the other side of the table, but in a flash
he was out of his seat, his chair crashing back onto the floor and his
hand at Lucky's throat.

"Little brother, if you don't stop jerking me around right now, you'll
be picking up stones in a prison yard for the next twenty years, not
lifting diamonds--black or otherwise."  His voice was low and
vehement.

"That's a promise."

"Hands off the tie, Matt."  Lucky looked supremely unconcerned.

"It's Sulka silk."

Deja vu all over again, Annie thought sardonically.  They looked like
two Bengal tigers after the same antelope haunch, and she had a sudden
vision of what they must have been like as boys, before they both took
such different and widely diverging paths.  How did it feel to be so
like another person that no one could tell you apart?  Was it a quest
for identity that had created such barriers between them, more than
their separate upbringings?

Then, even as she watched, she saw a typical Lucky expression cross
Matt's hard features--a flash of real amusement mixed with ironic
self-mockery.  They still had a little in common, she realized with a
touch of amazement.

"Hell, Lucky--why was it the only thing you ever learned from me was
how to dress?"  Releasing his brother, Logan took a step back and held
up his palms up in a hands-off gesture.

"I'm asking you nicely, okay?

Just fill us in on the Rubicon and leave everything else out for now.
"

His voice dropped and he added quietly, "It's important, Liam."

Lucky shrugged his jacket back into position and met Matt's eyes.  What
he saw there made him sigh, and he shook his head slowly.

"Yeah, I know it's important.  I guess the only reason I'm stalling is
because you're never going to believe my story--and for once it happens
to be the truth."

"Try us," Annie said.

"You said you stole the Rubicon from this collector in Argentina.  But
you're talking about the duplicate, right?"

"Wrong.  I knew as soon as I saw it that it was the real McCoy."  He
looked up and saw her disbelief.

"Annie, listen to me.  I'm a lousy card player, women always eventually
leave me to get married to someone else, and once in a while my big
brother gets the better of me in a fight."  His hand rested on the knee
he'd been favoring earlier, and he gave an unconscious wince.

"But nobody's better than me when it comes to jewels.  The real Rubicon
was the one I stole in Argentina.

What I took from the Treasures of Imperial Russia exhibit was a fake.
"" Why?  " Logan sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms
casually.  He sounded mildly interested, as if his brother was
recounting some past exploit that had no bearing on the matter at hand.
" Why would you steal something that you knew was counterfeit when you
already had the real thing?  "

"Because of the provenance," Lucky said with an edge of surprise in his
voice, as if the answer was obvious.

"I knew what I had was the genuine article, but the value of the
Rubicon isn't the fact that it's a big damn sapphire-it's the history
of the thing that makes it unique.  It's the fact that it belonged to
tsars, that it's shown in the portrait of Peter the Great that's
hanging in the Louvre, that it was hidden from the Nazis in the war by
a Russian peasant in a sack of potatoes."  He shrugged helplessly.

"That's the provenance, the documented history of it.  Without that,
all I had was a valuable jewel--with it I had a king's ransom."

"Let me get this straight."  She wasn't sure if she understood him.  '
"As far as everyone knew, the Rubicon was the property of the Russian
government--in fact, it was on display in their exhibit.  So for a
buyer to be convinced that what you were selling was the real one, you
had to steal the fake?"

"Right."  He grinned wryly.

"Who would believe me if I tried to tell them that what the Russians
were guarding under lock and key was just a big hunk of glass?  It had
to be stolen in a well-publicized theft.

When it was, every crooked collector in the world would be standing in
line to make me an offer.  "

"I believe you."  Logan was examining his knuckles thoughtfully, but as
he spoke he raised his eyes to his brother.  Lucky looked astonished,
but before he could speak Logan went on.

"Not about the fake Rubicon, of course--that's just another one of your
instant fairy tales.  But I believe what you said earlier about us
growing apart.  I don't know you anymore."  He stood up stiffly,
looking suddenly exhausted.  His eyes were shuttered and remote as he
looked down at Lucky.

"I don't even want to know you."

"I'm playing straight on this one.  Matt."  Lucky's voice was low and
even, but Annie saw a muscle jump at the side of his jaw.

"God knows I don't blame you for not believing me--hell, I know how
crazy it sounds.  But I swear I'm telling you the truth this time."

"No more, okay?"  Logan gave his brother a swift humorless smile.

"I

asked airport security to notify the Bureau to come and pick you up, so
we shouldn't have to spend much longer in each other's company.

Till then, just keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you.  I swear
I will, Liam.  This time you've gone too far.  "

"Annie hasn't said she doesn't believe me."  With a hard assessing look
at his brother.  Lucky gave her a slow smile that didn't quite reach
his eyes.

"Is it possible you still feel something for me, sweetheart?

After all, that night together was unforgettable"-He never finished his
sentence.  Logan covered the distance between them with a single
stride, and pulled him from his chair.  Even before Annie could react,
he'd slammed Lucky up against the nearest wall, his face only inches
from his brother's.

"I warned you, Liam, but I guess that wasn't enough, was it?"  His
voice was a soft and deadly whisper.

"Let's finish this, here and now."

"You've been warning me all my life, brother."  Lucky's words came out
in a hoarse rasp as he tried to break Logan's hold on him.

"I've had enough of your warnings and advice.  You don't know how great
it feels to know that you've finally screwed up big-time too!"

"Let's remember what we're here for," Annie cut in sharply.

"You two obviously can't be in the same room without ripping each other
apart so"

Her cell phone rang.

She could feel the blood draining from her face.  The Logan men looked
over at her, their differences instantly forgotten.  In the sudden
silence, the phone trilled again, insistently.

"Answer it."  Lucky's voice cracked with tension.

"I'll get it, Annie."  Logan was halfway to her when she shook her
head, her eyes wide and staring.

"No."  She reached into her windbreaker pocket and took out her
phone.

She nipped it open and held it to her ear.

"Pa?"

"You'd better have the stone, bitch."

The voice was a harsh, unfamiliar whisper and she felt her heart
smashing against her ribs.  Her fingers tightened around the phone.

"Who is this?  Is Mary Margaret all right?"  She barely had enough air
to breathe, but miraculously her voice remained steady.

"The kid's fine, as long as you've got what we want.  Same bridge as
last time, midnight, and no one but you.  That's how it's going
down."

"Wait!"  Her words came out in a rush.

"The thief's coming with me."

"Lucky Logan?  The one who stole it?"  The voice sounded suspicious.

"We were working the scam together--he's willing to hand it over for
the child but he doesn't trust me.  He wants to be there himself to
make sure I'm not ripping him off."

Annie closed her eyes and clung to the phone like a life line, praying
that her impromptu lie had sounded convincing.  She realized that the
receiver on the other end had been muffled.  Then the voice spoke
again.

"What the hell--bring the thief.  But any tricks and the kid dies.

Right in front of your eyes, bitch.  "

The line disconnected.

Chapter Twelve

"Everything you do, warn them beforehand.  Even if it's something
totally innocuous, like bringing your hand up to your face."

It was raining lightly and they were tracing the same route through the
park she'd taken--was it really only two nights ago?  Annie thought in
dull surprise.  It seemed like a lifetime since she'd tracked Lucky
half-way across Boston to end up here.  Matt shortened his stride to
accommodate hers.

"There's a textbook case of a mother making a han dover of a suitcase
full of cash for her young son.  She kicked the suitcase across the
parking garage floor, like she'd been told.  They opened a car door and
her child got out unharmed.  Reflex action--she cried out in relief and
her hands flew to her mouth."  He cut his glance over to Annie.

"The next minute the whole place turned into a shooting gallery.
Someone was startled enough to let off a round and the rest of them
followed suit.  I'm not telling you this to scare you, Annie--but it's
important that you know what you're up against."

"What happened to them--the mother and her son?"  She kept her eyes on
the still distant bridge, the dark arching silhouette pinpointed with
the ornamental park lamps she remembered from the last time.  When he
didn't answer her she looked up at him.

"Double funeral for the family a few days later," Logan said curtly.

"But that's not going to happen here.  In a couple of hours Mary
Margaret's going to be home with her mom and her grandfather."

There was enough Irish in her to wish he hadn't said it.  It was like
tempting fate, she thought apprehensively.  So much could go wrong.

There were so many bad ways this night could work out--and only one
good way.  The odds were stacked against them.

"Thanks for stepping in between me and Lucky," he said into the growing
silence.

"I shouldn't have let it go that far."

She looked up at him.

"He was pushing all your buttons, trying to make you lose it.  But I've
got to admit, I'm surprised that you did."

"He pushed the right one," he said shortly.

Another cryptic answer from Agent Logan, Annie thought, shoving her
hands in her pockets.  The bridge was closer now, but they were half an
hour early.  The wait was going to be excruciating.  She reined her
skittering thoughts in, taking a deep breath and saying the first thing
that came to her mind in an effort to keep her imagination at bay.

"Every time I think there's a real person somewhere inside you, Logan,
you seal yourself off again.  You know, you might actually be able to
learn something from Lucky."

"Meaning what?"  He didn't check his stride and his tone was even, but
there was a slight edge of disbelief in his words that suddenly turned
her anxiety to illogical anger.

"Meaning that despite all his faults, he's a lot more open than you
are," she said cut tingly

"Don't you ever get tired of always doing the right thing?  Always
holding back, weighing your actions?  Don't you ever want to let
yourself off that leash you seem to keep yourself on all the time?"

"I'm not Lucky.  I never will be," he said flatly.

And that was all the answer she was going to get from him, she realized
as they continued on in silence.  She'd caught glimpses of the man, but
for some reason he was determined not to reveal the whole of himself to
her.

But, whatever the personal barriers between them, there was no one else
she'd rather have beside her right now, she thought.  They were almost
at the bridge and the rain had stopped.  The slight mist coming off the
river gave the old fashioned park lamps diffuse halos, and, as before,
she was struck by the fairy-tale quality of the scene.  It looked
enchanted and other-worldly, with the delicately etched lines of the
bridge curving in a half-moon across the silvered water.

But appearances were deceptive.  This wasn't going to be the setting
for a lovers' meeting, a romantic rendezvous.  In a short while they
would be bargaining for a child's life here.  Reflexively Annie's hand
touched the reassuring bulk of the Glock under her windbreaker, trying
desperately to shut off the part of her mind that held the image of
Mary Margaret.  She could see her as clearly as if she were in front of
her this very minute--awestruck in front of the eel tank at the
Aquarium; winning at marbles with all the intensity of a Vegas gambler;
sneaking scraps of her dinner outside to the stray mutt that slunk
around waiting for her.

/ should have let her bring the dam dog in, she thought in sudden
contrition.  Why didn't I let her have him?  She was stricken with
guilt, and her throat felt tight with tears.  Tomorrow, she thought.

Tomorrow she'd personally scour the neighborhood for him and deliver
him to Mary Margaret.  Maybe even tonight.  If he was hanging around
the house tonight when they got home she'd let him in herself.  He
could sleep on the bed, she vowed fiercely to herself-anything, as long
as it meant she heard Mary Margaret's laugh, saw her face again.

"Dear Christ."  Logan stopped, his body rigid and his hand gripping her
wrist.  With a terrible sense of foreboding, Annie looked past the last
small stand of trees that partially obscured the bridge.  She saw what
he was looking at, and her knees buckled.  A strong arm went swiftly
around her, holding her up.

"My God, Matt!"  The harsh cry was ripped from her throat.

"They're going to kill her!"

The delicate iron and masonry bridge no longer looked like something
out of a fairy tale.  It looked like something out of a nightmare.  At
the center of the span, high above the broken waters of the river
rushing below, was the small figure of Mary Margaret, precariously
balanced on the narrow stone railing.

"Let me go!"  Annie twisted in Matt's grip, her breath coming in
sobs.

"Dammit, Logan, let go of me!"

"No."  His voice was low and intense, his fingers like a vice around
her wrist.

"You charge onto that bridge and you'll get her killed, Annie.  We're
going to walk there together, calmly and slowly, and give them the
Rubicon just like we planned."  He forced her head up to meet his
gaze.

"We can't afford emotion right now.  These people aren't professionals,
or they wouldn't be playing a sadistic game like this and jeopardizing
the han dover If you let them know what you're going through, they're
liable to push her off just for kicks."

His words were blunt and uncompromising, and for a moment she felt a
rush of anger at him.  Everything he said was true.  But how could he
stand there so coldly, as if this was just a problem in logistics to be
worked out as dispassionately as possible?

"I won't let them harm her, Annie.  My life for hers, if that's what it
takes, but I won't let them harm her."  Again the same blunt tone, but
this time there was a raw edge to his voice.

"Trust me."

Those dark emerald eyes held hers, direct and compelling, and suddenly
she saw past the controlled exterior to the agonized compassion he
couldn't afford to display.  He was just as stricken as she was, she
realized slowly.  But right now he only had one priority, and nothing
would be allowed to interfere with that.

He would keep Mary Margaret safe.  He'd given his word.  She felt the
choking panic inside release its crippling hold on her and she took a
deep breath.  She was ready to go through with this.  Resolutely she
straightened her spine and looked past the trees again.

"I'm okay now.  I won't do anything stupid, I promise."  She saw the
waiting figures, one of them holding onto Mary Margaret's legs as she
stood on the railing.

"Let's go."

They were only a couple of hundred yards from the sinister tableau on
the bridge, but it seemed like the longest walk she'd ever taken.  In
the park on the other side of the river a car was running, its
headlights on and its doors open.  There wasn't anyone in it, the
bounty hunter in her noted.  She could disregard it as a possible
threat.  As they got closer she could see that there were three men on
the bridge, and she felt a spurt of icy disgust break through the
professionalism she was attempting to maintain.  Three of them--three,
to stand guard over a defenseless little girl.  If any one of the
bastards had so much as touched her, Annie vowed silently, she would
personally dedicate the rest of her life to hunting them down.  And
Logan would probably be right beside her when she did.

She felt like she was crossing a tightrope as they started across the
bridge, but he gave an impression of relaxed calm.  She tried to keep
her movements just as slow and easy, but as she saw the small figure
swaying on the bridge parapet it was almost impossible not to rush to
her.

"Hi, Aunt Annie."  Mary Margaret's voice quavered, but it was full of
heavy scorn as she went on.

"I told these jerks you'd come and kick their butts."

She still had her beloved Red Sox cap on, turned backwards on her head.
Her jeans had a tear in the knee and she was wearing the T-shirt they'd
bought yesterday at the Aquarium.  She looked like a little street
tough, with one of her high-top running shoes unlaced over a grubby
sock.

She was scared to death.  And she wasn't going to show it, Annie
knew.

"Hi, Champ."  She could barely get the words past the thickness in her
throat.

"We're not here to kick butt tonight.  We're just here to take you
home, okay?  Don't look down."

"Where is it?"  The man who spoke was the one who was hanging onto the
back of Mary Margaret's jeans.  He looked like the losers she brought
in every day, Annie thought, not like the mastermind of a kidnapping
operation.  Knocking off gas stations seemed more his style than
dealing with one of the world's most fabled gems.

He was working for someone.  They all had to be.  They were lowlifes
hired for the job by someone who didn't want to appear in person.

"I've got it," Logan said evenly.

"How do you want to do this?"

He was keeping his hands slightly away from his body, and the gesture
seemed oddly familiar to her.  Then she remembered.  It was how Lucky
had stood on this bridge two nights ago, before she'd apprehended
him.

The same stance by both brothers--and it meant the same thing, she
realized.  He was trying to appear as non-threatening as possible, so
as not to goad these thugs into a fatal reaction.

"Hand it over to your girlfriend, Lucky.  Then she brings it over to me
and I'll let her have the kid."  The one who was holding Mary Margaret
had red hair cut so short it looked like hog's bristles.

The second man was painfully thin, with a badly acnescarred face.  He
kept scratching at his neck compulsively, and Annie wondered if he was
on something.  She didn't take her eyes off him as he spoke to Matt.

"You're like this James Bond kind of jewel thief, and then you let
yourself get screwed over by some woman.  Man, you must be pissed about
this."  He laughed and scratched his neck vacantly.  A gun was shoved
down the front of his jeans, and she wondered briefly if the safety was
off.

"Shut up and let's get this over with."

Of the three of them, this one was the most normal- looking.  He was
more neatly dressed than the others, with a gleaming leather jacket and
shoes instead of sneakers.  But when Annie looked more closely at him,
she felt suddenly chilled to the bone.  His eyes were almost black,
with about as much humanity in them as a snake's.  They were dead
looking She thought she could detect a faint accent in his voice when
he spoke.

"While you're taking the Rubicon out and giving it to the woman, I'm
going to be aiming straight for the kid's head."  He looked over at
Annie.

"You must have something that's worth a lot more to him than money. You
better hope he wants you bad enough not to be a hero at the last
minute."

"I'm taking the stone out now," Logan said in an unhurried voice.  He
reached into his pocket slowly and cautiously, his eyes on the man in
the leather jacket.  Annie watched him out of the corner of her vision,
but she kept her gaze fixed on Mary Margaret.  The little girl had
fallen silent after her initial outburst and her face was as white as
chalk as she stared down at her aunt.

"Take it from him and bring it over to Terry."  Leatherjacket was
addressing her, and as he spoke he moved closer to the redhead
clutching Mary Margaret.  His gun was still aimed at her.

Annie's legs felt like they were encased in concrete as she took a step
towards Logan and felt him press the Rubicon into her palm.  He reached
for her other hand and laid it on top of the jewel, as if he was afraid
she'd drop it.

"Do what the man says.  This'll all be over in a few minutes," he said
in a clear voice.

As she turned and headed at an even pace to the two men by the railing,
the redhead was confronting the man in the leather jacket.  "Hey, I
thought we said no names.  That was the plan-no freakin' names!"

Carefully keeping all emotion from her features, she held out the
stone, expecting the redhead to take it from her.  Instead, the other
man grasped it.  He gave it a hard look and then shoved it deep into
the inner pocket of his coat as he looked over at his irate partner.

"Sorry, I forgot.  But it doesn't matter now anyway, Terry."  His tone
was casual.

"The plan's been changed."

His arm had been extended while he'd been aiming at Mary Margaret, but
in a blur of movement he brought it down and fired point-blank at the
redhead.

Everything happened at once.  Even as the redhead slammed back against
the railing with the force of the bullet, Annie was frantically
grabbing for Mary Margaret.  She saw the muzzle of the leather-jacketed
shooter's gun swing past her to the third kidnapper, who had finally
stopped scratching his neck and was belatedly reaching for his own
weapon, and she heard it fire again.

Her hand grabbed the back of Mary Margaret's jeans just as the little
girl started to topple over the stone parapet, but before she could
pull her to safety the gun swung back in her direction.  In a moment of
perfect visual clarity, her gaze focused on the trigger as his finger
tightened on it.

And then Logan's Sig Sauer came up as he stepped in front of her, and
both guns fired simultaneously.

Those black snake's eyes held a faint hint of astonishment as they
looked at Logan, still standing with his gun in his hand but with his
arm now hanging at his side.  Then what little life had ever been in
them vanished, and the man in the leather jacket dropped abruptly to
the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

But by then Annie's attention was on Mary Margaret, as she swung her
down from the treacherous stone railing and crushed her to her.  She
felt the little body trembling against hers and the cold face pressed
into the hollow of her shoulder.

"Are you okay, Champ?  Did they hurt you?"  She held her at
arm's-length suddenly, needing to reassure herself that she was
unharmed.

"They didn't hurt me.  They just put a cloth on my face and I went to
sleep."  The little girl's voice was thready.

"It made me feel sick."

"We'll get you to a hospital where they can check you over, baby,"
Annie said, setting her gently on the ground and keeping one arm
tightly around her shoulders.

"I'll phone for an ambulance right now, and then we're going to call
your mom and tell her to meet us there.

She's going to want to hear your voice, sweetie.  " She turned to
Logan.

"She's all right?"  he asked.  He swayed slightly and put his hand out
to the stone railing.  He looked drained, Annie thought.

She probably did too.

"She seems fine."  Still clutching Mary Margaret protectively, she held
his eyes with hers.  "You kept your promise, Logan--you got her out
safe.  I thought we weren't going to make it for a moment there.  How
did he miss you at such close range?"

He looked mildly amused, and then a spasm of pain crossed his
features.

"Honey, he didn't.  I think he got my shoulder."

Chapter Thirteen

"Thank God she doesn't appear to have anything the matter with
her--except shock, of course.  The doctors want to keep her under
observation so we'll stay overnight and bring her home in the morning."
Pat Ryan handed his daughter a plastic cup of something that vaguely
resembled coffee.

"Vending-machine stuff," he apologized.

"It probably tastes like old crankcase oil."

"You're sure they didn't hurt her?  They didn't--they didn't do
anything to her, Pa?  You're not holding back on me, are you?"  It had
been a hidden fear that she hadn't dared express, and Annie needed to
have it laid to rest.

"Nothing like that," her father said forcefully.

"They were scum, but not that kind of scum."  He sat down beside her
and took one of her hands in his.

"When they snatched her they knocked her out with chloroform, and then
they seem to have kept her sedated right up until the time they were on
their way to meet you.  She can't tell us much."

He sighed heavily.

"Maybe it's good that she doesn't remember anything."  "I thought I was
going to die when I saw her up there on that bridge.  I thought she was
going to die," she said tonelessly.

"Have they identified the bodies yet?"

"All but one.  They were punks.  Small-time perps."  He met her eyes,
his blue gaze direct.

She fixed her gaze on the metal wastebasket on the other side of the
small waiting room.  It was overflowing with used tissues, mute
evidence of other vigils, other pain.  She suddenly wanted to get out
of there.

"I have to give a more detailed statement to the police tomorrow, but
right now I think I'll go home and try to get some sleep.  Will you
tell Bridie I'll see her in the morning?"

"You're sure you don't want me to drive you home?"  When she shook her
head her father took the untouched coffee cup from her and drained
it.

He stood up to toss the container in the garbage.

"When will they release Matt?"

"Not for a day or two at least, depending on how bad his shoulder is.

One of the nurses said he might have to have surgery.  " She looked
over at her father, her eyes dark with memory.

"He stepped right in front of me, Pa.  He deliberately took the bullet
that was meant for me."

Pat Ryan pulled his daughter to him with sudden fierceness, enfolding
her in a bear-like hug.  "In the name of all the saints, darling', I'm
glad he did.  He's a fine man, Anne Maureen--and a brave one, too."

He squeezed her tightly and then let her go, fishing in his pants
pocket for a handkerchief and blowing his nose loudly.

"He'd have to be, to keep up with you.  You'll never know how it felt,
watching you walk out the door.  I wondered if I'd ever see you again,
and I knew I had no right to stop you from doing what you had to do."

He wasn't just talking about tonight, Annie realized.  He felt like
this every day that she went to work, and yet he'd swallowed that fear,
allowing her to live her own life, make her own decisions.  It hadn't
been easy for him, but he had loved her enough to set her free.

She owed him that same freedom.  It was time she stopped letting the
ghosts of the past rule all their lives, time to stop being afraid to
live, to take chances.  Being a bounty hunter hadn't taught her that.
Matt Logan had.

She suddenly wished that he was with her.  She needed him, she thought
with a touch of surprise.  She needed to have him beside her, to talk
to him, to watch those amazing green eyes narrow with hidden amusement.
She wanted to look at him.  She wanted to be with him.

Oh, hell, Ryan--you've gone and fallen in love with the man.

A few minutes later she was walking across the hospital lobby, her head
down in thought.  There had to be some other explanation for the way
she was feeling, she told herself.  How could she have fallen in love
with the same Agent Logan who had driven her crazy with his darned
notebook and his silver pen and his freezingly polite disbelief the
first time they'd met?  Although now she came to think of it, she
mused, his notebook had been nowhere in evidence today.  Maybe he'd
realized just how much it had annoyed her.

But that didn't matter.  She couldn't be in love with a man she barely
knew, even if they had gone through fire together and he'd risked his
life for hers.  She felt like she'd lived a lifetime in the last few
hours.  Her emotions were still off-balance.  She was tired and shaky
and probably in a slight state of shock.

It didn't have to be love.

"What the hell were you doing in there for so long?"  He strode across
the lobby from behind an unattractive arrangement of ficus trees and
ferns and opened the door for her, looking irritated and impeccably
elegant at the same time.  He flicked an apprehensive glance at an
orderly walking by them.

"Come on, there's a head nurse built like a q line-backer who's
looking for me.  I had to get Cq .  , to bring me something to wear
just to sneak out q(, " It just might be love, Annie thought in defeat.
Ie;" < gaze linger on him and then glaring over his shoiiL couple of
candy stripers who were doing the saiK ,. But that didn't mean she had
to give in to it.

"You snuck out of hospital.  Smart move," ^ --i crushingly.

"Are you trying to prove you're a sup^ something, Logan?"

"I'm not trying to prove anything, I just can't st^-i, pitals.

Besides, the bone was only nicked.  The doc io .  " it up and" -- ap He
stopped so suddenly that she nearly ran into k, jr was looking down at
his chest, his face stricken.

"What is it?"  She was getting him back into they .  " , right now, she
thought fearfully.  The man was of , in pain.

"I can't believe he gave me a brown tie with suit," Logan muttered.

"What the hell was he thiiA.  " " He looked up, catching her furious
expression.  q).  ner of that fabulous mouth lifted in a wickedly
teasi.  u ic smile.

"Dammit, Annie--I've been skulking arounji..."  a potted plant for the
last half hour waiting for you, pear.  " His gaze sought and held hers.
The light not i. voice sobered to compassion and a sudden shadow j over
his features.

"How're you holding up?"

He wasn't supposed to be like this, she thought, .  ,. ing.  Logan was
supposed to be tough.  Caustic.  Sk deal with him that way, but not
like this.  Not term , caring and gentle--that wasn't fair.  She'd held
b^ ^ tears through the ambulance ride to the hospital wi^i Margaret's
cold little hand clutching hers, she'd he);)^

back at the sight of her father and Bridie, and she'd .  _ m3,n~

aged to keep herself under control while the police had questioned her
about what had happened on the bridge.

But his simple question disarmed her.  Her eyes overflowed.

She'd have her family to support her through this.  Who could Logan
turn to?  Not his brother, certainly.  No--he would go back to that
beautiful house that seemed to have nothing of him in it, and he'd be
completely alone.

Tonight, so would she.

"Come on, I'll take you home."  He was watching her with an
unidentifiable expression in his eyes.  In any other man she might have
called it regret, she thought, briefly puzzled, but even as she looked
at him he turned away and nodded at the parking lot.  "Cartwright
dropped the Taurus off for me.  He wasn't happy about it, but I pulled
rank."

"Aiding and abetting a hospital breakout."  She tried to match his
determinedly light tone.

"Poor guy.  It must have been the last thing he expected from his
by-the-book partner."  She paused, momentarily diverted.

"That reminds me--where's your notebook?  And the silver pen?

Did you have them surgically removed or something?  "

They'd reached his car and he was unlocking the door for her.  He
dropped his keys and swore under his breath as he picked them up.

"I

felt it was possible I was beginning to use them as a crutch.  They
were a habit I decided to discard," he said coldly.  He opened the
passenger door and paused, a reluctant smile at the corner of his
mouth.  " Besides, you made it obvious that if you saw them one more
time there was a damn good chance I was going to have to get them
surgically removed.  "

Annie laughed as she got in and he walked around to his own door.  A
moment later she realized what she'd done.  She'd actually laughed.  An
hour ago she'd thought that nothing could possibly lighten the trauma
of this terrible night, but for a few seconds Logan had shown her that
life could be normal again, despite everything that had happened.

Suddenly she couldn't bear the thought of him taking her home to an
empty house, and watching him drive away to an empty one of his own.

The last few hours were too fresh, too vivid in her mind to deal with
on her own.  Even if they hadn't been, she admitted to herself with a
flash of honesty, she still would have wanted to be with him.  As he
got into the car she spoke.  Her words tumbled out swiftly, before she
could change her mind.

"I don't want to be alone tonight, Matt."

She didn't look at him but she knew he was looking at her, and she
could feel the color mounting her cheekbones.  She was grateful that
the interior of the car was dark.

"Neither do I," he said finally.  His smile was rueful.

"God, Annie, you shoot my good intentions all to hell.  This probably
isn't a smart idea."

Her eyes widened in understanding.  Her face had been warm before; now
it felt like it was on fire.

"I--no, I just meant" -She floundered to a stop and took a deep
breath.

"I'm not saying we should sleep together.  I just don't want to be
alone--not tonight.  I need to be with someone."

Not just someone--she needed to be with him, she thought, biting her
lower lip in consternation.  But she didn't seem to be able to express
herself clearly right now.

"I knew what you meant the first time."  He started the ignition and
looked over at her.

"We'll toss a coin for the sofa bed.  There's one thing I have to ask
you, though."

She raised her eyes to his, wondering if she'd ever really fathom what
went on behind that lambent green gaze.  Just when she thought she knew
him, he turned out to be a totally different man.  Right now something
was definitely worrying him.

"Yes?"  She tried to keep the concern from her voice.

"Stop looking at me like that, okay?"  He put the Taurus in Reverse and
backed out of the parking space, almost clipping the car beside them.

"Because biting your lip is one of those little things you do that play
hell with my good intentions."

As they drove out of the hospital lot and onto the street she was
unable to think of a single thing to say to him in reply, but he didn't
seem to expect further conversation.

Well, now you know, she told herself helplessly.  He's definitely the
one.

She wanted everything from him.  She wanted him to fall in love with
her.  She wanted it to be forever.  She wanted to be able to hand him
her heart and soul and receive his in return.  She wanted a lot from
him, she knew--maybe she wanted more than he was willing to give.

This afternoon they'd proved that they could create a four-alarm fire
just by being in the same room together, and even the memory of his
mouth on her skin could make her feel weak.  But as all-consuming as
that fire between them was, there had to be a steady flame behind
it--one strong enough so that nothing could ever extinguish it.

The city night slid smoothly by outside, the slim mirrored shape of the
soaring John Hancock Tower throwing back the reflection of Trinity
Church in graceful deference.  Annie remained lost in her own
thoughts.

How did he feel about her?  He wasn't one to reveal his deeper emotions
easily--was she ever going to get past that seamlessly perfect exterior
to the real man within?

There was one question she hadn't dared to ask herself, but she knew
she would have to face it eventually.  How high a price was she going
to have to pay for that night she'd spent with his brother?  Would it
prove to be the final insurmountable barrier between them that nothing
could tear down?

Had she thrown away her chance at the real thing for a counterfeit--a
counterfeit that had glowed with a reckless beauty in the hours between
dusk and dawn, but that had proven false in the light of day?

She leaned her head against the cool glass of the car window and closed
her eyes in sudden pain, thrusting the thought aside.  "When I spoke to
Cartwright he told me that the Bureau had finally delivered the Rubicon
to Kortachoff."  As Logan spoke he pulled the Taurus over to the curb,
and with a start she realized that they'd reached their destination.

"He'd apparently been at some arts gala earlier, and no one could reach
him.  I gather there were a few tense moments while he examined it."

Despite herself, she smiled.

"No one got hustled out in handcuffs this time?"  She looked over at
him as they entered the house.  "No, thank God.  The stone Lucky gave
us at the airport was the genuine article.  He's still sticking to that
story about the real Rubicon being stolen in Argentina, though."

He walked ahead of her into a gleamingly modern kitchen.  Another
sterile room, Annie thought, contrasting it with Bridie's domain.  No
plants, no touches of color, no dishtowel left on the counter.  All the
appliances were brushed stainless steel.  A massive double-door
refrigerator flanked a restaurant-style gas stove.  A free-standing
maple butcher's block stood over by the far wall, under a hanging rack
of copper pans.  Her curiosity got the better of her.

"Is the whole house like this?"

"Like what?"  He shed his jacket with some difficulty.  Through his
shirt she could see the bulk of the dressing on his shoulder.  "Red or
white wine?  Nurse Ratchett pumped me full of drugs before I escaped,
so I guess I'd better stick to coffee."

"Coffee's fine."  She gestured around her.

"Like this-like a magazine spread.  It doesn't look like anyone really
lives here.  Everything's so... perfect."  Her voice trailed off
dubiously.

He nipped a switch on the coffee-maker.  "This was my grandparents'
town house.  They had a place on the Vineyard that they left me too,
but I haven't found the time to get out there this year."  He shrugged
and then gave a slight wince.

"I just never got around to changing anything."

"So this is where you grew up?"  It explained a lot.  She had a vision
of a small boy, suddenly orphaned and separated from his twin, being
deposited in this beautiful, flawless house.

"Yeah.  While Lucky was hitting the high spots of Europe with Sam and
Yvonne, my father's parents, and learning the finer points of scaling
walls and disabling alarm systems, I was being packed off to Miss
Braithwaite's Dancing School every Saturday morning and shuffling
around the floor with white-gloved little girls who traced their
lineage back to the Mayflower and never let anyone forget it."

He didn't sound particularly bothered by the inequality.  His attention
was focused on pouring coffee into two bone- china mugs that looked
nothing like the thick chipped ones she was used to at home.  He handed
one to her, and led the way into the living room.

A silk-shaded lamp created a warm glow of light near the sofa, but the
corners of the room melted into shadow, softening the remote formality
that had overwhelmed her earlier.  Annie's gaze went automatically to
the spot where the crystal vase had shattered.  There was no trace of
it now.

A different arrangement of pink lilies and out-of-season white lilac
stood on the sideboard.

He followed her glance.

"I have someone who comes in to clean," he said dryly.

This life-style had certain advantages, she thought.  But it hadn't
turned him into the man he was today.  The elegant facade was just
that--a facade.  It was the contradiction between it and the toughness
it masked that confused her.

"Boarding school, summers on the Vineyard--why didn't you take the
conventional route and go into something safe like banking?"  she
asked, taking a seat on the velvet sofa.

"You don't exactly fit the mold that your grandparents must have had in
mind."

He didn't sit.  Instead he walked over to the sideboard and touched one
of the lilies with his finger, stroking it thoughtfully.  "They died
within a few months of each other when I was sixteen," he said.

"I'd never really felt I'd known them, and after their deaths I
realized I didn't know myself either.  So I gave my trustees heart
attacks and dropped out of sight for a while to see if I could make it
on my own without the money or the name always backing me up."

He tipped some pollen from the lily onto the polished surface of the
sideboard and looked over at her, those sinfully thick lashes turning
his eyes to green slits.

"I came back three years later with an extensive education in dirty
fighting, thinking fast and getting back on my feet after the other guy
thought I was down for good.  I learned how to survive, and I figured I
could put that knowledge to better use working on the side of law and
order."  He gave her a quick smile.

"I'm still hell on waltzes though."

She believed him, Annie thought in sharp frustration.  Right now he was
demonstrating just how deftly he could move--away from any subject that
concerned him by sum ming up his life in a few sparse sentences and
considering the matter closed.  She knew more about most of her skips
from reading their files than she did about the man she'd gone and
fallen in love with.  It was almost as if he had some deep dark secret
that made him so vulnerable that he couldn't allow her anywhere near
the real Matt Logan.

She suddenly knew she'd hit on the truth.

He was hiding something from her--he had been from the start.  There
had always been a wary edge to their relationship, as if he couldn't
trust her with the knowledge of who he really was.  It was as if even
while they'd been coming closer to being lovers there had still been an
equal possibility that they could one day be enemies.

He wanted her.  But he was holding something back.  And if there was
going to be any chance at all for this relationship she was going to
have to discover what it was.

She already had a pretty good idea though, she thought heavily.

"Now I know everything about you," she said softly.  She set her mug on
the low table and leaned back on the velvet cushions, looking up at
him.  There was a faint hint of challenge in her eyes.

"All that's missing from that exhaustive autobiography is the fact that
you have a brother who happens to be your twin--a brother who's sitting
in jail right now because you put him there."

She'd been right--Lucky was definitely the key.  She saw the quick
tightening of his jaw before he schooled his features back to their
usual impassivity.  A petal snapped from the lily onto the sideboard
and Logan looked at it for a moment.  He turned away from the flowers
and walked casually towards the sofa.

She was close to the truth.  If she pushed him further she'd know for
sure, but suddenly she wondered if she really wanted to confirm the
suspicion that was rapidly be coming a certainty.  She caught her lower
lip between her teeth and hesitated.

"Hell, Annie."  Logan looked away, and then his gaze swung back to her
as if he couldn't help himself.

"We had a deal and he tried to get out of his end of it.  All my life
I've given him second chances, but not this time."

The moment to back away had come and gone.  She met his eyes and
realized that he was coldly furious, although he'd been able to keep
any hint of anger out of his words, and for some reason this indication
of the distance he still kept between them was the final straw.

"I know he doesn't get a second chance, Logan.  That would violate your
rigid code of ethics, wouldn't it?  He reneged on a deal, and even
though he made up for it in the end, you can't forgive him for that."

She took a shallow breath, her voice an intense whisper.

"Except that doesn't make sense.  You said it yourself--you've always
given him second chances in the past.  What did he do this time that
was so different?"

"You're all wrong."  He leaned closer, his expression grim.

"I didn't want it to come out like this but" -- "It's the same reason
why you keep shutting down on me, isn't it?"  In the lamplight her eyes
were dark with pain.

"You let me get just so close and no closer.  Even tonight after
everything that we went through together, you still make sure I don't
cross the boundary line."

"I couldn't let you know me that well," he said flatly.

"Not until now, anyway."

"Not ever.  You look at me and all you can see is that Lucky got here
first."  She felt the anger seep out of her.  It was replaced with
hopelessness, and her throat was tight with tears.

"That's never going to change, no matter how much you think you want
me.  If I spent tonight in your bed you'd still remember that the
brother you're so hostile towards, the brother who stands for
everything you fight against, made love to me before I even met you.
And you don't ever come in second against Lucky, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," he said tightly.

"But Lucky got nowhere with you, Annie."

"No, he didn't," she admitted dully.

"When he kissed me today I knew there was nothing there.  But you'll
always" "--There's no easy way to tell you, is there?  He was right
about one thing--I screwed up big-time."  There was a harsh bitterness
in his tone that set off a distant warning bell somewhere at the back
of her mind.

"Annie."  His voice was softly compelling.  She looked at him.

He reached over and pulled gently at a strand of her hair.  Bringing it
around to her mouth, he let it lie there, curving in towards her
lips.

His hand traced the line of her jaw and trailed slowly down her neck to
the hollow between her collarbones.  The light turned his eyes to a
brilliant gold- green and shadowed the hard lines of his face as he
held her gaze.

She definitely shouldn't have let him touch her, she thought
despairingly.  Now she really was in trouble.

He was big, gorgeous and he belonged in bed, making love to her right
now and all night long.  She wanted to see those green eyes close in
ecstasy, see those strong fingers gripping her, run the tip of her
tongue along that incredible mouth even while he was gasping her name
out.  She was about to make the same reckless mistake that she'd made
before.

She was incapable of walking away from the man.  All she could do was
make him walk away from her.

"I slept with your brother."  She forced the brutal words out.  They
were a last-ditch defense, the barrier that had always been between
them. This time she was using them to save her from herself and she
went on, her voice shaking.

"I slept with him, Logan--think about it!  Everything that you want, he
had before you.  He had me first, in every way you can imagine, and
you'll always know that.  You'll always know you got here second, after
him."

She stopped, her eyes blind with tears.  She'd grabbed the front of his
shirt while she'd been choking out the damning words at him, and now
she released her hold, spreading her fingers slowly against his
chest.

She could feel his heart beating, hard and fast, under her palm.  She
blinked and his face came into focus.

He looked like a man who'd just lost the most valuable treasure he'd
ever had.

"Kiss me, Annie," he said.  His voice was raw and hoarse.

"I want it one last time."

He brought his mouth to hers and his arms wrapped around her tightly,
crushing her to him almost desperately.  This was it, she thought as
she tasted her own tears against his skin.  He knew what she'd said was
the ultimate truth, and this was his way of saying goodbye to what they
might have had.  She felt as if her soul was being left behind as she
opened her lips to him and felt him inside her.

And then he drew back, bringing his palms to the sides of her face, his
thumbs at her temples.

"/ got there first, Annie."  The green eyes were glazed with pain.

"Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?  It wasn't Lucky that
night--it was me."

Chapter Fourteen

Even as she stared at him, her pale face framed between the palms of
his hands, she felt as if ice crystals were forming on her skin, inch
by inch, overlapping and packing together faster and faster.  Her lips
were still warm from his, but she felt her body stiffening with the
deadly cold that was winding around her like a shroud.  The frost
encased her heart, solidified in her throat, and then even the taste of
him was gone from her mouth.  It was almost impossible to speak.

"Tell me you're lying."  Her voice cracked.  Her eyes looked like
violets under ice.

"Not this time.  Not anymore."  There were deep grooves at the sides of
his mouth that she had never seen before.  Her temples pounded from his
touch.

"You bastard, Logan."  She slanted her eyes up at him, feeling the skin
pull tight where he held her, her words low and uninflected.

"You absolute bastard.  Get your hands off me."

She sat, small and with her spine ramrod-straight, on the edge of the
exquisite velvet sofa and finally she felt his grip loosen.  His hands
dropped to his sides and slowly he stood up, looking down at her.

"I knew the longer it went on, the more you'd end up hating me.  I
wanted to tell you before now, but I couldn't."  He stopped, one corner
of his mouth lifting in a sudden expression of disgust.

"That sounds like an excuse, and there isn't one for what I've done to
you, Annie."

"No, there isn't," she said tightly.  Then her control snapped and she
stood to confront him.

"Why didn't you tell me?  What was this--some kind of twisted game you
were playing?"  Her eyes widened, and her hand went to her mouth as a
thought struck her.

"Does Lucky know everything we did together?"  Her voice sank to an
appalled whisper.

"He does, doesn't he?  He had to keep up the pretence when I saw him at
the airport so you filled him in and he backed you up!  What was the
next part of the plan, Logan--was he going to pretend to be you?"  "He
only knew he was supposed to have spent the night with you.  My whole
cover would have been blown as soon as you saw him, otherwise."

He met her eyes steadily.

"I hated myself for having to tell him that much."

She stared at him as the full force of his words seared itself into her
consciousness.  A terrible sense of betrayal spilled through her and
without volition, her hand flew up and struck him abruptly across his
left cheekbone.  The sharp sound of the slap was out of place in the
perfect room.

"I've never done that before.  It always seemed such a girly way to
hit," she said distantly.  Under the pain a growing anger lent her the
strength to continue.  "But it felt like the right thing to do in this
situation."

The imprint of her hand was still visible on his tanned skin.  He
hadn't moved a muscle as she'd struck him, but the expression in his
eyes was wryly ironic.  He touched his cheek cautiously.

"Hell, that didn't feel girly to me, Annie," he said evenly.

"But you had every right to do it.  You're probably going to feel like
taking a few more shots at me before I'm finished."

"Probably," she agreed shortly.

"But don't let that stop you.  What were you doing on the bridge that
night, posing as Lucky?"  "We made the switch as soon as the bail bond
was sworn out and he was released from jail."  Logan raked an
unconscious hand through his hair.

"Like I said, the Bureau thought it would be a great idea to lay a trap
for his buyer and they wanted everything to look as normal as
possible-even to taking out a real bond with a real bail agency.  It
was just our bad luck we chose the one you work for."  He sighed.

"I

couldn't believe it when you walked onto that bridge and identified
yourself.  Later on when we learned of your reputation, we realized
we'd picked the wrong damn bounty hunter to skip out on.  "

"You should have asked around, Logan.  Any of those losers down at the
jail could have told you that."  She placed her hands on her hips.

"Which brings us to our little moonlight swim.  Tell me, was what
happened on the riverbank part of the job too?  Or were you just
improvising by then?"

Her stance was confrontational and her voice was mockingly skeptical,
but the sarcasm didn't completely mask the anguish in her question.

Hearing it, he took a swift step toward her but checked himself when
she pinned him with her gaze.

"Don't touch me.  Just tell me."  Her voice was under control again.

"I

need to know why you did it.  "

A brief shadow passed across the hard planes of his features.  The
muscle at the side of his jaw flinched.

"Because when I pulled you from the river I thought I'd lost you," he
said simply.

"Then you opened your eyes and looked up at me and I knew I'd found
you."

Annie took a reflexive step backward, grasping the sofa for support.

She felt as if she'd just had the breath knocked out of her.

"You must really think I'm a fool," she said slowly, the corners of her
mouth white with shock.  "Love at first sight--I'm supposed to believe
that?  The perfect, controlled Agent Logan?"

"That's what I told myself."  He smiled tightly at her.

"But for the first time in my life I didn't give a damn about doing the
right thing.  All I knew was that there was this tough, loud-mouthed
little blonde waving a gun at me and for some reason there was no way
in hell I could bring myself to walk away from her."

"That was lust, not love," she said flatly.  Abruptly she turned away
from him, walking over to the French windows and looking out into the
black night.

"I wanted it to be lust," he said softly to her back.

"I wasn't looking for anything more complicated."

"Neither was I."  Her words were bitter and nearly inaudible.  Still
staring unseeingly into the darkness, she continued in the same low
tone, as if she was talking to herself.

"Love scared the hell out of me.  Falling in love meant handing fate
one more hostage, and I was having a hard enough time worrying about
the ones I had.  It was easier to tell myself that it was just an
overwhelming physical attraction that I felt--an irresistible
compulsion that I had to give in to, just this once."

"Did you convince yourself?"  Logan asked tersely.

"No.  You convinced me."  She turned from the window and faced him, her
face a mask.

"You convinced me when you left me the way you did, letting me think
you'd just seen me as a one-night stand.  You must have come straight
here, changed, and then raced to the office so that I could deliver
what I thought was the Rubicon to you--the very stone that you'd
stashed in my car for safe-keeping when we were getting shot at by that
biker.  No wonder when you showed up earlier that day in your Agent
Logan persona with Cartwright you were so sure I had it."

"Yeah, I knew you had to have it."  He smiled humorlessly.

"I also knew that I was the last man on earth you'd hand it over to."

"I didn't find it until after you'd left."  She looked up with renewed
anger.

"I told you later on that night."

"You told me when you thought I was my brother," he exploded.  "But
whenever you had dealings with me as myself you made it damn clear you
couldn't stand Matt Logan.  The only time there seemed to be a chance
that a relationship might develop between us was when I showed up as
Lucky, a notorious thief who breaks every law I'm sworn to uphold."

The steely control that was so much a part of him, that had been
tempered and tested over the years, suddenly showed strain.

"I was caught between a rock and a hard place as it was, Annie--no one
was to be told about the impersonation.  The police, other agents...
hell, " even Cart- wright wasn't in the loop.  If Dmitri Kortachoff
even guessed that we'd had the Rubicon and hadn't returned it right
away, this whole thing would have escalated into a matter for the State
Department--as it was, he seemed to suspect that we were holding out on
him.  But that wasn't all.  After that biker tried to kill us, I
couldn't let you become any more involved in this than you were.  I'd
diverted him once but there was no guarantee he wouldn't come after you
again. "

"He won't be gunning for anyone anymore."  She met his eyes.

"He was the kidnapper wearing the leather jacket."

He paused, and then a corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful half
smile.  He shook his head in defeat.

"I keep trying to guard you from all the wrong things, don't I?"

"That's right, Logan."  The anger had drained out of her in the last
few minutes.  Now all she felt was an aching sadness.

"He was left-handed, which caught my attention, and then I saw that his
pants were damp from the knees down.  That's where a biker gets
splashed when the road's wet.  If I didn't notice details like that I
wouldn't have lasted for two days as a bounty hunter."

She turned to the sofa and picked up her windbreaker, suddenly weary.

"I wear a bullet-proof vest most of the time on the job.  I just never
thought to protect my heart from the man I was falling in love with."

His eyes were more topaz than emerald in the soft light and as she
started to turn away a spark behind them flickered like a dying
flame.

"Lucky was right.  I've lost you, haven't I?"  "Maybe you thought your
reasons were good enough at the time, Logan."  Annie's gaze was dull
with a aching grief that she.  hoped she could contain for as long as
it took her to leave him.

"But you didn't trust me in the one situation where that's the most
important thing that two people can share with each other.  You had me.
Whatever name you were going under, it was you all the time.  And now
it's you who's lost me."

She turned and walked away from him, her head up, her back straight and
her heart cracking in two.

"here's my card if you need to call me."  Looking more like a tired
bloodhound than ever.  Jack Cartwright heaved a sigh and pushed back
his chair from the Ryans' kitchen table, his concerned gaze on Bridie's
wan face.

"Like I said, we'll keep the surveillance on for another week, but my
guess is whoever masterminded this operation has left the country
already.  There's no reason they'd attempt another snatch on Mary
Margaret."

It had been five days since that terrible ordeal on the bridge, but as
Annie walked outside with Cartwright to his car, she knew that it would
be months before the memories began to fade.  Pa and Bridie were trying
their best to settle the household back to its normal routine, and Mary
Margaret was due to start back at school on Monday, but the knowledge
that the FBI still had no leads on who had commissioned the kidnapping
was daunting.

Her heart felt like a lump of lead in her chest, but she knew that the
investigation's dead-end wasn't the only cause of her depression.  It
just was the only cause she allowed herself to think about.

"The Rubicon was the key, Annie."  Cartwright paused at the door of his
car.  Awkwardly he reached over and patted her shoulder.

"Now that it's back in Kortachoff's exhibit your niece is safe.  If
there was a chance she could identify anyone but the three thugs who
did the dirty work it might be a different story, but seemingly whoever
was behind this never revealed himself to her.  He knows she's no
threat."

She attempted a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'll feel a whole lot better when you catch him.  What about the
motorcycle shooter--any information yet on who he was?"

"Zilch," he said disgustedly.

"He was the only one of the three who wasn't carrying ID We ran his
prints through the system and came up empty--which doesn't mean he was
a fine, upstanding citizen, just that he didn't have a record.  Not in
this country, anyway."

"What do you mean, not in this country?"  She looked over at him
sharply, remembering the slight accent she thought she'd detected that
night on the bridge.

"How would you know he wasn't an American without

ID?

"

"The leather jacket he was wearing," Cartwright said.

"He'd cut all the labels out of his clothes, but there are people in
the garment trade who can practically pinpoint the individual cow a
piece of leather came from--differences in breeds, diet, and even the
country of origin.  Our guy guessed that this jacket was made in
Czechoslovakia.  We're still checking on manufacturers over there."

"And Czechoslovakia is a trading partner with Russia," Annie said
slowly.

"It's a slim connection, but coupled with the fact that the Rubicon is
a Russian jewel we're taking it seriously.  I just hope their mob isn't
somehow involved."  He looked grim.

"If they are then their next target might be Dmitri Kortachoff.  We've
already warned him, but he refuses protection."

She frowned.

"Why doesn't he cut the show short and get the stone back home where
it's safer?"

He shrugged.

"Not an easy man to deal with, as you know.  He plans to put the
Rubicon back on display for the final night of the Treasures of
Imperial Russia exhibit tomorrow.  Apparently he's arranging a massive
gala--a kind of farewell showing, with caviar, fireworks and for all I
know the Bolshoi Ballet and the Moscow Circus.  Plus the usual
collection of diplomats and society types."  He sounded morose.

"A security nightmare," Annie said sympathetically.  "That kind of
event always is.  Are you going?"

For the first time in their conversation he dropped his gaze.  Studying
the ground at his feet with intense interest, he cleared his throat
uncomfortably.

"Actually that's one of the reasons why I'm here.

You've been invited, and the message from our government is that they
would be grateful if you'd accept.  You're to be somewhat of an honored
guest, from what I gather, and if you turn Kortachoff down it could be
construed as a snub.  " He looked pleadingly at her.

"It'll only be for a couple of hours, but he wants to thank you in
public for your help in returning the Rubicon."

"Great."  She ran her fingers through her bangs impatiently.

"The last time I saw the man he accused me of being a thief, and now he
wants to give me the royal treatment in front of a bunch of
photographers because it'll be good publicity.  I guess I don't really
have a choice, do I?"

"Not really."  Cartwright grinned in relief and opened his car door.

"Bring me back a doggy-bag of Beluga caviar, will you?"

She'd been half-expecting him to mention Matt, but she was relieved
that he hadn't.  She wouldn't have known how to react.  She hadn't even
been able to confide in Bridie about what had happened, and she was
afraid that just hearing his name would be too much for her shaky
self-control right now.

She still could see his face every time she closed her eyes.  She still
felt the pain of his betrayal as sharply as she had the night he'd
confessed to her.  She wasn't over him, and maybe she never would be,
Annie told herself wearily.

She watched as Cartwright got into his car and backed out of the
driveway, but just as he was about to pull onto the street he rolled
down his window and called out to her.

"I almost forgot to tell you--Matt's your official escort for tomorrow
night.  He'll pick you up at eight."

He ignored her suddenly outraged expression with a sketchy wave and
pulled away from the curb, his tires giving a little squawk as he drove
off.

Good old honest Jack Cartwright, Annie fumed.  He'd blindsided her.

Whether he had guessed any of the details or not, he knew that
something had happened between her and Logan.  Just the fact that he'd
been unaccompanied by his partner the few times that he'd come by to
talk to her and Bridie this last week was proof of that.  He must have
known that she would never have accepted Kortachoff's invitation if
he'd told her up front what it entailed.

She'd realized that there was a chance she'd come face to face with
Logan again at some time during the investigation, but to be forced
into a social situation with him was asking too much.  There had to be
some way she could get out of this, she told herself.

A moment later she sighed in frustration.  Short of shooting herself in
the foot, she didn't have a hope of dodging the invitation.  It was a
request from the State Department.  However unofficially they might
have phrased it, she had no trouble imagining the bureaucratic
displeasure her refusal would incur.

She had to go through with it.  She just didn't know how.

How was she going to be able to look at him without reliving that
terrible moment when she'd realized that everything between them had
been based on a lie?  How was she supposed to forget, even for an
evening, that what he'd done had completely violated her trust?

Most importantly, how was she going to pretend that she wasn't in love
with the man anymore, Annie thought hopelessly.  To pull that deception
off, her acting skills would have to be on a par with his.

Her head jerked up and her eyes narrowed.  For the first time in days
she felt a tiny spark of spirit stirring below the despondency.

If she could persuade him that he hadn't broken her heart, at least
she'd be able to walk away from the situation with some dignity.  Maybe
she wouldn't ever be able to think of Matt Logan without an aching
sense of loss, but she might not feel such grinding betrayal and
humiliation if she was able to encounter him without falling to
pieces.

"You've got a nasty glint in your eye, sis."  Bridie looked up as Annie
strode into the kitchen.

"What's the matter?"  Her face suddenly paled.

"Did Agent Cartwright tell you something that you're hiding from me?"

"Nothing like that."  Annie shot her sister a reassuring smile.  It
felt forced.

"I'm supposed to go to a gala at the Treasures of Imperial Russia
tomorrow night.  There's no way I can get out of it.  Where's Mary
Margaret?"

It was an automatic question these days.  Whenever the little girl was
out of sight the whole family felt uneasy.  She wondered how long it
would take before the fear subsided.

"She's in her room drawing.  Why don't you go in and keep her company
until dinner's ready?"  Bridie wheeled over to the fridge
distractedly.

"I'm worried about her."

"Me too."  Annie took a carrot from the colander on the counter and bit
off the end.  She looked down at the lump of brown fur curled up
morosely under the kitchen table.

"She won't even let Mutt in with her.  Before this happened she seemed
to love that dog, but now she refuses to look at him.  Are the
nightmares still continuing?"

"Every night."  Bridie paused, her blue eyes clouded.

"The counsellor at the clinic says not to expect too much too soon and
I know it'll take time for her to get over the trauma, but I can't help
thinking mere's something else there--something she's keeping locked up
inside."

Her blood ran cold.

"But she was checked out at the hospital.  She hadn't been" -- "Not
that."  Bridie's voice shook.

"Thank God, not that.  But I always could tell when she was trying to
keep a secret, and that's the feeling I'm getting now."

Her sister was right, Annie thought as she knocked at Mary Margaret's
door a minute later.  There was something secretive about the little
girl's behavior that seemed even more concrete than the after-effects
of a kidnapping ordeal,

as hard as that naturally would be for a child to deal with.  And it
tied in with the dog somehow.  Her reaction to the stray was completely
opposite to her former adoration of him.  She seemed almost.  almost
afraid of him.  But that was ridiculous.  A week ago she'd been begging
for permission to let him into the house.

"Hi, Champ.  Can I come in?"  Her niece was sitting at the play table
that Pat Ryan had built for her, her small blond head bent in
concentration over a sheet of paper.  Colored pencils were spilled on
the floor beside her.

"Sure."  Mary Margaret looked past her aunt and her eyes widened.

"But not him, okay?"

Annie shut the door behind her, ignoring the pleading look in Mutt's
soulful gaze.  She heard him settle down outside the room as she walked
over to Mary Margaret.

"No problem.  What are you drawing?"

"Nothing.  I'm just doodling."  The child closed the pad of paper
firmly.

"Just stupid stuff."

Her apathetic attitude was only to be expected, the counsellor had told
them.  But again Annie was struck by the secretiveness Mary Margaret
was exhibiting, so far removed from her former open and confiding
personality.  Something was badly wrong.

Outside the door Mutt gave a little whine.  Mary Margaret looked
fearfully at the door.

"Don't worry, he can't get in."  She looked over at her niece's white
face and her heart turned over in pity.

"Come and sit on the bed with me.  Let's cuddle."

Stiffly Mary Margaret sat on the edge of the bed.  As Annie put her
arms around the little shoulders she felt a tremble running through
them. The child was terrified, she thought, shocked.  She was scared to
death of the dog on the other side of the door.  It made no sense, but
logic wasn't the issue here.

"You know what I'm going to do?"  She squeezed Mary Margaret to her
tightly.

"I'm going to take Mutt down to the animal shelter so that he can be
adopted by another family.  I only let him into the house because I
thought you wanted him, Champ, but I was wrong, wasn't I?"

"I used to like him."  Mary Margaret's voice was barely audible.

"But that's when I thought he was a dog."

Annie felt a chill run through her at the strange pronouncement, but
she was careful to keep her tone low and steady and her arms
reassuringly around the little girl.

"He looks like a dog to me.  What is he really?"

Instead of answering, Mary Margaret nodded towards her sketch pad on
the desk.  Her shoulders shook.

"Can I look?  Did you draw a picture of him?"  She was feeling her way
in the dark here, she thought in trepidation.  She wasn't a
professional, but this was the first time Mary Margaret had revealed
even a glimpse of the fear she'd kept locked inside her, and the moment
might not come again.  Very carefully she reached over for the pad, one
arm still around the trembling shoulders.  She flipped open the first
page, and then the second and the third.

The pictures were all the same.  They were crudely drawn--a child's
depiction of terror--but their very ineptness made them all the more
frightening.  Over and over again Mary Margaret had outlined a wolf's
head, fangs bared, tongue lolling past the razor-sharp teeth, ears flat
to the head.  In each the wolf's eyes were bloodred and glittering.

"It comes at night."  She had her head averted from the pictures, and
she was staring at the floor.  Her words were whispered.

"It comes into my dreams, looking for me."

Annie felt like she was on the edge of a precipice.  One false step and
not only would she fall, but she could take Mary Margaret down with
her.  It was crucial she gave the right response--but how could she arm
a terror-stricken child against the demons in her mind?  Obviously the
wolf stood for the ordeal she'd been put through, and she was reliving
it in her nightmares, but adult platitudes were no weapon against the
strength of a child's imagination.

Only fire could fight fire, she thought slowly.  A symbolic enemy could
only be vanquished by a symbolic ally.  She reached over for one of
Mary Margaret's colored pencils and began drawing.  "In the olden days
there used to be wolves in some countries," she said in a low tone, her
hand moving rapidly over the page.  Mary Margaret's shoulders were
still tense, but out of the corner of her eye Annie saw that she was
darting glances at the sketch pad.

"In cold countries, like Russia.  People were afraid of them, just like
you are.

Wolves are pretty scary, aren't they?  "

"Yeah," Mary Margaret breathed.  Now her attention was fully fixed on
the drawing that was emerging under her aunt's hand.

"They run faster than people can."  "They do.  But you know what runs
just as fast or faster than a wolf?"  Annie asked casually.

"Dogs.  And so the people in those countries bred a special kind of
dog--a dog that would fight the wolves and protect them.  They called
them wolfhounds.  And wherever they went, their wolfhounds went with
them to guard them and keep the wolves away."

She angled the page so that Mary Margaret could see what she'd drawn,
wondering suddenly if she was doing the right thing.  Her picture was
lurid and melodramatic, but no more so than the original wolf's head in
the corner of the page.  Now, however, there was another sketch
spreading over the rest of the paper.  It showed two dog-like
creatures--she'd never said she was an artist, Annie thought
defensively--who had obviously been engaged in a fight to the end.
Lying on the ground, eyes closed in death, was the frightening animal
that Mary Margaret had drawn compulsively so many times.  But now he
looked shrunken and small, and standing over him was another animal--a
small brown dog, battered and torn, but lifting his muzzle in a victory
howl.

Mary Margaret took the sketch pad from her and moved out of the circle
of her arm.  Her little body was stiff, her gaze intensely blue as she
stared at it.

Oh, God, she'd probably done completely the wrong thing, Annie thought
in consternation.  Maybe she should have just explained that nightmares
weren't real, that the wolf was only in Mary Margaret's mind.  She held
her breath, waiting for a reaction.

"I gave you that dog key-chain to protect you when I was a little
kid.

I told you he'd keep the bad guys away, remember?  " The small blond
head was still bent over the picture.

"I'm still here, aren't I?  I guess it worked," Annie said shakily.

"But maybe I should give him back to you for a while."

"This one would be better.  He looks like Mutt."  Mary Margaret sounded
thoughtful.

"He's got the same kind of brown eyes."

"Let's see."  Annie peered over her niece's shoulder and nodded.

"I

think he does, a bit.  That's how you can tell that he's strong at
heart.  His eyes are clear and true.  "" If he stayed with me at night
I guess that wolf might not even show up, huh?  " Mary Margaret looked
up at her with a flash of her old spirit.

"He'd kick that wolf's butt right out of town."

"Out of town?  Right up to the moon, more like," Annie laughed weakly,
feeling a sudden spurt of moisture behind her eyes.  She wrapped her
arms around Mary Margaret and pulled her close.  "What do you say,
Champ?"

In the hallway Mutt let out a gusty sigh, still keeping vigil.  Mary
Margaret wriggled out of her aunt's grasp and ran to the door.  She
opened it and looked down at the small dog staring hopefully up at her.
She dropped to her knees and put her arms around him, staring solemnly
into his nondescript face.

"Clear and true.  That's what my Aunt Annie said, and she's right.  But
your name's not Mutt anymore."  She glanced over at Annie.  "From now
on we have to call him Buddy--the same name as Dad's dog.  Do you think
Dad would mind, Aunt Annie?"

"No, Champ."  Annie swallowed, her eyes dwelling on the tough little
figure in the ripped jeans and the mongrel gazing up at her
adoringly.

"No, I think your Dad would like that just fine.  Let's go tell your
Mom we've got us a guard dog."

The healing wasn't complete--not by a long shot, she thought as she
followed them down the hall to the kitchen.  She heard Bridie's
surprised exclamation and her father's lower tones, and suddenly she
felt weak with gratitude.  No, the healing wasn't complete, but it had
started.  They'd come close to losing Mary Margaret altogether, and
nothing would have been worse than that.  Despite everything else he'd
done, if it hadn't been for Logan the child could have been lost to
them forever.

She owed him for that, and it was a debt she could never repay, Annie
told herself.  What had happened between the two of them couldn't erase
what he'd done for her and her family.

But it still would have been easier if she didn't have to see the man
again.  From now on Buddy would protect Mary Margaret against her own
imagination, she thought wryly.  Too bad there wasn't anything on earth
that could protect someone against her own heart.

Chapter Fifteen

"Wicked lethal, sis.  The man doesn't stand a chance."  Bridie let her
wheelchair roll back a foot to get a better view of her sister.  "I bet
the old credit card took a whaling today, but it was worth it."

Annie looked at her reflection in the mirror on the back of the bedroom
door.  Her credit card hadn't just taken a whaling, it was out for the
count, but it had been worth it.  The mocha silk slip-dress was
bias-cut and skimmed her body like lingerie.  The spaghetti-straps kept
slipping over her shoulders, and in the boutique where she'd bought it
she'd kept pushing them back into place until the salesgirl had dryly
told her that they were meant to look sexy.

"Yeah, we Ryan girls clean up good, don't we?  But the only man I'm out
to impress tonight is Dmitri Kortachoff.  As long as he and the State
Department are happy, then I've done my duty."

"Right.  And Matt Logan has nothing to do with this," Bridie said
innocently.  "Are you wearing a bra under that thing?"

"Jeez, Bridie!"  Annie said, her face flooding with color.

"I'm buck naked under it, what do you think?"

"So that's how you bounty hunters get your man.  I always wondered."

Last night while they'd been washing up the supper dishes together,
she'd told Bridie a little of what had happened between her and Logan,
but her sister's reaction hadn't been what Annie had expected.

In fact, she'd defended Logan.

"He could have handled the situation better, sure.  But the man's an
FBI agent, for God's sake--posing as his brother was his cover.  He
told you as soon as he could, right?"  she'd argued.

She'd been operating on the misconception that all they'd shared had
been a few heated kisses.  Her attitude might have been different if
she'd known the whole story, Annie thought, but not even with Bridie
was she willing to share every intimate detail of what had occurred.

Still, there was some truth in what her sister was saying now.  The
dress, flimsy as it was, was armor.  She was going to look good tonight
if it killed her, she thought grimly as she slipped into a pair of
strappy high heels that looked capable of doing just that.  They added
height.  Height was an asset.  She needed all the assets she could
muster just to survive this night.

She hadn't wanted this last encounter with Logan, but since it had been
forced on her, she was going to carry it off with style, grace and
dignity.

She took a tentative step towards the mirror and nearly turned her
ankle.

"You gotta get out more often, sis," Bridie clucked sympathetically.  '
"Or at least wear something with a higher heel than Keds sometimes.

It's been a while, but if I remember rightly you have to let your hips
do the work.  "

"You are talking about walking, aren't you?"  Annie ground out.  She
took another cautious step.  It wasn't that hard, she thought in
relief.  She could do this.  Maybe she couldn't run down Benny Lopez in
these things, but she could certainly pose for a few photographs, stand
around nibbling caviar and sipping champagne for an hour, and ensure
that Matt Logan's final impression of her was tinged with regret at his
own loss rather than pity for her.

Giving him a few sweat-soaked, sleepless nights wouldn't be a bad idea
either, she thought, narrowing her eyes at her reflection.  She let a
spaghetti-strap slide off one shoulder.  "Aunt Annie looks different,"
Mary Margaret announced seriously from the doorway, Buddy at her side
like a shadow.

"Is that underwear?"

"No, it's a dress.  Just barely," her mother said with a gleam in her
eye.

"Aunt Annie's a babe out for revenge tonight, sweetie."

"I get it.  She's like Arnold in the Terminator movies, right?"  Mary
Margaret nodded wisely and turned to go.

"Oh, yeah.  Matt's here."  She imparted this last scrap of information
casually as she sauntered back down the hall.

Not exactly the cool and sophisticated meeting she'd planned, Annie
thought a moment later as she entered the kitchen and found him leaning
against the counter, surrounded by a sea of Ryans and one small brown
dog.  It looked more like a Norman Rockwell painting.  Sis Lands a Date
might be an appropriate title, she thought in chagrin.

All she needed was a big pink corsage pinned to her dress.

But in the split-second before he lifted his gaze to hers, she realized
that as hokey as the family scene was, he was enjoying it.

She saw him grin at something her father had said, while ruffling the
top of Mary Margaret's hair absently.  He wouldn't have had this,
growing up, she realized in sudden comprehension.  The close-knit
support and unconditional trust that was so much a part of her life was
something he'd never experienced.

Hold it right there, Ryan, she told herself brutally.  The last thing
she needed was to start making excuses for the man, especially when
just the sight of him was already making her feel ridiculously
vulnerable.

And then he looked across the room at her, and vulnerable didn't come
anywhere close to how she felt.  For a moment it was as if everything
and everyone around them had melted away, leaving only her and Logan.

He looked.  perfect, she thought helplessly.  It wasn't fair, dammit!

He was wearing a dark suit with a dark shirt and tie, and the lack of
contrast was elegantly and devastatingly attractive.

"Aunt Annie's a babe, huh?"  Mary Margaret said proudly, breaking into
the sudden lull in the conversation.

Okay, let me die now, Annie thought in furious embarrassment.  Or at
least sink through the floor before my darling niece delivers any more
cute one-liners here.  "We should be going" -she started to say
briskly, but Logan interrupted her.

"Yeah, your Aunt Annie's a babe, all right.  But this isn't the first
time I noticed it."  He gave Mary Margaret's hair a last ruffle, and
pushed himself away from the counter, his eyes still on Annie.

"Ready?"

It seemed an eternity before they were in the car and out of the
driveway, but it probably only seemed that long because she remembered
that Mary Margaret had heard Bridie's revenge remark, and she was
suddenly positive that it was fated to be shared with Logan too.  It
wasn't until they were a few blocks away from her house that she felt
safe.

"What are the rules tonight?"  His voice was velvet- smooth, and
immediately any illusion of safety fled.  "What do you mean?"  she
asked suspiciously.

"I know you got shanghaied into attending this damned function--if it
makes you feel any better, I wasn't given a choice either."  He glanced
over at her.

"I realize I'm the last man on earth you want to be with."

She gave him a cool look.

"You're my official escort for the evening, Logan, because we both had
a hand in returning the Rubicon to the Russians.  I see this as good
public relations, not a date."

"Okay."  His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but his tone was
even.  They drove in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"So the rules are I can't tell you that when you walked out on me the
other night, I knew I'd just lost the only woman I'd ever want?"

With an immense effort of will, Annie looked casually out the window at
the passing cars.  He was good, she thought.  He didn't waste time in
sparring, he went for the jugular straight away.  But it wasn't going
to work.  Where Logan was concerned, she was ready for anything. 
"Right. If you told me that you'd be breaking the rules."  She didn't
look over at him.

"Asking you if there's any way you could give me an-other
chance--that's out of line too," he said after another silence.

"Good guess, Logan."

Her words were clipped.  She saw with relief that they were almost at
the museum, the sidewalk outside it thronged with arriving guests.

Tiny lights twinkled in the ornamental bushes that flanked the
entrance, giving the sedate street a formally festive atmosphere.  A
few more minutes and she'd be surrounded by strangers, Annie thought.

There was safety in numbers--she'd be able to regain her self-control
as soon as she got away from the forced intimacy of sitting here alone
with the man.

"Hell, I'm breaking the damn rules anyway.  What have I got to lose?"

Logan said tersely.  He pulled the car into a parking spot and switched
off the engine in one swift movement.  He turned to her, and suddenly
she could see the lines of strain etched on his features.

"Annie, I knew I'd only get one opportunity to say this and I wanted to
give you more time.  Tonight's too soon--I wasn't sure you'd even be
speaking to me.  But we're here together now and just being close to
you is tearing me apart."  His voice was rough with emotion.

"If I could relive the last week and a half I'd do it all differently,
believe me."

"But you didn't.  You didn't trust me with the truth, and now I'm
finding it hard to trust you, Logan," she said in a low voice.

"I

might want you.  I might even love you.  But the trust is gone, and
without that everything else is worthless.  "

She raised her gaze to his, and saw the shuttered look come down behind
his eyes.

"That's pretty clear, then," he said softly.

"But if you're ever looking for a man who's stupid enough to have
messed up the one good thing in his life, who's terrified of heights,
and who'll always be in love with you, just say the word.  I'll be
there."  He smiled tightly at her, his eyes dark green and
unreadable.

"Let's get this over with, Annie."

Without another word he got out of the car and walked around to her
door.  As they entered the Danninger Museum's opulent foyer, with its
crush of perfumed guests, she wanted nothing more than to turn tail and
run--straight back to her own home, her own bedroom, her own pillow
that she could soak with her own tears.  Had she just made the biggest
mistake of her life?

Later, she told herself, pasting a social smile on her face.  Later
she'd ask herself that question.  But right now she had a duty to
perform.

The next hour passed in a blur of sound and color.  Vaguely, she
realized that they were being introduced to people as the heroes who
had recovered the Rubicon, and,

as if she was in a daze, she accepted the thanks of a group of
dignitaries from the Russian government who kissed her hand and paid
her flowery compliments in strongly accented English.  But nothing
seemed real.  She still felt as if she was back in the car with Logan,
hearing the raw honesty in his voice and seeing the pain on his
features.

Surely they weren't expected to stay for the whole party, she thought
wretchedly, looking around at the laughing, chattering throng that
crowded the exhibit room.  The glittering chandelier overhead and the
spotlights focused on the display cases were harshly brilliant, the
room uncomfortably warm.  And Logan was no longer at her side.

During the numerous introductions he'd become separated from her.  She
could see him across the room talking to Dmitri Kortachoff, a politely
bored smile on his face and those incredible green eyes half-veiled by
his lashes.  The hard planes of his cheekbones and the broad shoulders
under his jacket were a marked contrast with Kortachoff's sleekly
distinguished good looks.  Annie saw his hand reach unconsciously to
his lapel and then stop.  She knew instantly that he'd been checking
his gun out of habit, forgetting that he wasn't wearing it tonight.

Their eyes met across the room as he saw that she'd noticed the
gesture, and he smiled wryly at her before he turned his attention back
to Kortachoff.

The tiny, unspoken exchange hadn't lasted a second.  But in it was the
answer to the question she'd been asking herself for the last hour.

She turned blindly towards the brocade-hung windows behind her and
fumbled behind the thick draperies.

When she'd been here previously she'd seen that they led out onto a
small balcony, and as her hand found the latch she slipped behind the
heavy curtains and stepped outside into the cool night air.  She closed
the window behind her and took a deep breath.

What had just passed between them hadn't needed words.  Each of them
had known what the other was thinking, as if they were two halves of a
temporarily separated whole.  It was the way she'd felt the first time
she'd met him, Annie remembered.  No matter that he'd been going under
another name, when she'd looked at him she'd felt as if he was seeing
right into her soul, past the defenses and the shields, to the person
she was inside.  And she'd seen the man she'd been looking for all her
life--the same man who'djust held her gaze across a crowded room a few
seconds ago.

Logan had held on to his defenses a little longer than she had.  But if
she needed any proof that they were down for good, he'd given it to her
in his ironically selfdeprecating assessment an hour ago.

A man who's stupid enough to have messed up the one good thing in his
life, who's terrified of heights, and who'll always be in love with
you.

She'd wanted trust from him.  With those few words he'd entrusted her
with his whole heart, and in that moment nothing else had mattered
anymore.

She had to find him.  She had to tell him how she felt, Annie thought
suddenly, before she spent one more lonely second away from him.

Swiftly she turned from the balcony railing.

Her heart gave a frightened lunge in her chest.

In the shadows between the glass and the heavy draperies inside was the
figure of a man.  Even as she watched, the window opened and Dmitri
Kortachoff stepped out onto the balcony with her, closing the massive
glass pane behind him.  "Miss Ryan?"  He sounded concerned.  "Forgive
me for startling you.  It is a great success, the gala, but I also
found the room a little stifling."

He cleared his throat nervously, his former suavity apparently having
deserted him.  The lights from the courtyard below were the only
illumination cutting through the shadows on the balcony, and she saw
him fumble in his pocket for something.  He held out a cigarette
package toward her.

"Do you smoke?"

"No.  No thanks, I don't," she said awkwardly.  She knew what was
coming, she thought in resignation.  As much as she wanted to find
Logan right now, Dmitri Korta- choff obviously was steeling himself for
an apology for the last time they'd met.  If the condemnation he'd
rained down on her head when he'd accused her of stealing the Rubicon
was any indication, she was in for a verbose ten minutes, at least.

She leaned back against the railing and fixed a polite smile on her
face.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude that all the jewels on display in there
could not wipe out," he said, extracting a cigarette and waving his
hand towards the curtained window.

"But how did I repay you?  By hurling a false accusation at you--by
jumping to the conclusion that you had stolen the Rubicon.  All I can
say in my own defense is that the loss of the gem had completely
devastated me.  Can you accept my humble thanks--and my apologies?"

The man was sincerely troubled, she realized with a twinge of
compassion.  His hand was trembling slightly, and his voice shook with
real emotion.  It had been an unsettling episode in his life, too, she
told herself.  She injected a note of warmth into her response.

"Please, Mr.  Kortachoff--the sapphire is back where it belongs, and
the incident is over as far as I'm concerned.  It was gracious of you
to invite me tonight to see the Rubicon one last time."

"If not for you and the FBI agent, there would have been no reason for
this celebration," he said somberly.  He tapped his cigarette
thoughtfully on the package and shot her a keen glance.

"But you also have something to be thankful for, yes?  I am glad that
your niece was returned safely--I would have felt somehow responsible
if the Rubicon had brought tragedy to your family."

The kidnapping had been kept out of the media, but he would have been
informed of it, Annie knew.  She nodded in reply.  "Mary Margaret was
badly frightened, but thank goodness she wasn't physically hurt.  It'll
take a while for her to get over it, though."  "No clues as to who did
this to her?"  When she shook her head he exhaled sharply.

"Scum.  I heard that the accomplices were killed, but I could not find
it in my heart to feel sorry for their deaths.  Men like that are
expendable."

She saw the gleam of his teeth in the dark as he smiled apologetically.
"Forgive me again.  This cannot be a pleasant subject for you, and
tonight we must only think of pleasant things.  The Rubicon flies back
to Russia with me tomorrow and it may be some time before I return to
America again.  So we shall join the party and celebrate, yes?"

He wasn't so bad, she thought as he moved forward to open the heavy
window for her.  He still didn't seem totally at ease with her, but he
had sounded sincerely troubled by the kidnapping.

She smiled at him as he lifted the latch with one hand and with the
other flicked an expensive-looking lighter to the cigarette in his
mouth.  "I hope your last night in Boston leaves you with happier
memories than the rest of your stay here" -She broke off, staring
numbly at the lighter in his hand.

She'd seen it dozens of times.  She'd seen that boldly enamelled wolf's
head, with its lolling tongue and snarling jaws just yesterday--on page
after page of Mary Margaret's sketchbook.  The bloodred eyes were
rubies, glinting in the flare of the flame.

She had to tell Logan.  And most importantly, she couldn't let
Kortachoff know that she'd guessed his deadly secret.  Even as the
frantic thought ran through her mind, she saw him pull the window
closed again.

"I too had hoped that my last night in Boston would bring only good
memories," he said slowly.

"But the child saw something, didn't she?

What was it?  This?  "

He stood against the exit from the balcony, barring her way, and looked
at the lighter in his hand.  He shrugged in resignation and slipped it
into his pocket, and when his hand came back out Annie saw the
snub-nosed shape of a gun in his hand.

"An indulgence of mine that I now must pay for," he said regretfully.
"The head of the wolf used to be on the crest of my family in tsarist
Russia, and I thought it would be amusing to have it on certain of my
personal possessions.  There was a brief period when the sedation was
wearing off and I wondered if the child had seen anything.  Tell me.
Miss Ryan--what.  else does she know?"

"Nothing," Annie said through frozen lips.

"She doesn't even have a real memory of that.  She's just had
nightmares about wolves chasing her, Kortachoff, but she's no threat to
you."

"I believe you."  He smiled at her in the shadows, the silver at his
temples catching what little light there was from the courtyard
below.

"If she'd known anything more, I would have already been detained by
your Agent Logan.  No, Miss Ryan, the only threat to my leaving the
country tomorrow is you.  And so we must resolve our problem."

"I get the feeling the immediate problem is more mine than yours,
Kortachoff."  She looked over her shoulder at the drop to the cobbled
courtyard far below.

"After all, you've got the gun and I've only got a few seconds to live.
That is the plan, isn't it?"

Keep the guy talking, Ryan.  Buy time, and figure out what to do with
it as you go along.

It was sound advice, especially since she didn't have any other
options, she thought.  And while she was at it, she'd try to slip out
of these damn high heels, just in case.

"That's the plan.  But you have more than a few seconds, Miss Ryan."

"Why the bonus?"  Annie asked skeptically.

"In three minutes, at nine o'clock exactly, there will be a fireworks
display set off at the front of the building and everyone will be
watching it from the windows on the other side of the room."  He tapped
his cigarette ash carelessly.

"Symbolic, you understand--all the colors of the Treasures of Imperial
Russia jewels.  We were given special permission by the city, and it
should be very beautiful.  Very distracting, too," he added.

"Any gunshot will be assumed to be part of the bursting of the rockets.
That is how you say it, am I right?

Rockets?  "

"If I've only got three minutes left, I'm not spending them teaching
you the finer points of the English language."  Annie edged closer to
the window, but he waved her back impatiently with the gun.

"Why don't you satisfy my curiosity and tell me how you got involved in
the kidnapping of a little girl?"

She couldn't keep the anger from her voice, but he merely shrugged.

"Why not?  It will pass the time.  At the time I had your niece
kidnapped, I still thought that you were working together somehow with
the thief."

"Lucky Logan?"  She slipped her left foot surreptitiously out of her
shoe and braced herself on the railing behind her.  He still didn't
realize that Matt had been impersonating his brother, she realized.

"You had him followed the same day I tailed him.  The biker saw us on
the bridge together and thought we had the jewel, didn't he?

That's why he tried to kill us--because you wanted the Rubicon back
right from the start.  "" Exactly.  Vladimir Solsky was a young Russian
I knew here in Boston who had some unsavory connections.  I hired him
for the job.  "

Kortachoff drew on his cigarette and glanced at the gold Rolex on his
wrist before continuing.

"Of course, now I know that your involvement was totally innocent, but
you gave me the leverage I needed in the end.  I had to return the true
Rubicon to a South American client of mine who was threatening to
expose me."  Her right foot was almost bare, but at the Russian's
casual confession she froze.  Her thoughts were chaotic, but suddenly
all the pieces fell into place and her eyes widened incredulously.

"I don't believe it.  For once Lucky was telling the truth," she
breathed.

"The stone in the exhibit was the fake, wasn't it?  You'd sold the real
one long ago."

"Not only the Rubicon, but that was the most lucrative sale, yes,"
Kortachoff smiled thinly.

"However, when the theft of the substitute from the exhibit was made
known to my Argentinean client, he thought that I had arranged both
thefts in order to re-sell the stone."

"Because of the provenance."  She recalled what Lucky had told them.

"As soon as the fake was stolen, your client knew that the one stolen
from him could be sold at its true value."

"He was correct, except for believing that I was involved.  But there
was no way to convince the man I wasn't trying to double-cross him."

Dmitri Kortachoff sighed, and tossed his cigarette over the railing in
a shower of sparks.

"That's when I had to promise that I would get the real Rubicon back to
him to stop him from informing my government that for years I had been
selling the jewels, one by one.  And so I contacted Vladimir once more,
and he and the other two took the child.  I only saw her once, you
know.  It's just your bad luck that she gave you a clue to my
identity."

Lucky Logan had done it, Annie thought desperately.  He'd scrambled
over these rooftops, climbing around the crazily pitched angles and
running across the slippery slate tiles.  The day she'd returned the
substitute Rubicon she'd stood on the sidewalk and wondered how he'd
ever had the nerve to take such an insane risk.

Now she was going to find out for herself.  Cold fear trickled through
her as she darted a furtive glance at the drop from the balcony.  If
she jumped to the left, she had a good chance of making the adjoining
roof four feet away, and from there she could take cover behind one of
the old brick chimneys.  A good enough plan, as far as it went, but she
didn't have a clue what she was going to do after that.

Of course, if her jump fell short by even a couple of inches, she'd be
free falling through space for a few seconds and then she'd hit the
cobblestones of the courtyard.  At that point she wouldn't need a part
two for her escape plan.  She swallowed past the lump in her throat and
tried to still the sudden trembling in her knees.  She didn't want to
die.

And she wasn't going to let it happen, she thought with a flash of
anger.  Iron determination replaced the fear that had gripped her and a
calm strength flowed through her.  She was going to see Logan again.

She was going to walk into his arms and feel them around her, and then
she was going to ask him if he still wanted a woman who'd come close to
messing up the one good thing in her life.

That was the plan.  And no perp with a gun was going to screw it up for
her.  "How are you going to explain away a dead body, Kor- tach off
Both her feet were bare now and she was watching him intently, waiting
for him to make his move.

"Logan's not going to leave without me and somebody's bound to check
out this balcony eventually."

He cocked his head to one side, obviously listening for something, then
frowned and glanced at his watch again.

"They're late," he said abstractedly.  He smiled at her.

"I only need to conceal your death until my flight leaves.  I'll tell
Agent Logan that I saw you departing with someone else and by the time
he learns that you never returned home, I'll be out of his reach."

"Wrong--you'll be extradited and brought back for questioning.  You'll
never get away with it," Annie said quellingly.  Then her eyes widened
in understanding.

"Except you're not planning to go back to Russia.

This was your 'retirement party, wasn't it?  "

He chuckled with real amusement, his teeth gleaming white in the
dark.

"I like that.  Yes, I'm retiring.  In fact, Dmitri Kortachoff will
cease to exist only a few hours after Annie Ryan ceases to exist.  I,
however, will merely be exchanging one name for another--one lifestyle
for a much more luxurious one.  It's what I've been working for all
these years--and as much as I'm enjoying your company, I really
couldn't let you ruin it all for me at the last moment."

Behind him from the other side of the building, high in the night sky,
a thin glowing light sizzled upwards.  As it reached the apex of its
trajectory, it exploded into a dazzling burst of sapphire blue.

Kortachoff lifted the gun.

"dos svedanya, Annie," he said pleasantly.

She uncoiled like a spring.  Even as the phrase was leaving his lips,
she was moving, her actions all one fluidly agile motion; hoisting
herself swiftly onto the fragile iron railing, swinging her legs over
to the outside edge of the balcony and, without pausing for balance,
leaping across the shadowy abyss towards the neighboring roof.  She
heard the side seam of her dress rip, the darkness was suddenly tinged
with a luminous ruby light as another rocket burst into mosaic-like
pieces in the sky above and Kortachoff fired.

She slammed jarringly onto the sharp tiles of the roof, falling to her
hands and knees and scrabbling for a handhold.  There wasn't one.

"Perfect!"  From the balcony behind her came the Russian's low
laughter.

"A young woman falls to her death-- a tragic accident, and much better
than my original plan.  It seems I'm always thanking you.

Miss Ryan.  "

The sky lit up with a topaz glow.  As she slid towards the edge of the
roof Annie's desperately searching fingers grasped and held tight on
the corner of a partially broken tile.  Using every ounce of strength
she had and praying the tile would hold, she used the leverage to stop
her downward fall and regain her balance.  She brought one trembling
leg up under her and heaved herself to her feet.

It was like running up a forty-five-degree rock-face.  Behind her she
heard Kortachoff's annoyed exclamation, and he fired again.  She felt
something sting her cheek.

He missed, she thought in panicky relief.  She'd been cut by a
ricocheting piece of tile, but if she could make it to the massive
brick chimney-stack just ahead, she'd be safe.  Only a couple more
steps.

He fired again just as she dodged behind the chimney, holding onto it
with both hands to keep from falling down the other side of the roof.

"Now you begin to annoy me, Annie."  His voice had hardened, the
spurious charm that he'd displayed earlier no longer in evidence.

"But only briefly.  Do you know what my hobby is in Russia?

Can you guess where I spent my last vacation?  "

What was the man talking about?  Biting her lip nervously in the dark,
she wondered if his mind had snapped.  Who cared about his damned
vacation, and why would he bring it up now, for heaven's sakes?

She heard a heavy thud and realized that he'd just made the same jump
she had.  He was only a few feet away!

"Rock-climbing in the Ural Mountains."  He sounded slightly out of
breath, but totally relaxed.

"I've done it since I was a boy."

She was on her feet and running along the roofline, looking for another
hiding place, but this time her movements felt leaden and futile.  The
man was an expert, her mind screamed at her.  What was the use?  She
was going to die, whether from one of his bullets or from taking a
wrong step in the dark and falling to the stones below.  The method
didn't really matter.

All that mattered was that she was never going to see Logan again.  She
was never going to feel his touch, she was never going to hear his
voice.  Panting, she sank down behind an oddly angled projection.  She
was out of sight for the moment, but how long it would take before
Kortachoff discovered this hiding place and flushed her from it?

A figure melted from the shadows beside her and a hand wrapped around
her mouth before she could scream.

"Annie, it's me."  He took his hand away and as the sky lit up with an
explosion of emerald sparks, the familiar green eyes narrowed in
concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Logan!"  She stared at him wildly.

"How--what are you" -She felt her lips tremble and her voice came out
in a broken whisper.

"I thought I'd never see you again.  How did you get here?"  "I was
looking for you downstairs.  When I went out into the courtyard I
looked up just in time to see you jump," he said in a low tone, his
eyes closing briefly at the memory.

"When my damn heart started beating again I broke into this building
and found an opening onto the roof.  Listen--when I give you the word,
start heading toward that chimney.  Just beyond it is a flat area with
an open trapdoor.

You'll be safe once you reach it.  "

"Kortachoffs an expert climber," Annie said vehemently.

"What exactly are you planning to do while I'm running away?"

"I'm going to take him down, one way or another," Logan said.  His tone
was flat.  He slipped out of his jacket and quickly removed his tie.

"I

don't want to give the bastard anything to grab hold of.  "

"Logan, I'm not leaving" -- "You don't stand a chance.  Miss Ryan.
Please, let us put an end to this foolishness before it gets tedious."
Kortachoffs accent was thicker, his words laced with impatience.  The
sound of his sure footsteps came closer.

"Why keep fighting the inevitable" -Brilliant diamond star bursts
pierced the black velvet of the night as his bulky silhouette came
around the corner, and at the same moment Logan rose from his crouching
position like a tiger springing towards its prey.

"Run, Annie!  Run like hell--now!"

He knocked Kortachoffs arm upwards as the Russian fired, and she saw
the blue-and-orange muzzle-flash of the shot just miss him.  As he
recognized his opponent, a swift look of surprise crossed Kortachoffs
features, but then he lunged.

Matt Logan still didn't know the first thing about her if he thought
she was going to run out on him, Annie thought grimly, edging her way
towards them.  If she could grab Kortachoff's leg and destroy, even for
a moment, that highly proficient climber's balance of his, Logan could
make a move for the gun.  But as the rudimentary plan formed in her
mind, she saw that he'd moved in on the Russian, the two of them
grappling each other in a desperate battle for control.

If Kortachoff went down, the man she loved would fall with him.

And then it happened.  Wrenching himself away in a powerful bid for
freedom, Dmitri Kortachoff broke out of Logan's hold and took a
lightning-fast step backward as he aimed his gun straight at his
adversary.

"Matt!"

Annie threw herself at Kortachoff, but even as the scream was ripped
from her throat, she saw the Russian's eyes widen in horror as the
slate tile he'd stepped onto pulled free.  With mountain-goat agility,
he tried to regain his footing, but the surface was too treacherous
even for him.  Arms windmilling wildly, he fell heavily onto his back
and started sliding down the steep incline of the roof.

"We, Matt!"

As the Treasures of Imperial Russia fireworks display burst into a
flurry of multi-colored explosions, Logan instinctively tried to halt
Kortachoff's fatal plunge, but he was too late.  His hand closed on
thin air as the screaming Russian shot past the edge of the roof into
space. Annie caught a glimpse of Kortachoff's distorted features and
bulging eyes as he disappeared from view and a split- second later she
heard a sickening thud far below.

And then she heard the thin scrabbling sound as another tile slid free,
and she saw Logan begin the long slide to destruction that his enemy
had just taken.  His gaze, desperate and strained, was fixed on her,
and his fingers were clutching at the edges of the tiles as he slowly
slid farther down.

"Annie, stay back," he whispered hoarsely.  His legs were over the edge
of the roof as she frantically reached out for him.

"Don't come any closer, sweetheart."

Even as he spoke his torso slipped half-way over the edge of the tiles,
and then he stopped.  As the sky rained down a confetti of
scintillating sparks, Annie could see that somehow he had found a
precarious handhold.

The slate could snap at any minute.  She would watch as the only man
she'd ever wanted, the only man she would ever love, fell to his
death.

' We damn way!  " she hissed in coldly furious denial.

As swiftly as she dared, she made her way back to the projection that
they'd hidden behind, and found what she was looking for.  There was a
sturdy iron bar mortared into the brickwork.  With shaking hands she
knotted one end of Logan's tie to it as securely as she could.

"You're a bounty hunter, Ryan--you always get your man," she muttered
ridiculously to herself.

"Don't you dare lose him this time!"

She made a tight loop in the other end of the tie and slipped it over
her wrist.  If it held, they had a chance.  If it didn't, she thought
calmly, she'd die with the man she loved.

"Logan!"  On her hands and knees, she maneuvered gingerly back over the
roofline and saw his eyes focus on her.  Where his shirt had ripped,
she could see the muscles in his arms corded with the effort to hold
on. She felt the tie pull taut on her wrist and halted.

"Grab hold of the jacket.  When you're ready, tell me!"

He looked incredulously at the garment she was letting slide towards
him, and then one corner of that fabulous mouth lifted in the ghost of
a grin.

"Mouthy blonde, always barking commands," he said in a cracked voice.

"What the hell do I have to do to shut you up, Ryan?"

"Grab the jacket, hold on and I'll show you in a minute, Logan," Annie
ordered, her tone peremptory and her eyes blurring with sudden tears.

"I said grab the jacket.  Mister!"

With one last, loving look at her, he let go of the slate tile.  Even
as he began to fall, his hand shot out and gripped the sleeve of the
jacket a few inches away from him, and immediately Annie felt as if she
was being pulled in two different directions.

She couldn't do it--she wasn't anywhere near strong enough, she thought
in paralyzed fear.  She met his eyes again.

In them was complete and total trust.

Slowly, excruciatingly and feeling like her arms were about to give way
any second, she pulled with all her strength, praying that the tie
would hold, the jacket wouldn't rip, and the iron bar wouldn't give
way.  She saw him move forward slightly onto the roof, then a little
more, and all of a sudden he was bringing his leg up under him and the
strain in her muscles eased.

She'd done it.  A shrimpy blonde with a tie of Sulka silk, Annie
thought lightheadedly, feeling a bubble of ragged laughter rise in her
throat. She'd done it.  All of a sudden a choking sob tore through her
and her eyes were filled with tears of relief.

"Hold on to me, sweetheart," Logan said hoarsely.

"Let go of the jacket and let me get your other hand free."

He unbound the tie from her wrist and propelled her forward a few feet.
Behind the second chimney was a step down onto a flat cinder-strewn
roof with an open trap-door leading down into the building.

Her arms felt like spaghetti.  She looked down at her bloody knees, her
shredded dress, her bare feet, and then she looked up into Logan's
face.

He was smiling down at her, and behind the emerald eyes she saw the man
she'd always known was there--tough, honest and loving.  Gently he
pushed back a strand of hair from her scratched cheek and traced the
line of her lips with his thumb.

"I thought you were the Logan brother who hated heights," she said
unsteadily.

"How come you always end up with me on a ledge somewhere?"

"Sweetheart, I was scared spit less up there."  He gave a slow grin and
pulled her closer.

"But if you're wondering whether I'm Lucky, I can show you some
proof."

His mouth came down on hers lingeringly and sweetly, and his arms held
her with sudden urgency.  Then he raised his head and held her gaze
with his.

"I'm the Logan brother who hates heights," he said simply.

"But I'm also the Logan brother who loves you, Annie.  Can't you tell
by now?"

His emerald eyes widened slightly as the final rocket burst in the sky
overhead, lighting up a little corner of Boston with golden stars.  The
amethyst eyes staring up at him smiled in total certainty.

"I can tell," Annie whispered, pulling him back down.

"But show me again, Logan."

Epilogue

Lucky Logan caught his brother's eye from across the room and raised
his glass in a silent salute that included the radiant blonde in white
satin and lace standing beside him.  Matt looked like a different man,
he thought pensively.  He looked younger and more relaxed than he'd
ever seen him.  Hell, big brother was actually laughing.

He took a sip of champagne and scanned the crowd.  The angel with the
red-gold hair sitting at a table with Jack Cartwright was
out-of-bounds, he told himself glumly, watching Bridie rise to her feet
with the help of a cane and Jack's ready arm.  She obviously wasn't
interested in anyone but the man she was with.  Another wedding
looming, he thought, draining his glass.  At least he wouldn't be
expected to be Cartwright's best man, even if he had been working with
him these last couple of months.

How Matt had swung the deal for him he'd never know, but his brother
had not only saved his sorry butt from a jail sentence, he'd also
finessed a new career for him.  Special Consultant Lucky Logan,
assigned to liaison duty between insurance operatives and the FBI on
major jewel heists.  Right now he was still on probation with the
Bureau, and they were watching his every move.  He couldn't even pause
to tie his shoe outside a jewelry store without being questioned about
it the next day.

He sighed.  Turning over a new leaf was proving to be even harder than
he'd figured, but he'd stick it out.  Somehow after that Rubicon caper
he hadn't wanted to continue in the profession anyway.  His glance
lighted on the towheaded little girl a few tables away and his
expression softened.

Mary Margaret.  Cute kid--and she'd nearly lost her life over that
damned stone.  His green eyes clouded with memory for a second, and
then he saw what she was doing and he grinned.  Her flower-girl garland
discarded on the floor beside her, she was cutting a pack of cards like
a pro for the group of kids around the table.  Even as he watched, she
palmed a card and stuck it under the collar of the brown mutt lying by
her feet.

Now he knew how she'd beaten him in six straight games of Go Fish last
week when he'd been at the Ryan house.

On the other side of the room Matt was looking down into Annie's eyes,
and then he suddenly bent his head and kissed her, long and hard.  This
was it.  Lucky thought curiously.  This was the real thing between his
brother and the woman he'd just married.  He hadn't really believed in
it before, but here it was, right in front of him.

True love.  It actually existed, and his brother had found it.

"Gorgeous couple, aren't they?"  The brunette drifted up beside him in
a cloud of Opium perfume, gesturing with her champagne glass at Matt
and Annie.  Then her glance turned towards Lucky and she gave a little
astonished giggle.

"Oh, my God--twins!  That's right, someone told me you two were
brothers."

She was a looker, Lucky thought.  Big blue eyes, long legs, and an
extremely kissable mouth.  And she didn't seem to have an escort.  He
wished she'd lose the giggle, but what the heck.  He let a slow,
one-sided grin lift the corner of his mouth.

"That's right, darling'.  We're brothers.  He's taken, but I'm still
available."

She giggled again and swayed against him.

"Okay, so let me guess.  If he's Matt Logan, then you must be Lucky,
right?"

He raised his eyes to the sight of his brother lifting his mouth from
Annie's.  It was as if the two of them were in a world of their own, he
thought.  They didn't even know there was a roomful of people around
them.

Lifting a couple of glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing
waiter, he nodded towards Matt and Annie.

"You got us mixed up, darling'.  I'm Liam Logan."  His smile was tinged
with a sudden wry regret.  "He's the lucky one."