Fever Rising
by
Maggie Ferguson

Other novels by Maggie Ferguson Silhouette Intrigue TM

Looks are Deceiving

Crime of Passion

Fever Rising

MAGGIE FERGUSON

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
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the publisher has received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book hove no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and hove no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names.  They are not even distantly inspired
by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents
are pure invention.

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S.A."  used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1997

Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey

TW9

1SR

Anita Williams 1997

ISBN 0 373 22408 7

46-9709

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chotham PLC, Chatham

To Margie, Layle, Brenda and Carla for their friendship and support.

Chapter One

It was too soon to panic.

Dr.  Jeffrey Knight had no clear-cut evidence that the infection
afflicting Lauren Connor was the same one that had struck his other two
patients or, indeed, that it was a life-threatening microbe.  Until he
did, he shouldn't even think along those lines.  But after working the
last two years for the World Health Organization as an infectious
disease specialist, it was inevitable that thoughts of deadly viruses
would instantly spring to mind.  But this was Chicago, not the African
rain forest; hence, it was unlikely he was dealing with some exotic
disease.  He'd left that world behind him when he'd accepted the
teaching position four months ago at Chicago Memorial Hospital.  The
best thing he could do now was to make his patient as comfortable as
possible while he tried to unravel this medical mystery.

But Jeff was hard-pressed to feel any semblance of confidence as he
looked down at Lauren Connor.  Her color was ashen, her blue eyes
feverish, and her thick, auburn hair was plastered to her head.  Severe
dehydration had given her skin a coarse, dry look, belying her
youth--she was only twenty-nine.  Several feet of tubing hung from the
IV bag and fed into a needle positioned in her right arm.

He looked at her medical chart, as the facts of the case ran through
his mind.  Lauren Connor's illness had begun

two days ago with a headache and fever, followed by abdominal pain,
vomiting and diarrhea.  The vomiting had gotten so bad, she'd not been
able to keep anything down, not even water; but it was only when her
fever had gotten dangerously high and she had become delirious that her
husband had rushed her to the hospital.

Glenn Myers had been the resident on duty the night before in the
emergency room.  At first, he had thought it was a simple case of food
poisoning, but that test had come back negative.  Then he'd tested for
several other intestinal ailments, but those tests had also come back
negative.  Mystified, he'd asked Jeff, the attending physician, if he
would take a look at her.

Jeff had noticed immediately that her symptoms were uncannily like
those of two other patients--Eleanor Parker and Julie Hartman.  Both
women had been admitted the week before with the exact same symptoms
exhibited by Lauren Connor.  But that was where the similarities ended.
Eleanor Parker and Julie Hartman were both black; Lauren Connor was
white.  Eleanor Parker was a married, sixty-two-year-old elementary
schoolteacher.  Julie Hartman was thirty-five, single, and a freelance
writer.  Lauren Connor was twenty-nine, married with two children, and
worked as a teller in a bank in the Loop.  They lived in different
parts of the city and, from all accounts, didn't know each other.  Yet
all three women had been admitted in the last two weeks, all apparent
victims of the same mysterious illness.

Jeff handed the chart to Dr.  Myers and smiled down at the patient.  "I
know you're not feeling well, but I need to examine you again," he
said.  He pulled the stethoscope from around his shoulders.  "I'll try
to be as gentle as possible, but let me know if there's any discomfort.
Okay?"

Lauren Connor nodded weakly, whispering through parched lips.  "All
right, doctor."  The nurse steadied her as Jeff listened to her heart,
then checked her lungs.  Straightening, he pulled the stethoscope from
his ears, tucked it into the pocket of his lab coat, then gently
palpated Mrs.  Connor's abdomen.  Her skin was hot and had that
peculiar doughy feel characteristic of severe dehydration and.
protein-wasting.  It was like kneading flour without enough water.  The
liver and spleen areas were also tender because even a gentle pressure
made her flinch, Jeff lifted his hand from her abdomen and noticed the.
tiny bumps for the first time.  They were brilliant red and spread
across her lower abdomen.  Just like they'd been on Julie Hartman and
Eleanor Parker.  There was no doubt about it now, he thought, Lauren
Connor had been exposed to the same infectious agent as the other
women.  But what in God's name could it be?

A WEEK LATER Jeff still didn't have an answer.  He tossed down two
aspirins, followed by a swallow of water.  His headache had long
progressed from the nagging stage to the four-star splitting category.
He took a moment to flex his shoulders and look around his office, At
the moment, he hated the place.  In the last ten days, he'd spent more
time here than at his apartment.  It would probably be that way until
he had a handle on this thing.

Jeff leaned back in his chair and studied Eleanor Parker's vital signs
sheet.  According to the report, her blood pressure was falling and her
temperature was rising.  In addition, she had a low white count, a low
ESR and low thrombocytes.  Even her EKG showed mild abnormalities.
Further complicating the matter, she was a diabetic.  Unless he came up
with some kind of treatment--and soon--she wasn't going to make it.

He propped his elbows on his desk and rubbed his temples.  He had hoped
this latest antibiotic would buy her some time, but unlike Lauren
Connor and Julie Hartman, she hadn't responded.  Maybe if he knew more
about her medical background and her movements in the days leading up
to the illness, he'd have a better chance of devising

a course of treatment.  But, unlike the other women, Mrs.  Parker was
too ill to question, and they hadn't been able to locate her husband.
An abrasion under her right eye, along with other bruises, had made him
wonder if there might be violence in the marriage.  Maybe that was the
reason Calvin Parker had yet to visit his wife in the hospital.

He sighed and set the report aside.  Nothing about this infection made
any sense.  According to the information he had collected from the
patients and their families, he was sure that the period from exposure
to onset of the illness was extremely short, less than five days.  The
problem with that theory was that it would suggest a huge overwhelming
infectious dose, which seemed unlikely.

Another point of curiosity was the method of transmission of the
infection.  It didn't appear to be contagious.  Nor was it spread
through the air or by bites from mosquitoes, insects, rodents or
animals, or person-to-person contact.  Yet, three unrelated women had
been exposed to the same infectious agent.  But if that was the case,
then it was very selective in who it struck.  None of the patients'
family members, friends or co-workers had exhibited signs of illness.
It didn't make sense.

At this point, he leaned toward the theory that it was some kind of
bacterial contaminant transmitted by ingestion, and that there was some
connection between his patients.  Maybe if he knew what that connection
was, he could get to the source of the problem.  But he'd had no luck
in that area, either.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.  They felt gritty from
lack of sleep.  Could it be some new virus?  he wondered.  Just last
year there had been an outbreak in the Southwest of hantavirus, an
airborne viral infection carried by rats and field mice.  Thirty-two
people had died before the virus and its source had been isolated.  And
then there was Legionnaires' disease, so named because the first
outbreak occurred at an American Legion convention in Philadelphia in
1976.  After being dormant for decades, the bacteria had suddenly burst
onto the scene and killed fifty-one before it was finally identified.
What if this was something like that?  Or worse?

He couldn't discount the possibility.  With the vast network of airline
routes connecting all the major cities of the world, a virus from the
African rain forest could shoot anywhere in a day--Paris, Tokyo, New
York, Los Angeles, Chicago, wherever planes flew.  A shiver went down
Jeff's spine as he thought of the possibilities.

He gave himself a mental shake.  He was just being an alarmist.  If
there was any new virus, he'd have heard about it.  News like that
generally traveled rapidly in the medical community.  Instead of being
a pessimist, he ought to look on the bright side of things.  Two of his
patients were showing signs of improvement.  There was a chance things
could turn around for Mrs.  Parker, as well.  Yet even as he tried to
view the situation in the best possible light, he couldn't rid himself
of the feeling that there was something about this infection, about the
way the women had all fallen sick within days of each other, that
felt--it wasn't easy to find a word for it--unnatural.

He leaned forward, kneading the stiff muscles in his neck.  He guessed
he would call it a day.  He'd run by the hospital, check on Eleanor
Parker, then grab something to eat.  After that he'd head over.  to the
medical school library for a few hours and check the latest journals to
see if there was anything in the literature.  After all, it wasn't as
if there was anyone at home waiting for him.

Not that he wouldn't have wished it was otherwise.  He was thirty-four
years old, and ready to start a family.  He sighed.  However, that
required a wife.  And his list of candidates was nil.  Working these
last few years in remote locations left little opportunity for a social
life.  And since he'd been back, he'd been too busy with his classes
and patients to think about dating.  Hell, he wasn't even sure

there was a woman out there who could deal with the long hours and
pressures of his work.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, he thought, as the image of a smiling,
petite woman with midnight-black hair and caramel-colored skin flashed
before his hazel eyes.  For a moment, he let the memo fides wash over
him before quickly pushing them back into the recesses of his mind.
Once, a long time ago, he thought he'd found that special someone ...
but he'd been dead wrong.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted by the jingling of the phone,
and he reached for it with reluctance.  "Yeah," he said wearily.

"Grace Wells is in the waiting room," his nurse said.  He could hear
the irritation in her voice.  "I told her the office was closed, that
you weren't seeing patients, but she says it's imperative that she see
you."

Jeff sighed.  He was tired, hungry and in no mood to deal with a
cantankerous hypochondriac like Grace Wells.  Every ache, every pain
was blown out of proportion.  A sniffle was pneumonia.  A cough was
tuberCulosis.  In the three months since she'd been his patient, he had
seen her at least nine times.  He'd run every test imaginable but he
never found anything.  And he didn't think he'd find anything this
time, either.  The woman was as healthy as a horse.

"Do you want me to tell her you're not here?"

"No."  He sighed again.  "She'll just start bugging the answering
service or take herself to the emergency room.  Put her in examination
room two.  I'll be with her in a few minutes."

"Will do.  I'll pull her file and bring it in so you can review it."

Jeff didn't need the file, but he took it when the nurse brought it in.
He took a few moments to skim the nurse's notes before heading out the
door.

A moment later, he knocked, then entered the examination room.  A tall,
wire-thin woman looked up as he entered.  Grace Wells wasn't old, no
more than fifty or so, but streaks of gray dulled her dark hair and
deep lines in her tobacco-brown-skinned face made her appear much
older.  There was also a certain hardness around Grace Wells's brown
eyes and thin lips that made Jeff think she got little pleasure out of
life.  She was wearing her usual garb--a dark blue jacket and skirt and
a utilitarian white shirt.  All in all, the image she projected was
that of a spinster with no family and few close friends.  Perhaps that
was the problem.  Maybe if she had someone or something to care about,
she wouldn't spend so much time obsessing about her health.

"I understand you're not feeling well, Grace," he said as he took a
seat on a stool across from her.  "What seems to be the problem?"

"I've got this terrible pain," she whined.  "It started yesterday
afternoon and has gotten progressively worse."

"Can you describe the pain for me?"  Even before the words were out of
his mouth, he wondered why he even bothered asking.  Her complaints
were always of a general nature.  What he should be asking was what
book she'd just finished reading or what television program she'd
watched the day before.  Whatever it had been, it was no doubt the
source of her imaginary illness.

"Well, the pain is sharp and very intense," she said, pointing to an
area just below her breastbone.  "It feels like a knife cutting into my
insides, especially when I take a deep breath."

"I see," left said.  "Does the pain go anywhere?  Does it move
around?"

Grace shook her head.

"Do you have pain in your back or in your teeth or in either of your
arms?"

"Not recently," she said.

He questioned her for several more minutes, in which he determined that
there were no symptoms of cardiac arrest or problems with the lungs. He
leaned over and took

a thermometer from its container on the table next to him and stuck it
into Grace's mouth.  While he waited for the thermometer to
equilibrate, he wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her ann.

"Your blood pressure is normal and you don't have a temperature," he
said a few moments later.  "I don't think there's a problem.  But why
don't I examine you, just to be sure."  He asked the nurse to step in
the room while he examined Grace.  As he suspected, he didn't find
anything wrong.

"But that can't be," Grace insisted.  "Something is definitely wrong.
If you'd just run some tests--"

He shook his head.  "I think we can dispense with any testing at this
time.  It was probably just heartburn."  He walked to a small desk on
the other side of the room and opened the top drawer.  He took out a
small bottle containing a half-dozen white pills.  It was a placebo, a
dummy drug, but Grace didn't need to know that.  As long as she thought
it would work, it would.  "I think these pills should do the trick.  I
want you to take one before each meal, three times a day for the next
two days."

"Well, if you think this is all I need," she sniffed, taking the bottle
and slipping it into her purse.  "I just hope you're right about this
being heartburn and I haven't got what poor Eleanor has."

He looked up from her medical chart and frowned.  "Eleanor?"

"Eleanor Parker," Grace said by way of explanation.  "She's one of your
patients.  I hear she's real sick."

So that's where the symptoms were coming from.  He gave her a wry
smile.  "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"Dr.  Knight, I wish I shared your confidence, but I don't."  She
paused, giving him a pointed look before adding, "And you wouldn't,
either, if you knew what I knew."

He looked at her sharply.  He could see she was dying for him to ask
what she meant by her cryptic comment.  Okay, he'd bite.  "And what's
that?"

"Well, it's about Eleanor's illness," she began.  "It's been preying on
my mind.  I want to do the right thing,

but..."  Her voice trailed off.

"Go on," he prompted.

"Dr.  Knight, I promised Eleanor that I wouldn't say anything, but
under the circumstances surely she has to understand that I can't keep
a secret like that."  Grace clutched her purse to her bosom.  "She
should have told you herself."

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  Knowing Grace, she was probably blowing things
out of proportion, but if she could provide any information on Mrs.
Parker's health or movements prior to the onset of her illness, he'd
like to hear it.  "Mrs.  Parker is very ill and is not up to talking
about much of anything," he said.  "If you can shed any light on her
condition then I suggest you do so."

"You're right."  She nodded.  "It's my civic duty to do what I can to
help.  I just hope it's not too late for her ... and me."  She looked
up at him, her eyes wide, frightened.  "I've got it, too!  I just know
it!"

Jeff released an exasperated breath.  "Grace, you're getting yourself
all worked up for nothing.  You don't have what Eleanor has."

"Are you sure?"  Her eyes searched his face.

"Yes, Grace, I'm sure.  You're fine and you're going to stay that way,
but tell me about Mrs.  Parker."

She drew a deep breath.  "Well," she said in a calmer tone.  "You don't
know Eleanor the way I do.  She's very superstitious.  She's always
going to see psychics and faith healers, trying to get someone to give
her a love potion to keep that poor excuse of a husband of hers at
home.  The latest one is this woman in the Windwood Mall."

Jeff's head snapped up.  Windwood Mall?  Lauren Connor had been there
right before she'd taken ill.  Could that

be the connection?  He leaned forward, listening closely now to her
narrative.

"Well, anyway," Grace continued, "Eleanor asked me if I'd go with her
to this place called Nature's Cure.  I wanted to say no, but I
couldn't.  Not with our being friends and all but..."  Her voice broke
and tears filled her eyes.  She drew out a tissue and blew her nose.
"TII never forgive myself," she sniffed after a moment.  "If I'd just
said no, none of this would have happened."

A chill of foreboding went up his spine at her words.  "Grace," he
said, trying to still his pounding heart, "what wouldn't have
happened?"

Once again her eyes filled with tears.  "Eleanor wouldn't have gotten
herself poisoned."

He'd been right!  It was something all three had ingested.  "Do you
remember what she ate?"  he asked, trying to keep his excitement under
wraps.

Grace snorted.  "It wasn't what she ate that made her sick.  It was
what she drank."

"Which was?"  he asked impatiently.

"Well, I don't rightly know.  It was a light brown liquid.  It had a
foul, bitter taste."  She scrunched up her nose in distaste.  "I just
took a sip and didn't drink any more, but Eleanor drank all of hers.
She claimed it was just some kind of herbal tea to help calm the
nerves.  Frankly, I think that kind of stuff is just so much bunk.  I
told Eleanor she was wasting her money, but she wouldn't listen.  She
has a lot of faith in that woman--"

Jeff frowned.  "What woman?  Who are you talking about?"

"The one that runs the herbal shop in the Windwood Mall.  Raven
Delaney."

Jeff felt as if he'd just taken a punch in the solar plexus.  Raven was
here in Chicago?  He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pain
that had settled in his gut.  Old memories die hard.  And some never
quite made it to oblivion.

Raven Delaney was that kind of memory.  It had been nearly four years
since he'd seen her, but her image was still as clear in his mind as if
it had been yesterday: large, almond-shaped brown eyes, an oval face,
and honey-colored skin.

She'd been a hospital nurse, working on combined degrees in
pharmacology and nutrition, when they'd met.  She had been everything
Jeff wanted in a woman--bright, pretty, charming.  He had fallen for
her like a ton of bricks.  It had made no difference that their views
on medicine were diametrically opposed--she a staunch believer in
herbal medicine and he a student of conventional medicine.

Naively, he'd told himself those differences didn't matter, that their
love was strong enough to weather any storm.  And for a time, it had
been.  Then she'd spoiled everything.  She began to question the
prescribed treatments for several patients at the hospital.  Things had
come to a head when she had expressed a desire to use an herbal
concoction to treat Nelson Redmond.  He had let her know in no
uncertain terms his position on the matter and had thought that was the
end of it.  He'd never thought she would actually go against his
directives and hospital policy.  But another nurse had observed her
giving Mr.  Redmond an herbal concoction, and the nurse had reported it
to Jeff.

At the time, he'd thought it was bad enough that the man had nearly
died, but, to make matters worse, when he confronted her, she'd lied,
denying having given anything to Mr.  Redmond.  He had covered for her.
The patient had survived, but their relationship was over.

Seeing her every day at the hospital but not being able to be with her
had been too painful, so shortly after their breakup he'd taken a
position with a hospital in New York, then later with the World Health
Organization.  But even now, four years later, the pain was still
there.  God, how he'd loved her .... Grace Wells's raspy voice slowly
penetrated Jeff's thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Grace," he said, pulling himself together.  "What did you
say?"

"I said it's strange.  Eleanor drank that stuff the Delaney woman gave
her, then less than twenty-four hours later, boom, she's deathly ill."
She gave him a knowing look.  "That's just too much of a coincidence
for me, if you know what I mean."

He knew exactly what she meant.  The same thought had occurred to him,
but he wasn't going to let her know that.

"Now, Grace, let's not jump to conclusions," he said reasonably.

"Conclusions my foot."  She wagged a thin, bony finger in his face.
"It's as plain as the nose on your face.  There was something in that
drink that made Eleanor sick.  I'm sure of it."

He shook his head.  "Well, I'm not.  You drank the same thing and
you're fine.  How do you explain that?"

She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a stormy look.  "I
can't, but I know what I know."

He raked a hand over his hair in frustration.  "How can you be so sure?
You said yourself that Mrs.  Parker runs from one practitioner to the
next.  If that's the case, then how do you know that it was Ms. Delaney
that made her ill?"

"Because another friend of mine, Lauren Connor, also went to see her
and now she's deathly ill, too."

"Dom THAT HURT?"  Raven Delaney asked the elderly man as she slowly
extended his right leg forward about three inches.

Wayne Simmons leaned forward in the wing chair and smiled down at her.
"Doesn't hurt at all," he said.

"Good."  She lowered his leg back to the carpeted floor.  She rose from
her crouched position on the floor and returned to her seat behind the
large cherry desk.  "There doesn't appear to be as much inflammation or
stiffness in the knee.  I think we'll continue with the echinacea tea
and the eucalyptus ointment.  Don't forget, rub the ointment over the
entire leg, not just the kneecap.  Any questions?"

Wayne Simmons shook his head again.  "No.  That sounds simple
enough."

"Okay, but call me if you have any questions.  How's the visualization
coming?"

"It's getting easier," he said.  "I thought it was going to be hard
setting aside thirty minutes every day to meditate, but it's not too
bad."  He looked at her with something close to amazement.  "I don't
understand it, but it's the dam est thing.  Since I started your herbal
treatments and the visualization, my arthritis is a whole lot better.
It's like magic."

She chuckled.  "There's nothing magical at all about it.  Our mind and
body are inextricably linked together.  Therefore, every physiological
change in our body is accompanied by a corresponding change in our
mental state.  Likewise, every change in our perceptions, attitudes and
emotions is translated by the body into an altered state.  By
visualizing your leg healthy and strong, your subconscious mind seeks
to create that reality."

"Well, you've made a believer out of me," he said.  "I've had arthritis
in my left leg for years, so bad that I couldn't bend it without a lot
of pain.  Now, in four short months, I'm able to walk a block without
any pain.  That's something I haven't been able to do for a very long
time."

Raven smiled.  "I'm glad you're feeling better, but we need to take
things slowly.  So don't overdo it, and use your cane when you go out
walking.  I'll see you in six weeks."

Raven drew a sigh of relief as Wayne Simmons walked through the
doorway.  He was her last client for the day.

In the now quiet shop, Raven allowed the tranquility to wash over her.
She set about restoring order to the small room just off the main part
of the shop that served as a

private consultation area and storage room.  Even though she'd been on
her feet since nine that morning, testimonials like Wayne Simmons's
made the hard work and long hours worth it.

She thought back over the last four years.  They'd been rough.  She had
known it wasn't going to be easy, but she hadn't been prepared for the
level of hostility she'd initially encountered--from both the local
medical community and people in the area who feared she was just a
quack.  But finally things were beginning to turn around.  Nature's
Cure was showing a bigger profit every month, to the extent that she'd
been able to move from her tiny cramped quarters to this spacious,
two-room shop six months ago.  She'd even been able to hire a part-time
employee.

One of the things that had helped was that she didn't try to compete
with the medical community.  As far as she was concerned there was room
for both views--their traditional view of medicine and her own more
unorthodox view.

She walked over to the long rectangular counter that served as her
worktable.  At the moment, it was covered with herbs, packaged for
potpourri, for tea and for culinary uses, as well as several tubes of
ointments and a number of ceramic canisters.  A floor-to-ceiling
cabinet directly behind the counter housed her herbs and other
products.  She picked up a canister and placed it back on the cabinet
shelf."

"Here, let me help you with that," a female voice said from behind
her.

She glanced over her right shoulder to see Phyllis Weston, her
employee, standing in the doorway.  Phyllis was a small, pretty,
dark-haired woman in her mid-fifties.  "I thought I told you to go
home."

"And desert you?"  Phyllis said.  "Not on your life.  Besides, staying
here to help you is the only way I know you'll get out of here at a
decent hour."  She picked up a canister and passed it to Raven.

Raven slid the canister onto the shelf then looked back at Phyllis.  "I
appreciate the help, but I can't take advantage of you like this. Until
I can afford to bring you on full-time, I don't think you should put in
so many extra hours."

"Let me worry about that," Phyllis said good-naturedly.  "But you do
work too hard.  You're twenty-seven.  Too young and beautiful to be
cooped up in this shop until all hours of the night.  You should be out
enjoying yourself.  Why don't you let me fix you up with my nephew?"

Raven smiled.  Phyllis, who'd been married more than three decades, was
an incurable romantic who saw it as her life's goal to pair up every
unmarried person she knew.  Instead of answering Phyllis's question,
she asked, "How are you feeling?"

"In other words, you aren't interested."  Phyllis chuckled.  "But in
answer to your question, I feel great.  That licorice root tea you
prepared for me knocked that cold right out of me."  She grinned.  "Not
a sniffle all day."

"Good, I thought it would do the trick," Raven said as she tightened
the cap on a tube of ointment.  "That particular herb kills germs and
clears up cold symptoms quicker than a lot of prescription drugs and
over-the-counter medicines."

"Not to mention being a lot more cost-effective."  Phyllis paused and
looked at her.  "Is that why herbs play such a large part in your
treatments, because they're so affordable?"

"Well, that's one of the reasons," Raven replied.  "But, more
importantly, my treatments emphasize prevention and go after the cause
of the illness rather than merely treating the symptoms.  Additionally,
herbs assist your own body in healing itself, instead of introducing
strong drugs to do it for you."

Phyllis shook her head.  "You'd think more doctors--" The tinkling of
the old-fashioned bell above the front door of the shop interrupted
what she was about to say.

"Oops," Phyllis said.  "Looks like I forgot to put up the Closed sign.
Be right back."

Raven smiled as she watched the other woman scurry through the open
doorway into the front room.  A moment later, she heard Phyllis say,
"I'm sorry, but we were just about to close."

Then came a man's voice, strong, husky ... and familiar, like an old
love song.  The tube of ointment slid from her fingers to the floor as
every cell in her body screamed in recognition.  Jeff Knight?  It
couldn't be.  He was in Africa.  She was losing it, imagining things.
Maybe Phyllis was right.  She was working too hard and her mind was
playing tricks on her.  But even as the thought crossed her mind, she
was moving across the room.  At the doorway she paused and stared at
the back of the man talking to Phyllis.  As if he could feel her eyes
boring into his back, he slowly began to turn toward her.

She waited, her body tense, not daring to breathe.  Waited until he
faced her, and Raven found herself rooted to the spot as Jeff's hazel
eyes fastened on her own startled brown ones--fastened and held her
mesmerized.

Time seemed to stand still.  She didn't move.  She didn't blink.  She
didn't dare breathe as images splattered before her mind's eye--the two
of them laughing, sprawled on the floor in Jeff's apartment making
love, planning their future.  Things had been perfect.  Then her whole
world had come tumbling down.  Jeff had accused her of giving an herbal
mixture to one of his patients.  She hadn't, and she'd told him so. But
he hadn't believed her.  It had been terrible.  He couldn't have loved
her, not like she'd loved him or he wouldn't have believed Teresa's
lies .... She drew a deep, steadying breath, trying to regain her
composure.  But it was hard.  It was terribly hard.  A thousand
sleepless nights she'd wondered if her memories of him were accurate.
If his smile was really so captivating, if his hair actually fell in
lush, dark waves about his high forehead, framing his classical
features.  Now she knew just how deceptive memories could be.  They
hadn't done him justice.

He was even more handsome than she remembered.  She turned the word
over in her mind--handsome--the word didn't begin to describe the man
who stood before her.  Jeff Knight was gorgeous.  His features were
flawlessly chiseled, his hair curly and jet black, his skin a smooth
dark bronze, reflecting his African-American heritage.  His eyes were
deep-set and totally riveting.  They were green, with golden brown
flecks, and could mesmerize with sparkling brilliance or melt into hot
embers with dark swirling passion.  His nose was strong, not hawkish,
but decisively masculine, as was his squarish jawline.  Sharply
defined, prominent cheekbones made his glorious mouth all the more
fascinating because it was so sensuously molded, provocative in the
fullness of his lower lip and exciting in the elongated curve of the
upper one.

He was tall, over six feet, with a lean, muscular build that was
essentially athletic.  His hips were narrow, his shoulders broad, and
his chest wide.

But it wasn't just good looks that brought the sensitive hairs all over
her body to attention.  He exuded a virility that was all male
animal.

Even from several feet away, she could feel the impact of her former
lover's powerful presence.  It was as if a magnetic current were
running back and forth between them.  She wondered fleetingly if he
felt it, too.  She certainly hoped not.

"I thought you were in Africa," she said, moving slowly into the
room.

"I left the World Health Organization about four months ago," Jeff
said.  His deep voice was still husky.  "I'm teaching a class over at
Chicago Memorial, seeing a few patients."

Phyllis cleared her throat, obviously wondering what the hell was going
on between her boss and the handsome stranger.  "I'm Phyllis Weston,
salesperson and chief bottle

washer around here," she said, "Looks like you already know the
boss."

"Yes," he said, giving the older woman a warm smile.  "Raven and I are
old friends.  In fact, that's why I'm here.  There's a private matter
I'd like to discuss with her."

Phyllis threw Raven a sly wink and grinned.  "Oh, sure.  I was just
leaving."

Raven groaned inwardly.  She could see the wheels turning in Phyllis's
matchmaking mind.  Before she could say anything to clarify the
situation, Phyllis had moved behind the cash register counter, grabbed
her purse and was headed for the door.  "See you in the morning,
Raven," she called as she sailed through the door.

The shop door closed, leaving behind a cloud of silence.  Raven
struggled for composure.  She didn't know why Jeff was here, but she
dared not let him know how his presence was affecting her.

"I see you got your wish," he said, looking about the attractively
decorated shop.  "It's very nice."

A compliment?  She looked at him, surprised.  A compliment was the last
thing she'd expected from him, but she'd also never expected to see him
again.  Or to feel this same pull of attraction.  She shook off her
feelings and reminded herself that whatever they had once shared had
died a long time ago.  At least it had for him.

"I'm sure you didn't come here to comment on my shop," she said coolly.
"We both know your feelings on that score."

For a moment a flash of pain appeared in his hazel eyes, and then it
was gone so quickly she was sure she'd imagined it.

"Look, why don't we just get to the reason you're here," she said
curtly.

One dark brow rose sardonically.  "Aren't you going to offer me a
seat?"  Her mouth tightened.  "This way, please," she said,

amazed at how calm she sounded as she turned and walked across the
room.  He fell into Step beside her, matching her stride.  The smell of
him assaulted her senses.  A clean smell, soap and aftershave, and
something more.  That unmistakable musk that had always clung to him
like a personal aura, a permanent badge of his masculinity.  She
quickened her steps, forcing him to fall back a step.  Then she
realized that having him walk slightly behind her was just as bad.  She
could feel his eyes on her, watching every quiver of her body through
the navy slacks.  She moved still more rapidly.  God, the sooner they
got this meeting over with, the better she'd like it.

She led him into the small sitting room and was about to offer him the
wing chair next to the desk, when she noticed the tube of ointment
lying on the floor.  She knelt to pick it up.

"Here, I'll get it."  He crouched down next to her and they reached for
the tube at the same time, his fingers lightly brushing against her
own.

A jolt of electricity shot through her, curing her toes.  She jerked
her hand away, frightened by the feelings that accompanied something so
meaningless as an incidental touch.

"No, that's okay," she said, trying to lessen the sexual tension that
swirled around them.  "I've got it."

"Of course," he said, straightening.

She also stood, but that was just as bad.  He was close, too close. She
could feel the warmth of his body radiating toward her, almost reaching
out to her.

"Ah ... why don't you have a seat?"  she said, pointing to the wing
chair.  Then she seated herself behind the desk.

For a moment, neither spoke.  They sat staring at each other for
painfully long minutes.  Raven's stomach muscles tightened.  She would
not be the first to speak.  If this was going to be a game of who
blinks first, she was prepared to sit there until hell froze over.
Looking into his hazel eyes, she knew he could, too.

"Do you have something to say?"  she finally blurted out.

Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "It's my understanding that
Eleanor Parker and Lauren Connor are clients of yours."  His voice was
soft, but there was an edge to it, like a well-tempered blade.

Her first thought was not to answer, but the look on Jeff's face told
her his question was not posed out of idle curiosity.  "That's
correct," she replied guardedly.

"What about Julie Hartman?  Is she also one of your clients?"

The question came quickly, demanding an answer.  "The name doesn't
sound familiar, but it's possible," she said.  "What is this about?"

Instead of answering her question, he fired off another of his own,
"What are you treating Mrs.  Parker for?"

The edge in his voice had grown sharper, and Raven didn't like it. "I'm
not treating her for anything.  She was only here once.  I suggested an
herb called motherwort to calm her nerves and to help her sleep."

"And Lauren Connor?  What are you treating her for?"  "Pretty much the
same thing."  She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him
coolly.  "I'm not answering any more questions until you tell me what
this is all about."

He must have known she meant it, because he said, "It's about three
women who all wound up in Chicago Memorial.  All seriously ill, all
suffering from the same infectious agent, characterized by a fever,
headache, abdominal pains, vomiting and diarrhea.  Thus far, we've had
no luck in identifying the infection.  However, in trying to determine
the method of transmission of this thing, we discovered a link between
at least two of the patients."  He paused for a fraction of a second,
then added, "That link is you."

Raven's mouth dropped open.  Stunned, she had to struggle to find her
voice.  "I don't like your implication," she said.  "I certainly had
nothing to do with their health problems."

"I'm not saying you did," Jeff said quickly.  "I'm just trying to get
to the bottom of their illness."

"Oh, sure you are," she said sarcastically.  "That's why you
immediately ran over here after hearing Lauren and Eleanor had been to
see me."

"I just want to ask you a few questions."

Raven's blood pressure shot skyward.  Jeff Knight hadn't changed one
iota.  He was still willing to believe the worst about her.  "Don't
give me that.  This is about what happened four years ago.  I didn't do
anything then or now.  I admit seeing Lauren Connor and Eleanor Parker
and giving them the same herbal tea, but I certainly didn't do anything
to cause their illness.  My herbs are natural products, free of any
chemicals or preservatives."

"I'm sure they are," he said in a placating voice.  "But there are a
number of herbs that can be quite harmful if prepared incorrectly.
Maybe that's what happened in this case.  Maybe you made a mistake."

"I did no such thing!"  she snapped.  "I'm not incompetent.  Those
herbs were properly prepared."

"That may be, but that still doesn't mean they couldn't have been laced
with some kind of bacterial contaminant."

She rolled her eyes.  "Give me a break.  There was nothing wrong with
my herbs."

"How do you know?"  he barked.  "Did you grow them?"

She could tell he was having difficulty hanging on to his temper. Well,
so was she.  Her chin rose a fraction.  "No, but I'm quite familiar
with my supplier and there's no way he would sell contaminated
products.  I know you don't think much of me or other alternative
practitioners, but we're not irresponsible or a bunch of incompetent
boobs."

"That's a pretty little speech, but it doesn't square with the facts.
The truth is, most of you so-called alternative

practitioners, with your claim of miracle cures, are just a bunch of
snake oil salesmen preying on the sick and the elderly strictly for
financial gain."

She stared at him coldly.  "You know this is not about money."

Her frigid stare didn't faze him.  "No, you're a true believer, which
probably makes you a hell of a lot more dangerous than your
counterparts."

She curled her fingers into her palm, struggling to hang on to her
temper when what she wanted to do was slap his arrogant face.  "The
only one of us that is dangerous is you.  With your close-minded,
outdated ideas about patient care."  Her voice was so low, so filled
with suppressed anger, that he blinked.  "You talk a good story but
that's all it is.  Talk."

"And what's that suppose to mean?"  he said hotly.  "You spend almost
no time talking to patients, let alone listening to them.  Then, on the
basis of virtually no information, you're ready to prescribe a course
of treatment.  A treatment, I might add, that focuses solely on
symptoms and consists of toxic drugs.  In my book that's irresponsible.
I'm not surprised you don't know what's wrong with these women."

Her remark must have hit home.  "Don't preach to me about
responsibility," he snarled.  "I've got three seriously ill patients,
one of whom is probably not going to make it.  I've been working my
butt off for the last two weeks, trying to figure out what's Wrong with
them.  Everything we've tested them for has come back negative.  We
don't know what this thing is or how they contracted it.  So when I
found a link between you and two of my patients, I had to check it out.
If my questions offended you, then that's too damn bad!"

For a moment neither spoke.

"Look."  She sighed.  "I'm sorry about Mrs.  Parker and the other
women, but I assure you there is nothing wrong with my herbs."

"Can you prove it?"  His eyes were hard, challenging.  She stood and
walked over to the storage area.  She could feel his eyes on her as she
located the canister containing the herbs she'd used to brew the tea
she'd given Eleanor Parker and Lauren Connor.  She turned and walked
back across the room until she was standing directly in front of him.
"Take it," she said, thrusting the canister into his hands.  "Run all
the tests you want, but you won't find anything.  Now--" she stepped
back and pointed toward the door "--get out!"

He stood and walked across the room, but in the doorway, he paused.
"For your sake, I hope you're right," he said.  Then he turned and
walked through the doorway.  A moment later, she heard the front door
open and then close.

A tiny shiver went through Raven.  God, her herbs couldn't have caused
this illness, could they?

Chapter Two

"Damn?"  Raven swore at the overturned canisters and the herbs strewn
about on the counter in front of her.  Her eyes flew to the clock on
the wall.  It was almost ten, and she was only half-done with
completing Kevin Miller's order.  Miller was a nervous, impatient man
but he was also one of her best customers.  He could be counted on for
a minimum purchase of two hundred dollars a month.  It wouldn't do to
keep him waiting.  But she was so darned angry, she couldn't see
straight, let alone concentrate.

She'd had all night to stew over Jeff's words, and the more she thought
about his outrageous allegation, the angrier she became.  Jeff Knight
was a narrow-minded, cynical, self-righteous bastard.  She'd love
to-"You okay?"

Raven looked up from the mess in front of her to find Harry Flynn, her
landlord and business colleague, scrutinizing her.

"Uh ... yeah," Raven stammered.  With an effort, she banished Jeff from
her mind and gave her friend a faint smile.  "I was just thinking."

"Obviously not very pleasant thoughts," he said, moving into the
room.

Harry was shrewdly observant, a quality that was an asset in his
profession as an importer-exporter.  But as a friend, he could be
disconcerting.  "Just give me a minute to finish up here," she said.

"Sure, take your time."

Raven scooped up the remaining herbs and dumped them back into the
ceramic canister.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harry prowling
the room.  It was unlike him to drop by this time of day.  Then she
smiled.  He was the most structured person she knew.  An attractive man
of forty-five, tall and slender, with dark eyes and thick, wavy hair
that was more silver than gray, he looked like an investment banker,
but he wasn't stuffy or pompous.  He had a relaxed, easygoing manner.

She had liked him on sight when they met a year ago when he'd become
her herb supplier.  Then, six months ago, he had become her landlord.
His obvious interest in alternative medicine had solidified the bond
between them.  She considered him a good friend.

She knew he'd like the relationship to be otherwise, but she'd made it
plain she wasn't interested in anything other than friendship.  For one
thing, she was too busy trying to get her business off the ground and
didn't have time for socializing.  For another, she simply couldn't
imagine herself becoming romantically involved with him.  Handsome and
charming he was, but for her the chemistry was missing.  For that
matter, she hadn't met anyone in a very long time who made her heart
beat double time.  Her girlfriends laughed and called her an incurable
romantic.  Maybe she was, but she'd decided long ago that the man she
married had to make her heart flutter.  She didn't think it was
ridiculous to want the passion, the heights.  She'd had that kind of
relationship.  once A flood of memo fides washed over her.

She shook them off.  Jeff was the last man she should be thinking
about.  But she couldn't get him out of her mind.  Seeing him again had
stirred deep-seated feelings that she'd thought long since buried. God,
she needed her head examined.  How could she still have feelings for

a man who not only didn't respect her profession, but who also thought
she personally was irresponsible--that she could endanger someone's
life?

All this flashed through her mind in an instant while Harry Flynn
perched on the stool in front of the counter.

He regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "Look, Raven, I
don't mean to pry.  I considered not even telling you this, but if it
were the other way around, I'd want to know."  He sounded serious.

"What is it?"  she asked cautiously.

"I had a visitor this morning," he said.  "A cop by the name of
Valentine.  He wanted to know what I knew about you.  If you were a
responsible and stable individual."  "He ... what?"

Harry nodded.  "There's' more.  He also asked what kind of tenant you
were--if you paid your rent on time, if I'd ever had any problems with
you.  When I said I had no complaints, he hemmed and hawed and finally
asked if I'd ever heard of anyone getting sick after taking one of your
herbal treatments."

Raven's mouth fell open as sudden fury swept through her.  "I can't
believe he has the police checking me out!"

"I know it's none of my business, but I'm curious as hell.  Want to
talk about it?"

Raven released a long sigh, then recounted her meeting with Jeff.

"What?"  Harry's voice was a shocked squeal.  "He believes you're
responsible for the illness of these women?"  Raven nodded, her face
grim.

"That's ridiculous," he said.  "I know a couple of alternative
practitioners that tangled with some folks in the medical profession.
But it was over some pretty innocuous stuff.  I've never heard of
anything like this."

"I know."  She sighed.  "But Dr.  Knight has a particularly low opinion
of herbs and herbalists.  He thinks we're a bunch of dangerous
quacks."

"Well, I guess you can't expect anything else.  He's a doctor," Harry
said, as if that explained it.  "They understand things like cancer,
heart disease and broken bones.  But they aren't quick to grasp things
outside the normal range of standard medicine.  The concept of herbal
healing isn't in Dr.  Knight's world."

Raven shook her head.  "I know, but it doesn't make sense.  He deals
with prescription drugs every day.  Doesn't he understand that a large
percentage of those drugs are derived from the very herbs he
disdains?"

Harry shrugged.  "It's the nature of the beast.  The sad fact is, the
typical American physician's only real exposure to herbal healing
involves the small but steady stream of medical journal articles
reporting harm from the irresponsible use of herbs."

"Yeah, but the number of people harmed by herbs is only a tiny fraction
of the number harmed by prescription drugs."

"But the average doctor doesn't know that," Harry countered.  "When you
start talking about herbs to treat serious illnesses, even the most
open-minded doctors find that hard to swallow.  And the others
immediately assume you're nuts or, worse yet, a quack out to take some
poor schmo to the cleaners.  It's not what they're taught in medical
school so it's outside their frame of reference.  I'm sure you haven't
always been a true believer, either.  At some point in your life you
probably held some of these same views."

"I was skeptical at first," she admitted, "but at least I was willing
to consider the possibility."

Harry smiled.  "It's that objectivity and open-mindedness that probably
makes you such a good herbalist

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she said, returning his smile.

"I'm just calling it the way I see it."  He cleared his throat.  "Er
Raven, you know I think you're a very levelheaded person and would
never intentionally do anything

that would endanger anyone's life.  Oh, hell, there's no easy way to
say this," he said quickly, "but is it possible you could have made a
mistake in the preparation of the herbal tea you gave those women?"

She shook her head.  "No.  I've gone over it a thousand times in my
mind, and I'm sure on each occasion I prepared it the way I always do.
Just to be on the safe side, I called the three other clients whom I
gave tea from that batch, and they're fine."

"Ah ... well," Harry began, then he looked down at his hands.  "You
know, there is one other possibility."

Raven knew immediately what he was getting at.  She took both of his
hands in hers and squeezed.  "No, there isn't," she said.  "I know you
didn't sell me contaminated herbs."

"So, why do I hear a but in there?"

"I also know Jeff," she said bleakly.  "He's very thorough.  He must
believe the method of transmission of this thing is from herbs.  What
if he's right?  What if there is some kind of contaminant in the herbs
out there?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up.  "That's a pretty scary thought, and one that
I don't buy.  But in the meantime, you've got a very serious problem.
If that cop questioned me, it's a sure bet he's questioning other
people associated with you.  There's bound to be talk--talk that will
hurt your business because people are going to assume the same thing
that guy Knight did, that your herbs are making people sick."

"I won't let that happen!"  she cried, jumping to her feet.

He shook his head.  "I don't know how you're going to stop it.  It
would be different if you had a longer track record, but you don't.
You've only been in the business a few years."

"I've worked too hard to sit back and do nothing."  As she talked she
rubbed her hands on her arms and paced, her arms folded tightly.  "I'm
going to have to do something to clear my name."

"Yeah, but that's easier said than done," he replied.  "How can you
prove a negative--that you didn't do something?  It seems to me the
only way that could happen is if this Dr.  Knight gave you a clean bill
of health."

"Or," she said, pausing in her pacing and looking across the counter at
him, "if I figure out what's wrong with these women myself."

Harry smiled.  "That's true," he said, "but to do that you're going to
need help from someone in the medical community, and I don't see that
happening.  No one is going to want to get involved in this mess. Since
they're Knight's patients, getting him to help you would probably be
your best bet, but from what you've said, I can't see him rushing to
help you or including you in any investigation.  Without someone within
the medical community helping you, you're dead in the water."

"I don't think so," she said, shaking her head.  "I've got an idea."

"Good," he said.  "Let's hear it."

She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement.  "It's a sure
bet that if Eleanor Parker and Lauren Connor came to see me, then
they've probably seen other alternative practitioners in the past. What
if they continued seeing them?  It's possible that's where the exposure
to this herbal contaminant--if indeed that's what it boils down
to--occurred."

"Yeah, it's possible," Harry said slowly, "but how are you going to
find these people?"

"From my client records.  I always take a medical history on anyone
coming for a consultation.  As soon as I finish up here, I'm going to
review my write-ups on Parker and Connor to see if I can find
anything."

"Good luck," he said.  "But don't be surprised if you find that your
clients haven't been entirely candid with either you or Dr.  Knight.
It's been my experience that the

truth is more likely somewhere in the middle."  He looked at his
watch.  "Well ... I'd better get hack to the office."  He leaned across
the counter and laid his hand over Raven's.  "If there's anything I can
do, let me know."

She smiled.  He really was a kind man.  "Thanks, Harry?"

"I mean it.  Call me if you need anything."  He slid his slender frame
from the stool and sauntered out of the room.

After he left, Raven tried to get back to work, but it was no use.  She
was too keyed up.  Once again, the more she thought about Jeff's
allegation, the art grief she became.  She stood and paced the brightly
lit room, seething with anger at the thought that Jeff had actually had
a cop checking up on her.  He had some nerve!  He probably hadn't even
considered the possibility that she had nothing to do with Lauren's and
Eleanor's health problems.  It was just like four years ago all over
again, she thought bitterly.  On the basis of questionable information,
he'd tried and convicted her.  How did he expect to get to the root of
his patients' sickness if he was couldn't separate fact from fiction?

Well, he'd get no help from her.

Then she thought about Lauren and Eleanor and their mysterious illness,
and her anger subsided.  If the women had been exposed to some kind of
bacterial contaminant, as Jeff surmised, there would be other victims.
Maybe even some deaths.  They would be the ones who would suffer from
Jeff's attitude.  Could she live with herself if she did nothing?

"So YOU DIDN'T TELL Grace Wells that Raven Delaney had poisoned Eleanor
Parker?"

"Of course not," Jeff said as he regarded the man who sat across the
desk from him.  Detective Nick Valentine could have passed for a
college student with his boyish good looks.  He was an athletic-looking
man with blond hair, cut military short.  Despite his youthful
appearance, Jeff sensed he was no pushover.

"Then how do you suppose she came to that conclusion?"

Jeff shifted his weight uneasily, rubbing at the tension building in
his gut.  "Grace is a highly emotional woman," he said, choosing his
words carefully.  "She's very upset about her friend's illness.  In a
case like this, where someone is critically ill, it's not unusual for
the patient's family and friends to seek to blame someone else for
their loved one's condition.  It's their way of coping with the
situation."  '

"Hmm," Detective Valentine mused.  He leaned back and tapped his finger
on the arm of the chair as he considered Jeff's words.  "So you think
that's what happened here, that Ms.  Wells is focusing on the Delaney
woman because she needs someone to blame?"

"I'm saying it's one explanation," Jeff said cautiously.  "Just before
Mrs.  Parker was hospitalized, she and Grace went to see Raven Delaney.
After Mrs.  Parker was hospitalized, another of Grace's friends, a
woman who'd also seen Ms.  Delaney, was hospitalized.  Now she's
convinced herself that Ms.  Delaney is behind Eleanor's illness."

"I see," Detective Valentine said slowly.  "By the way, what's Mrs.
Parker's prognosis?"

Jeff issued a weary sigh.  "I can't go into any details because of
doctor-patient confidentiality.  I can tell you that she's gravely ill
and hasn't responded to treatment."

"So there's nothing suspicious about her illness?  No sign of criminal
activity or foul play?"

Jeff shook his head.  "There's no evidence to support that claim." That
was true.  He was still waiting for the lab results on Raven's herbs so
he had no evidence that they were behind the mysterious illness.  And
even if they were, in his book that certainly didn't amount to criminal
activity.  "I'm afraid Grace misunderstood what I said."

Detective Valentine gave him a quizzical look.  "Is she prone to
jumping to conclusions?"

Jeff's mouth curved into a smile.  "You met her.  What do you think?"

"That I'd hate to have to deal with that woman on a regular basis,"
Detective Valentine said, closing his notebook.  "We didn't think there
was anything to her claim, but you understand we had to check it
out."

Jeff felt an incredible sense of relief.  "Frankly, I'm surprised," he
said, relaxing for the first time since the interview had begun. "Isn't
it a little unusual for a homicide detective to be checking out this
kind of claim?  Seems to me it didn't merit more than a few discreet
phone calls by a rookie cop."

"You're right.  Generally, that's the way we would have played it." His
face breaking into a grin, Detective Valentine added, "I was in the
squad room when Ms.  Wells stormed in making all kinds of noises to the
effect that if we didn't check out her claim she'd go to the newspapers
and then the governor."

Jeff grinned.  He could imagine the ruckus she'd caused.
"Unfortunately, the mayor and a slew of reporters were due any moment.
Naturally, the captain wanted her out of there ASAP.  Being relatively
new to the force, I needed to get acclimated to the city and saw an
opportunity to get some brownie points, so I told the captain I'd make
a few inquiries."

"And?"  Jeff was careful to keep his voice and facial expression
neutral.

"You confirmed what others said about Ms.  Delaney.  I think we can
close this matter.  There's no evidence to suggest this is anything
other than the ranting of a hysterical woman."  Detective Valentine
tucked his notebook inside the breast pocket of his jacket, then stood.
He reached across the desk and offered his hand.  "Well, thank you for
your time, doctor.  You've been a lot of help."

Jeff stood and took his hand.  "Anytime."

When the door closed behind the young detective, Jeff walked over to
the window and stared bleakly out at the street below, his thoughts in
turmoil.  If things weren't complicated enough, now this.  He raked his
hand over his hair in frustration.  He should have seen it coming,
spent more time allaying Grace's fears.  But after she'd dropped her
bombshell, all he could think about was Raven.  What it was like to
hold her, her scent, her lovely smile .... He closed his eyes, seeing
again the expression on her face, a mixture of apprehension and innate
pride.  He'd thought he had prepared himself for the meeting, that he
could handle it.  But at the sight of her, the gut-wrenching desire had
returned, the relentless yearning that he'd always felt.  So he'd taken
refuge in icy politeness, then anger, discussing a medical problem with
the one woman he had never been able to forget.  Lord, why couldn't he
forget her?

When they'd first broken up, he'd tried.  First by dating a slew of
women, later by enmeshing himself in his work.  And when that hadn't
worked, he had moved halfway around the word, but still she'd remained
in his subconscious mind--haunting his thoughts, his dreams.

How many nights had he lain awake, wondering what it would be like to
see her again?  Wondering if the relentless heartache would still wring
the life from him, the way it had in the first painful weeks and months
after their breakup.  Well, now he knew.  It wasn't a damn bit easier
today than it had been then.  If anything, it was worse.

He rubbed his temple.  He had to stop thinking about her.  No matter
how much he might still be attracted to her, he still couldn't
reconcile her belief in herbal medicine.  It went against everything he
believed in.  Hell, this wasn't getting him anywhere.  He turned and
looked at the pile of work on his desk.  He had a million things to do,
including preparing for a meeting with Shay Alexander, the head of the
hospital's medical research lab, to discuss the three cases.  Shay had
promised to have the results of the latest tests ready within the
hour.

He turned away from the window, sat down, and propped his feet on the
corner of his desk.  He opened the first report and forced himself to
concentrate.  It was difficult at first, but gradually his thoughts
turned to the matter at hand.  Twenty minutes later, he looked up as
Shay Alexander entered the room.  Jeff set his feet on the floor and
sat up.  "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing that helps us much," Shay said as he dropped into the chair
flanking Jeff's desk.  The two men had first met in medical school and
had kept in touch over the years.  It had been Shay who had convinced
him to take the teaching position af' Chicago Memorial.  Shay was
thirty-seven, six foot one, with a lean, strong build.  His mouth was
wide, his blue eyes merry, and his strawberry-blond hair thick and
wavy.  He was witty and intelligent, and Jeff got the impression that
Shay could find the silver lining in almost any situation.  From his
grim expression, however, this was not one of them.

"Frankly, I'm stumped," Shay muttered.  "I've been an epidemiologist
for seven years and I've never seen anything like this before."

Jeff groaned in frustration.  "I was hoping for a different answer."

"You and me both."  Shay consulted the notes he'd pulled out of a slim
manila folder.  "Everything we've tested has been negative--blood
cultures, urine cultures, sputum cultures, stool cultures, even
cerebrospinal fluid cultures.  We thought about malaria and actually
tested for it.  Not surprising, the blood smears were negative for the
parasite.  We even tested for typhoid.  But, just like with all the
other tests, the results came back negative."

Jeff frowned.  "Can you tell me anything?"

"Well, I can tell you what it's not.  It's not yellow fever, dengue
hemorrhagic fever, or dysentery.  Just to cover the bases, we tested
for a number of entero viral arboviral, and adenoviral infections, and
came up with zilch."

Jeff sighed.  "So you're saying we don't know much more than we did two
weeks ago?"

"Afraid not."

"I take it then that you haven't made much progress in the therapeutic
realm either, or for that matter, determined why Hartman and Connor
seem better equipped to fight this thing off than Mrs.  Parker?"

Shay shook his head.  "Not really.  My guess is that as the oldest of
the three, she simply has the weakest immune system.  And her condition
is further complicated by her diabetes.  The only bright spot," he said
with a grimace, "if you wish to call it that, is that I was able to
track down Mrs.  Parker's errant husband.  He was able to help us fill
in some of the gaps regarding her movements in the days preceding the
onset of the illness."  He leaned over and handed Jeff the report.

Jeff flipped through the pages, stopping on a section entitled "History
of the Present Illness."  One item immediately jumped out at him.  One
week prior to admission, she'd been bitten by a Cercopithecus aethiops.
He asked Shay about it.

"It's a type of monkey," his friend replied.

Jeff gave him a sour look.  "I know that, but how the hell does someone
in Chicago get bitten by a monkey?"

Shay shrugged.  "I gather it was some kind of freak accident.  Mrs.
Parker took her Sunday school class on a field trip to the Brookfield
Zoo.  While they were there, one of the monkeys got loose and during
the ensuing fracas, she was bitten by the primate.  The monkey's been
quarantined, but there's no indication that it was the source of the
infection."

Jeff nodded and continued reading.  Two days before Mrs.  Parker was
hospitalized, she had been mugged while walking home from church. She'd
hit her cheek on the pavement.  Well, that explained the bruises, he
thought.

He scanned the remaining pages.  Finding nothing of interest, he
tossed the report on the desk and looked at Shay.  "Well, that didn't
tell us very much.  But we'd better find something that does.  We've
got to come up with some way of combating this infection."

"Jeff, I understand your frustration but I don't know what to tell you.
I can test for every known bacterial and viral infection, but that will
take some time."

"And time is what we don't have."

"Then give me something to go on," the other man said.  "Otherwise,
it's like looking for a needle in a hay stack when you don't know what
a haystack looks like."  Jeff rubbed his temples.  "I know," he said
wearily.  For a moment neither man spoke.

"What about bringing the Centers for Disease Control in on this?"  Shay
asked after a while.

Jeff shook his head.  "I suggested it, but Brockman vetoed the idea."
His hazel eyes clouded as he recalled the hospital's chief of staff's
reaction.  He'd seemed to Jeff to be unduly concerned about bad
publicity and its effect on the hospital's financial status.  "He
doesn't want to bring them into this until it is absolutely
necessary."

"Well, we're almost there," Shay said dryly.

Jeff nodded.  "We'll give it a few more days.  If something doesn't
break by then, I'll notify th eCDC

"Okay, how do you want to proceed from here?"

"I think we should concentrate on prevention, which, at this point,
means determining the origin of the current cases."

"You and I think along the same lines," Shay said.  Jeff cleared his
throat.  "Ah ... what about those herbs that I asked you to analyse? Is
it possible they contained some kind of contaminant that could have
caused these symptoms?"

"There was nothing in what I tested," Shay said with a slight shake of
his head.

Jeff slowly released his breath.  "Are you sure?"

Shay cocked his head to the side and gave his friend a speculative
look.  "Why this sudden interest in herbs?  And don't try to give me
some cock-and-bull story about being interested in herbal medicine,
because I know your views on the subject."

Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but he knew Shay wouldn't give
up until he'd heard at least part of the story.  So he gave him a
slightly abbreviated ver son concluding with his visit from Nick
Valentine.

Shay digested his words for a moment.  "So you think this is some kind
of bacterial contaminant transmitted by a particular herb?"

"I think it's a possibility," Jeff said.

"It's not a bad theory," Shay said slowly.  "I think you should pursue
it."

Jeff's head snapped up.  "I thought you said Raven's herbs were
clean."

"Raven?"  Shay's eyebrows lifted and a grin began working at the
corners of his mouth.  "It's like that, is it?"  "I'd drop the subject
if I were you," Jeff warned.

Shay put on an injured expression.  "Well, if you feel that way about
it."

"I do."

Shay sighed.  "All right, all right.  But on the subject of herbs, I
just meant you might be on the right track, that there might be some
contaminated herbs out there.  Frankly, at this stage I don't think we
can rule anything in or out.  I can handle the lab aspect, but I think
you should pursue the herb angle."  He looked at Jeff and grinned.
"Maybe if you apologize nicely, you can get Raven to help you."

"What?  You've got to be kidding."

"Hear me out before you go ballistic," he said, all traces of levity
now gone.  "You need to check out that angle and you need somebody who
knows that world to help--"

"Not on your life," Jeff interrupted.

Shay's eyes remained on Jeff's for a long moment as if he were
considering his next words.  "I think you should reconsider your
answer."

Jeff's brow pulled down.  "Why would I want to do that?"

"Look at this," Shay said, handing him a small file from his manila
folder.  "I didn't want to say anything until I was absolutely sure of
the facts, but I did some checking with the other hospitals in the
area.  Over the last seven weeks there have been at least four other
cases admitted, all with the same symptoms as our patients..."

A ripple of apprehension coursed through Jeff.  "And?"  Shay's eyes
didn't waver from his.  "They're all dead.  Whatever this is we're
dealing with, it's one hundred percent fatal."

Chapter Three

"But, I just want--"

Click.t The phone at the other end of the line was slammed down with
such force, Raven thought she might suffer a permanent hearing loss.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed Fred Baxter's name off the
list.  He was the third person to hang up on her.  The moment she
mentioned two of their clients had been hospitalized and that the
culprit might be an herbal contaminant, no one wanted to talk.  Hence,
few of the half dozen or so alternative practitioners whose names she'd
found in the notes from her sessions with Eleanor Parker and Lauren
Connor would talk to her.  And those who did were either suffering from
a lapse in memory or flat-out denied ever treating the women.  While
she couldn't completely blame them for not wanting to get involved, it
was still frustrating as hell.

Raven looked at the skimpy notes in front of her and sighed.  She'd
spent the better part of the day on the phone, running down leads, and
all she had to show for her efforts was one name--Reverend Charles
Walters.  At least it was a pretty good lead.  From all accounts, he
was the only alternative practitioner that both women had seen, and he
also had a questionable reputation.  Walters was a practitioner of
naturopathic medicine, a form of alternative health care that uses the
body's own inherent ability to heal itself.  A more apt description,
she thought, might be

that of separating people from their money.  Over the years, Walters
had been in and out of trouble with the law.  However, she gathered his
problems in the past related to fraudulent claims and questionable
treatments for cancer and AIDS.  That was a far cry from using
contaminated herbs.  She sighed again.  It was going to be dam hard
connecting him to Lauren's and Eleanor's illness if this was all she
had to go on.

She was frustrated and couldn't help' but blame Jeff for that
frustration.  If he'd come to her for help, together they might have
been able to identify this mysterious illness.  As it was, she felt as
if she were beating her head against a brick wall Her thoughts were
interrupted by a sharp knock on the outside of the doorjamb.  She
looked up and was surprised to see the object of her thoughts standing
in the doorway.

She was immediately flooded by a tide of mixed feelings, the overriding
one being anger--anger at herself for feeling a stirring of attraction,
anger at his patronizing attitude, anger at him for having the police
check up on her.

The man had some nerve!

"What do you want?"

Jeff cleared his throat.  "If you've got a couple of minutes, I'd like
to talk to you."

"Me?"  Raven's eyes widened in mock surprise.  "I'm surprised.  I
didn't think you thought it was safe to breathe the same air as an
infamous poisoner."

"Unless you're also a mind reader, how could you possibly know my
thoughts?"  Jeff pushed himself away from the doorjamb and moved into
the room.

Raven's gaze narrowed at the sarcasm in his voice as he moved into her
office with a casual, masculine grace.  An image of a panther flashed
through her mind, causing her to shiver.  She knew the image was in no
way an illusion-he was certainly as dangerous as a panther.  "I would
have to be brain-dead not to have known what you were thinking," she
snapped, irritated with herself for not being able to take her eyes off
him.  "You acted like I was some kind of Lucrezia Borgia."

"Well, Raven," he said, coming to stand next to her desk, you have to
admit things did look pretty incriminating."

"You have your reality, I have mine," she said, throwing back at him a
comment he'd made all those years ago.

The strong planes of his handsome face shifted as he grinned.  Oddly
enough it seemed to be a grin of admiration.  "Touche," he said.  "As
for my personal safety, I came prepared..."  His voice trailed off as
he patted his left side.  "I've got a tranquilizer gun handy in case
you try anything funny."

She stared at him, not at all impressed by his attempt at humor.
"That's real smart of you, Knight, but don't press your luck.  I'd like
nothing better than to deck you."

His grin widened.  "I didn't think you were the violent type."

She bolted from her chair, planting her hands on her hips.  "You think
a lot of things without much evidence, don't you?  Where do you get off
having the cops question my friends and colleagues about me?"

He at least had the grace to look uncomfortable.  "I didn't," he said.
"Look, I know your herbs didn't play any role in Eleanor's and Lauren's
illness, and that's exactly what I told Detective' Valentine."  He then
briefly explained Grace Wells's trip to the police station and his
visit from the young detective.  "I'm sorry if I caused you any
embarrassment."

"Embarrassment!"  she snapped.  "After four years of struggling, my
business is finally beginning to show a profit, then this happens.
Rumors like this could jeopardize my business."

"I'm really sorry.  I'll talk to Detective Valentine again."

"What good would that do?"  she muttered.  "The damage is already
done."  Just then she noticed how the lights from the overhead fixture
caught his blue-black hair, turning it to glistening ebony.  Her pulse
quickened.  What was wrong with her?  How could she be attracted to a
man who'd made it plain he thought she was a misguided flake?  "Can I
talk to you?"  he asked again.

She didn't offer him a seat.  Even though he'd apologized, she wasn't
quite ready to let him off the hook.  "What about?"

"Lauren and Eleanor and their mysterious illness," he said quietly.
"This thing has me really stumped.  If you have a few minutes, I'd like
to talk to you about it."

Raven's fury fizzled out like a firecracker.  He'd said exactly the
right thing, in exactly the right way.  She indicated the vacant chair
next to her desk, then watched as he sat.  Even though he sat a few
feet away, she could feel the sexual magnetism that radiated from him
like heat waves, pulling her closer.  Suddenly, the room seemed awfully
small.  She shivered.

He frowned.  "Is something wrong?"

She shook her head.  As she leaned back in her swivel chair, she felt
the barrette at the back of her head loosen, and her hair tumbled free.
"Damn!"  she muttered under her breath.  She grabbed the barrette and
quickly put her hair back up.

Jeff was watching her closely.  "You have beautiful hair.  You ought to
wear it down, the way you used to," he said softly, as if speaking to
himself.

At his husky words, a shiver worked its way up Raven's spine.  She
shifted uncomfortably and decided it would be prudent to get the
conversation back to the matter at hand.  "Thank you," she mumbled,
then cleared her throat.  "Uh,

how are Lauren and Eleanor?"

"Not good."

"What's your guess?"  Raven asked.

"I don't even have a guess," he admitted.  "It's obviously a severe
febrile illness, characterized by headache, fever, abdominal pain,
vomiting, diarrhea.  From those symptoms we surmised it's some kind of
bacterial infection.  But that's about all we know."  He hesitated,
then added, "In addition to my three patients, there have been at least
four other cases in the last seven weeks--all terminal."

"My God!"  Raven exclaimed.  "It sounds as if you're dealing with some
kind of epidemic."

"It's a possibility," he said.  "We usually see a few infectious
disease cases each year in the U.S."  but they generally occur in
warmer climates such as Florida and California, and they're mostly
things like malaria and hepatitis B. We certainly haven't seen anything
like this before.  But with the destruction of the African rain forest,
and the emergence of newly discovered diseases like AIDS and Ebola, I
suppose it's only a matter of time before we're faced with some kind of
catastrophic epidemic."

Raven shivered at his words.  "That's a frightening thought," she said,
then added, "Has the media been notified?"

Jeff shook his head.  "You've worked in hospitals.  You know how
public-relations conscious they are.  The board has made it plain that
they want to keep a lid on things."  "But shouldn't the public be
alerted?"  Raven pressed.  Jeff shook his head again.  "I don't think
so.  At this stage, we don't know what we're dealing with.  By
sensationalizing it, the media could make things worse.  The mere
mention of words like mysterious illness and deadly virus could evoke
panic, and that would be counterproductive."

"Maybe," Raven said.  "But I bet people would feel differently if there
was a chance they could avoid coming down with this thing if they were
forewarned."

"Well, the question is academic," Jeff said.  "There's no way the
hospital is going public with this.  Hell, at this point they're not
even willing to bring in the CDC or Public Health."

She frowned.  "Is this thing contagious?"

He shook his head.  "It doesn't appear to be.  Nor is it spread
through the air, or by bites from mosquitoes, insects, rodents or
animals, or by person-to-person contact.  Because of the symptoms the
patients have exhibited, we think it may be transmitted by ingestion.
Possibly by some contaminated food product.  Though I'm not sure where
in the process the contamination occurred.  It could be with the
grower, the supplier or the customer store."

"If there's anything I can do to help, just let me know," she said.

He gave her a dazzling smile, causing her heart to skip a beat. "That's
what I was hoping you would say."  He pulled out a notepad. "We know
all seven patients came into contact with the same contaminant.  We
don't know if the source is herbs or not, but at this point it's the
only thing we have to go on.  We also don't know where in the process
the contamination occurred so for the sake of brevity I'd like to start
with the suppliers.  That's where your help comes in, Ray."

She felt a warm glow.  It was the first time he'd called her by the old
nickname, and it lent an odd intimacy to the meeting.

"My knowledge of herbs is pretty shaky and I don't know anything about
the suppliers in this area.  Any suggestions on how I should begin?" he
asked.

"I have a couple of books I can lend you that should give you a working
knowledge of the subject.  I can also give you the names of a few
suppliers and some mall-order companies."  She spent several minutes
going through the Rolodex on her desk, writing down names and
addresses.  When she was done, she handed him the list.

"Thanks," he said.  Again, he punctuated his reply with a warm smile
and her heart began to pound double time.

She shifted uncomfortably.  "Ah ... I don't think it's suppliers that
you have to worry about.  You might want to reconsider the possibility
of an unscrupulous alternative health care practitioner."

One dark eyebrow rose.  "Oh, really?"

Her chin rose a fraction.  "We're no different from any other
profession.  We have our share of bad apples."

"Yeah, but how do we find him and connect him, to not three patients,
but seven?"  He shook his head.  "In a city the size of Chicago there
would be too many to check out.  Then you've also got to consider the
ones in Cook County and the surrounding area.  Added to that there's
got to be an unknown number of storefront practitioners.  Tracking them
all down and checking them out could take weeks, months even."

"Not necessarily," Raven said.  Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
"People in this profession have a pretty good idea of who's competent
and who isn't.  I've been on the phone most of the day, and I got a
couple of names.  I then matched those names with information I got
from Lauren and Eleanor and I came up with one person.  It seems both
women saw a Reverend Walters before coming to see me."

He looked at her with something close to admit ion "Very good."

"It gets better," she said, barely able to contain her excitement.
"Walters has a reputation for using substandard products."

His eyebrow arched.  "Now that's interesting."

"It is, isn't it?"  She glanced her watch.  "It's probably too late to
see him today, and tomorrow is Sunday.  We'll have to wait until later
in the week--"

"We?"  Jeff interrupted.

She speared him with a hard look.  "Yes, we."  She took a deep breath,
determined to stand her ground.  "I want to get to the bottom of this
mysterious illness just as badly as you do."

"I appreciate your interest, but I work alone."

"Not this time," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm not any more
thrilled at the prospect of working with you.  But you're the one who
got me into this mess.  You come barreling into my shop, accusing me
of poisoning your patients-"

"I never used the word poison."

"It doesn't matter what your exact words were.  Because of you, my
reputation has been damaged.  I want to be a part of this
investigation.  I want an opportunity to clear my name.  You owe me
that much."  His eyes narrowed, but she sensed she had the advantage,
and pressed on.  "Besides, I know this world.  I can help you check out
herb suppliers, interview Reverend Walters, even introduce you to my
friend, Harry Flynn.  He's my herb supplier.  If there is anyone who
knows what's going on in this business, it's Harry.  You have my word
that I won't say anything about the investigation.  What do you say?"

He stared at her for a long moment without speaking.  "Okay," he said
finally, "I'll pick you up Monday morning.  We'll go see your friend
Harry.  In the meantime, here's what I'd like you to do .... "

AFTER JEFF LEFT Raven's, he drove around for a while, finally parking
his car at a spot overlooking Lake Michigan.  He leaned his head
against the headrest and sighed.  He should have said no, he thought.
He should have gotten the information he came for, thanked Raven for
her help, then gotten the hell out of there.

But no, he was too much of a damn fool for that.  Instead of looking
out for himself, instead of protecting his heart, he'd agreed to let
her be a part of the investigation.

He sighed again.  Everything she had said was true about the role she
could play in the investigation.  She would be invaluable in checking
out herb suppliers and interviewing this guy Walters.  But it was just
that he felt so damn vulnerable.  Emotionally, he wasn't sure if he
could handle spending a lot of time alone with her.

Then again, maybe spending time with her was exactly what he should do.
Maybe it would help him put their relationship behind him once and for
all.  They were both mature adults.  Surely, he could spend time in her
company, investigating this case, without going off the deep end.  The
more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he could do
it.

One thing he damn well wasn't going to do was fall under her spell
again.  But even as he told himself that, he wasn't sure if he believed
it.

AT SEVEN-THIRTY Sunday evening, he was exactly where he was supposed to
be, where The Plan said that he must be--standing in front of one of
the large picture windows that overlooked the library parking lot
below.  Except for an occasional patron passing by, he was alone.  He
liked it that way.  It fit in nicely with his Plan.

Now all he had to do was wait for her to show.  He took a sip of coffee
and grimaced.  He hated the stuff, but the thermos, the coffee, it was
all part of The Plan.  He picked up his camera, crossed to the window,
and stared out at the parking lot.

A few minutes later, a late model Mustang pulled into the lot and a
tall, slender blonde stepped out.  He glanced at his watch and smiled.
Right on time.  For a moment he was afraid she might have parked in the
back lot and entered the building through the rear door.  If she'd done
that, he probably would have had to hang around until midnight and
catch her as she left, since the pictures had to be taken tonight.  The
Plan was specific.  It didn't allow for variations.

He had to get everything nailed down tonight.  Tomorrow, he would be
working with an even shorter time frame than usual.  He'd have to
finish up here by 8:45 in order to make it to Smitty's by nine.  Two
pigeons in one night would be tough, but he was confident he could do
it.

He lifted the camera and began to shoot, one picture after another. The
Nikon's motor whirred, clicking away as the blonde walked toward the
building.  Although she wasn't in the first group, she was a necessary
part of The

Plan.  He continued to shoot, not stopping until she disappeared from
view.

He put the camera back into the case and leaned against the windowsill,
pleased with what he'd accomplished.  The pictures would be nice, he
thought, considering the dozen or so black-and-white shots he'd taken.
Color was fine for certain situations, but not this one.  He glanced at
his watch.  He'd give her a few minutes to get situated.  While he
waited, he pulled out of his knapsack the books he'd lifted from a law
student outside the University of Chicago Law School two days ago.  A
few minutes later he pushed away from the window and walked slowly
toward the law library's study section.

He entered the alcove.  The blonde was already seated at one of the two
tables in this area.  He walked past her and paused at the other table,
where a lone, pimply-faced brunette had settled herself.  His eyes took
in books, paper and a foam cup filled with steaming, hot coffee.  She
was hunched over her books, deep in thought.

"Excuse me," he whispered.  "I hope you don't mind my sitting here?"

The woman looked up from the Q and A book.  He knew she did mind and he
wanted to laugh.  Like the blonde, she'd most likely picked this back,
secluded area of the library for privacy.  The bar exam was a week
away, and she probably still had a lot of material to go through.  No
doubt that was why she was here tonight instead of at home.  She looked
anxious, cracking under the pressure of the exam that loomed ahead.
Three years of law school and it all came down to this one exam.  Pass
it, and a job at some high-powered law firm was hers; fail it, and the
last three years would have all been for nothing.  That fear was
probably what brought her to the law library night after night.

She was on the verge of asking him to sit somewhere else, when she
noticed the bar review books in his arms.  He could almost read her
mind.  Another law student, she thought, and felt a twinge of guilt for
hogging the entire table.  She knew how hard it was to find a nice
quiet place to study.

It took all his willpower not to snicker when she said grudgingly, "I
guess you can sit there."

He knew she expected him to take one of the seats across from her, but
instead he plopped down in the chair next to her.  He was crowding her
but he didn't care.  This seat gave him an unobstructed view of the
blonde, and that was all that mattered.  The brunette muttered
something under her breath as she slid her materials closer to her
side, careful not to spill any of the coffee in the foam cup.

He made a show of pulling out a legal pad, fountain pen and a thermos
from his knapsack.  He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip as
he surreptitiously studied the blonde.  She was totally engrossed in
her studies.

A moment later the woman next to him also returned to the Q and A book.
Soon she'd totally forgotten he was there.  Periodically, he would look
up at the blonde, but she wasn't paying any attention to him or anyone
else, for that matter.  She was totally oblivious to her surroundings.
He could have set off a bomb and she wouldn't notice, he thought,
twirling his fountain pen between his fingers.  And it would be the
same tomorrow night.  He would sit next to her and she wouldn't notice
him.  God, it was almost too easy.

He watched the blonde for several more minutes then picked up his
things and sauntered out of the library, whistling softly.  His
practice run had gone well.  Tomorrow night would be the real thing. He
had no fear, no concern.  As his father used to say, it was going to be
a piece of cake.

Chapter Four

Harry Flynn was not at all what Jeff had expected.  Though exactly what
that was he really couldn't say, but it was certainly not the
distinguished-looking man who stood in the doorway of the opulently
furnished office.  He looked as if he'd just stepped out of the pages
of a GQ magazine.  Everything about him reeked of money--from his
custom-made suit to his Rolex watch.

"My dear, I'm so glad you decided to take me up on my offer."  Flynn
walked toward them, confident, self-assured.  A muscle ticked in Jeff's
jaw as he watched Flynn take both of Raven's hands in his, then he lean
over and kissed her on the cheek.  "How are you holding up under
this?"

"I'm fine," she said, casting an anxious look over her shoulder at
Jeff.  "I'm just glad you were able to see us this morning."  Raven
turned toward Jeff.  "Harry Flynn, this is Dr.  Jeffrey Knight."

"Dr.  Knight."  He tipped his head toward Jeff before turning his
attention back to Raven.  "Why don't we step into my office?"  he said.
Jeff watched as Flynn slid an arm around Raven's shoulder and led her
back through the doorway he'd just exited.

He might as well not be in the room for all the notice the other man
took, Jeff thought as he trailed after them.  He made himself keep a
healthy distance away.  He was afraid that if he got too close, he
would do something stupid, like knock the other man's hand away.

You're jealous, an inner voice whispered.  No way, he thought.  He just
didn't like the way the guy was fawning over her.  To take his mind off
the scene in front of him, Jeff surveyed the large office.  It was huge
and lavishly furnished, steeped in an atmosphere of quiet luxury.  The
entire back wall was glass and offered a magnificent view of Lake
Michigan.  The other walls were covered with ex-pensive-looking
watercolors.  The import-export business was apparently a lot more
lucrative than he would have imagined.

"Why don't we sit down?"  Flynn pointed to two white leather chairs
flanking a huge elaborately carved Chinese table that served as a desk
and which Flynn took a seat behind.  "Raven told me about your
allegations," Flynn said coolly.  "I'm glad to see that you realize how
ridiculous those charges were.  Why, everyone who knows Raven knows
she's an outstanding herbalist--but then," he paused and gave Jeff a
cool stare, "you're not particularly fond of alternative health care
practitioners, are you?"

Jeff stared at the other man for a full minute before he.  spoke.
"We're not hereto discuss my views on the alternative health care
industry.  Besides, I really don't think that'S any of your
business."

Flynn blinked owlishly but maintained a cool air.  "It is when you
accuse a close friend of being irresponsible.  However, as you say,
that's not the point of this meeting.  I just hope you can curb this
tendency to jump to conclusions during this investigation."

Jeff was just about to issue an angry reply when he felt Raven's hand
on his arm.  Her brown eyes met his, and he saw in them her silent plea
for him to hold his temper.  Words had never been necessary between
them.  Suddenly, he was thrust back in time.  For a moment he gave in
to the memories before pushing them back to the recesses of his mind.

"I want you to know," Flynn was saying, clearly unaware of the private
drama being played out between them, "I'll do everything in my power to
help get to the bottom of this thing."  He then offered Raven what Jeff
presumed was his best smile.  "If you like, I'll go around with you and
introduce you to the other suppliers, pave the way, so to speak."

Raven returned his smile.  "That would be--"

"I don't think that's necessary," Jeff said coolly.  "All we need is
some information."  Even if the other man didn't grate on his nerves,
he still wouldn't want him tagging along.  Until he knew exactly what
they were dealing with, the fewer people who knew what was going on,
the better.

But Flynn was not so easily dissuaded.  "I suppose you think you can
just waltz in and the suppliers will tell you everything you want to
know?"

"That's exactly what we're going to do," Jeff said smoothly.  That and
flash Public Health inspectors' badges he'd obtained from a friend.
He'd had to call in quite a few favors to obtain them, but it was worth
it.  Armed with a health inspector badge no one would dare deny them
access to their warehouses or refuse to answer questions, but he wasn't
going to tell Flynn that.  Instead he said, "If they have nothing to
hide, they should have no problems answering our questions."

A muscle worked in Flynn's jaw but when he spoke his voice didn't
betray his inner thoughts.  "What kind of information are you looking
for?"

Jeff shrugged.  "Anything and everything you can tell me about the
other suppliers in the area, particularly those who sell whole
herbs."

Harry waved his hand dismissively.  "There really isn't very much I can
tell you.  There are probably about two dozen suppliers, but I would
guess only about eight deal in whole herbs.  The others sell herbs
exclusively in prepackaged and capsule form, and only to health food
and grocery stores."

Raven looked at Jeff.  "I think we can eliminate all but those eight."
At his nod, she turned back to Flynn.  "What can you tell us about
them?"

"They're smaller distributors, so in order to compete with the larger
suppliers, they deal in more exotic and specialized products, such as
whole herbs."

"And these herbs, are they imported?"

Harry frowned.  "I doubt it.  The red tape involved in something like
that would be too big of a headache, and I can't imagine that it would
be particularly cost-effective.  There can't be that much of a demand
for imported whole herbs.  Besides, most people who want whole herbs
grow their own."  He leaned back in his chair and regarded Jeff coolly.
"Which makes me wonder if you aren't jumping the gun here.  From what I
gather from Raven, you have no evidence connecting your patients'
illnesses to a particular herb or supplier.  This is strictly
speculation on your part."

"That's right," Jeff said, giving him an equally cool share, "but I
think it's well founded.  From the symptoms which at least two, maybe
all three of my patients exhibit, there's a strong probability they
came into contact with some kind of bacterial contaminant."

"And just how did this supposed contamination occur, huh?"  Flynn
challenged.  "From a pesticide?  An herbicide?  During the growing
process?"  He looked over at Raven and grinned.  "Don't you think that
sounds rather far-fetched?"

Jeff would have liked nothing better than to knock that smug smile off
his face, but he held on to his temper.  He sensed the other man was
stonewalling and wondered why.  "Not at all," he said smoothly.  "You,
of all people, should know that some herbs can be contaminated in any
number of ways."

"Perhaps," the other man conceded.  "It's just hard for

me to believe any of the suppliers around here would deal in
contaminated herbs.  They're more responsible than that."

"I don't know why you find that so hard to believe," Jeff said tersely.
"The alternative health care business is an unregulated industry, which
makes it ripe for all kinds of unscrupulous individuals to use to make
a quick buck."

Harry gave him a superior little smile.  "That may be in the case of
you doctors who practice standard medicine, but people who go into
alternative health care do so because they believe in what they're
doing."

"So, you're all a bunch of Boy Scouts?"  Jeff's voice was laced with
sarcasm.  "I wonder what the Health Department would find if they made
an unannounced visit here?"  It was a throwaway accusation, meant to
insult rather than to elicit a response.  But from Flynn's reaction,
the remark hit home.

"Just what the hell are you suggesting?"  Flynn snarled, his face
suddenly transformed into a mask of rage.  Suddenly, he looked older,
meaner, brimming with hostility.  Quite different from the amicable
charmer who had invited them into the office minutes before.  Which
made Jeff wonder just what the hell he was afraid off

"We're not accusing you or anyone of anything," Raven said quickly. She
glared at Jeff.  "Are we?"

He rubbed his hand over his hair in irritation.  "No, of course not.
Hell, I doubt if the particular supplier--if that proves to be the
source of this contaminant---even knows what's happening.  But sticking
your head in the sand and pretending something like this couldn't
happen is also not very productive."

Harry scowled and cleared his throat.  "I was simply pointing out what
I believe to be the fallacy in your logic in order to save you from
wasting time checking out herb suppliers."

Jeff didn't buy his answer for one moment.

"You may be right," Raven said, "but Dr.  Knight feels it's a necessary
part of our investigation."

Harry snorted.  "Or a way of laying blame on an already much maligned
industry.  I would imagine you find us a handy scapegoat for your
medical shortcomings."

Jeff felt his temper rising, but before he could say anything, Raven
surprised him by coming to his defense.  "Jeff may not be an advocate
of alternative health care, but I know he's not vindictive and will be
fair in his investigation."  '

Harry rolled his eyes as if to say he doubted it.

"And Harry," she continued, "I want you to know that we wouldn't be
here if we didn't think you could be of assistance.  You've been in
this business a long time and are in a position to know what's going
on.  We'd like to hear your thoughts on the other suppliers in the
area."  She punctuated her words with a warm smile.

Flynn fairly beamed at her words then launched into a discussion of the
suppliers.  Although he talked for about ten minutes, from what Jeff
gathered, the information amounted to nothing more than a series of
interesting but worthless anecdotes.  But from Raven's rapt expression,
he wasn't sure if she realized her friend was just going through the
motions.  Flynn Concluded by again stating that he thought interviewing
herb suppliers was a waste of time.

"You were saying there are only eight' suppliers that seem to fit our
profile," Raven said.  "Are you aware of any problems any of them may
have been having?"

Flynn waved his hand dismissively.  "Oh, there are a couple of
suppliers that I'd tell you to stay away from.  But that's only because
their products are overpriced and the quality isn't what it should
be."

Jeff frowned.  He'd been hoping for something more substantive than
that.  "What about allegations of impropriety?"  he asked.  "Has anyone
been accused of doing anything illegal?"

"Hendricks and Sons had some problems with some creditors and the

IRS."

Flynn knew good and well that wasn't what Jeff was getting at.  It was
yet another example of his stonewalling.  "What about Food and Drug
Administration concerns?  Anyone having any problems with them?"

"Well, a couple of people did have some problems a while back with the
FDA," Flynn admitted grudgingly.  "But it was nothing very serious."

"Why don't you let us be the judge of that?"  Jeff said crisply.

Flynn cleared his throat.  "Well, I think it had something to do with
ah, importing herbs from the Far East:"

Jeff looked at him incredulously.  "You don't consider buying herbs
from countries that still spray their crops with dangerous pesticides a
serious problem?"

Flynn shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  "Well ... ah, yes, but there
was no harm done.  No one died."

"That time," Jeff snapped.  "We may not have been so lucky this time.
You want to give me the names of these suppliers?"

In a strained voice, Flynn named several suppliers.  Jeff refrained
from mentioning that they were not among the eight he'd previously
identified.  That made twelve suppliers they needed to take a look
at.

He spent saver al more minutes questioning Flynn about the suppliers
who had gotten into trouble, but as hard as he pressed, he didn't get
any more information out of him.  Again he had the impression that
Flynn was hiding something.  He would have liked to question him about
his own business, but he didn't think Raven would put up with it.

"I guess that's it for me," he said, then turned to Raven.  "What about
you?  Any questions?"

"Just a couple," she said.  "Harry, you're familiar with a Reverend
Walters, aren't you?  He has a shop just off Madison in the Loop."

"Why, yes," Harry answered, clearly relieved they'd gotten off the
subject of suppliers.  "I met him about eight, no, maybe nine months
ago.  He was new in town, needed a supplier and said he was willing to
pay top dollar."  "And did you help him out?"

"For a while.  But I stopped supplying him after about two months when
he fell behind in his account."  "Do you know who supplies him now?"
"International Imports supplied him for a short time, but they also
dropped him for nonpayment.  As far as I know, no one is supplying him.
It's my understanding he grows his own herbs."

Jeff looked at Raven.  Now that was an interesting bit of information,
he thought.

"You ever hear any talk about him?"  Raven asked.  Harry chuckled.
"Quite a bit, but probably nothing that could be substantiated ....
"His voice trailed off and suddenly he looked from Raven to Jeff,
realization dawning "You think Walters is the source of this, don't
you?"

Raven hesitated, then shrugged.  "It's a possibility.  He's a man who
plays fast and loose with the facts, and that's landed him in trouble
with the law on more than one occasion.  He's also known for using
substandard products."

Flynn nodded slowly.  "I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if you
found he was the source.  He always did strike me as something of a
sleazy character.  I hope you're going to check him out."

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  He was a little surprised at how quickly the
other man had jumped on the idea of Reverend Walters being the source
of the mysterious illness.  "You didn't know about his criminal record,
then?"  Jeff asked.

"Absolutely not," Harry insisted.  "I don't do business With convicted
felons.  I have a good reputation, and I plan to keep it that way."

"One last thing," Jeff said.  "Would you mind if a couple of staff
members from the hospital come over and took samples of your herbs?"

The only indication that Flynn had been affected by his

words was a slight tremor of his hand.  He'd make a hell of a poker
player, Jeff thought.

"Not at all," Flynn said.

"Is that really necessary--" Raven began.

"It's all right, my dear," Flynn said smoothly.  "Dr.  Knight would be
remiss if he didn't consider all the possibilities.  I have nothing to
hide."

"Glad to hear it," Jeff said curtly.  "Someone from the hospital will
be here in about fifteen minutes to begin collecting samples."  Flynn
visibly paled at his words.  Now he was glad he'd decided to have a
team ready to come in as soon as each interview was completed.  He
didn't want Flynn or any of the suppliers to start running scared and
begin removing any herbs from the premises.

Raven got to her feet and Jeff followed suit.  "Thanks for your help,
Harry," she said.  "If we have any further questions, we'll get back to
you."

Jeff did not offer his hand and neither did Flynn.

The moment they were outside, Raven turned on him, her eyes blazing.
"What was that all about in there?"

Jeff's eyes narrowed, not liking the direction the conversation was
going.  "What do you mean?"

"That performance in there," she snapped.  "You were out of line. Harry
is my friend and I don't appreciate you treating him like some common
criminal."

"Well, someone had to ask the hard questions, you certainly weren't
going to.  You were treating the guy with kid gloves."

"How else was I supposed to treat him?"  she retorted.  "He's a friend
who offered to help us.  I certainly don't think it was necessary to
come down so hard on him."

"As far as I'm concerned, until his herbs are tested and given a clean
bill of health, he's no different from the other suppliers."  At the
stormy look she threw him, Jeff sighed in frustration.  "Look, I
wouldn't have come down so hard on the guy if he'd been more
forthcoming.  But he was stonewalling."

"That's because you came on like gang busters You put him on the
defensive."

He gave her a hard look.  "Who are you trying to kid?  For all his talk
about wanting to help, that's the last thing he was doing."

She looked at him, her expression bleak, and for a moment he wanted to
wrap his arms around her.  A few seconds later, she drew a deep sigh
and nodded.  "I don't understand it.  Harry is one of the most
straightforward individuals I know.  Why would he be uncooperative?"

Why indeed?  Jeff thought, but aloud he said, "Let's go check out those
suppliers."

THEY DREW BLANKS with the first two suppliers, as well as with the
third.  By the time they left the fourth supplier, Raven's anger had
subsided and been replaced with frustration.  Posing as Public Health
inspectors, they'd gained access to the suppliers, as well as free rein
to inspect their warehouses.  She'd been surprised when Jeff had
produced two official-looking badges.  But even under that guise, they
always seemed to hit a brick wall.

Basically everyone told the same story--none of them imported herbs,
all had certificates from local growers certifying the herbs were
chemical, herbicide and irradiation free.  Nor had any of them received
any customer complaints in the last thirty days relating to herb
ingestion.  A few grumbled when Jeff requested a list of their growers
and customers, as well as samples of their herbs, but they all
complied.  They were too intimidated by a visit from Public Health
officials to do otherwise.

Their only promising lead came from a place called Hunan Imports.  The
owner claimed not to know anything about contaminated herbs, but said
he thought they ought to check out a bootleg supplier known as Jackson
Produce.  He said he'd heard talk about them in connection with bad
herbs.  But talk was apparently all it was.  Jackson was a

small mom-and-pop operation and didn't even sell whole herbs.

By the time they completed interviewing all twelve suppliers, Raven's
belief that one of the local suppliers was the source of the bacterial
contaminant was more than a little shaken.  While she knew you couldn't
tell anything from a sight inspection alone, she'd been in the business
long enough to draw some conclusions about herb quality.  And from what
she could see, the herbs seemed to be healthy.  And if the
documentation the suppliers had produced was to be believed, they were
all strictly sanitary and aboveboard.  If Jeff had any such misgivings
he was keeping them to himself

She looked at the handsome man seated across the res-tan rant table
from her, and wondered, once again, about the events leading up to
their having dinner together.  It certainly hadn't been her intention
to spend any time alone with Jeff, other than that which was absolutely
necessary in the course of the investigation.

Spending the day with him had proved to be more difficult than she'd
imagined.  Difficult because she'd been forced to spend time with a man
who'd not only rejected her as a woman but who had openly scoffed at
everything she believed in.  Difficult because she'd had to face the
fact that she had misjudged him so absolutely, that four years ago she
hadn't really known him at all.  Difficult because she was now having
to face the constant reminder of the pain he had caused her.  Difficult
because she was being forced to confront her own stupidity every time
she looked into Jeff's hazel eyes and felt her heart leap and her pulse
kick into double time.

She'd been prepared for that.  What she had not been prepared for was
the memo fides They crept into her subconscious at odd moments, like
when he teased her during lunch, it made her think of romantic lunches
they'd shared in his office and when he'd brush a stray hair from her
face, she recalled how he would stroke her hair after lovemaking.  She
shook her head, banishing the thoughts.  " She didn't want to remember
the good times.  She didn't Want to remember how much she'd respected
him or how much she'd wanted him or loved him.  She'd planned to spend
the evening going over what they'd learned, as well as putting her
jumbled feelings about Jeff into some kind of.  perspective.  But as
they stood outside her shop, he'd suggested that they get together
later that evening and review the events of the day while conversations
and impressions were still fresh in both their minds.  It sounded like
a good idea, and if it had been anyone but Jeff, she'd have readily
agreed.  But she'd hesitated.  Being with him that day had been both
heaven and hell.

She'd wanted to say no.  She'd been extremely tempted to do just that,
but in the end she knew she couldn't.  Aside from the fact that helping
with the investigation could save lives and maybe repair her
reputation, perhaps daily contact with Jeff would help her put the past
behind her, enable her to have a conversation with him without her
heart rate going into the danger zone.  If she backed out of the
investigation now, she'd always wonder how many people died from
ingesting this herbal contaminant because she was too chicken to spend
a little time with Jeff Knight.

That was the only reason she now found herself sitting in Saavedra, a
fashionable restaurant in the Chicago Loop, having dinner with a man
who had almost destroyed her.

She glanced up to find Jeff studying her.  And just like so many times
that day, her heartbeat accelerated and she felt a wave of heat wash
over her.  Why did he have to be so damn good-looking?  And why
couldn't she put the past behind her?  She had no future with Jeff and
she'd do well to remember that.

Praying that her voice wouldn't give away her inner turmoil, she looked
at him and sighed.  "I've never felt so frustrated in my life."

He gave her a lopsided grin, which once again sent her

pulse racing uncontrollably.  "Now you know how I've been feeling for
the past week."

"We had the element of surprise on our side," she said, trying to avoid
looking directly into his hypnotic hazel eyes.  "No one knew we were
coming, yet it still doesn't look as if we came up with anything.  They
were all either telling the truth or else they're all participants in a
massive conspiracy of silence."

Jeff shrugged.  "Could be a little of both.  People are so lawsuit
conscious these days, and they often realize that being completely
forthcoming isn't always in their best interest---especially in a case
like this when they don't know exactly what we're looking for."

She nodded.  "Well, whatever the reason, we'll know soon enough.  We've
got a list of their growers and customers, as well as samples of their
herbs."

Jeff took a sip of his drink.  "Right, and with that information we
should be able to make a conclusive determination about the source of
this contaminant, and hopefully find out who else might be at risk." He
gave her a quizzical look.  "So, why don't you sound happy?"

"Because my gut tells me we've hit a brick wall."

His eyes narrowed.  "Is that your gut or your friend Harry Flynn
talking?"

She decided to ignore his sarcasm.  "Admit it, Jeff, you feel the same
way.  It doesn't mean we're wrong," she added quickly.  "It just means
we may not be able to connect this illness to a particular supplier,
grower or business.  It would certainly make things a lot easier if we
could, but you've got to consider the possibility that we won't be able
to."

For a moment he didn't say anything, then he nodded and sighed wearily.
"I guess I should have known that this wasn't going to be easy. Nothing
else has been."

"How long before we know anything?"  she asked gently.

"Shay and his people finished collecting samples a couple of hours ago
and by now they've begun testing the herbs.  They plan to work around
the clock.  Hopefully, we'll know something in a day or so."

Raven pursed her lips.  "In the meantime, we can check out Reverend
Walters.  I think there's a good chance he could be the source of the
contaminant.  I made a few phone calls after you dropped me off at the
shop.  Besides being something of a weirdo, he's totally irresponsible
in the claims he makes.  Not only is he supposed to be able to effect
miraculous cures, but he also claims he can predict the future."

Jeff gave her a faint smile.  "Quite a talent.  He may be the weirdest
person on the planet, but I don't see how he could be the source of
contaminated herbs."

She looked at him, frowning.  "What is it with you?  I don't recall you
having these reservations when you were accusing me of using
contaminated herbs."

"At that time we had three, not seven patients, two of which I could
connect to you."  Jeff shrugged.  "It seems more speculative now."

"But the man clearly knows next to nothing about alternative medicine,
yet he's out there treating patients with God knows what.  And remember
what Harry said about him growing his own herbs."

"Yeah, good o1' Harry," Jeff said with a twinge of sarcasm.  "Maybe he
just didn't want us focusing too closely on him."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"  he challenged.

"Of course."  She glowered at him.  "I've known Hany for over a year.
He's a good man.  A little arrogant at times, but basically a nice guy.
He has nothing to hide."

"Yeah, but even you have to admit, he seems to be doing his level best
to steer us away from checking out local suppliers.  If he's clean,
then what is he afraid of?."

"I can't imagine he's afraid of anything.  You said yourself my herbs
were clean.  Doesn't that mean Harry's are, too?"

Jeff shook his head.  "Not necessarily.  Maybe yours came from a
different batch."

Raven rolled her eyes.  "And pigs fly.  Why don't you just admit it,
you don't like Harry."

He shifted uncomfortably.  "This has nothing to do with my personal
feelings about the guy.  There's something about his business he's
afraid we're going to find out."  He gave her a sharp glance.  "Just
what does he import and export?"

Raven chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip.  "I know he imports
jewelry, art and some furniture, but, other than that, I'm not really
sure."

Jeff raised his eyebrows.  "That's it?"  he asked in obvious
disbelief.

Raven shrugged.  "Harry and I really haven't talked that much about his
business."

"I guess you've been too busy doing other things," he said dryly.

If she hadn't known better, she could almost believe he was jealous,
but that was ridiculous.

"It's certainly not for me to say who you can and cannot date," he
continued, "but it seems to me that you ought to be a little more
circumspect about who you go out with."

That was too much.  "Thanks for pointing out what a lousy judge of
character I am," she snapped.  "It wouldn't be the first time I've
misjudged a man.  Four years ago, I totally misjudged you, too."

"I'm sorry," he said.  His voice was low and filled with some undefined
emotion.  "I was out of line."  He looked down at his hands.  "I know
you don't consider me a friend, but I still consider you one, and I
don't want to see you get hurt."  He looked and sounded completely
sincere.

"There's nothing between Harry and me," she said softly.  "He's just a
good friend."

Jeff's face broke into a broad smile.  "Good," he said.  She couldn't
stop her heart from racing when he smiled at her that way.  And for a
moment she felt disoriented and thought it best to change the topic.
"Ah ... how are Lauren and Eleanor doing?"

Her question sobered him.  "I wish I could say better, but the opposite
seems to be the case."  He drew a weary sigh.  "Since we have no idea
what we're dealing with, we haven't been able to come up with any kind
of effective treatment.  Both women are critical.  So is the third
patient, Julie Hartman.  I'm afraid if we don't get a break--and
soon--we're going to lose them."

His expression was so bleak that before she could stop herself, she
reached across the table and squeezed his hand.  "I know you're going
to beat this thing."

He gave her a faint smile before covering her hand with his own.  His
hand was warm and firm and, for a moment, she let herself enjoy the
feelings coursing through her, before sliding her hand into her lap.

She lowered her gaze.  She-didn't want to tremble at Jeff's touch,
didn't want to feel the old desire inside her rising up like smoke and
stealing her breath away.  She didn't want to, but she did.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," he was saying, "but the cards
seem to be stacked against us.  I've spent two years with the World
Health Organization, studying some of the most virulent diseases on the
planet, and I've never seen anything like this before.  It hasn't
responded to any treatment we've tried to date.  It's not natural."

A chill went up her spine at his words.  "What do you mean, not
natural?"

He shook his head.  "I can't put my finger on it, but this thing just
doesn't feel right.  It's not behaving like any infectious disease I've
ever encountered."

She looked at him, frowning.  "What do you mean?"  "From the symptoms
the patients exhibit, it appears to

be a bacterial infection, but it's not responding to the
antibiotics."

Her frown deepened.  "What about the autopsies on the four who died
earlier?  Weren't they able to tell you anything?"

He shook his head again.  "Unfortunately, only one autopsy was
performed, and it was something of a botched job."

Her mouth dropped open.  "You're kidding?  Why weren't autopsies
performed on the other three?"

"In one case the family refused to allow it because of religious
convictions.  In the other two, none was performed because in each case
the attending physicians listed a cause of death and didn't request
one.  Short of exhuming the bodies, we're stuck with just the tissues
from the one autopsy."

She drew a quick intake of breath.  "That's awful."  Jeff shrugged.
"It's regrettable, but understandable.  I spoke to both doctors and
what it boils down to is a case of wanting to spare the families any
further pain."

Or themselves from a malpractice lawsuit, she thought, but aloud she
said, "The reason doesn't matter.  No doctor has the right to lie about
something like that.  The families have a right to know."

He shrugged again.  "Maybe, but doctors frequently make those kinds of
judgment calls.  Remember the period prior to the identification of the
AIDS virus?  A lot of patients that we now know died of that disease,
their death certificates list the cause of death as pneumonia or
cancer.  No doubt the doctors felt they had to list a cause of death to
bring closure to the situation.  And I'm sure that during the time you
worked in the hospital, you probably encountered the case where a
teenager's death was listed as accidental, even though the doctors and
the entire nursing staff knew the kid probably committed suicide.  I'm
not saying that it's right or that I personally subscribe to that
philosophy, I'm simply saying that it happens."

It wasn't that it happened that bothered her.  It was his attitude.  He
saw nothing wrong with this Godlike attitude on his part and that of
his colleagues, but she held her tongue.  It was just another reminder
that her own and Jeff's views on health care were diametrically
opposed, another reminder why a relationship between the two of them
would never work.

"Tell me again what the symptoms of this illness are?"  she asked,
changing the subject.

He hesitated as if he were considering how much he should tell her. "It
begins with a headache and fever," he said finally.  "Followed by
severe abdominal cramps, vomiting and diarrhea.  Then there is a
general wasting away of the person's immune system.  Once the immune
system is impaired, other organs are affected,"

"That sounds ominous.  So what course of treatment are you
following?"

He issued a frustrated sigh.  "You should be asking what treatment we
haven't tried.  They've run the gamut of antibiotics.  I don't know
what we're going to do if they don't respond to this latest one."

"You know," she said, weighing her words carefully, "there have been
some amazing results with certain herbs in repairing the body's immune
system.  Since you've had no luck with conventional treatment, what
about trying an unconventional one?"

His eyes narrowed.  "If you're suggesting we use some off-the-wall,
alternative health care treatment, forget it."

Her chin rose a fraction.  "Why not?  You've got nothing to lose."

"That's not the point!"  he snapped.  "We don't experiment on
people."

"Who said anything about experimenting?"  she asked, trying to hang on
to her temper.  "There is an abundance of literature on the subject.
These are methods that are generally recognized by alternative health
care practitioners, as well as a number of medical doctors."

Jeff groaned in frustration.  "Look, we've had this argument more
times than I care to remember.  You're not going to change my mind, and
I'm not going to change yours, so let's just drop it."

She thought about pressing the issue, but the look on his face told her
the matter was closed.  She issued a deep sigh.  "Then I guess we
should talk about our meeting with Reverend Walters."

"I think that might be a good idea."

"Our appointment with him is for Wednesday at two.  I thought the
afternoon would be best.  Your morning will be free for classes and
hospital rounds.  It'll also allow me time to relieve Phyllis at the
shop in the morning."

He nodded.  "How did you get an appointment so quickly?"

"I told him we'd been referred by Eleanor Parker, and that money was no
problem."

He gave her a sideways glance.  "Just exactly how are we going to play
this?"

Her mouth curved into a Mona Lisa smile.  "We're going to give him
enough rope to hang himself."

HE SAT IN THE TINY stall in the men's room, his head between his knees
until his breathing returned to normal, until he was sure the
expression and color of his face wouldn't betray his agitation.  In the
first moment when he'd realized the blonde was going to leave without
drinking her coffee, he'd been so angry he had wanted to kill her right
then and there.  The blood had rushed to his head.  It had taken all
his willpower not to jump across the table, wrap his hands around her
throat and squeeze--squeeze until her beady little eyes closed.

He drew a deep breath.  He still couldn't believe she'd walked out.  He
had studied her movements for the past several days, until he had them
down pat.  She went to the library every night, always studied in the
same secluded area in the back, and she always had at least two cups of
coffee while she studied.  Something had spooked her, he thought.  Had
he been a little too intense?  Or perhaps she had seen what he'd done?
But as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he discarded it.  No,
it couldn't be that.  He was too practiced in that area by now.  Maybe
she'd left because she thought he was trying to come on to her.  That
was it!  She had made some comment about a husband, but he hadn't seen
a wedding ring.  Lying bitch.

He couldn't sit here forever.  He had to get out of this bathroom, this
library, and... And what?  The blonde had really loused things up.
She'd forced him to remain in the library longer than he'd planned to
find another pigeon.  He'd been so nervous, but he'd pulled it off.

Now he was going to have to scratch the other one.  But he couldn't go
home; he had to act tonight, or he'd lose a whole week.  And that would
throw everything off.  He shook his head.  He had to stay on schedule.
He glanced at his watch.  If he hurried, maybe he could still get to
Smitty's in time.

He drew a deep breath, stood and pushed open the stall door.  He walked
over to the basin and studied his face in the water-spotted mirror
above the sink.  He'd unbuttoned the top buttons on his shirt, trying
to get some air; he rebuttoned them now, readjusted the wig then
smoothed back the hair with his palms.  His forehead and upper lip were
beaded with sweat.  He looked at the paper-towel dispenser.  It was.
empty.  He stuck his hand in his pocket and reached for his
handkerchief.  However, his fingers touched a small slender object and
he smiled.

He was glad now he'd decided to bring the extra vial with him tonight
and keep it in the glove compartment of his car.  He'd worded, though.
What if the cops stopped him for something and asked to see his
registration and asked him about the vial?  He had no idea what he
would do.  But he'd decided to chance it and now he was glad he had.

He wiped his hands on his pants, then pushed the bathroom door open.
Five minutes later he was in the car, belted, the items from the glove
compartment on the seat next to him.

Twenty minutes later he glanced at the wall clock as he entered the
popular sports bar.  It was 9:23.  He'd just made it.  The bar was
relatively quiet this time of the week.  Not nearly as busy as he would
have liked.  Just a few regulars.  It would be risky, but he thought he
could pull it off.  He spent a few minutes checking out the bar,
formulating a new plan.  Some people were sitting at tables, some
standing at the bar.  There was a young waitress taking a drink order.
Was there another waiter or waitress somewhere in the room, or was he
or she in back?  He'd have to take the chance.  The bartender was
behind the bar, deep in conversation with a couple of patrons.  He
passed right by him, but the bartender didn't look up.

He forced himself to peruse the sports memorabilia that lined the walls
as he worked his way toward the back of the room.  There were lots of
pictures of Chicago sports legends--from Michael Jordan to Ernie Banks
to Dick Butkus to Tony Esposito.  He paused, looking at a Chicago Cubs
team picture.  Now that he was settled, he might join a baseball team
himself.  He'd always liked the game.  He continued his trek, skirting
the pool table until he reached the back.

There was the door he wanted, the one next to the men's room.  Do Not
Enter--Employees Only.  He glanced around.  No one was looking his way.
He turned the knob, pushed open the door, and slipped inside, prepared
to make an excuse about thinking it was the men's room if anyone was
there.  But the room was empty.  All he had to do was wait for the
bartender to enter.

He didn't have to wait long.  The bartender was a creature of habit. He
always took a cigarette break at nine-thirty.  He smelled the
bartender's cologne as soon as he entered.  The bartender didn't know
he was hidden in the narrow triangle between the opening door and the
wall, didn't sense his presence until it was too late.  He gave the
bartender a sharp whack on the back of the head with the side of his
hand, but it only stunned him.  He hit him twice more on the side of
the face, before the man fell to his knees, then crumpled to the floor.
It was only after he positioned him on the floor that he saw the
bartender's bruised face.  It wasn't the way he liked to do things, but
it wasn't his fault.  He'd been nervous.  It was the blonde's fault. If
she'd just drunk her coffee the way she was supposed to, he wouldn't
have been forced to improvise.

He quickly removed the bartender's watch and ring, then went through
his pockets, searching for his wallet.  After he Was done, he left the
room as carefully as he entered it, armed with an excuse; but again, no
one was looking.  Then he meandered among the tables until he made his
way back to the front of the bar and out the door.

The cool, crisp night air felt wonderful.  He felt wonderful.  Back in
his apartment he removed the wig and tinted contact lenses, then took a
long, hot shower, inhaling the steamy vapors.  Hot water soon gave way
to warm.  He dried off, then slipped on freshly laundered pajamas and a
robe.  He walked down the hall to the study, where he poured himself a
drink.  He downed it in one greedy gulp, then poured himself another.
Glass in hand, he crossed over to the large oak desk in the center of
the room, found the photograph he wanted, then added it to his
collection.

He stepped back and as he studied his handiwork, his mouth curved into
a smile.  "Two down, two to go."

Chapter Five

They found the little shop on Canal Street without too much trouble. It
was tucked neatly on the corner, flanked by a boutique and a
restaurant.  The sign painted on the window simply read Reverend
Charles Waiters: Naturopathic Medicine.

Jeff held the door and Raven stepped inside.  She'd expected to see the
usual array of metaphysical paraphernalia: incense, oils, candles and
crystals in various shapes and sizes.  She wasn't disappointed.  But
the shop itself was something of a surprise.  It was designed to
resemble the waiting room of a doctor's office, complete with the usual
rack of magazines and waiting-room chairs.  A young, pretty black woman
dressed in a long, flowing white robe looked up from the reception desk
as they entered.  "May I help you?"  she asked.

"I'm Rebecca Smith and this is Wade Jeffers," Raven said easily.  "We
have a two o'clock appointment with Reverend Walters."

"I'll let him know you're here."  She pressed a button on her desk, and
a soft chiming sound rang out.  Then she turned to them, smiled and
said, "He'll be right with you."

A moment later, a door opened and a slightly overweight, light-skinned
black man swept into the room.  He was dressed in a long, flowing deep
purple robe that was gathered about his large waist by a gold braided
rope belt.  He reminded Raven of a peacock.

"Ms.  Smith, Mr.  Jeffers," he gushed.  "It's a pleasure to meet you.
My contemplation room is through here."  Reverend Walters opened the
door and held out his arm like a spokesperson pointing to a dream
vacation.

Jeff threw Raven a telling look as they followed him through the
doorway and down a narrow hail that opened into a small carpeted and
heavily draped chamber.  The room was dimly lit and sparsely
furnished--just a couch, a round table, three chairs, several file
cabinets, and a wall unit lined with canisters containing what she
presumed were herbs.  His work area was probably in another room, she
thought.

"Please sit down."  Reverend Walters lowered himself into one of the
chairs and waited until they were seated, then looked at Jeff.  "I
understand you have a problem with impotence," he said delicately.

"Ah ... that's correct," Jeff replied, his hazel eyes boring into
Raven.

It took all her efforts to keep a straight face.

"I have a special herb ai tonic that will help.  It's a tad expensive."
He named an amount that was more than Raven made in a week.  "I can
give it to you, and we can end the session right now, but I would only
be treating the outward manifestation of a deeper psychic problem."  He
paused, leaned across the table and looked at them as if he were about
to disclose some deep dark secret.  "What I'd like to do is call upon
my spiritual guide to show me the root of this problem.  It will be
slightly more expensive, but it's the difference between a quick fix
and a permanent solution.  I, personally, believe you can't put a price
on good health.  And I think you feel that way, too."

He reached across the table and took each of their hands in his.  "Will
you let me cure you?  Will you let me do that for you?"

He was good, she thought.  Just the right degree of sincerity.

Raven and Jeff both nodded.

"Good," he said, beaming.  He then instructed them to keep their feet
flat on the floor and place their hands, palms down, on the table. Then
he closed his eyes and began to breathe deeply.  After a moment, he
began to speak, "The spirit says the two of you have been together
through many incarnations.  You are more than friends.  You're soul
mates.  But in this lifetime there have been problems that prevented
your coming together as one."

An eerie chill worked its way up Raven's spine.  She shivered, causing
her purse to slip from her fingers to the carpeted floor.  In the quiet
of the room, it had the effect of a gun going off.

Reverend Walters's eyes flew open and he looked at her, perturbed by
the interruption.  "Please, there must be absolute silence.  Noises and
unnecessary movement disrupts my communication."

"So, when do we get to ask questions?"  Jeff asked innocently.

"After I'm done you may ask anything you like."  "But isn't the spirit
gone by then?"  Jeff persisted.

She could hear the laughter in his voice and threw him a warning
look.

Reverend Walters's eyes narrowed.  "The sessions are very tiring for
me, and it takes several hours to renew my energies after a reading.
For that reason, I see a limited number of clients daily and only by
referral."  He looked at them and frowned.  "Didn't Mrs.  Parker
explain this to you ?"  '

"Ah, yes, she did," Raven said hurriedly.  The last thing she wanted
was to have him get suspicious and clam up before they were able to
question him.

For a moment he didn't say anything.  She had a feeling he was about to
call a halt to the session, but greed must have gotten the better of
him, because he once again closed his eyes and began taking deep,
cleansing breaths.  There was a long period of silence, during which
Raven felt her hands grow moist again.  Jeff would laugh at her if he
knew how anxious she felt at the moment.  The man was a fraud.  He
could no more predict the future than she could.  And yet some of the
things he had said a moment ago were eerily close to the truth.  She
gave herself a mental shake.  It had just been a lucky guess.

At first she thought the room was slowly getting darker, then she
realized that it wasn't the room, but the area directly behind Reverend
Walters that seemed to be glowing very faintly, giving the area behind
his head a halo effect, like the ones in religious pictures.  Probably
some lighting trick, she surmised.  No telling what gadgets were
concealed in the wall behind him or in the table itself.

Finally, Reverend Walters began to speak.  The words came out faintly
as if from a great distance and with what sounded like a great deal of
effort.  Raven leaned forward, straining to hear clearly.

"The spirit says you are soul mates," Reverend Walters began.  "But
differences in this lifetime have kept you apart.  For a while it
seemed as if these differences were insurmountable ... that led to
separation.  For the last few years you have traveled different paths."
He frowned.  "I don't understand ... ah, yes, it becomes clearer.  Your
separation was necessary for your individual growth.  You had different
things you needed to learn before coming together in this lifetime, but
now that period is over and your paths have crossed again.  While you,
Ms.  Smith, have reconciled your differences, Mr.  Jeffers has only
done so on an emotional level.  He has not done so intellectually." His
eyes flew open and his pudgy face broke into a beaming smile.

"That's what is causing your impotence.  It's an outward manifestation
of this internal conflict, but I-can help you."  So much for psychic
abilities, she thought.

"You can cure impotence?"  Jeff asked incredulously.

Reverend Walters gave him a smug, superior little smile.  "Impotence,
infertility, cancer, AIDS."  He waved his hand dismissively.  "I don't
mean to brag, but you'll search far and wide, and you won't find
another like me.  I'm one in a million."

Thank God for that, Raven thought.

"I spent many years in the Far East, studying with some of the wisest
men there," Reverend Walters continued.  "They taught me many
things--how to tap into the cosmic consciousness to diagnose physical
illnesses, as well as the secret of herbal healing.  Through those
contacts, I have access to herbs that are not known by practitioners in
this country but which have been used for centuries in other parts of
the world.  They are some of the finest and rarest on the planet."  He
named several that Raven knew were ineffective, and two that were
illegal to import because of their toxicity.

Her heart began to pound with excitement.  She schooled her features so
as not to betray her excitement.  "If these herbs are so rare just how
are you able to get them?"  she asked.

Reverend Walters's mouth curved into a smug little smile.  "A good
doctor never discloses his secrets, not for any amount of money."

"What about to stay out of jail?"  Jeff asked bluntly.  "Oh, Lord!"
Reverend Walters gasped.  "You're police officers."  His right hand
flew to his mouth, and he looked from Jeff to Raven, his eyes wide with
horror.

Jeff shook his head.  "We're not from the police, but unless you want
to spend the next couple of hours talking to them and the FDA, you'd
better cooperate with us."

"Now I get it," he cried.  "This is some kind of shakedown.  How much
do you want?  Five hundred?  A thousand?"  Gone was the relaxed,
easygoing, good-natured manner.  His small beady eyes took on a cold,
shrewd look.

Jeff shook his head again.  "All we want is some information."

"What kind of information?"  he asked cautiously.  "About two of your
clients, Lauren Connor and Eleanor Parker.  It's my understanding
you've been seeing both women."

Walters shrugged offhandedly.  "So what?  There's no law against
that."

"No," Jeff agreed, "there isn't, but there's a law against murder.  It
seems whatever herbal concoction you gave them may be killing them and
others."

Walters's face drained of color.  "Killing people!  I I don't know what
you're talking about.  I haven't done anything wrong."

"Those imported herbs you were just bragging about appear to have been
contaminated."

Reverend Walters's head shook back and forth like a rag doll.  "Look
man, you're barking up the wrong tree.  I--I was just talking.
Embellishing my story."  Beads of sweat dotted his brow as the words
tripped out of his mouth so fast he was babbling.  "My ... my herbs
aren't imported.  It's just a line I feed the customers ... to justify
the cost."

"What about your herb garden?"  Jeff asked.

"I d-don't have a garden," Walters stammered.  "I tell people I do, but
it's not true.  Hell, I don't know anything about growing herbs.  I get
them from the local grocery store."  He named a popular supermarket
chain.  His eyes swiveled from Jeff to Raven.  "They couldn't hurt
anyone."

"Maybe," Jeff said.  "Let's start at the beginning.  I want to know why
Eleanor Parker and Lauren Connor came to see you, what herbs you gave
them and for how long.  I also want to know the last time you saw them
and who else you gave that same herbal concoction."

For a moment, Walters didn't say anything.

Jeff gave him a hard look.  "I can have the FDA here within the
hour."

Raven knew they couldn't but hoped Walters bought the threat.

"All right," Walters said.  He stood, walked over to one of the file
cabinets, and rifled through a series of cards before pulling out two.
He quickly skimmed one of the cards, then looked at Jeff.  "Mrs. Parker
wanted a love potion to keep her husband from straying.  I made one for
her, and then gave her an herbal tea to drink for seven days."

He named an herb that was known for its strong bitter taste, but wasn't
harmful.

"What about Lauren Connor?"  Jeff asked.

Reverend Walters took a moment to study the other card then said, "She
was having money problems and wanted something to improve her luck with
the lottery.  I gave her a good luck charm and ... ah ... the same
herbal tea that I gave Mrs.  Parker."

"How many other people did you give that same tea?"  Jeff asked.

Reverend Walters's eyes skidded off to the side.  "Ah ... I'm not
sure."

"Was it ten?  Twenty?"

"Look, I said I don't remember."

Raven's eyes widened as realization dawned.  She looked at Jeff and saw
the same horror reflected in his eyes.  "My God, you gave everyone that
came to you that same tea, didn't you?"

HOURS LATER, Raven was still reeling from Reverend Walters's
revelation.  She and Jeff were sitting on the sofa in Jeff's office,
sipping coffee and digesting what they had learned from their
interview.  "What do you think?"  she asked.  "You think Walters is the
source of this bacterial contaminant?"

Jeff wearily ran his hand over his face.  "If he is, he's not about to
admit it."  Raven nodded.  After Reverend Walters's initial disclosure,
the ramifications of his admission must have hit him, because he'd
suddenly clammed up.  He'd not only refused to answer any more
questions, but refused to give them the names of the other customers
he'd given the herbal brew or provide them with a sample of his herbs.
Even though he'd given them the name of the grocery store where he'd
supposedly purchased the herbs, it was a large chain and there was no
way to prove or disprove his claim.

"We could try threatening to report him to the Health Department?"

Jeff shook his head.  "At this stage threats aren't going to work, we'd
have to go through with it.  And you know the hospital is still opposed
to bringing in the CDC or the Health Department."  He rubbed his
temples.  "Frankly, I don't know what to believe anymore.  I was so
sure the source of this thing had to be one of the suppliers."

"But Shay's preliminary testing has all but ruled out that
possibility," Raven countered, recalling the report they'd just
reviewed.  "And he's not optimistic that further testing is going to
change that conclusion."

"I know."  Jeff sighed heavily.

"Walters has to be the source."  When Jeff didn't respond, she tried
again.  "He's an alternative practitioner.  I'd have thought you'd jump
at the chance to pin this illness on one of us."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take
them back.

Jeff recoiled as if she'd hit him.  "What I did four years ago, I did
because I thought it was for the best.  I never wished you ill or
derived any pleasure from what happened he said quietly.  His eyes
seemed to plead for understanding.

"I know," she said.

He drew a deep breath as if he were trying to get his courage up.  "My
biggest regret is that I never talked to you about it.  I've had four
years to think about what happened, and I know you didn't do anything
wrong.  I don't

know what caused Mr.  Redmond's medical emergency or why Teresa
lied."

That was the last thing she'd expected him to say.  "Did someone come
forward?"

He shook his head.  "Working in some of the remote locations I've been
in the last two years gave me plenty of time to think.  And I know you,
and I know you'd never do something like that."

This was what she'd longed to hear Jeff say, but now that he'd said it,
she realized it really didn't change anything.  His opinion of
alternative health care hadn't changed.  She knew he wanted her to say
something, but she didn't know what to say.

She cleared her throat.  "Why don't we put our heads together and
review what we know about Reverend Walters?  Maybe we can come up with
something to tip the scale."

He looked as if he wanted to say something more, but apparently thought
better of it.  He nodded.  "That sounds like a good idea."

"Let's start with Walters's initial claim that his herbs are imported,"
she said, settling back into the sofa cushions.

"We know that's probably a lie."  Jeff said, stretching his arm across
the back of the sofa.  "If he wouldn't pay Flynn for his herbs, I can't
see him paying double the price for imports.  Besides, he didn't have
to go to that kind of trouble or expense.  None of his clients would be
able to tell the difference between imported herbs and plain iced
tea."

Raven nodded in agreement.  "If we rule out imports, then that takes us
to his claim about growing his own.  You know that actually fits," she
said slowly, turning the idea over in her mind.  "It's consistent with
the type of scam he's running, and it's also consistent with what Harry
heard about him."  She leaned forward.  "From that drivel he was giving
us about the type of herbs he supposedly imports, it's clear he knows
next to nothing about them.  Maybe he got his hands on some poisonous
plant."

Jeff considered her words for a moment then shook his head.  "Even if
that were the case, the majority of plants that are poisonous aren't
lethal.  And those that are, are lethal immediately or in a short
period of time after ingestion."

"Maybe he used some kind of chemical compound to control plant
parasites," she countered, "and that compound is now acting like a
poisonous agent."

Jeff shook his head again.  "You'd still have the same problems."

"What about a preservative?"

He cocked his head to the side and grinned.  "You don't give up, do
you?"

"Not on something like this," she quipped, enjoying the banter.  It
reminded her of their late-night brainstorming sessions of the past.
"And I'm surprised at you.  You used to be more creative in your
thinking."

"I still am.  In some areas," he teased, flashing her a sexy smile.
"Would you like for me to demonstrate?"  His hazel eyes danced with
pure devilment.

"The only thing I want you to demonstrate is some original thinking,"
she said, trying to ignore the way her heart had begun to pound.  His
masculinity drew her, pulled at her, like steel to a magnet.
"Everything you've said is true, but we don't know what poison we're
dealing with, so we can't rule out the possibility."

Her words sobered him.  "You're right.  Of course, we'd have to know
what poison to test for.  But there are, in fact, very few poisons that
are ideal.  By that I mean odorless, colorless, tasteless, quick
acting, and non traceable Besides, most poisons have there own built-in
clues for detection."

"What about an herbicide pesticide?"  she pressed.

He shook his head.  "It wouldn't produce the kind of symptoms we've
seen.  They work chiefly on the central nervous system, causing hyper
excitability and muscle weakness."  He looked at her from beneath
lowered eyelids.  "But then, so do certain petite women."

Heat coursed through her at his look, but she did her best not to let
him know how much his words affected her.  "Okay, if we rule out
herbicide and pesticide poisoning, then that leaves us with one other
possibility.  There's nothing to say he didn't lace them with
something--some concoction--that he thought was harmless but, in fact,
caused this illness."  She was surprised she sounded so calm and in
control, when her heart was slamming against her chest.  "The guy is
cheap, so in order to stretch out his herb supply, he probably cuts
them with something."

Jeff pursed his lips as he considered the idea.  "It's a possibility,
but there's still one problem with this whole line of argument."

She sighed.  "I knoW.  It doesn't square with the facts.  Other than
Lauren Connor and Eleanor Parker, none of the other patients seemed to
have had any contact with him."

"It's possible that they are not being entirely forthcoming," Jeff
said.  "It might be a little embarrassing for some of them, but I don't
think that's the case."  He rubbed the back of his neck.  "As much as I
dislike the guy, the facts seem to actually point to his innocence."

"But if we rule out Reverend Walters, where does that leave us?"

Jeff shook his head.  "I'm not suggesting we rule him out.  Frankly, I
think it's too soon to rule out anyone or anything.  I'm just not sure
how he fits into the equation," he explained.  "If we're dealing with
an herbal contaminant, then the source of the infectious agent would
most likely be a supplier, which would explain how seven unrelated
people could be exposed to the same thing.  I don't see how something
this deadly could have originated with a single individual.  If that
was the case then there should be a direct link between Reverend
Walters and all seven patients, and the numbers of cases would probably
be greater."

"On the surface there was no apparent connection between Lauren Connor
and Eleanor Parker, either," Raven countered.  "But the connection was
there.  It was Grace Wells.  She was the link.  She knew both women and
while she denies it, probably referred both of them to me and Reverend
Walters."

"Okay, you've convinced me.  I'll go through the medical charts again."
He flashed her another dazzling smile.  "It would go faster if I had a
helper."

"I think I can hang around for a little while," she said, returning his
smile.  "Just let me call Phyllis to let her know that she needs to
close for me."

While she was making her call, Jeff got the files arid placed them on
the sofa table.  For the next hour they painstakingly went through each
chart, amassing diverse data on age, sex, lifestyle, occupation and
living environment, then cross-referencing the information with each of
the other patients.  Raven recorded their findings in a notebook.

Next they turned to the admission log for each patient.  Jeff had just
finished reading Lauren Connor's log, when it suddenly hit her.

"Wait a minute," she said, flipping through her notes until she found
the page she wanted.  "Go back to the date of Lauren's admission.  When
was it?"

It took him a moment to find the section.  "She was admitted on
Thursday, June 23, at 3:16 a.m."

"And Eleanor Parker?"

"Just a minute."  She watched as he put one file aside, picked up
another and flipped through several papers.  "Parker was admitted on
Wednesday, June 15, at 10:47 p.m."

"What about Julie Hartman?"

"She was admitted on Wednesday, June 8, at l 1:05 p.m."

"I think there's a pattern here," she said excitedly.  "All

of the patients were admitted on either a late Wednesday night or
early Thursday morning."

Jeff nodded.  "You may be on to something."

Heart pounding, she waited while Jeff checked the other four charts. It
was the same.  Every patient had been admitted on either a Wednesday
night or a Thursday morning.

"What do you think it means?"  she asked.

He gave her a thoughtful look.  "I don't know, but it must mean
something.  I've never heard of an illness that picks a specific day of
the week to strike its victims and with such regularity.  One patient a
week for seven weeks."  He shook his head.  "It doesn't feel right.
Let's keep digging, maybe we'll come up with something else."

They worked for close to two hours, going over patient information,
looking for connections with Reverend Walters, as well as possible
connections between patients.  A little after ten, Jeff rubbed his
hands over his face, leaned back into the sofa cushions, eyes closed.

"I gotta stop," he said.  "I'm losing my concentration.  I'm sorry, but
after I left you last night, I went back to the hospital and was there
half the night."  He rubbed the back of his neck.  "I haven't slept
more than six hours in the past forty-eight hours."

He did look tired, she thought.  Tired, but extremely sexy and... There
was a time when she would have leaned over and massaged his neck and
shoulders.

Looking over at Jeff, she couldn't help but acknowledge that she still
found him attractive.  But there was no way she had any interest in
rekindling a relationship with him.  No matter how attracted she was to
him, she knew nothing had changed.  Jeff still regarded alternative
medicine, her vocation, with disdain.

But something in the way she was looking at him must have telegraphed
itself to Jeff.  To her overactive imagination, it seemed his nostrils
flared and his hazel eyes smoldered with passion.

The air, so calm and steady just moments before, now seemed charged
with sexual tension.  Suddenly, all she wanted to do was get out of his
office and return to the safe cocoon of her apartment.  "I'd better
go," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her nervousness.

"Okay," he said vaguely.  "I'll drive you home."  Damn!  She'd
forgotten that he'd picked her up at the shop earlier.  She would have
preferred to take a cab, but didn't want to appear churlish.  "Thanks,"
she mumbled.  She stood and walked self-consciously over to his desk
and began collecting her papers.  She sensed rather than heard Jeff
come up behind her.

"I really appreciate your letting me participate in the investigation,"
she whispered.  He was standing so close she could feel his breath in
her hair.  "I'd be going crazy sitting around the shop, not knowing
what was happening."

"I'm really sorry you got dragged into this, but we do make a good
team."  Jeff's breath seared her neck.  A shudder ran through her
body--not one of fear, but of arousal.  Even without looking at him,
she could sense his need, simmering to the surface.  Before she could
react, she felt his hands on her shoulders.  The heat from his fingers
seemed to sizzle right through her dress straight to her skin.
Everything inside her told her to run, to get the hell out of there.
But she didn't.  She couldn't.  She stood there waiting.  Waiting until
he slowly turned her around.  For a moment they stood staring at each
other.

And then slowly his head began to move toward her.  She knew this was a
bad idea, that she ought to push him away, but she could only watch,
mesmerized as his mouth drew nearer.

"I've been dying to taste you again," he whispered before covering her
mouth with his.  Hot and hungry, that was the only way to describe his
mouth as it moved over hers, mingling desire with something nameless.

A wild surge of pleasure racked her body.  She felt blood

rushing through her body like a raging fire.  Giving in to temptation
and the attraction she had been fighting since seeing him again, she
wound her arms around his neck and arched against him, quivering, as
hot waves of desire consumed her.

At the same time, Jeff's hands were moving down her sides.  Then she
felt his hands lightly brush against the under curve of her breasts,
then cup them gently.  She moaned as his thumbs stroked her nipples.
His hands felt so good on her body.  A wave of heat washed over her as
she gave herself up to the pleasure of his mouth, his touch.

No words were spoken; there was only the low, aching moans of need.
They were both breathing so hard, so fast, that her ears were filled
with the sound.  She scarcely heard the telephone ringing.  Only when
it had rung again and again did her feverish brain finally register
what it was.

It took all her willpower to swim against the flood of desire.  She
struggled to pull away.  "Th-the telephone--"

"Let it ring."  His mouth slid down to her throat, scorching her flesh
with his lips.  His face burrowed through the thick strands of her hair
to press hungrily against her neck.  His fingers gripped her shoulders
as if he were afraid she'd pull away.  Her whole body was aching for
him.

But the sound continued, grating and unrelenting, nagging with a sense
of urgency.

"Jeff," she whispered breathlessly.  "You'd better answer it.  It could
be important."

Groaning, he wrenched away and she saw the astonishment in his eyes.
For a moment they stared at each other, neither of them able to believe
what had just happened between them.  The phone rang again.

Her thoughts in turmoil, she watched as Jeff leaned over the desk and
picked up the receiver.  She stared at him, aware of her hot tingling
mouth, and her hot tingling body, aware of herself as a woman in a way
she hadn't felt in years.

"Yeah," he said into the receiver.

He didn't say much, just listened then finally nodded.  "Tn be right
there."

He hung up and looked at Raven.  "That was the hospital.  Eleanor
Parker went into cardiac arrest, but she's stable now."

Something in his tone made her look at him sharply.  "But something
else has happened."  Her heart was pounding a mile a minute.  "What is
it?"

His expression was grim.  "We just admitted another patient showing
signs of the illness..."

"And today's Wednesday," she finished for him.

Chapter Six

What the hell kind of disease was he dealing with?  Jeff asked himself
angrily.  His thoughts were in turmoil as he preceded Raven out of the
elevator on the fifth floor of the hospital and down the pristine
corridor toward the special intensive care unit he'd set up to handle
this growing medical crisis.  He'd always thought of himself as being a
good doctor, but this disease had him second-guessing himself, doubting
his own abilities.  Not to mention, acting like a damn fool.  How else
could he explain his earlier behavior?

He looked at the woman walking alongside him.  He couldn't believe he
had kissed her like that.  He'd totally lost it.  He hadn't known what
to say so he'd taken refuge in silence, acting as if the kiss had never
occurred, talking only about the disease.  For her part, Raven seemed
to be working hard to do the same.  But then he'd gone and asked her to
accompany him to the hospital.

It certainly hadn't been necessary.  He could have sent her home in a
cab.  But it felt so damn good being with her that he hadn't wanted to
call a halt to the evening.  Besides, she'd always been a good sounding
board, and he was relieved to have someone he could talk to about this
medical crisis.

But the moment he stepped through the set of double doors and entered
the special intensive care unit, all thoughts of Raven were pushed out
of his mind.  This unit was identical to the sixth floor I.C.U, with
its familiar backdrop of complicated electronic machinery.  Everywhere
there was a profusion of tubes, bottles and hissing machines.  There
was the smell of disinfectant, the sound of respirators and cardiac
monitors.  There was also the same high level of nursing activity.

"Are all the patients who've exhibited signs of the mysterious illness
in this wing?"  Raven asked.

He nodded.  "Some of our most experienced personnel work here.  Julie
Hartman and Eleanor Parker are in the cubicles on the left, and Lauren
Connor is on the right."

As they neared the nurses' station, he saw Glenn Myers walking toward
them.  "Dr.  Myers, this is Raven Delaney," he said by way of
introduction.

The young resident gave Raven a haggard smile before turning back to
Jeff.  "I'm sorry I had to interrupt your evening, but I thought 'you'd
want to know about Mrs.  Parker, as well as this latest admission."

Jeff nodded.  "How's Mrs.  Parker?"  he asked, already moving down the
corridor in the direction of her cubicle.  "Not good, but she's stable
now."  "What happened?"

Dr.  Myers frowned.  "I'm not sure.  She was having chest pains.  Her
husband said--"

Jeff looked at Dr.  Myers, surprised.  "Mr.  Parker was here?"

"Still is.  I knew you'd want to talk to him, so I asked him to stick
around.  Apparently his wife became distraught when he tried to leave,
and that's what brought on this latest problem.  We have her on a heart
monitor."

Jeff's thoughts were grim as they moved in the direction of her
cubicle.  With her diabetes, he should have anticipated something like
this, he thought.

The trio came to a stop outside Eleanor Parker's cubicle.  Adjacent to
the room was a small, open, closet like area, containing shelving for
linen and other supplies, a sink and a large laundry hamper.  He looked
at Raven and pointed

to a small rack.  "You'd better slip on a mask and gown," he said.
"For obvious reasons, we're observing isolation precautions in dealing
with these patients."

He watched as she slipped on the gown and helped herself to a hat, mask
and latex gloves.  He and Dr.  Myers did likewise.

Unaware she was doing it, Raven breathed shallowly as she stepped into
the tiny room and looked down at Eleanor Parker.  She was shocked by
the sight that greeted her.  Mrs.  Parker was incredibly dehydrated,
her skin ashen, her eyes sunken into her head.  She looked as if she
were at death's door.  She reminded Raven of victims she'd seen in
prisoner of war photographs who were suffering from gross malnutrition.
In addition to her malnourished state, there was a bruise over her
right cheekbone.

She watched as Jeff checked her pulse, then listened to her heart and
lungs.  He made a few notations on the chart, then instructed Dr. Myers
to increase the dose of medication.

They were about to leave, when Raven pointed to the abrasion under
Eleanor Parker's right eye.  "Any idea what that is?"

Jeff nodded.  "She was mugged two days before she got sick.  She hit
her cheek on the pavement."

"Poor woman," Raven said, wincing at the misfortune.  Her heart went
out to the stricken woman.

"Okay," Dr.  Myers said, following them out of the room.  "What about
the new patient?"  he asked as the trio discarded their isolation
apparel.  "Doyou want to see her?"

Jeff nodded.  "Yeah, I think so."

As they walked down the corridor, Jeff couldn't shake the feeling that
they were on the brink of a major epidemic.  He couldn't hold off any
longer.  He was calling in the CDC.  His only hope was he hadn't waited
too long before sounding the alarm.  True, he was only aware of seven,
now possibly eight confirmed cases, but there could be others out
there.

The new patient had been placed in the cubicle next to Lauren Connor.
Jeff read the chart.  She was a twenty-four-year-old law student by the
name of Susan Kelly.  Her temperature was 103.  After again donning a
protective gown, mask, hat, and gloves, he followed Raven and Dr. Myers
into the tiny room.

"I'm Dr.  Knight," he said, smiling down at the patient.  "I understand
you're not feeling well."

"I feel like I've been run over by a truck," the woman said, her voice
a hoarse whisper.  "I've never felt this bad in my life."

"Well, we'll try to make you more comfortable," he said reassuringly.
He spent several minutes studying her chart, then turned to Dr.  Myers,
who was watching him expectantly.  "What's been done thus far?"  he
asked.

"Well, doctor, we've given her aspirin, alcohol rubs and a refrigerated
blanket to bring down her fever, which is now a hundred and three.
She's also receiving an IV to replace fluids lost from sweating and
diarrhea.  She's severely acidotic, so she was given twelve ampoules of
intravenous sodium bicarbonate, as well as potassium chloride, to
correct an electrolyte imbalance."

"Good," he said before turning once again to the patient.  "You told
Dr.  Myers you began feeling ill yesterday morning, is that fight?"

"Yes."  Jeff had to lean over to hear the woman.  "What was the first
thing you noticed?"

"The fever, then the headache," Susan Kelly said.  She tapped her
fingers against the side of her forehead.  "Right here is where I feel
the pain.  It's awful.  Can you give me something for it?"

"The medication Dr.  Myers gave you earlier should begin taking effect
soon."  He gave her arm a tiny squeeze then handed the chart to Dr.
Myers.  "I know you're not feeling well, but I need to examine you," he
continued.

He pulled the stethoscope from around his shoulders.  "I'll try to be
as gentle as possible, but let me know if there's any discomfort.
Okay?"

Susan nodded weakly, whispering through parched lips.  "All fight,
doctor."

Raven steadied her as he listened to her heart, then checked her lungs.
Straightening, he pulled the stethoscope from his ears and tucked it
into the pocket of his lab coat then gently palpated her abdomen.  Like
the others, her liver and spleen were enlarged.  She also had the same
wicked-looking rash on her abdomen.

"Raven," he said over his shoulder.  "Take a look at this."

She slipped in front of him.  Jeff stayed fight behind her and their
bodies brushed as he leaned forward slightly, pointing to the area he
wanted her to see.  Her face was next to his, her breath warm on his
cheek, and her scent was sweet and intoxicating.  He was standing so
close that he was practically holding her in an embrace.  A wave of
heat washed over him.

He tried to block out his awareness of her as she inspected the series
of spots that dotted Susan Kelly's abdomen.  But it was hard--damn
hard.  He couldn't breathe.  He couldn't think.  He could only feel. To
his overactive brain, she seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of
time to complete her inspection, but finally she stepped back.  With
her body no longer pressed against his from shoulder to thigh, he could
breathe freely again.

The rest of the exam went quickly, then he asked Susan a series of
questions geared to determine if she had any connection with any of the
other patients or with Reverend Walters.  All of his questions drew a
negative response.  He would have liked to question her further but it
was soon clear that she was tiring.

He issued a few instructions to Dr.  Myers, then asked him to give Mr.
Parker an update on his wife's condition and to tell him he'd be out to
see him in a few minutes.

He then took Raven's arm and left the room.  Just outside the door
there was a large frame holding a plastic bag.  Both Raven and Jeff
peeled off their isolation apparel, carefully scrubbed their hands,
then retired to the doctors' lounge behind the nurses' station,

Raven took a seat on the lumpy couch, but he was too keyed up to sit.
He felt restless, on edge.  Raven seemed to understand what he was
feeling and waited for him to speak.

"None of them are responding to the medication and the patient count is
growing," he said finally.  He raked his hand over his hair in
frustration then stared at the ceiling.  "I'm calling in the CDC."

Raven nodded.  "I don't think you have any other choice."

Jeff looked into her lovely eyes.  It was good having her to support
his decision but then, except when he'd pushed her away, she'd always
been there for him.  He lifted the receiver.  The first person he
called was Henry Brockman, the hospital's administrator, to inform him
of his decision and his rationale.  Brockman reluctantly agreed.  Next
he called the CDC, then the Department of Public Health.  When he was
done, some of the tension he'd been feeling was gone.

"The CDC is sending out a team immediately," he said, plopping down on
the couch next to Raven.  "They'll be here tomorrow morning.  I just
hope they have some idea of what we're dealing with."

She gave him a reassuring smile.  "I'm sure they'll be able to get to
the bottom of this."

He rubbed the back of his neck and issued a weary sigh.  "I'm not going
to be able to take you home.  Looks like I'm going to be stuck here for
a while.  After I talk to Mr.  Parker, I'm going to have to get ready
for tomorrow's meeting."

"Don't worry about it," she said.  "I can take a cab."

She paused then added hesitantly, "If you like I can stick around and
help you get the charts organized."

He looked at her profile admiringly.  "I'd like that," he said.  His
eyes locked with hers and held.  "Would you like to sit in on
tomorrow's meeting?"

He forced back the warning signals going off in his brain.  This wasn't
a wise thing to do, but he was operating on feelings, not good sense.
For one of the few times in his life, Jeff let his heart overrule his
head.

She looked at him, surprised.  "I'd like that but don't you think your
Mr.  Brockman might have a problem with my being there?"

Jeff gave her his best grin.  "Probably, but I want you there.  Hey,
we're a team, remember."

"Are we really?"  she asked.

He knew what she was asking: If his opposition to herbal medicine still
remained.  He didn't know what to say.  He was trying to be more
open-minded and receptive to her views.  He'd read the books and
studies she'd given him on herbal healing, and had to admit that in
"limited" circumstances he might consider using an herbal remedy.  But
this was not one of them.

Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer by the charge nurse who
stuck her head in the doorway.  "Dr.  Knight, would you mind speaking
with Mr.  Connor?  He and his kids have been here all day.  I tried to
get him to leave, but he refused.  He's pretty upset.  Maybe if you
talk to him, he'll calm down.  The poor man looks as if he's at the end
of his rope."

He nodded.  He needed to speak to Mr.  Connor, anyway.  He left Raven
organizing patient files and went in search of the family.  He found
them huddled together in the corner of the waiting room.  Greg Connor
was flanked by two small children, a boy and a girl, all three looking
very scared.  In contrast, a tall, slender, mahogany-skinned man, whom
he presumed was Calvin Parker, sat drumming his fingers against the arm
of his chair.  He looked to be in his late forties.

Jeff scrutinized Greg Connor's face.  He'd aged a lot in the last week,
and Jeff was sorry that he had to be the harbinger of more anguish and
suffering.  It was one of the things about being a doctor that he
hated-most.

Mr.  Connor stood as Jeff approached.  "Doctor, what's wrong with
Lauren?  It's been over a week and she isn't any better."

Jeff could hear the fear in his voice and didn't want to alarm him
unduly, but he knew he had to be as candid as possible.  "We still
haven't been able to identity the source of the problem," he said,
steering Mr.  Connor to a secluded corner of the waiting room, away
from his young children.  "As I told you before, it appears to be some
kind of bacterial infection.  Exactly what, we haven't been able to
determine.  We're still running tests."

"But it's been a week!"  Greg Connor closed his eyes fighting back
tears.

God, he hated this.  "I know, but we're doing all we can."

Mr.  Connor's shoulders sagged and his lower lip quivered.  He looked
across the room at his children, then back at Jeff.  "Is ... is she
going to die?"

Jeff hesitated.  It was not his way to pronounce death sentences.  He
always tried to put the best possible face on the prognosis, leaving
unsaid the hard truth.  He clapped the other man on the back.  "Not if
I can help it."  He cleared his throat.  "Why don't you and the kids go
home and get some rest?"

Greg Connor drew a deep sigh, then nodded.  Jeff watched as he
collected his children and left the room, He sighed himself, then
walked over to where Mr.  Parker sat.

The other man looked up as he approached.  "Dr.  Knight?"  After Jeff
nodded, he added, "Dr.  Myers said you wanted to see me?"

"That's right," Jeff said, pulling up a chair next to him.  "You're a
hard man to reach."

Calvin Parker shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  "I'm on the road a
lot.  I'm a pharmaceutical sales rep for Dalton Laboratories."

"I see," Jeff said, though he wasn't sure what relevance his being on
the road had to do with his ability to visit his wife.  "What I wanted
to talk to you about was your wife's medical history and her activities
in the days leading up to the onset of her illness."

Calvin Parker frowned.  "I already told Dr.  Myers and Dr.  Alexander
everything I know."

Jeff wanted to yell at him, Your wife is dying.  Don't you care?  But
instead he held his tongue.  "It'll just take a few minutes."

Mr.  Parker glanced at his watch.  "All right, but make it quick.  I
have an appointment with a client."

Jeff went through a series of questions, geared to elicit as much
information as possible about Eleanor's overall health, as well as her
movements in the days leading up to her illness.  Mr.  Parker answered
all of them, but he wasn't able to shed any light on the disease.  The
only interesting bit of information was his disclosure that Reverend
Walters was treating his wife for diabetes.  That wasn't what Reverend
Walters had told them.  Why had he lied?  Jeff looked over at Raven who
had entered the room sometime during the interview.  He could tell she
was wondering the same thing.

"I think it might help your wife's condition if you could spend more
time with her."

Calvin Parker gave him a blank look.  "What good would that do?
According to Dr.  Myers, half the time she's delirious, or so heavily
sedated, she's only semiconscious."

Jeff nodded.  "That's true, but she's aware of your presence.  I think
it would go a long way in aiding in her recovery if you visited more.
If your job prevents your spending time 'with her during the day, we
can arrange some special evening visiting hours for you."

Mr.  Parker cleared his throat.  "Thanks, but that really isn't
necessary."  He looked at his watch again.  "Look, Dr.  Knight, I
really have to go."  He was already moving toward the door.

Jeff stared in amazement at Calvin Parker's retreating back.  "He seems
to be more interested in his job than his wife."

"That's for sure," Raven said, coming to stand directly in front of
him.  "But do you know what's really odd?"

Something in her voice made him look up sharply.  "No, what?"

"He never once asked how she was doing."

HE'D ALMOST LOST his nerve.  He'd been going over this for days, but it
still bothered him.  He always rehearsed in front of his bathroom
mirror so that he looked and sounded just right.  But at that moment
when he had stood directly behind the bartender, he'd been momentarily
flustered, almost immobile.

The bartender was a pudgy guy.  Almost as flabby as he'd once been.  On
the previous days when he'd watched the bartender to get his movements
down, he had managed to push that fact to the farthest recesses of his
mind.  But in that storage room he hadn't been able to.  It had caused
him to hesitate.  In the end, of course, he'd gone through with it.
Later, he felt the satisfaction of another transaction successfully
completed, but the heady excitement he'd experienced the first time
wasn't there.  The bartender had disturbed him; he'd felt an instant,
unwelcome affinity for the obese man .... Whop.t

The stinging blow came quickly, out of nowhere, knocking him from his
seat to the floor.

"How many times have I told you about stuffing your

face with junk food, huh?  How do you expect to lose that blubber if
you keep shoving it in?"

"But I'm still hungry," he whined.

"Maybe if you did something besides sit on your lazy butt watching TV
for hours on end, you wouldn't have time to think about food."

"Johnny, he's a growing boy.  He'll slim down."  "Shut up.  Was I
talking to you, huh?  Did you hear me ask your advice?  He knows this
is for his own good, don't you, boy?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn right.  What did the doctor say today, Marge?  Aren't there diet
pills or something he can give us?  Did you tell him I'm six-one and
that my brothers are also over six feet?  Never had a weight problem in
my life."

"Johnny, he doesn't need diet pills.  He doesn't have your body
structure.  The doctor says he's absolutely normal in development."

"Normal?  Look at him, will you?  Eleven years old and he's as wide as
he is tall.  It's your fault, Marge, for babying him."

"Johnny, please.  Can we talk about this later?"

They always talked about him as if he wasn't there.  His father, his
mother, the doctors.  In later years, his teachers and the kids at
school had done the same thing.  He'd been powerless back then.

"Well, let me tell you something, missus, that is not a normal weight
for someone in my family.  What's he going to be, huh?  The fat man in
the circus?  Not my son.  My son's going to be a man, not some
sissy-prissy jerk who's afraid of his own shadow, who lets people push
him around.  Marge, we're going down in the basement to lift weights
for an hour.  And for dinner, he gets a salad and a glass of milk.
Salads are good for you, low in calories, or don't they teach you that
in school, boy?"

"Johnny, you know he can't have leafy green vegetables.  He--"

"Don't you start with that allergy nonsense, do you hear me?  Allergies
is just the doctors' excuse for taking our money.  How the hell can the
boy lose weight if we don't cut out all those calories?  The boy knows
I'm right.  Don't you ?"

"Yes, sir."  Even as he muttered the words his father wanted to hear,
he prayed the stomach cramps that always followed eating salads
wouldn't be too bad.

"Good boy.  Your mother, she means well, but she doesn't know how to
raise a son--she doesn't know that a man's gotta be big and strong and
powerful.  Power's everything.  I saw that when I was in the service. I
see it every day down at the department.  Power's what counts, boy.
That's what makes people respect you.  Don't forget it."

Well, he had power now, didn't he?  He'd proved it eight times now.

His thin lips curled into a cruel little smile.  And very soon he'd
prove it again.

Chapter Seven

It was too late for second thoughts now.  Raven's heart was beating
faster than a speeding train as she followed Jeff into the hospital
conference room.  There were a number of people already assembled when
they arrived.

A short, nervous-looking man looked up as they entered.  His anxious
look was replaced by a small smile when he spotted Jeff.  He waved,
then began to move in their direction.

"That's Henry Brockman, the hospital's chief of staff," Jeff whispered
hurriedly.

"Am I glad to see you," Brockman said.  He took Jeff by the arm and
moved away from the others.  "Whatever you told the CDC lit a fire
under them.  They sent their top epidemiologist, Joseph Hillman, to
head up the investigation, and Public Health sent Eric Thacker.  You
know he's--" He stopped and frowned at Raven, noting her presence for
the first time.  "I'm sorry.  I don't think we've met."  '

Raven held her breath.  This was the moment she'd been dreading.  When
Jeff had invited her to sit in on the meeting, he'd been tired and
overwrought, probably feeling obligated to ask her because of the
assistance she'd given him over the past few days.  But in the light of
day, she couldn't help wondering if he regretted having asked her.

Well, if he wanted an out, Brockman had just presented him with the
perfect opportunity to rescind the invitation.

Jeff stared into her eyes and smiled.  "Henry Brockman, this is Raven
Delaney.  She's been helping me with the investigation."

The furrow between the administrator's brown eyes deepened even
further.  "You're not on staff, are you?"

"No," she said guardedly.  "I run an herbal shop in the Windwood Mall."
From Brockman's reaction, you'd have thought she'd just said she was an
ax murderer.

His eyes instantly flew to Jeff.  "Are you crazy?"  he demanded then
threw an anxious look over his shoulder, afraid his words might have
been overheard.  "She has no business being here.  My God, what were
you thinking?"

"That I needed help in this investigation," Jeff said coldly.  "While
you and the rest of the board have been busy trying to pretend we
didn't have a problem, Raven's been helping me get a handle on this
thing.  Her assistance has been invaluable."

Brockman flushed.  "Well, we don't need her help now.  We've got the
CDC and the state health officials."  He gave Raven a condescending
smile.  "I'm sure you understand, Ms.  Delaney."

"Well, I don't," Jeff said.  "Ms.  Delaney is eminently qualified to
sit in on this discussion.  She's not only a registered nurse, but has
degrees in nutrition and pharmacology.  I think she might be able to
provide a different perspective on things."

She looked at him and blinked.  Did he really think that?  She was
almost afraid to believe him.

Brockman snorted.  "Really, Jeff, we have people on staff who can do
that."

"Henry, I don't think you understand.  This is not a subject open to
debate.  Raven is staying."

The hospital administrator looked as if he were about to blow a gasket.
"All right, Jeff, I see there's no reasoning with you, but I want you
to know I'm holding you personally responsible if anything happens."
At that, he marched back across the room.

As much as she wanted to sit in on the discussion, she didn't want to
cause dissention between Jeff and his colleagues.  She looked at Jeff,
her eyes troubled.  "If my presence is going to cause problems for you,
I'll leave."

He waved off her objection.  "Don't worry.  Brockman's bark is worse
than his bite."  He gave her a reassuring smile.  "I want you to stay.
Besides, if this meeting gets rough, it'll be good having someone on my
side."  He leaned over and whispered in a low, husky voice, "You would
defend me, wouldn't you?"

Heat coursed through her at his look.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I see everyone has arrived," Brockman said over
the hum of conversation.  "Why don't we take our seats and begin."  He
motioned to the round conference table.

Jeff held her chair then took the seat next to her.  She tried to focus
on the introductions, but with Jeff's thigh pressed against her, it was
damn hard.  She drew a sigh of relief when he shifted position so that
his thigh no longer touched her.  She glanced around the table.  The
level of medical talent in this room was quite impressive.  To her
immediate right was Shay Alexander, whom Raven had known back when she
and Jeff were dating.  Next to Shay was Dr.  Eric Thacker, a short,
portly, red-faced man from the Department of Public Health.

Next to Dr.  Thacker was Dr.  Joseph Hillman.  It seemed to Raven that
Hillman was the Hollywood image of what a physician should look
like--with his tawny brown hair combed back from his deeply lined but
tanned and handsome face, he bore a remarkable resemblance to George
Clooney, the hunky doctor on the TV series, "ER."

Alongside Dr.  Hillman was the hospital's chief legal counsel, a Dan
somebody--she missed his last name.  He was strictly Ivy League, with
sandy blond hair and boyish features.  Also at the table were Brenda
Holland, who was in charge of public relations, and a jovial-looking
older woman named Leah Patterson who was with the CDC.

"Before I turn things over to Dr.  Knight," Brockman said, "on behalf
of the hospital, I want to thank you personally for being here and
assure you that you have the full cooperation of the hospital.  We'll
help in any way we can."  He paused for a moment then cleared his
throat.  "But we're also concerned about the negative impact public
disclosure of this situation could have on the hospital.  I'm sure you
understand, we'd like to handle this matter as quietly as possible." He
gave Raven a pointed look.  "Ms.  Delaney, I hope we can count on you
to be discreet."

"Of course," she said, uncomfortably aware that all eyes in the room
were staring at her.  "As I told Dr.  Knight, I won't say anything."

He gave her a cool nod.  "Then I'll turn things over to Dr.  Knight."

Jeff stood and proceeded to summarize the events of the past few weeks.
His demeanor was confident and self-assured.  He didn't embellish the
facts, but spoke in a calm, direct matter which made the mysterious
disease sound all the more sinister.  When he finished speaking, she
looked around the table, studying the reactions of the group.  They
looked suitably alarmed, and she was confident that the urgency of the
situation had been heard and understood.  "What about deaths?"  Eric
Thacker asked.

"Four, to date," Jeff said.  "But I must point out that the patients
were at three different hospitals, and their deaths occurred prior to
anyone drawing a connection between the cases."  Jeff paused for a
moment, letting that bit of information sink in.  "Initially, we
thought we might be dealing with a bacterial contaminant, and the
culprit was herbs.  We interviewed and collected samples from all the
local herb suppliers in this area but, after extensive testing of those
herbs and interviews with growers and

customers, we've pretty well ruled out that possibility."  He looked
at Shay.  "Is there anything you wish to add?"

Shay shook his head.  "That pretty much sums things up.  None of the
patients contracted this disease from the herbs we tested."  He
scratched his head.  "My testing did uncover something disturbing with
two of the suppliers, but it's more of a criminal matter than a medical
problem."

That sounds ominous, Raven thought, sitting up straighter.

"It appears two of the suppliers--Flynn Imports and Zook and Sonsmare
dealing drugs.  Marijuana, to be specific.  We founds traces of the
plant."

Raven gasped.  Harry dealing drugs?  No, she thought, it had to be a
terrible mistake.  He wouldn't do something like that.  Just last year,
he'd chaired a local group dedicated to keeping kids off of drugs.  And
hadn't she heard him say that drug dealers were the scum of the earth?
But as she listened to Shay's narrative, the facts were undisputable.
She shook her head, struggling to take it in.  It seemed
incomprehensible.

Brockman turned to Dr.  Thacker.  "Do you want to handle that?"

"Sure, we'll notify the police, as well as check both facilities for
possible public health violations."

Raven could feel Jeff's eyes on her.  He looked concerned.  She gave
him a small smile indicating that she was all right.

Jeff cleared his throat.  "Eric, I'd like for you to also check out a
Reverend Walters.  He's an alternative health care practitioner with a
history of using substandard products.  At least two of the patients
saw him right before they were hospitalized.  Lord knows what he gave
them."

"You think he could be the source of the disease?"  Hillman asked.

"No, but I think he should be shut down."

Eric Thacker nodded.  "We'll get a court order and go over to his place
today."

"What about treatment?"  Dr.  Hillman asked.  "What's been done thus
far?"

"We've begun an aggressive drug therapy, but this thing hasn't
responded to any treatment we've tried to date.  Frankly, Dr. Alexander
and I are out of ideas."

Hillman gave him a thoughtful look.  "Any thoughts on what we're
dealing with?"

Jeff hesitated.  "I think there's a chance we've got something new.  At
least, it's new to us."

Hillman frowned.  "Why do you say that?"

"I was with the World Health Organization for two years.  I've seen and
studied some of the most virulent diseases on the planet--cholera,
bubonic plague, Ebola, AIDS--and I've never seen anything like this. It
doesn't behave like any disease I've ever seen.  It kills within a
matter of a few weeks by totally destroying the person's immune system.
I think we may be dealing with a new virus."  '

What kind of disease could destroy the immune system like that?  Raven
wondered.  Nothing that she knew of and from the look on Hillman's and
the others' faces, they didn't know either.  Until now, she'd felt
confident that the CDC would be able to quickly identify the deadly
microbe, but now she wasn't sure.  A shiver ran up her spine as the
magnitude of the horror of the disease began to creep into her
subconscious.  If this really was a new virus, that meant they had no
means of combating the disease.

She looked at Dr.  Hillman who seemed to be taking an inordinate amount
of time to light his pipe.  Jeff's words had shaken him.  He was
pensive, worried, but trying not to show it.

"What's being done about quarantine?"  he asked finally.

Jeff explained that while the infectious agent didn't appear to be
contagious, all the patients had been isolated to one wing of the
hospital.

"Good," Dr.  Hillman said, nodding.  "Then I guess we should begin by
looking at the patients, then interviewing family members and everyone
else who came into contact with them."

"Is that really necessary?"  Brockman whined.  "We're talking about
Lord knows how many people."

"I'm afraid it is necessary," Dr.  Hillman said firmly.  "I know that's
going to take a lot of manpower.  If the hospital can't provide it, I'm
sure we can tap the resources of the Public Health Department."  He
looked at Dr.  Thacker, who nodded.

"It's not a question of manpower," Brockman sniffed.  "We can handle
that.  It just seems to me that before we go off scaring people to
death, shouldn't we wait until we actually have a diagnosis?"

Jeff shook his head.  "We've already waited too long.  We've got to get
a handle on this thing as quickly as possible."

Dr.  Hillman nodded in agreement.  "We'll do what we can to keep a lid
on things," he said, "but I can't promise anything."

"Then if there's nothing else, I guess we should begin by having you
look at the patients," Jeff said.  "Shay, why don't you take them up to
the fifth floor.  Ms.  Delaney and I will be along in a moment."

She knew he wanted to talk about Harry, but she wasn't up to it right
now.  She wasn't sure how she felt.  He was a good friend but she
couldn't condone drug trafficking.  Raven watched as the group filed
out of the room, leaving just the two of them.

Jeff leaned over and gave her shoulder a little squeeze.  His hand felt
warm and reassuring.  She would have loved to rest her head on his
shoulder.

"I'm sorry about your friend Harry," he said softly.  She drew a deep
breath then nodded.  "You always thought he was hiding something--" Her
voice broke and she blinked back tears.  "I must be the worst judge of
men in history."

The hand that had been stroking her shoulder stilled and he turned her
toward him.  "Don't say that.  You're sweet and kind and open.  You
look for the good in people.  Just because Harry let you down, don't
close yourself off to all men."

She had the feeling he was talking about himself.  She laid her hand
against the side of his face.  He smiled at her for a moment then
turned his face and placed a kiss in the palm of her hand.  It was a
sweet, tender kiss that spoke of sharing and caring and held a promise
of things to come.  But so much lay between them, not the least being
his disdain for alternative medicine.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and standing.  "We'd better get out
of here before they send a search party after us."

THE DISEASE DESTROYS the patient's immune system.

Jeff's words stayed with Raven until late into the night.  She reread
the notes she'd taken during her hospital view today, as well as the
notes she'd taken over the last week.  It was becoming a nightly
ritual.  At first she'd done it as a way of keeping facts straight
within their investigation, but as the days progressed she found she
was just as obsessed with finding a treatment for this mysterious
disease as Jeff was.  However, where he leaned toward finding one with
a drug base, she was looking at more unconventional methods.

In theory, she thought, as she studied the notes she'd compiled on the
disease, if they could keep the patient's immune system intact, the
body should be able to fight off the infection.  She grimaced at the
knowledge that the drugs they had used to date had focused solely on
destroying the infection, not restoring the body's immune system, But
that was exactly where the focus should be.  It had worked

with AIDS patients, and was now an accepted method of treatment for
that disease.  Why wouldn't it work here?  The more she thought about
the idea, the more she thought it was possible.

Unable to sleep, she got out of bed, slipped on a robe and headed to
her study.  She searched her library looking for several rare herb
books she'd collected over the years.  Finding them, she sank into the
chair behind her desk and began to read.  She pored through volume
after volume before she found what she wanted--a series of herbs known
for their abilities to help restore and maintain the body's immune
system.

After that she was too excited to sleep.  She was up at the crack of
dawn, dressed and headed for Nature's Cure.  As soon as it was
appropriate, she'd called Harry.  She had hesitated at first, but some
of the herbs were quite rare and hard to obtain.  Several others had to
be shipped within hours of picking, as well as stored in refrigerated
containers to retain their freshness.  Harry was the only person she
would trust with this kind of task.

He answered his phone on the first ring.  Suddenly she felt flustered,
not sure what she should say to him.  He seemed equally uncomfortable.
Finally, in a halting manner, she managed to tell him what she needed.
He told her he'd make a few phone calls and see if he could locate the
herbs.  Then there was a long awkward pause which Harry broke by
bringing up the subject of marijuana.

She heard him sigh.  "I knew I'd made a colossal mistake the moment I
took delivery of the plants."  He sounded tired and depressed.  "I
haven't had a moment of peace since those plants came into my
warehouse.  They've been gone for more than a week and I still can't
sleep at night."

"How in heaven's name did you get involved in something like that?"
Raven asked, still trying to come to grips with her friend's
behavior.

"I--I got into a financial bind and I needed a lot of cash and I needed
it fast.  A business associate offered me a way out of my financial
situation.  All I had to do was store the plants in my warehouse for a
few weeks."

It still didn't justify drug trafficking, she thought, but Harry was
human and subject to all the human foibles.  "What's going to happen
now?"  she asked.

"I don't know," he said, his voice laced with frustration.  "Public
Health came out yesterday and inspected the warehouse.  I was also
questioned by the police.  My lawyer doesn't think any criminal charges
will be filed because no one actually saw any plants on the premises,
and he thinks Public Health is going to let me keep my license.  I'll
probably have to pay a hefty fine, and undergo a num, bet of
unannounced inspections for the next year or so, but I think that's a
small price to pay for what I did.  I've learned my lesson."  He paused
then asked, "Are--are we still friends?"

She thought for a moment.  He'd done a terrible thing, but she believed
him when he said he'd learned his lesson.  "Yes," she said, "we're
friends."  And she meant it.

"Thanks," he said.  There was a catch in his voice.  "I'll get on your
request right away."

A few hours later, Harry called to tell her he'd located the herbs and
would get them to her in a few days.  She sat back and looked at the
herbal formula she'd developed.  Now, all she had to do was convince
Jeff to use it.

THE BODY COUNT was now five.

Eleanor Parker lay on the narrow hospital bed.  Calvin Parker stood
next to the bed, staring down at his wife's lifeless body.  He didn't
stir at the sound of Jeff's footsteps.  Jeff' paused in the doorway and
stared at the man.  Calvin Parker was dry-eyed.  The tears would
probably come later, Jeff thought, once the reality of his wife's death
sank in.  He steeled himself for the inevitable pain and anger as he
approached the other man.

"Mr.  Parker."

Calvin Parker looked up as he entered the room.

"I'm sorry about your wife," Jeff said.  "I want you to know we did
everything we could, but once the infection spread to her heart and
lungs, she was just too weak to fight it off."

Calvin Parker nodded vaguely.  "I'm sure you did your best.  It was
just her time to go."

Jeff looked at the other man, surprised by his words.  Most people
who'd just lost a loved one were angry, hurt, in shock.  This kind of
reaction--philosophical acceptance-normally came much later in the
grieving process.  But then, Calvin Parker didn't look much like the
greying husband, he thought, as he studied the other man more closely.
He sighed.  Who was he to say how a person should grieve?

Jeff looked at Eleanor Parker.  She was incredibly de-hydrated.  Her
skin was dry and cracked, and she'd lost so much weight that she looked
almost mummified.  Her abdomen was also strangely distended.  It
usually took weeks for the bacteria in the abdomen to multiply to the
point where it became distended.

Jeff's brain whirled.  What the hell kind of disease could do this?
Just what the hell were they dealing with?

There was a strained silence while Jeff searched for something to say.
"Mr.  Parker," he said finally, "I want you to know we're going to get
to the bottom of this.  Hopefully, the autopsy will--"

Calvin Parker did a double take.  "Autopsy?  Who said anything about an
autopsy?"

Jeff hesitated.  He really didn't want to get into this with him, Now
was not the time to be discussing something like that.  "Why don't we
talk about it later?"

Mr.  Parker shook his head.  "We'll talk about it now."

Jeff ran a hand through his hair impatiently.  "It's the only way we
have of finding out what killed your wife."

Calvin Parker shook his head again.  "No autopsy."  His voice was firm
and brooked no argument.  "I just want this over and done with."

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  He wanted to tell him that he didn't need his
permission for an autopsy, but he didn't have the stomach for it now.
He preferred the family members to be agreeable.  He tried again.  "I
understand your concern.  The autopsy will be performed as quickly as
possible and with due regard for you and your family."

Calvin Parker sighed.  "Dr.  Knight, you don't understand.  My wife was
a very religious woman and didn't believe in such things.  She would
have viewed an autopsy as a desecration of one of God's creatures.  I
must honor her wishes."

"But without an autopsy we may never know what killed her," Jeff
reasoned.  When the other man continued to protest, he said, "Don't you
want to know?"

"What kind of question is that?"  Parker said with a trace of
annoyance.  "Of course I want to know, but knowing won't change the
fact that she's dead."

"No, nothing is going to change that fact," Jeff said quietly.  "But
knowing what killed her might help save the lives of the three other
patients who are suffering from the same disease that killed your
wife."

Something in his manner must have telegraphed itself to the other man,
for suddenly Calvin Parker underwent a stunning transformation.  His
shoulders sagged, his eyes filled with tears, and he seemed to be
overcome with emotion.  "You have to forgive me.  I'm just shocked by
Eleanor's death.  Of course I want to know what killed her."

Jeff's gut reaction was that Parker was putting on an act for his
benefit.  "All right, Dr.  Knight.  You do what you think is best."
Jeff nodded.  After a few more minutes of strained conversation, he
left Mr.  Parker and stopped at the nurses' station.  He instructed the
nurse to have one of the hospital's grief counselors come down and talk
to Mr.  Parker.  Though, from all accounts, it didn't look as if he
needed

it.  Then Jeff headed for the morgue.  Maybe the coroner would be able
to tell him what had killed Eleanor Parker.

"JEFF, YOU DID everything you could."

"Then why do I feel so lousy?"  Jeff looked down at his hands, then
back at Raven, his expression bleak.  "I just feel so helpless.  I
couldn't even console Mr.  Parker by telling him what killed his wife."
His voice was laced with pain and frustration.

"I'm sure he knows you did everything possible."  Raven reached over
and took his hand in hers and smiled reassuringly.  He didn't return
the smile, but neither was he as grim as he'd been moments before when
she'd opened the door to him.  She'd taken one look at him and known
that she was going to have to hold off talking to him about using her
herbal mixture for a while.

"What's even worse, I ran into Greg Connor as I was leaving the
hospital.  He asked if I thought Lauren would be out of the hospital
soon.  He wants to plan his little girl's birthday party."  For a
moment Jeff seemed overcome with emotion.  "He looked at me with such
hope.  I couldn't tell him the truth--that by this time next week his
wife will probably be dead.  I felt like such a fraud."

Her heart went out to him.  This was the warm, sensitive man she'd
fallen in love with four years ago.  It took all her willpower not to
take him in her arms.

"We expect a lot from doctors," she said.  "We expect you to have all
the answers, to do the impossible.  It's easy to forget that you're
human just like the rest of us, and that it's not easy for you to deal
with the loss of a patient."

"The day it no longer bothers me is the day I'il no longer want to
practice medicine.  You have to care in order to be a decent doctor.
Some days are just harder than others, and the death of a patient is
something you never get used to?"  He looked at Raven and gave her a
faint smile.  "But having you to talk to helps," he said softly.

Raven swallowed, not knowing what to say.

She watched as his eyes swept over her face, her neck then dropped to
the V of her dress.  The top two buttons were undone, exposing the
hollow of her throat and a couple inches of creamy brown skin.  His
hazel eyes darkened and she knew he wanted her.

Raven's eyes widened when she saw the look in his eyes.  It was an
unguarded moment, and something strong and sexual was telegraphing
itself to her.  Something warm and sensuous and utterly dangerous to
her self-preservation.  She wanted to enjoy it--but she knew she
shouldn't.  Ambiguous feelings began to jockey for position within her.
She forced herself to look away.  "I have all the confidence in the
word that you're going to get to the bottom of this thing."

"Thanks," he said.  "I'm sorry to go on like this, but I just feel so
frustrated, like I'm beating my head against the wall."

"That's okay," she said gently.  "You need to talk."  Besides, his
talking about the mysterious disease would allow her to broach the
subject of using her herbal medicine.

"You sure you don't mind?"  he asked, turning to face her on the sofa.
As she shook her head, he settled back against the cushions.  "Maybe
talking will give me a fresh perspective on things."  He drew a deep
breath.  "I've gone over it a zillion times in my mind and the more I
think about this disease, the less sense it makes.  It's like nothing
I've ever seen before.  It doesn't respond to any known antibiotic, or
drug or chemical.  Nothing!"

Raven frowned.  "What about Dr.  Hillman and the other members of the
CDC team, don't they have any ideas?"

Jeff gave her a wan smile.  "Ideas, yes, but if you're asking if they
know what this thing is, the answer is no.  They've sent tissue, blood
and urine samples to the CDC in Atlanta, but I'm not holding my breath
that they'll come up with anything soon."

She looked at him surprised.  "But they've got some of the best minds
in the world working there.  Surely they'll come up with something."

"It's going to be damn hard," he said.  "This disease doesn't follow
any logical pattern.  On the surface it appears to be a bacterial
infection, but the way it fights off antibiotics suggests it's a virus.
But if it were a virus, you'd expect the disease to spread from person
to person.  But the problem with that theory is that none of the
patients' family members and friends have come down with the disease.
Which brings up another interesting contra diction.  It seems to show
an extreme bias for women."  Raven frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"Infectious diseases don't discriminate between sexes.  Statistically
speaking, men and women should be affected equally.  However, this
disease doesn't seem to know that and has a bias for women.
Additionally, infectious diseases spread exponentially.  A new
infectious disease rapidly explodes in a population as microbes are
transmitted from person to person.  Then it declines within months
because it is stopped by the elimination of susceptible victims either
by death or, more often, by natural immunization.  But that's not
what's happening here."

"Why do you think that is?"  she asked.

"I wish I knew that and a whole lot of other things about this
disease."  Jeff sighed.  "But whatever it is, I think we're getting
further away from finding an answer rather than closer."

His frustration gave Raven exactly the opening she needed in order to
bring up using her herbal medicine.  But before she could say anything,
Jeff began talking about the course of the disease.

"This thing has to run its course soon," Jeff was saying.  "It's
already run longer than most infectious agents without mutating.  But
it's just a matter of time before it begins to mutate and, when it
does, hopefully that'll give us some clues as to what we're dealing
with."

"And what if it doesn't?"

"Then we'd better figure out how these people contacted the disease."
He drew a deep breath.  "Shay and Hillman have all but ruled out the
possibility that this is a bacterial infection.  We're moving into the
area of viruses now."  '

Raven sucked in her breath.  "I hope that's not the case.  It'll be a
lot tougher to come up with an effective treatment."

He nodded.  "Tell me about it.  There was a Dr.  Ross with the CDC and
he probably could have helped us, but he died about six months ago."

As he talked, he took her hand and laced her fingers with his, then ran
the back of his other hand slowly up and down the right side of her
face.  She inhaled sharply.  "I appreciate your letting me go on like
this," he said, looking into her eyes.  "You've been a lot of help."

His voice was deep and sensual, sending a ripple of excitement through
her.  The air around them crackled with sexual tension.

"Would... would you like some tea?"  she gulped.

"Tea is not what I want," Jeff said smoothly, trapping her eyes with
his so that she was unable to look away.

Her heart began to beat erratically as she tried to think of something
to say to ease the sexual tension--but her mind was totally blank.  The
way he was looking at her... those hazel eyes of his ... his warm,
seductive voice... Raven felt heat rippling through her, which
paradoxically, made her shiver.

"I really hurt you, didn't I?"  he asked quietly.  "By not believing
you four years ago."

"You did what you believed was right."

He shook his head.  "But it wasn't right, because it hurt you," he
said, cupping her face with his hands.  His fingers were so gentle.
Raven felt the heat within her turn up a notch.  "If I could do things
over again, I'd do them differently.  I'd listen to you, try to learn
more about the things you believe in, not be so judgmental."

His voice was low and husky and made her want to think all kinds of
silly things--things she should know by now were impossible.  She
moistened her lips and looked up at him.

"Raven, you're so beautiful--"

Desire.  It was suddenly so palpable, it might have been a living
thing, swirling around them, surrounding them, connecting them.

Raven knew the desire she could see in Jeff's eyes was mirrored in her
own.  Like him, she was helpless to hide it, powerless to conceal it.
She could see it on his face, hear it in the way he breathed, feel it
in his touch, in the heat of his skin.

She wanted him to touch her.  She wanted to touch him.  She wanted He
kissed her.

Gently his mouth moved over hers in a kiss so sweet, Raven nearly cried
out.  It used to amaze her--it still amazed her--that a man who was so
much larger than life, a man who lived his life so passionately, so
intensely, could be so breathtakingly tender.

Even as he deepened the kiss, as his tongue sought entry into her
mouth, even then he was unquestionably gentle.  Raven felt herself
melt.  She felt her bones turn liquid, felt her body molding to fit
against his as he took her into his arms and kissed her again and
again.

His touch and his taste was so familiar, it seemed as if they'd last
made love just yesterday.  Her memories were incredibly vivid.  In her
mind's eye, she saw them lying on his bed, a double bed, kissing and
touching, exploring... Raven felt Jeff lift her onto his lap.  She
gasped as he pulled her so she sat astride his lap, facing him.  Their
legs intertwined, the roughness of his against the soft smoothness of
hers.  She could feel the hard bulge of his sex pressing against her as
he kissed her again.  He wanted her--it was undeniable.

She knew she could tell him that she wanted him, too, without saying a
single word.  All she'd have to do was to keep responding to his
kisses.  Or maybe, more obviously, she could unbutton his shirt and run
her hands up and down his chest.  He'd loved her touch.  She remembered
that--and much more.

She remembered the way he had once caressed every inch of her body as
he made love to her.  He had made her feel as if she were the most
beautiful, most desirable woman in the world.  She remembered how he
had somehow seemed to know when to unleash his passion, when to leave
his sweet tenderness behind.  She remembered how he'd let himself lose
control, giving himself over to her completely, crying out her name as
waves of intense pleasure exploded around them both.

She remembered how totally, how absolutely, how with all her heart, she
had loved him.

Her memory of that love was so strong, she could almost feel it.  It
was as if she'd been thrown backward in time, back four years, back
before Jeff had said all those hateful things, back before she had
known what 'he'd really thought of her and her profession.

She could make love to him again, as if it were four years ago.  She
could pretend that she was twenty-three again and in love for the first
time in her life.

But tomorrow morning, when they woke up, it wouldn't be four years ago.
It would be now, and they would be here, and the gulf that separated
them--her views and practice of herbal medicine--would still be
there.

She wiggled free, escaping his arms.  He sat up as if to follow her,
but stopped suddenly.  She turned to look at him and saw the expression
on his face as he realized what they'd been doing--what they'd been
about to do.

"Oh, damn," he said.  "Raven, I don't know what happened.  I didn't
intend to---"

"I know," she said.  "It's ... all right.  It wasn't your fault--I
mean, it was my fault, too."  She looked at her hands clenched tightly
in her lap.  "But I'm not interested in going down this road again."

"Don't say that," Jeff said quietly.

She looked at him.  He was watching her intently.  His lean face looked
mysterious and hauntingly handsome in the shadows.  He didn't smile as
she met his gaze.

"Can't we try again?"  he asked softly, seriously.  Lovers.  He was
talking about them being lovers.  Raven swallowed, remembering his
taste, his touch It was tempting.

"I--I

don't know."  She turned away from him.  "I won't pretend I'm not
attracted to you, but it doesn't change anything.  I'm still an
herbalist and you're still a doctor.  And the problems are still
there."  He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him.  "How
can you say that?  We've changed.  We're not the same people we were
four years ago."

She bit her lower lip.  "Maybe not, but we haven't changed on the
points that matter."

Jeff frowned.  "What do you mean?"

It was now or never.  "Even though you talk about being more
open-minded, you're still unwilling to consider an herbal treatment for
your patients.  You sit here and tell me how you're at a loss for
coming up with any kind of treatment, yet you never once asked if I had
any ideas."

He looked at her pleadingly.  "I'm trying to keep an open mind, be more
receptive to more unconventional forms of medical care, but here we're
taking about a deadly virus."

She looked at him for a moment then walked over to the table in the
corner, picked up the report she'd prepared on the use of herbs as a
form of treatment for the virus,

and handed it to him.  "I want you to read this," she said.  He looked
at the folder, frowning.  "Okay.  What is it?"  "It's my report on an
herbal treatment for this virus."

"Raven--' '

She held up a hand, halting his words.  "Jeff, as you told Henry
Brockman, I'm more than an herbalist.  I hold degrees in pharmacology
and nutrition.  I probably know more about drags and their effect on
the body than anyone involved in this investigation.  Yet you refuse to
give any credence to my thoughts on a possible treatment because it
doesn't fit into your view of what constitutes proper medical care.
Open your mind, Jeff, the world is changing--"

She was interrupted by a shrill, insistent beeping.  Jeff swore softly,
got up from the sofa and reached for his jacket.  He pulled a small
cellular phone from the inside pocket of his sport jacket.  "I'm sorry,
Raven, but I'd better take this."

"I understand," she said, unable to keep the disappointment out of her
voice.  Damn, she needed to discuss her treatment, but at least he had
a written copy of it.  She tried not to listen to his conversation,
busying herself with the papers on her desk.  A few minutes later she
heard him come up behind her.  She turned and looked up at him.  His
face was grim.

"I gotta go," he said.  "That was Shay Alexander.  I'm afraid we have
another case."

Chapter Eight

David Foster looked cadaverous.  He was incredibly de-hydrated, with
sunken eyes, and mucous membranes so parched there was no saliva.
Despite a temperature of 105 degrees, he was too dehydrated to sweat. A
bad sign, Jeff thought, since sweating was the most natural and best
way to rid the body of heat.  He had to do something to bring down his
temperature and fast.  A temperature that high could lead to brain
damage or cardiac arrest.

He looked at Dr.  Hillman who was standing next to the nurse at the
foot of the bed.  "Any suggestion on how we can get this fever down?"

Hillman gave him a pensive look, then named a combination of drugs.
They spent several minutes discussing the various drugs before deciding
on one.

"I'll get it," Hillman said.  He turned and strode from the room.

Jeff picked up the chart and quickly skimmed it.  Foster had been
transferred from St.  John's Hospital where he'd been admitted the
night before.  He could see they'd tried to take a medical history over
there, but Foster was just too sick to provide much information.

Jeff looked at the nurse.  "It says here, his wife brought him in. Were
you able to get anything out of her?"

The nurse shook her head.  "Mrs.  Foster is almost a basket case
herself.  We'll try again later."

Jeff nodded then leaned over the bed and caught Foster's head between
his hands, holding it in place as he began asking him questions. Foster
was babbling his answers.  Though he was close to hallucinating from
the fever, the history he gave was nearly identical to Eleanor Parker
arid the other patients.  One moment he'd been fine, the next he'd been
hit with a high fever and blinding headache, followed by severe
abdominal cramps, vomiting and diarrhea.

And then there was the other similarity---the Wednes-day-Thursday
admission coincidence.  Foster had been admitted at St.  John's the
night before--Wednesday night.

Jeff frowned.  How could a disease strike with such regularity?  The
answer was--it couldn't.  He knew of no disease that struck once a week
and always on the same two weekdays.

He sighed and looked down at the patient.  He began the examination,
though it was a little hard with Foster thrashing around so much.  The
nurse steadied him with a hand on his back while Jeff quickly checked
his chest, lungs and heart.  His liver and spleen were enlarged.

As he lifted the gown to examine the abdomen, he saw the rash.  It was
exactly like the ones he'd seen on Eleanor Parker and the other
patients, even down to the same location.  He studied the angry red
bumps carefully.  There were a dozen of them in the upper quadrant of
the abdomen, closely grouped, flat and macular.  He estimated each one
to be eight or nine millimeters in diameter and crescent shaped.  The
color struck him.  The bumps were bright red, incongruous with his pale
dry skin, like a vividly colored flower in a bleak desert.

He pulled the gown down, covering the abdomen, and looked at Mr.
Foster.  "How long have you had this rash?"

David Foster gave him a glassy-eyed stare.  "What rats?  There aren't
any rats in my room, Mother."  His face was beginning to twitch.

The nurse shot a puzzled glance at Jeff.

"His temperature is 105," he' said by way of explanation.  "Some
confusion is to be expected."  But it certainly complicated matters, he
added silently.  He needed answers to questions and he needed them
now.

Even though it was probably a waste of time, he leaned over the bed and
began to question him.  "Mr.  Foster, have you been seeing a holistic
practitioner?  A guy by the name of Reverend Walters?"

The twitching and the babbling stopped, and David Foster seemed
suddenly lucid.  "I've never been to see that man or anyone like him in
my life," he sniffed, clearly offended by the question.  "Superstitious
bunk, nothing but a lot of mumbo jumbo."  He continued to babble about
people who threw their money away on charlatans.

Jeff sighed.  It was clear he wasn't going to get anything more out of
him.  He instructed the nurse to have the patient moved to the
isolation wing on the fifth floor.

Jeff was preparing to leave when Foster grabbed his jacket sleeve,
halting his movement.  For a man so seriously ill, he was amazingly
strong.

"He did this to me," he said, giving Jeff a glassy-eyed stare.

Jeff looked at Foster and frowned.  "Who?"

"The man that mugged me," Foster said impatiently.  A chill went up
Jeff's spine.

"He thought I was unconscious, but I wasn't.  I was awake, and I saw
what he did."

"What did you see?"

Eyes wide, Foster stared at Jeff.  "He stuck me with a hypodermic
needle."

"WHY WOULD ANYONE do something like this?"  Jeff asked.  He paced back
and forth, agitated.

Raven looked up at him.  "You're really taking Foster's claim
seriously, aren't you?"

He paused in his pacing.  "Normally, I'd dismiss it as simply the
ranting of a sick, delusional man, but I checked with the police and
they confirmed Foster's story.  He was mugged Monday night, and we did
find a tiny puncture wound on his right leg.  Eleanor Parker was also
mugged just days before the onset of her illness, and the coroner found
what appears to be a puncture wound on her right leg."

Raven shrugged.  "It could be just a coincidence."  "Yeah," he said.
"It could."

She could tell from his tone of voice that he didn't believe that and
tried again.  "Jeff, it has to be a coincidence."  When he didn't say
anything, she looked at him with growing horror.  "Do you realize what
you're suggesting?  That someone is deliberately causing this thing."

"Look, I know how crazy that sounds.  But this disease doesn't feel
right.  And I'm having trouble scientifically explaining everything
that's been going on."  He looked up at her.  "Actually, the idea of
somebody deliberately spreading this virus is about the only way this
does make any sense."

He looked so sad that she wanted to take him in her arms, but she
checked the impulse.

"Let's look at this rationally," she said.  "Eleanor Parker and David
Foster were mugged.  But neither Julie Hartman, nor any of the other
patients were victims of a mugging and yet they have the same
illness."

"I know," he said, his voice weary.

"And what about the other patients?  Did you find any puncture wounds
on them?"

He shook his head.  "No, I didn't.  But that just means we'd better be
damn sure of our facts before we say anything about someone
deliberately spreading this virus."  He placed his hand on a folder on
his desk.  "We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

Then he pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to her.  "I'd like
for you to help me call the families and ask if anyone was mugged
within a week of the onset of the disease."

It took almost an hour to track down all the family members and get
the information.  "Find anything?"  she asked.  He shook his head.
"What about you?"

"Zilch."  She leaned back in her chair.  "According to family members,
none of them were mugged.  So doesn't that prove the fallacy of your
theory?"

"No," he said slowly.  "I was thinking about that while I waited for
you to finish your calls.  I think what it means is that he used the
hypodermic for just Foster and Parker."  She gave him a skeptical
look.

"Hey, I'm not saying it makes sense.  I'm simply saying that's what I
think happened."

"Let's assume for the sake of argument that Foster and Parker did
contract this thing..."  she grimaced "from an injection.  If that's
the case, then how did the others get it?"

"He used a different method."  Jeff leaned forward slightly.  "It would
be easy enough to slip something in a person's drink.  People don't
watch their drinks, even when they're out in public.  Just look at the
recent rash of sexual assaults occurring around the country with the
drug rohypnol."  '

"Are you suggesting food tampering?"

Jeff nodded, "We always thought exposure to the disease came through
ingestion of a food product or drink, we just didn't know it was being
done deliberately.  Somewhere out there, someone is deliberately
exposing people to a deadly virus."

"But why use two different methods to transmit the disease?"

Jeff shrugged.  "Mayhe the others were more susceptible to food
tampering."  He shrugged again.  "I don't know."

Raven shuddered.  "You make it sound so cold-blooded, but a person who
would do something like this would have to be crazy."

Jeff shook his head.  "I doubt it.  There's too much premeditation and
expertise involved.  And this bug is dangerous to handle.  Our killer
may not be perfectly sane by society's standards but he knows what he's
doing."

She shook her head still trying to take it all in.  "But how could
someone get their hands on something this deadly?"

"It's actually easier than you think.  A strongly motivated person
wouldn't have that great a problem."  "You've got to be kidding!"

"Nope.  Some of the most deadly viruses on the planet are only a phone
call away."

"My God!  I thought outside of the CDC and maybe a few academic
centers, obtaining an infectious disease-would be virtually
impossible."

Jeff shook his head.  "There are several labs that maintain infectious
microbes.  They're made available to doctors and scientists for
research and diagnostic purposes.  Of course, you have to have proper
clearance to obtain them."

"Obviously there are loopholes in the security system," she said
dryly.

"It would appear so."

"What do we do now?"

"First we notify Hillman and the CDC of this new development Then we
call the police."

"You think they'll believe us?"

Jeff's eyes locked on Raven's.  "They have to."

"THAT'S SOME STORY, Dr.  Knight," Detective Valentine said when Jeff
had laid out the events of the past few weeks and their belief that the
mysterious illness was being deliberately spread.

Jeff nodded.  "I know.  I wouldn't believe it myself but for the fact
that it all fits.  The CDC, Public Health and hospital staff have all
been working under the assumption that this disease was the result of
an accident in nature."  He threw Raven a look.  "But from the very
beginning it hasn't followed any kind of logical pattern."

Detective Valentine frowned.  "What do you mean?"

"Normally, once the index case is identified, it's pretty easy to
track the course of the disease..  But that's never been the case here,
and now we know Why.  In this case, we have two people who had the
disease injected directly into their bloodstream.  The others, no
doubt, were infected by food tampering.  He probably slipped something
into their drinks.  Since no one noticed, it's probably odorless,
colorless and tasteless."

Detective Valentine raised his eyebrows.  "Doc, are we talking
poison?"

Jeff threw Raven a tiny smile.  She could see he was visibly relieved
that the young detective was taking their claim seriously.  But she
wasn't entirely surprised.  Detective Valentine struck her as a man who
liked the spotlight, liked being on the Big Case.  No doubt he was out
to make a name for himself.  A case like this just might do it for
him.

"So you believe us?"  Jeff asked.

Detective Valentine nodded.  "Actually, it's not that far-fetched.  A
couple of years ago, there was some nut running around the New York
subways poking people with a hypodermic needle.  But as far as I know,
the substance inside turned out to be harmless."

"Unfortunately, that's not the case here," Jeff said.  "It's definitely
not a poison, but whatever it is, it's most certainly deadly."  He
hesitated before adding, "It looks like it might be a virus."

Detective Valentine whistle "God, if the media get wind of that bit of
information, it's going to be a circus."  He shook his head.  "How many
deaths so far?"

"Five," Jeff replied.  "And I'd like to keep it that way."  "That makes
two of us.  You got anything for us to go on?  I mean, in the time you
and Ms.  Delaney have been working on this case, have you come across
anything that might help in the investigation?"

Jeff threw her a smile that almost took her breath away.  "Raven found
something that might help."

Raven leaned forward.  "I think the drink tampering and the injections
always occur on a Monday," she said.  "We arrived at that conclusion
from information collected from David Foster and the other patients.
Foster said he was mugged on a Monday and began feeling ill on Tuesday.
He brought himself to the emergency room on a Wednesday night.  It was
pretty much the same with Eleanor Parker.  Every patient has been
admitted on either a Wednesday evening or Thursday morning."

"Hmm," Detective Valentine said thoughtfully.  "That is interesting."
He looked at Raven.  "Sounds like he has Mondays off.  That may be
useful information when we have a suspect."  He redirected his
attention to Jeff.  "So what are we talking here, a terrorist or
what?"

Jeff shook his head.  "I doubt it's a terrorist.  No threats have been
made and no group has come forward to take credit for these murders.
Besides, the people that have been targeted are just plain everyday
folks."

"Yeah, but folks who had the misfortune of being singled out by our
killer."  He pursed his lips.  "It's curious though that he changed his
method for Parker and Foster.  Serial killers normally don't do
that."

Jeff shrugged.  "My guess would be that Foster and Parker weren't
particularly susceptible to food tampering."

Detective Valentine considered his words for a moment.  "That sounds
reasonable, but what I want to know is how he got his hands on a live
virus.  Isn't something like that difficult to get?"

Raven shook her head.  "Jeff tells me it's relatively simple."  She
explained to the young detective the relative ease by which a deadly
microbe could be obtained.  Detective Valentine shuddered.  "It's that
easy?"  Jeff nodded.  "I'm afraid so."  "God, that's scary."

Raven nodded.  "But the average person wouldn't know that.  The killer
obviously has a fairly good medical background."

The young detective nodded.  "I'd say that's a sure bet."  "So?"  Jeff
asked.  "What's your take on the murders?"  "I think this is going to
be a hard one to investigate."  Detective Valentine ticked off the
reasons.  "We have no crime scene, no physical evidence, no
fingerprints, no murder weapon and no witnesses.  The killer has also
done a damn good job of covering his tracks."  He shook his head. 
"This guy's smart.  He's not going to be easy to catch.  And, frankly,
this killer virus angle is a little outside the scope of my expertise. 
I'm going to need help from you and Ms.  Delaney in investigating the
murders."

"You got it," Jeff said.  "Just tell us what you need."  "Well, for
starters I need the names and addresses of all the patients and their
family members so we can take statements."  He grimaced.  "Though from
what you've said, none of these people can even say when or where the
drug was, slipped into their drinks."

Jeff shook his head.

"I'll also review David Foster's police report, check out his storage
room, interview him.  Hopefully, the killer left something behind that
will help us."

"You might also want to check out a Reverend Walters," Raven
interjected, then laid out in a brief but concise manner the case
against him.

"What's the likelihood of your catching this guy?"  Jeff asked.

Detective Valentine shook his head.  "To be honest, I'm not all that
optimistic.  We're dealing with a very accomplished murderer."

Raven nodded.  "That's what Jeff and I think."  "Unfortunately, serial
killers are the hardest kind to track.  They're seasoned professionals
and know how to evade detection.  Compounding the situation is the fact
that there's no crime scene that we can use as a starting point.  And,
worst of all, like most serial murderers, he probably doesn't even know
the people he's killing."

Raven shook her head.  "I think he does know them.

This man is going to an awful lot of trouble, too much trouble as far
as I'm concerned, to be killing a bunch of strangers."

Valentine gestured to the file cabinets behind him.  "As those case
files will attest, it happens all the time.  You'd be surprised at the
amount of planning a lot of killers go through, especially serial
killers.  They're predators, and they're good at what they do because
they plan.  I'm afraid that what we have here is a very clever
psychopath, but I doubt if he knows his victims."

DETECTIVE VALENTINE'S words stayed with Raven.  She had no doubt that
the killer was a psychopath, but she wasn't sure she bought the part
about him not knowing his victims, and she said as much to Jeff.  "It's
hard for me to accept the theory that these are just a series of random
murders."

Jeff nodded.  "I know, but Valentine seems to know his business.  If he
thinks these are random attacks committed by a serial killer, who are
we to question it?"

Raven settled back against the cushions.  "We have five fatalities and
no viable conventional means of combating this virus.  We have to
question it.  If we don't figure out who's spreading the virus, we're
going to have more victims and more deaths."

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck.  "Yeah, you're right.  We don't have
time to waste on some wild-goose chase."

She nodded.  "If Detective Valentine isn't going to pursue that line of
inquiry, we're just going to have to do it ourselves."

Jeff frowned.  "But we've already spent days looking for connections
between the patients.  Other than Lauren Connor and Eleanor Parker,
there is no connection."

She shook her head.  "But there's got to be some connection between the
killer and his victims," she said adamantly.  "We just have to figure
out what that connection is."

Jeff looked at Raven and smiled.  She could be so stubborn and
single-minded about what she believed.  "Maybe we should turn this
around," he said.  "They may not know him, but he sum as hell knows
them.  Not necessarily as friends," he added hurriedly.  "The contact
may have been casual, but it made an impact on him."

She turned the idea over in her mind.  "That could be it.  Maybe he has
a personal vendetta against all of them.  Or maybe it only one of
them," she said excitedly.  The more she thought about it, the more the
idea appealed to her.  "This reminds me of the aspirin murders that we
had here about a decade ago.  That case involved a husband who wanted
to do away with his wife.  He was afraid of killing her outright, so he
laced a number of aspirins with a deadly poison, then placed the
bottles in stores throughout the city to draw suspicion from himself
when his wife died."

"It's an interesting theory," Jeff said.  "However, in that case the
killer just placed the bottles back on the shelf and waited for random
selection to take its course.  Here, he's an active participant in
every murder.  It's almost as if he has to be a part of the kill.  So
how do we find him?"

Raven cocked her head to the side.  "He obviously kills for a mason. We
just have to figure out what that mason is.  Wouldn't knowing why he
kills tell us who he might be?"

Jeff shrugged.  "It might--but who can really say why anyone does
anything?"

"Don't go getting philosophical on me," she said, but her words were
tempered by a warm smile.  He returned the smile.

"I think his mason for killing is less important than how he kills. How
did he get his hands on this deadly virus?  How does he slip the virus
into his victim's drink without detection and without leaving any clues
as to his identity behind?"

"My point exactly.  He has to know his victims.  It would explain how
he's able to tamper with their food or drinks without detection,
wouldn't it?"

Jeff's brow arched.  "But doesn't that contradict the theory that he's
going after a single individual?"

She shook her head.  "Not necessarily.  He's after a particular person
but he's trying to divert attention from that fact by going after
others.  But there's deliberation even in the selection of the other
people."

"Sounds to me as if the killer is unpredictable which means he's going
to be hard to track."  Jeff leaned back against the sofa and steepled
his hands beneath his chin.  "He may not have even infected the
ultimate target at this point."

Raven gave him a thoughtful look.  "That's true," she said, "but the
mugging of Eleanor and David Foster is awfully curious.  Infection by
injection adds a different dimension to this case.  I wonder why they
weren't as accessible as the others?"

Jeff gave her a quizzical look.  "Maybe it wasn't that they were less
accessible.  Maybe he wanted to make sure they died."

HE TOOK A SWALLOW of beer, then stood back and studied the photographs
on the bulletin board in his study.  Killing is not a bad thing, he
thought, especially if the person deserved to die.  Well, not all of
them, he amended.  Some had been sacrificed to achieve the goals of The
Plan.  For the common good, he liked to think.

He took another swig of beer.  Killing them had not been a snap
decision on his part.  He had thought about it long and hard, but in
the end it was the only answer.

He walked over to his desk and reviewed The Plan.  Things were
progressing nicely, he thought.  He'd gotten away with murder five
times now.  For a moment a furrow marred the smooth skin of his
forehead.  The murders had been detected.  He'd underestimated the
medical establishment here.  He hadn't thought they'd discern a
connection

between the deaths this quickly but apparently they had.  No doubt
because of Lauren Connor.

He should have never selected her.  He',had known of her connection to
Eleanor, but she'd been such an easy target that he hadn't been able to
resist the temptation to do her.  But he'd felt a twinge of remorse
when he'd discovered she had small children, but by then it was too
late, she'd already been added to The Plan, and The Plan had to be
followed.

But he couldn't afford any more slipups like that.  He was close to
achieving his goal.  He looked at the photograph he'd taken earlier
that day, and smiled.  It was a picture of his next victim.

Chapter Nine

Julie Hartman was dead.

Jeff knew he should have been prepared for it, but he wasn't.  He'd
hoped that with the CDC on board, they would identify the virus and
suggest a viable treatment, but that hadn't happened.  They had tried
everything they could think of to halt the progression of the disease,
but nothing had worked.  Julie Hartman was now the killer's latest
victim.  He felt like screaming at someone, something.

But he didn't do either of those things.  Instead, he swung his head
around, surveying the group that had assembled in the hospital
conference room: Shay, Dr.  Hillman, Dr.  Patterson and Henry Brockman.
He knew that he had a precarious hold on his emotions, and it made it
difficult to concentrate on what Dr.  Hillman was saying.

"I'm sorry to say we weren't able to save Ms.  Hartman.  Whatever the
killer infected her and the others with seems to have stumped even the
CDC's top scientists.  We're going to have to consider other possible
forms of treatment "

Listening halfheartedly, Jeff studied Dr.  Joseph Hillman, who was
giving them the CDC's assessment of the situation.  Obviously Hillman
had experienced scenes like this many times before and his stock
phrase, "I'm sorry to say," had an overused, insincere ring.  Jeff had
the un com for table feeling that the man was enjoying himself, not in
the same manner he'd enjoy a movie or a good meal, but in a more
subtle, self-satisfied way--he was the center of attention in a crisis.
This attitude grated on Jeff's already frayed nerves, especially since
he seemed to speak about the patients as if they were case studies
rather than actual people.

"--This serial killer angle adds an entirely new dimension to our
investigation and treatment of the disease," Dr.  Hillman was saying.
"It's unfortunate that Dr.  Ross is no longer with us.  As you know he
was one of the world's top scientists in the field of virology and
would have been invaluable in trying to unlock the mysteries of this
disease."

Jeff couldn't agree more.  He'd met the aging scientist several years
ago, If anyone could have isolated and identified this virus, it would
have been Dr.  Ross.  That why he'd asked Dr.  Patterson to see if she
could get copies of the doctor's latest writings.  He'd didn't dare
hope that Dr.  Ross had ever come across this particular virus, but
perhaps something similar, and had written about it.  It was a long
shot, but he was out of ideas.  He sighed and turned his attention back
to Dr.  Hillman.

"It's unfortunate that the media has gotten wind of our problem.  The
inflammatory stories appearing daily certainly don't help matters.  I
suggest we forget about trying to identify the virus for now and focus
on treatment.  I hate to say it, but a cure may only come after the
killer is apprehended and we can question him.  In the meantime, I
think we should switch gears and focus solely on treatment and halting
the progression of the disease."

Jeff nodded.  That sounded reasonable to him.

Hillman cleared his throat and looked directly at him.  "I've been in
contact with the Food and Drug Administration, and I'm pleased to
report that they've given us permission to use a new drug--AST.  We've
observed very favorable results with aggressive viruses like this one
in drug trials."

Jeff frowned.  He was familiar with the drug but he didn't view it in
quite the same rosy light as Dr.  Hillman apparently did.  "I realize
that you think AST is the way we ought to go," he said, "but I have
reservations about using it.  It's an extremely toxic drug, and as far
as I know it's only been used in about a dozen Ebola cases in Africa.
All the other trials have been conducted in the laboratory."

Taking his glasses off, Dr.  Hillman tried to think of how best to word
his response.  "That's true, but it is not a constructive way to view
the situation."

"This isn't a situation," Jeff answered hotly.  "We're not dealing with
laboratory rats.  These are people,"

Jeff abruptly stood and walked to the window, watching the cars and the
pedestrians on the street below as he continued to speak.  "And what do
you suggest we tell the families about the survival rate for those
patients who didn't respond to treatment?  Or, for that matter, the
likelihood of survival of their own loved ones?"

Dr.  Hillman flushed then shifted uncomfortably.  "I'm not sure what
good this line of inquiry does us."

Jeff whirled around.  "What good it does?  I'll tell you what good it
does.  The worst thing about a disease like this is the uncertainty.
Humans are capable of adapting to anything as long as they know what
they're up against.  In this instance, what they can expect."

Jeff crossed his arms over his chest and gave Dr.  Hillman a hard look.
"Come on, Dr.  Hillman, why don't you tell the others what the survival
rate has been with this drug."

Three pairs of eyes slid from Jeff to Hillman.

Hillman moved back in his chair, his chin resting on his hands.  "It's
not good," he said finally.

"Be more specific," Jeff snapped.

"All right!"  Dr.  Hillman burst out angrily.  Jeff could

tell he didn't like being put in this position.  "Days, a few weeks at
the most."

Jeff didn't say anything.  Having successfully backed Dr.  Hillman into
a corner, he was suddenly adrift.  Slowly he sank back into his
chair.

"This drug doesn't promise a cure, but it may buy us some time," Dr.
Hillman said.

"But it's the quality of life the patients will have while on the drug'
that I'm concerned about," Jeff countered.  "Shouldn't we take that
into consideration?"

"Dr.  Knight," Dr.  Hillman said sharply, "as a physician I would
expect your response to this medical crisis to be significantly
different."

"Different from what?"  Jeff cried.  "These are my patients we're
talking about.  I have a duty to them and their loved ones.  A duty not
to cause them any additional harm or unnecessary suffering."  He paused
and looked at the others in the room.  "Lauren Connor's condition is
deteriorating rapidly.  With the chance of halting the disease being so
slight, is it worth subjecting her to the drug's potential side
effects?"  He began to tick off on his fingers a litany of possible
complications--violent cramps, severe headaches, shortness of breath,
kidney failure, high blood pressure.

There was a strained silence.

"Ah ... I understand your concern, Jeff," Shay said, speaking for the
first time.  "But what other alternative is there?"

Jeff raked a hand over his hair in frustration.  "I don't know."

Dr.  Hillman nodded.  "My point exactly.  There is no other
alternative."

Shay looked at Dr.  Hillman.  "You really think the drug will work?"

"There's no guarantee," Dr.  Hillman hedged.  "But, like I said, AST
has shown promising results in drug trials."

Jeff shook his head, still trying to come to grips with what Hillman
was proposing.  "But those trials were with Ebola patients.  Their
cases were in no way similar to these."

"That's true," Dr.  Hillman admitted grudgingly.  "But there's a
certain similarity between the Ebola virus and the one we're dealing
with here."  At Jeff's skeptical look, Hillman added quickly, "I know
it's slight, but it's enough to make it worth the risk.  I believe in
aggressively treating all cases, whatever the chances are for survival.
Every patient deserves a chance at life, whatever the risk."

"Even if the patient and family would rather end his or her suffering?"
Jeff challenged.  "Even when the chances of survival--let alone a
cure--are less than fifteen percent?"  He shook his head.  "I just
don't know if it's worth subjecting them to the additional pain."

Dr.  Hillman stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair.  "We obviously
view the situation differently.  I believe AST to be a truly remarkable
weapon in the battle against this kind of deadly microbe."

Jeff groaned in frustration.  "But what you're suggesting amounts to
little more than experimental."

"Jeff, that's enough!"  Brockman snapped.  "The truth is, we're out of
choices.  We've got some nut out there infecting people with Lord knows
what, cops swarming all over the place and the media breathing down our
necks.  We've got to do something."

Something, yes, Jeff thought bleakly.  But was this the thing to do?
His shoulders sagged under the weight of his impotence.  Even though he
wasn't entirely comfortable with using AST, he had nothing else to
offer.  That's not true, an inner voice whispered.  There's Raven's
herbal treatment, but as quickly as the thought crossed his mind he was
discarding it.  It was irresponsible to even consider using it.  The
AST had at least undergone some scientific testings, whereas Raven's
was simply an unproven theory.  With a sigh, Jeff reluctantly nodded
his head.

"Good, we're all agreed."  Henry Brockman turned back to Dr.  Hillman.
"We'll use the AST."

Dr.  Hillman walked back' to his desk and pulled a sheet of paper from
his briefcase.  "All right," he said at length.  "In addition toAST our
protocol for dealing with this virus also involves these drugs."  He
named several extremely toxic agents.

The drugs named stunned Jeff, but he forced himself to keep quiet, even
though he felt uneasy about his decision.  But as Dr.  Hillman outlined
the treatment schedule, Jeff's mind continued to torture him by running
again through the drug's potential side effects... severe headaches,
kidney failure, high blood pressure, shortness of breath ... and from
there it only got worse.  Ultimately the drug would devastate the
patient's immune system, making the patient susceptible to a host of
infectious diseases.  That was the downside.  But, on the plus side,
the drug just might work.  Shouldn't he give it a try?

He sighed.  "When do you want to start treatment?"  he asked.

Hillman gave him a satisfied smile.  "I suggest we start as soon as
possible.  In fact, I'd like to start today, immediately after the
baseline studies are done.  Of course, we are going to need consent
from the.  family members to treat because of the nature of the
drug."

Hillman's voice droned on, but Jeff was no longer listening.  His
thoughts were focused on one fact and one fact alone--the drug had to
work.

God help them if it didn't.

"YOU'RE USING AST?  That's an experimental drug!"  Raven plopped in the
chair behind her desk in her office, stunned by Jeff's disclosure.  "My
God, the side effects can be horrendous."

"I know it's an extremely toxic agent, but we don't have any other
choice.  None of the patients have responded to any other form of
treatment.  We're dealing with an unknown virus.  All bets for
treatment are off."

"But you don't have to go to that extreme," she argued.  "You could
use..."  She named several powerful drugs used to treat stubborn
viruses.

He shook his head.  "We already considered those drugs and even tried
two of them with Eleanor Parker and Julie Hartman, but they didn't
work."

"But still there are other less radical treatments that could be
used."

"Don't you think I would use them if there were?"  His voice sounded
tired and was laced with frustration.  "I've been working my butt off
trying to come up with something to combat this virus."

"Have you really?"  she challenged.  "It seems to me you've only looked
at conventional forms of medical treatments."

At her words, he shifted in his seat next to her desk and looked down
at his hands for a moment.

"I could understand and support your decision if you'd considered every
possibility, but you haven't.  There's a whole host of other forms of
medical care out there."  His eyes narrowed.  "Don't start with me,
Raven."  "I'm damn well going to start," she snapped.  "When are you
going to get your head out of the sand?  Even the National Institutes
of Health has determined that alternative medicine has a role in
standard health care.  Just last year they recommended the inclusion of
alternative healing to the curriculum for all medical schools.  And
they cited several reports on the effectiveness of herbs as healing
tools."

"Yeah, but the cases reported in those studies haven't gone through any
scientific testing proving their effectiveness," he said defensively.
"Until that happens, they're just a series of interesting anecdotes."

"What about my paper On this disease?"  she challenged.  "Do you
believe that's also just an interesting anecdote?"

He flushed and looked off to the side.

"You didn't read it, did you?"  She jumped to her feet and glared down
at him.

"Ah ... I was going to but--"

Her eyes blazed with anger.  "Why don't you just admit it, you didn't
read it because you never once considered what I thought to be
important?"

He looked at her with eyes pleading for understanding.  "That's not
true.  I plan to read it.  I just haven't had time.  You know the hours
I've been putting in at the hospital."

She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.  "I know you've
been working hard, but if you'd been remotely interested in my thoughts
on the subject of treatment, you'd have made time, the way you have for
Dr.  Ross's work and the other studies."  She paced the room, agitated.
"The treatment plan I laid out to you isn't something I just made up.
There's plenty of data supporting the use of herbs in restoring the
body's immune system.  It's been used successfully with AIDS patients.
While we're dealing with a different virus, I think it has an
application in this situation, but you didn't even extend me the
courtesy of reading the material."

He started to speak?  but she cut him off with a jerk of her head. "You
simply dismissed it out of hand.  You haven't changed one iota. Same
old Jeff."

"Raven, that's not true."

"I have to say, you had me fooled, but you're just as narrow-minded as
you were four years ago.  But this time your stubbornness is going to
lead to the deaths of your patients."

Jeff bristled at her words.  "Who do you think you are?  These are my
patients, and I determine the course of treatment.  If I don't Want to
use some half-baked idea--"

Half-baked!  That was too much.  "How dare you--" "I hope I'm not
coming at a bad time."

Both their heads simultaneously swiveled in the direction of the sound.
Nick Valentine stood in the doorway, looking at them curiously.

Raven threw Jeff an angry look before plastering a smile on her face.
"No, of course not," she said, sitting back down.  "Come on in."

Nick Valentine looked at them curiously as he moved into the office and
took the seat she indicated.  Even though the tension in the room was
so thick you could cut it with a knife, the young detective acted as if
everything was perfectly normal.

"I thought I'd drop by and bring you up-to-date on the investigation,"
he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

She felt the tension radiating from Jeff.

"We questioned Reverend Walters," he continued.  "A lot of his story
doesn't check out, but the guy doesn't seem to have the brains to have
pulled off these murders.  But more importantly, he has an alibi.  He
was with a client on the nights Parker and Foster were mugged, which
suggests he couldn't have been involved in any of the murders.  Nor did
he have a motive for killing any of them, or for that matter, fit the
FBI profile for a serial killer.  I turned his case over to Vice.
They'll shut him down, but I'm eliminating him as a suspect in these
murders:"

Well, that shoots that idea, she thought.

"We also ran the killer's MO through the FBI data files on serial
killers for the last five years."  He shook his head.  "That was also a
wash.  Whoever our boy is, he hasn't committed any murders like this in
any other jurisdiction."

"Or, "Jeff interjected, "left any evidence to that effect behind."

Detective Valentine looked at Jeff and nodded.

"What about your interviews with the patients and their family
members?"  Raven asked.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeff
stating at her, but she refused to look in his direction.

"With the exception of David Foster, none of the patients could think
of anyone with an ax to grind or a vendetta against them.  And in
Foster's case, the threat was made almost two decades ago by a man who
later committed suicide.  A John Kramer threatened him, but the guy has
been dead for almost twenty years."  Detective Valentine paused and
looked at Raven with something close to admiration.  "But that line of
inquiry did yield two possible suspects.  Looks like you might have
been on the right track after all about these not being random
killings."

Raven was so excited by his news, she forgot that she was angry with
Jeff.  She threw him a beaming smile.  "That's great news," she said.
"Please go on."

"We think the killer is after a specific person and is trying to divert
attention from that fact by killing others."  Raven and Jeff exchanged
looks.

"Like I said, we have two suspects.  One is the husband of one of the
victims, Calvin Parker," Nick leaned forward slightly.  "It seems he
wanted out of the marriage but his wife had made it plain that it would
cost him dearly financially.  Friends say she made it clear that it
would only be, and I quote, "Over her dead body.""

"Interesting choice of words," Jeff mused.

The young detective nodded.  "Tell me about it.  Parker is a
pharmaceutical sales rep.  He had motive and possibly the means for
killing his wife, as well as the others."  "What about the other
suspect?"  Raven asked.

"It's a guy by the name of Mark Daniels.  He was involved with Julie
Hartman.  He's a con man with a long history of fraud and assaults.
He's never served any prison time, probably because he intimidates his
female victims.  So they're afraid to press charges."

"Sounds like a great, guy," Jeff said dryly.

"Yeah," Detective Valentine agreed.  "He's the kind of guy you'd love
to have twenty minutes alone with.  Anyway, his latest rose is that of
posing as an investment broker, complete with a posh office in the
Sears Tower.  He bilked Hartman out of more than twenty-five thousand
dollars.  Seems she was threatening to press charges.  But what's most
interesting about Daniels is that early in his criminal career, his
modus operandi was to slip rohypnol in his victim's drink."

Jeff looked at him, surprised.  "The date-rape drug?"  Detective
Valentine nodded.  "It's gotten a lot of publicity recently in that
area, but Daniels used it to knock his victims out so he could rob
them."

If he could get his hands on rohypnol, what other drugs did he have
access to?  Raven wondered.  Out of the corner of her eye, she looked
at Jeff and knew he was wondering the same thing.  "Have you questioned
him?"  she asked.

Detective Valentine shook his head.  "I haven't questioned either man.
I was going to do that as soon as I leave here."  He looked at Jeff as
he stood.  "Would you like for me to drop you at the hospital?  It's
along the way."

Jeff shook his head.  "That's okay, I'm going to hang around here for a
while."

As far as she was concerned there was nothing to talk about.  But from
the determined look on Jeff's face, he wasn't going anywhere.

"Why don't I go along with you," she said hurriedly.  "It might be good
having another pair of eyes and ears along.  Phyllis can handle things
here."

"I'll come, too," Jeff said, standing.  "You never know when you'll
need someone with a medical background along."

She whirled around.  "But don't you need to get back to the hospital?"
she asked.

Jeff shook his head.  "I don't have any classes or appointments this
afternoon, I checked on my patients before I came over here, and I left
them in Shay's capable hands."  Jeff patted the inside breast pocket of
his sport jacket where she knew he carried a cellular phone.  "If he
needs me, he'll call."

For a moment Detective Valentine looked as if he was

going to refuse, then he surprised her by saying, "Since it was your
lead that gave us these two, I guess I owe you this one."  ",

THEIR FIRST STOP was at Calvin Parker's.  He lived in a modest house in
Oak Park, a middle-class suburb about thirty miles outside of Chicago.
As Detective Valentine rapped the brass knocker on an elaborately
carved door, Jeff looked over at Raven.  She was doing her best to
ignore him.  He couldn't exactly blame her.  He'd handled things badly
back at her shop.  He shouldn't have been so defensive about using AST,
but her words had echoed his own fears and he had taken his anger and
frustration out on her.  He should have also known she'd ask him about
her report and he should have leveled with her right off the bat.  He
just hoped she'd give him a chance to explain.  But he'd really flubbed
things up, it wasn't going to be easy.

His troubled thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open.  Calvin
Parker answered the door wearing a white shirt unbuttoned to his waist,
holding a can of beer, and humming to the soulful strains of Luther
Vandross singing in the background.  He certainly didn't look like a
man whose wife had died just days ago.

The smile that hovered on Calvin Parker's lips disappeared immediately,
and was replaced by a cool stare.  "Can I help you?"

Detective Valentine flashed his badge.  "I'm sorry to bother you, but
we'd like to talk to you."  He tipped his head in Raven and Jeff's
direction.  "I believe you already know Dr.  Knight and this is Raven
Delaney."

Parker gave them a cursory glance, then turned back to the young cop.
"I told the police officers that were here yesterday all I know."

Detective Valentine nodded.  "I just have a few more questions.  It
won't take long."  "Oh..."  Calvin Parker was unable to frame an object
tion.  He nodded and moved aside to let them in.  A moment later they
were ushered into a sunlit sitting room off the entryway.  He motioned
Jeff and Raven to the sofa and took the love seat opposite.  Nick
elected to stand.

"We're sorry about your wife, Mr.  Parker," Nick began.  "I know the
last few days have been difficult for you, but we must ask you some
more questions.  As you know five other people have died in the same
way as your late wife."

Parker nodded.  "Yes, I know."

"I know the police officers covered this same ground before but do you
know anyone who would want to kill your wife?"

He shook his head.  "Like I told them, my wife was a good, upstanding,
churchgoing woman.  She didn't have an enemy in the world."

Jeff leaned forward slightly.  "It could have been a while back.  Maybe
before you were even married."

He gave Jeff a cool look.  "Then I wouldn't know."

"What about yourself?."  Nick asked, taking a seat directly in front of
the older man.

Parker reacted with a surprised expression.  "Me?"  "It's my
understanding that you and Mrs.  Parker weren't getting along, that you
were having marital problems.  In fact, you moved out and asked your
wife for a divorce, but she refused to give it to you."

Parker rolled his eyes.  "No doubt that old busybody Grace Wells has
been giving you an earful, and as usual, she got it all wrong.  Like
all marriages, we had our ups and downs."  He shrugged.  "But we
weren't discussing divorce."

"So you hadn't moved out?"

Parker shifted uncomfortably.  "I left for a while.  I needed my space.
Eleanor understood."

"And you came back," Jeff said, "no doubt because you weren't willing
to give up all of this."  His hand made

an arc in a gesture meant to encompass the house and all its
furnishings.

A smile played about Parker's lips.  "You think I killed Eleanor
because I didn't want to give up my lifestyle?"  He shook his head.

"It's been done before," Nick said dryly.

"I'm sure it has," Parker said smoothly, "but this time you're barking
up the wrong tree.  I didn't kill my wife or anyone else, for that
matter."  He shrugged.  "I had no reason to kill Eleanor.  Everything
is in my name--the house, the car, everything.  And she wouldn't have
fought me in a divorce action to retain anything.  She loved me."

That wasn't love, Jeff thought.  It was a one-sided relationship where
one party did all the giving and the other the taking.  Isn't that what
you're doing with Raven?  an inner voice whispered.  He turned the idea
over in his mind.  He never thought so, but maybe he had.  She had
always been there for him, encouraging him, supporting his interests,
and what had he done for her?  Rejected her profession, her ideas on
alternative medicine without any kind of hearing.  He'd spent hours
reading medical journals, Dr.  Ross's studies, and he'd never once
picked up Raven's report.  He was deeply ashamed.

Jeff looked over at Raven and found that she was watching him.  She
quickly looked off to the side focusing on what Parker was saying.

"It seems to me," Parker continued, "you ought to be questioning that
Reverend Walters."

"We did," Nick said.  "He has an airtight alibi."

Parker snorted.  "So when all else fails, blame the husband."

Jeff shrugged.  "Well, you have to admit you bear checking out.  You
work for a pharmaceutical company, where you no doubt have access to a
lot of experimental drugs and infectious agents."

Parker shook his head vigorously.  "Dalton Laboratories doesn't
manufacture any drugs that could produce the kind of symptoms my wife
had."

Jeff's eyes narrowed.  "And just how would you know something like that
unless you had some knowledge of drugs yourself"

"Give me a break," Parker said defensively.  "I'm a good salesman.  I
read the company literature."

"We'll check it out," Nick said, picking up the questioning.  "Can you
account for your whereabouts for each Monday beginning with Monday, May
8, to date?"

The only outward sign that Parker was not comfortable with the question
was a slight tremor in his voice.  "Ah ... I'm sure I had business
meetings with clients on those dates."

Nick shook his head.  "No, you didn't.  Your boss at Dalton checked
your itinerary and travel vouchers and you didn't work those days."

A flicker of apprehension flashed across Parker's face then it was
gone.  "Oh, you said Mondays.  I guess I was at home with Eleanor."

Nick gave him a hard look.  "You want to try again?"

Parker stood.  "This interview is over.  If you have any further
questions, I suggest you contact my lawyer."

RAVEN WASN'T SURE what to make of Calvin Parker's claim.  She kept
running the conversation through her mind as they entered Mark
Daniels's plush office on the sixty-third floor of the Sears Tower.
Parker might not have been much of a husband, but she didn't see him as
a killer.  From her brief encounter with Eleanor Parker, she couldn't
help but believe Calvin Parker's assessment of his wife was correct.
She'd struck Raven as being the kind of woman who'd do anything for her
man, even if that meant giving him every dime she had.  And she doubted
if a divorce would have changed that.

"Why so glum?"  Jeff asked as they waited for the

young blond receptionist to announce their arrival.  "I thought the
interview with Parker went well."

She gave him a wan smile.  "I'm not sure what to make of--"

They looked up as the door to the inner office opened, and a man walked
out.  Nick and Jeff stood.

Raven's first impression of Mark Daniels was of raw sex appeal.  He
exuded it--ripe, physical.  He looked to be in his mid-thirties and was
extremely good-looking.  He was blond, blue-eyed, deeply tanned, and
though he wasn't tall, he had a blatant virility that no doubt drew
women to him like bees to honey.

He flashed a warm smile.  "Why don't we step into my office."

Jeff, Raven and Detective Valentine followed him into a sparsely but
tastefully decorated office.

He gestured toward the sofa and two small leather chairs before taking
a seat behind his desk.  "You wanted to talk to me about Julie
Hartman."

"That's correct," Nick said.  "I'm investigating her murder."

"Yes, I read about it in yesterday's paper."  Daniels shrugged
offhandedly.  "I don't see how I can help you, though.  I invested some
money for her, but I barely knew her."

"You do know that someone slipped a deadly infectious agent into her
food or drink," Nick said almost conversationally.  "That's what killed
her.  Any idea who might have done something like that?"

"I just told you I barely knew her."

Nick gave him a hard look.  "Mr.  Daniels, let's not beat around the
bush.  We both know the two of you had more than a professional
relationship.  Isn't it true, you were an item up until about a month
ago?"

"No, it isn't," he said easily.

"That's not what her neighbors say.  It seems you were a frequent
visitor at her apartment."

Daniels casually shrugged one shoulder.  "I might have gone over there
a time or two, but I can assure you it was strictly business."

Nick rolled his eyes.  "Cut the crap.  You wined and dined her until
you got her to max out her credit cards and part with her life
savings--twenty-five thousand dollars--then you dumped her."

"Hey, you got no business talking to me like that.  I run a legitimate
financial consulting business."

"Sure you do.  And do you date all your clients?"  "It wasn't like
that," Daniels insisted.

Nick's gaze never left Daniels's face.  "Then why don't you tell us how
it was?"

"We dated a few times, but like I said it was primarily a business
relationship, at least on my part.  But I guess she misread the
situation.  When things didn't work out professionally, as well as
personally, she started making noises about wanting her money back or
she'd make trouble for me.  Things came to a head when I started seeing
someone else.  She went off the deep end.  She called my apartment at
all hours of the night.  She followed me often.  Threatened my friend."
He shook his head and gave them a sad little smile.  "It was very
unpleasant."

Nick leaned back and regarded Mark Daniels steadily.  "I see.  You were
just her fatal attraction."  He shook his head.  "That's quite a story.
The only problem is, it doesn't square with the facts."

Daniels's throat worked as if he were having difficulty swallowing.  "I
don't know what you're talking about."

"Then let me spell it out for you," Nick said curtly.  "Julie Hartman
told friends that you conned her out of the money."

"Hey, they were legitimate investments."

Raven watched Daniels pull a pencil through his fingers again and
again.

Nick shook his head.  "There were no investments."  Mark Daniels's hand
trembled slightly.  Otherwise, his

outward demeanor didn't betray his thoughts.  He'd make a hell of a
poker player, Raven thought.

"Julie thought if she went to the police alone she might not be taken
seriously, so she starting looking for' other women that you had
conned," Nick continued.  "She found two.  She was trying to get them
to press charges against you when she was murdered.  If she'd been
successful, you'd have done some serious jail time."

The pencil broke with a quiet snap.

Nick gave him a hard look.  "A handsome guy like you would definitely
not like prison."

Raven watched Daniels's throat ripple as he swallowed.  "You can't
prove a thing."

"Oh, I think I can," Nick said easily.

Raven frowned.  It seemed to her that Nick was enjoying this cat-and
mouse game.

"Julie wrote to her sister about you."  Nick kept his eyes on Daniels
now, waiting, measuring.  "Her sister said Julie told her that she
planned to press criminal charges, but she was afraid.  You threatened
her, assaulted her."

Daniels shook his head.  "I never did any such thing."  "But your
threats didn't work," Nick continued as if he'd not spoken.  "She was
still going to press charges.  So you had to shut her up."  He paused
and gave Daniels a sideways glance.  "It would have been easy enough
for someone with your expertise to have slipped something in her drink.
You're quite familiar with spiking drinks, aren't you?"

Daniels's eyes narrowed to tiny slits.  "Don't try to pin this--"

Nick cut him off.  "These murders have your fingerprints all over them.
And you certainly had reason to want to kill Julie Hartman."

"That's a lie!"

Nick shook his head.  "Look, Daniels, there's no point--"

He shot Nick an enraged look.  "I didn't kill anyone!"  he shouted.  He
drew a deep breath, then said in a cal voice, "Okay, I admit
threatening Julie, but I swear Inc laid a hand on her.  And I certainly
didn't kill her."  licked his lips and gave Nick a calculating look. "B
may have seen the guy that did."

Raven rolled her eyes.  Now he claimed to have seen killer.  That was
awfully convenient, she thought.

"I'm not saying anything else until I get some as sura from you.  I
want to know what kind of deal you can g me."

Nick gave him a hard look.  "Listen, Daniels, six per have been
murdered.  All things considered, a fraud .

forgery charge would be the least of your problems."  "Do we have a
deal?"  Daniels asked again.

Raven looked at Nick.  She couldn't believe it, but looked as if he was
actually considering Daniels's proposal."

Nick sighed.  "I can't make any promises, but if information is useful,
I'll talk to the state's attorney al reducing the charges."

For a moment Daniels didn't say anything, then be r ded as if he'd
reached a decision.  "I admit bilking twenty-five thousand from Julie,
but I didn't kill her," said firmly.  "I went to see her a couple of
days before went into the hospital.  She wasn't home, so I sat out,.
her apartment in my car waiting for her.  After a whi noticed this guy
hanging around her apartment.  It wa the first time I'd seen him."

"What was he doing?"  Nick asked.

He seemed tense, as if he believed Daniels's st, Raven was surprised he
was taking the claim seriously.

Daniels frowned.  "Nothing at first, then as Julie pro ached he started
taking pictures.  I thought it was of [ of us but now I realize it was
probably just picture Julie.  At the time I thought it was some kind of
setup I walked over to confront the guy, but he took off ning."

"Can you describe him?"  Nick asked.

He shrugged.  "He was some distance away but he looked to be about your
height and weight.  He moved pretty fast so I would guess he was in his
late thirties or early forties."

"Was he black or white?"

"I couldn't tell.  He was too far away.  Oh, he was wearing a big
floppy hat and sunglasses."

"Anything else?"

Daniels shook his head.  "That's about it."

On impulse, Raven asked, "Do you remember what day of the week it was
that you saw the man?"

Daniels shrugged.  "I think it was a Monday."

"Why didn't you come forward and give this information to the police?"
Raven asked.

Daniels issued a bitter laugh.  "I've got a criminal record and I was
seeing one of the murder victims.  Who's going to believe me?"

"Don't you think the police are smart enough to separate fact from
fiction?"  Nick asked.

Mark Daniels shook his head.  "It's not a question of being smart, but
rather being pressed to make an arrest.  As you pointed out, six people
have been murdered.  The press and the politicians are already
clamoring for an arrest.  That's why I didn't come forward.  Put
yourself in my place.  Why should I place my neck in a noose for a
woman who, if she'd lived, was trying to put me behind bars?"

Raven's eyes narrowed.  He really was a piece of work.  "Besides,"
Daniels continued, "I really didn't think it was important until I read
about the murders in yesterday's paper."

Nick gave him a sour look.  "We'll check it out, but in the meantime,
don't leave town."

Daniels rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.

"One last question, can you account for your whereabouts every Monday
night starting from May 8, to date?"

Mark Daniels threw Nick a cool look.  "I was with Katherine Olsen.  Not
that it's any of your business, but we live together."

Raven and Jeff exchanged looks.  She knew he was thinking the same
thing she was.  Katherine Olsen was a prominent Chicago socialite.
Although she was old enough to be Daniels's mother, she was rolling in
money.  He'd hit the jackpot this time.

"If you'd like to speak to her," he said with a grin, "I'm sure she'll
confirm my story."

Raven didn't doubt it for one moment.  It would take at least forty
minutes for them to reach her Highland Park estate, which was certainly
enough time for the two of them to have rehearsed their story.

"Thank you," Nick said, standing.  Jeff and Raven followed suit.  "I
think we'll do that."

Daniels nodded.  "I'll call her and let her know you're.  on your way
over.  Now if you don't mind..."

"WELL, WHAT DO YOU THINK?"  Nick asked.  They were seated in Raven's
living room.  She and Jeff had begged off going along with him to
interview Katherine Olsen, and Nick had given them a ride back to her
apartment.

"They're both strong suspects, but only one of them can be the killer,"
Raven said.  "The question is, which one?"

Jeff shook his head.  "Parker may have wanted his wife dead, and
Daniels his girlfriend, but neither man strikes me as being
cold-blooded enough to have killed anyone."

Nick chuckled.  "You just haven't been around enough baby-faced
killers."

Raven leaned forward.  "I agree with Jeff about Calvin Parker, but Mark
Daniels is another story.  If anyone could do it, my guess is it would
be him."

Nick shook his head.  "Katherine Olsen is a pretty strong alibi
witness.  She takes him out of the equation to some degree.  She was a
big fish, and he could have used her money to buy Julie Hartman.  And
then there's the man Daniels saw outside Hartman's apartment."

"Claims to have seen," Raven countered.  "I wouldn't believe anything
he says.  The man's slime."

Nick shrugged.  "Informants usually are, but generally the people that
can help the police the most are not choir-boys.  I don't know if
Daniels saw anyone or not, but I have to check it out.  Frankly, at
this stage, Parker seems to be the strongest suspect.  He seems to have
had motive, means and the opportunity.  We'll check out both men, but
my gut tells me that Parker's our man.  Now I just have prove it."

"I hope it's soon," Jeff said.  "My patients can't on much longer.

TM

That sobered Raven.  She'd gotten so caught up in investigation, she'd
momentarily forgotten about the tients and he: earlier argument with
Jeff.  But now it came rushing back.

"I'll do what I can."  Nick stood.  "I'd better head to Olsen."

As soon as she closed the door behind him, the sphere between Raven and
Jeff changed.  Now that I were alone, neither seemed to know what to
say.  earlier argument still hung in the air.

"I guess you're going to have to head back to the pit al Raven said
finally.

"Not just yet," he said quietly.  "Shay is me.  He'll call if he needs
me."

"I see," she said, searching for something to think it was nice of Nick
to let us sit in on the don't you?"

Jeff smiled.  "Frankly I was a little surprised that us strong-ann him
like that."

"I'm not sure if we gave him much choice."  "Maybe not, but that's not
what I want to talk He cleared his throat.  I think we should talk
about happened earlier."

"Jeff, I don't see any point in continuing with that cuss ion You--"

"Raven, I don't want this between us," he said.  walked across the room
until he stood directly in from her.  "I want to clear the air."

"I think you made your position perfectly clear," said, brushing past
him.

"Listen to me," he said, holding her tightly to keep from squirming
away.  "Just listen, damn it!  I behaved like a jerk, and I'm sorry.  I
can only say that I wasn't thinking straight.  I was frustrated and
upset and I took it out on yOU.  '

When she still didn't say anything, he continued.  don't think your
ideas are half-baked.  I think you ha very analytical mind.  You've
proven that numerous times in this investigation."  He paused, then
drew a deep breath "I also want to apologize for not reading your
report.  You were right.  I didn't treat your work the way I have
others and I'm truly sorry.  I promise you, it won't happen again."

Raven's breath caught in her throat.  He sounded so sincere.  She
wanted to believe him.

He looked into her eyes and smiled.  "I'll read it tonight and I
promise I'll give it a fair evaluation."

She didn't want to read too much into his words, she couldn't help but
believe it was a positive sign.  there was a chance for them after
all.

"That's all I ask," she said.  "That you look at the trial and assess
it the way you would any other medical study.  That's all I ever
wanted."

"I know."  Jeff touched her bare arm.  "Will you forgive me?"

She nodded, smiling.

He issued a sigh of relief and returned the smile.  "I a great deal
about you and I don't want to 1 you ... again," he said, his voice
heavy with emotion.  he spoke he slid his fingers along her smooth skin
it

her shoulder to her head.  His touch sent arrows of sensations
shooting through her body.  Raven shivered as he gently entangled his
fingers in her hair.

"I know we have things to work out, but for now this is all that
matters," Jeff murmured, pulling her head back so that she was looking
directly up at him.  The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, but Raven
couldn't move.  She had no desire to run away this time.  He moistened
his lips, and she closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers in a
tender kiss.

She heard his sudden intake of breath as she opened her mouth to him
and willingly deepened the kiss.  His taste was hot and sweet.  As if
her body had a mind of its own, her arms slid around his neck, drawing
him closer.  His tongue filled her mouth, and she angled her head,
wanting more.  Maybe she was reading too much into what he'd said.
Maybe she was only kidding herself, maybe they didn't have the makings
for a permanent relationship, but damn it, when he kissed her, touched
her, she wanted to believe that there was a future for them, that a
relationship founded on mutual respect of their different medical views
was possible.  She needed to believe that.  She wanted to believe that.
She wanted him.

"I want you, Ray," Jeff said breathlessly as he trailed hot kisses down
her throat.

He swept her up in his arms and carried her through the apartment to
her bedroom.  He laid her on the bed then came down on top of her.  She
welcomed the weight of his muscular body on top of hers.  She pulled
him closer, drawing him between her legs and pressing upward to meet
the hard evidence of his arousal.

He groaned--it was a low, guttural sound, born half of ecstasy, half of
desire.  Raven gasped as his hand covered her breast, as he caught her
hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  She clung to him,
hot with desire and dizzy from a barrage of emotions so intense she
could barely breathe.

He pushed her sweater up and unfastened the front clasp of her bra.  He
stroked one rosy peak with his finger, sending a throbbing need through
her.  His mouth replaced his finger while he slowly caressed the other
nipple.  She moaned softly in need, aching for him.

"Your breasts are so beautiful," he murmured.  "So firm and golden
brown.  I love touching them, kissing them."

She was lost.  She closed her eyes and arched her back, the pleasure of
his touch so intense.

He raised his head and whispered, "I could get drunk on the sight of
you... the taste of you."  His voice was thick with longing and need.

"You make me feel so good," she whispered, stroking his dark head as he
resumed his devastating assault on her breasts.  "So good."  Then she
breathed in short, sharp gasps as Jeff slid his hand inside her
panties, caressing the inflamed source of her femininity.

Her breathing was sharp and shallow, and her nails were clenched so
deeply into his shoulders she knew he would find marks there in the
morning.

She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off as she slipped her own
sweater over her head.  He caught her hand and asked, "Raven, are you
sure--" She reached up for him, answering him with the blazing heat of
a kiss, with the shockingly intimate sensation of skin against skin,
soft breasts against hard muscles.  No, she wasn't sure.  But she
didn't want to think.  She wanted only to feel.

Her long, slender fingers touched his hair, his shoulders, stroked his
back, his arms.  Jeff caught his breath as she reached between their
bodies and unsnapped the top button of his jeans.  The zipper stuck,
and her touch was excruciatingly light as she attempted to pull it
down.  He took her hand and pressed it against him, against the hard
bulge of his sex.  He sucked in his breath.

"Yes ... feel what you do to me," he whispered before groaning heavily.
"Yes, like that."  His breathing was

heavy and labored, as if he'd just run a marathon.  "Oh, Ray, we've
got to stop."  He drew a deep ragged breath then carefully but firmly
lifted her hand and placed it on his chest.

She gazed up at him, her brown eyes luminous, the rose-colored tips off
her full breasts taut with desire.  Her chest rose and fell with each
ragged breath she took as she touched him.

"I need you," she whispered.

The look he gave her was hot, like molten steel.  And then he kissed
her, returning her words with the urgency of his mouth against hers.
She wanted this moment to last forever, this hot anticipation of
knowing, of actually knowing, that he was going to make love to her.
She wanted to be able to carry this memory with her always.  She wanted
to be able to look across a crowded room to meet Jeff's eyes, and to
see a hint of this same liquid fire, to see this promise of paradise.
She wanted him.

She pulled again at his zipper, and this time it opened.  And instead
of time standing still, things shifted into fast-forward.  Raven pushed
him over onto his back, and together they pulled his jeans and briefs
down his legs."  He pulled her astride him, burying his face in the
exquisite softness of her breasts.  His hands explored the smooth curve
of her derriere as she noted with amazement that somehow, over the
course of the past few seconds, the last of her clothes had
disappeared.

Through her passion-filled haze, she felt Jeff take her by the hips and
lift her up and off him.

"No," she breathed, kissing his mouth, his cheek, his neck.  "I don't
want to--"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said hoarsely, straining to reach his
jeans and the wallet that was still in his back pocket.  "We're not
going to stop.  I have to get some protection."  A moment later he took
her into his arms again.

"Now, we're ready," he whispered, as he pressed her back into the
bedding.  He gazed into her eyes as he entered her slowly.  She gasped
with the intensity of the pleasure that overtook her.

He took his time.  Each stroke lasting an eternity, filling her deeply
and ending with a kiss that claimed her completely.  It was exquisite
torture, stripping her to the last of her defenses, leaving her
vulnerable, all her feelings exposed.

Raven closed her eyes, afraid that if she continued to hold Jeff's
heated gaze, he'd see her for the fool that she was.  He would know
that... she still loved him.

She arched up toward him, pulling him down so that the full weight of
his body was on top of her.  She locked her legs around him, and he
groaned, moving faster now, in sync with her every need.

"Ray," he breathed, and she opened her eyes.

He was still watching her, his eyes bright, almost feverish beneath his
half-closed lids.  His hair was damp, his skin was slick, and a bead of
perspiration trailed down past his ear.  Raven reached up to catch it
with one finger, and he pressed his cheek into her palm.

"You're making me crazy," he said huskily.  "We gotta slow down,
or--"

But she didn't want to slow down.  She pulled his mouth to hers and
kissed him fiercely, increasing the slow rhythm of their bodies to a
wild, primitive pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.  She
felt his arms tighten around her.  She felt his body tense, then heard
him cry out her name as he exploded inside her.

And then her body answered his, wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure
surrounding her, lifting her, rocketing her to a height she'd only
dreamed possible.

Then it was over.  Tears stung her eyes as she drifted back to earth.
He rolled off her and drew her into his arms, and she nestled against
him.  Her body entwined with his.  The steady beat of his heart beneath
her cheek provided security, and an overwhelming sense of peace and
contentment.

He kissed the top of her head and slowly stroked her from her shoulder
blade to her buttocks and then up again.  A tiny smile played at the
corners of her mouth as she savored the memory of their lovemaking.
He'd loved her so sweetly, so completely, she couldn't help but think
they had the makings for a relationship after all.

IT WAS IMPORTANT to know the name of the person you intended to kill,
he thought, as he looked back into the alley at his handiwork.  The man
lying unconscious and bleeding was named George Whitman.

He would regain consciousness soon.  He might report the mugging to the
police but two days from now he would become deathly ill, and that's
when he would learn what Eleanor Parker and David Foster had already
learned--that you reap as you have sown.

He chuckled to himself as he sauntered down the sidewalk.  "Three down,
one to go."

Chapter Ten

Something was wrong.

The moment his phone had rung, jarring him from a deep sleep, that
thought had run through Jeff's mind.  He'd picked up the receiver with
trepidation, afraid that the caller was Raven calling to tell him that
she'd regretted sleeping with him and didn't want to see him again.  He
castigated himself for not staying, but he hadn't wanted to crowd her,
recognizing that she needed time to adjust to the fact that he was back
in her life.  Besides, he had to get back to the hospital.  But he'd
thought of nothing else since leaving her apartment.  He'd gone
directly to the hospital where he'd stayed until close to dawn, reading
Raven's report, then reviewing Dr.  Ross's reports and checking on his
patients, but she had always been there in the back of his mind.

He issued a huge sigh of relief when the caller identified himself as
Henry Brockman, but that relief was short-lived:

"I need to see you right away," the hospital administrator said without
preamble.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the clock on the
nightstand.  Nine-fifteen.  He'd gotten four hours of sleep.  "What's
up?"

He heard the hesitation in the other man's voice.  "I'd rather not go
into it over the phone.  I'll see you in my office in about thirty
minutes."

A chill of foreboding ran up Jeff's spine.  He tried to tell himself
that he was just being an alarmist, that he'd just left the hospital
five hours ago, that nothing could have happened in that time.  But he
couldn't shake this feeling of disaster.  And it grew in intensity in
direct proportion to his proximity to the hospital.

So by the time he stepped into Henry Brockman's office, he knew
something was wrong.  Dr.  Patterson was leaning against the table,
eyes glued on the floor.  Dr.  Hillman was sitting in a chair opposite
from her, his legs crossed, his hands clasped together over his knees.
He appeared to be examining the fabric of his slacks.  No one spoke.
Jeff felt the muscles in his stomach tighten as his eyes darted from
one doctor to the other.  There was a tension in the air.  Something
was coming.  Something he wasn't going to like.

"All right," Jeff said challengingly.  "What's happened?"

Dr.  Patterson and Dr.  Hillman started to speak simultaneously, then
stopped.

"It's Lauren Connor," Dr.  Hillman said with a sigh, looking up into
Jeff's face for the first time.  "She's not doing as well as we had
hoped."

Jeff was stunned.  "What do you mean?  Has something happened?"

"She went into cardiac arrest," Dr.  Hillman explained.  "About an hour
ago, but she's stable now.  As best we can determine, she began
experiencing breathing difficulties."  Dr.  Hillman gestured awkwardly
to try to illustrate what he was saying.  "But, for some reason, her
heart stopped beating.  We don't know why that happened yet.  In any
case, everything seems to be under control now.  What's worrying me is
that neither she nor the others seem to be responding to the AST."

"How can you say that?"  Jeff asked.  "You just started it."  "That's
true," Dr.  Hillman agreed.  "However, viral infections of this type
usually respond within the fi twenty-four hours.  This morning when we
took her blood count, I was shocked to see that the drug has had almost
no effect on the infection.  Usually we give a second de of the drug on
the fourth day.  But in light of the aggresiveness of this particular
vital strain, I was afraid to w that long.  Instead I gave her another
dose this morning

Jeff exploded.  "You what!  You gave her another de of AST!  By what
authority did you change the medication?"

Brockman looked uncomfortable.  "Ah ... I authorize it."

Jeff turned his anger on the hospital administrator "Why wasn't I
notified of the test results and consult before a second dose of the
drug was given?"

Brockman flushed.  "I told the charge nurse not to notice you.  You've
been working around the clock here, helping with the police
investigation.  You're stretched to the lift You needed the sleep."  He
paused and licked his lil "When Dr.  Hillman explained the situation to
me, I, proved the change.  You would have done the same you'd been
here."

Dr.  Hillman swallowed.  "I didn't feel that we had a other
alternative.  We've got to knock down the level infection in her
system."

"But you just said a second dose of AST wit his twenty-four-hour period
is not the usual protocol," l snapped.

"No, it's not," Dr.  Hillman replied hesitantly, " these aren't the
usual cases.  I wanted to try--"

"Try?"  He couldn't believe the gall of the man.  "L ten, Hillman," he
said, pointing a finger in the other mm face.  "My patients aren't
guinea pigs for you to try this on."

"Jeff!"  Brockman said, his voice full of shock.  "Tha enough."  '

Jeff ignored him.  "Hillman, you're so certain that D

nor would the insurance company.  We'd have no coverage in the event
of a malpractice suit."  He shook his head.  "I have to do what's best
for the hospital, and I forbid your using that treatment here."

Jeff argued with him for several minutes more, but Brockman stood finn.
There wasn't a snow bali chance in hell he would agree to let Jeff use
Raven's treatment.  He was forced to settle for the elimination of the
AST and the administration of a less toxic drug.

As he sat in his office later that day, he tried to think what he would
tell Raven if the subject came up.  His mouth curved into a wry smile.
Who was he kidding?  There was no way in hell she wouldn't ask about
Lauren and the others.  He just hoped she would understand.

RAVEN BEGAN HAVING second thoughts about rekindling a relationship with
Jeff the moment he'd left her apartment.  They had so many strikes
against them, and working on this case with him only seemed to
accentuate their differences, but he said he was going to try to be
more open-minded, and he really seemed to be trying.  Shouldn't she
give him the benefit of the doubt?

She wanted to, especially after last night.  She closed her eyes
savoring the memory of their lovemaking.  It had been devastating, and
it had forced her to admit that she still had feelings for him--strong
feelings.  And those feelings scared her to death.  She'd given her
heart to him once before, and he'd broken it.

She swallowed, remembering the pain she'd felt.  It had taken her a
long time to put the past behind her.  She couldn't go through that
again.  This time it would destroy her.

She was torn.  She really wanted to be with him, but she was afraid.
What if she was reading too much into his evaluating her report?  Maybe
Jeff would never accept her belief in herbal healing?

Those thoughts plagued her throughout the morning, so she was no closer
to reaching a decision when he came by the shop to give her a ride to
the police station to see Nick later that day.  Nick had called Jeff
earlier asking him to come by the station after lunch.  Jeff had called
her and asked if she'd like to accompany him.  She tried to tell
herself not to make too much of that simple little gesture, but she
couldn't help but think that it was another positive sign that he
really did see them as a team.

A wave of heat had washed over her when he entered the shop, and
remained with her during the ride to the police station.  She felt like
a schoolgirl in the throes of first love.  But that feeling was pushed
aside the moment they entered Nick's office.  His face was grim and
suddenly she had a feeling this was not just a casual briefing on the
status of the investigation.

She looked over at Jeff, wondering if he felt it too, but he seemed
distracted.  She frowned.  He'd been that way when he'd picked her up
at the shop and during the ride over.  No doubt his mind was on his
patients, and her heart went out to him.

This had to be one of the worst times for him.  It was hard for any
doctor to stand helplessly by and watch his patients steadily decline
and die, but especially for someone as kind and caring as Jeff.  He was
a dedicated doctor and gave one hundred percent of himself to his
patients.  That was one of the things she had always admired and
respected about him.

But it was hard to sit back and say nothing, especially after last
night.  Once again the memories of their lovemaking flashed in her
mind.  They'd been so connected.  She felt closer to him than any human
being on the planet and wanted to share his burden.  Before she could
stop herself, she leaned over and covered his hand with hers.

He looked over at her and for a moment, it was as if they were the only
two people in the world.  "The news isn't good," Nick said, pulling her
back to

the matter at hand.  "I'm afraid the investigation has stalled.  We've
hit a brick wall."

Raven tore her eyes from Jeff's and looked at Nick, alarmed.  "What do
you mean, you've hit a brick wall?"

Nick issued a weary sigh then looked at Jeff.  "I'm sorry.  I know you
were counting on hearing something positive.  That's why I wanted to
tell you right away."

"What happened?"  Raven asked, confused by this unexpected turn of
events.  "I thought you said Calvin Parker and Mark Daniels were strong
suspects."

Nick shrugged.  "That's how it appeared on the surface."  He drew
another deep sigh.  "But over the last twenty-four hours there have
been several new developments that pretty well take Daniels out of the
picture.  Maybe even Parker."

"How can that 'be?"  Raven asked.  "Daniels certainly had a motive for
killing Julie Hartman.  You said so yourself.  He probably killed the
others to divert suspicion from himself."

"Maybe," Nick answered cautiously.  "But he also has an alibi.
Katherine Olsen is willing to swear in court that he was with her every
night for the last two months."

She frowned.  "How does that change anything?  We knew she was going to
give him an alibi."

"That's true, but what we didn't know was that she would produce
several prominent individuals who are also willing to swear that they
were with Olsen and Daniels for the last eight Monday nights in
question.  While she might lie for him, I don't know why these other
people would."  He shook his head.  "If that wasn't bad enough, other
than Julie Hartman, we can't tie him to any of the other victims and
definitely not to any virus.  Hell, I don't even know what virus we're
supposed to be looking for."

"What about Calvin Parker?"  she asked.

Nick shook his head.  "It's almost as bad.  Parker's assertion that
everything was in his name is true.  The house, the car, even the
checking and having accounts.  His wife's name wasn't on anything."

"So our motive has gone out the window," she said slowly.

"You got it.  He didn't have to kill her to get anything.  He already
had it all."

Jeff frowned.  "That's true only if you assume money was the motive. It
seems to me, Parker might have had another reason for killing his wife
that had nothing to do with money.  She might have been his love slave,
but that door swings both ways.  She was quite a bit older than him, he
was tired of her, and he wanted her out of his life, but the lady
wouldn't go.  What was it her friends said?  "Over my dead body." Well,
maybe that was the only way he could get her out of his life."

Nick pulled on his lower lip as he considered Jeff's theory.  "That's a
possibility, but Parker gave us permission to search his house.  We
turned the place upside down, but we didn't find anything that would
implicate him in her murder or that of the others.  We also searched
his car and his office and didn't find anything there, either."

"What about his connection to Dalton Laboratories?"  Jeff pressed. 
"Did you check with them about the various infectious agents they use
in their research procedures?"

Nick nodded.  "They weren't too forthcoming about anything initially.
It was only after the state's attorney's office got involved and
threatened to shut them down that they opened up."  He grimaced.  "For
all the good that did.  Apparently, you have to have special clearance
to enter the research section of the plant or to receive any of its
data."  He shook his head.  "And Parker didn't have it."

"But how good is their security?"  Jeff questioned.  "Could he have
breached it?"

Nick chewed his lower lip as he considered the question.  "Possibly,
but it would have been damn hard.  They're equipped with the latest in
high-tech security.  To even enter the administrative portion of the
facility requires the

recognition of a palm print and to enter the actual lab requires a
retinal eye scan identification."

"So where does that leave us?"  Raven asked.

Nick issued a weary sigh.  "Not where I want us to be.  The mayor's
office is leaning on the captain, who's leaning on me.  He wants me to
move on, pursue other leads."  He looked again at Jeff.  "Considering
the lack of progress we've made with these two, I can't justify the
manpower.  But I want you to know, I'm not dropping this line of
inquiry completely.  We'll keep digging into Parker's and Daniels's
backgrounds."

"If you don't mind my asking, do these other leads include the man Mark
Daniels claims to have seen Raven asked.

Nick nodded his head.  "He may not have been a figment of Daniels's
imagination.  At least one of Hartman's neighbors claims to have also
seen a man fitting that same description in the days preceding her
death.  We're checking it out.

"Look, Jeff, I'm telling you this because I thought you ought to know
it looks as if it's going to take some time to catch this guy.  I
promise you, I'm going to get to the bottom of these murders if it's
the last thing I do."

"I know you will," Jeff said, unable to hide his disappointment.  "Our
best just doesn't seem good enough."  "How are your patients doing?"
Nick asked.

Jeff rubbed the back of his neck.  "Not good."  He sighed.  "I was
really counting on you to help us."

Nick glanced off to the side, unable to look Jeff in the eye.

"Well, thanks for giving us this update," Jeff said, standing.  Raven
followed suit.

Nick walked them to the door.  They lingered in the open doorway for
several minutes chatting.

She was about to ask if they'd been able to create a composite sketch
of the man Daniels had seen when she caught a glimpse of Grace Wells.
The older woman was standing some distance away at the sergeant's desk.
From the way she was gesturing wildly, Raven sensed she was reading him
the riot act.

Next to her, Raven heard Nick groan then mumble something about not
wanting Grace to know he was in before he ducked into his office,
closing the door.

Jeff chuckled.  "Let's get out of here," he sad.  He took her arm and
led her back to his car.

Once they were under way again, she leaned back.  "You know, Nick
Valentine is quite a man.  He's smart, ambitious and a little
overbearing, but he's also kind and extremely caring.  I wonder what
made him leave Atlanta."

Next to her she felt rather than saw Jeff shrug.  He was unusually
quiet.  He'd been that way at the station, but she sensed it was more
than disappointment with the progress of the police investigation.

She laid her hand on his thigh.  "Jeff, is something wrong?"  she asked
gently.

He sighed, then nodded.  "I stopped the AST," he said.  Then he briefly
recounted the events of the morning.

She sucked in her breath.  It wasn't that she was surprised by the
drug's side effects, but she had thought it would be days, not hours,
before any appeared.  "What are you going to do?"

He shrugged.  "That's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.  At this
point there's nothing more we can do.  We're out of options."  He
sighed again.  "Other than make the patients as comfortable as possible
and pray for a miracle, that's about it."

"It's that bad?"

"Yeah."  He hesitated then added, "Bad enough that I even suggested
using your treatment."

Her heart began to slam against the wall of her chest waiting for him
to continue.

"I'm sorry," he said.  He ran his hand over his hair.  "I talked until
I was blue in the face, but Brockman refused to even consider using
it."

She searched his face.  Had he really tried to convince them to use
her treatment?  she wondered.  Or had he simply gone through the
motions?  It was more likely the latter.  How often had he told her
that alternative medicine went against everything he believed in?  How
persuasive could you be arguing for something you didn't believe in?
Not very, she decided.

When was she going to get it through her thick skull that Jeff didn't
believe in alternative medicine?  He never had and probably never
would.  He'd probably only suggested using her treatment to his
colleagues to appease her.  No doubt, she thought cynically, he knew
she would question him about it when she learned he'd stopped the AST
and he'd wanted to defuse the situation.

She blinked back tears.  She'd really thought he cared about her.  Saw
her as a whole person and was coming around on the issue of herbal
medicine.  Obviously, she'd pinned too much hope on his reading her
report.

He glanced over at her.  "If it were up to me I'd use it in a
heartbeat, but it wasn't my decision alone."

Perhaps not, but he was the attending physician and his opinion carried
more weight than anyone else's.

"You do understand, don't you?"

Unfortunately, she thought bleakly, she did.  She stared straight
ahead, not trusting herself to speak.

He looked at her quickly.  "I don't think you understand at all."  He
tried to engage her in conversation, but the rest of the ride was
accomplished in total silence.  The moment the car came to a halt, she
jumped out, heading for the shop.

Jeff was right behind her.  He followed her past Phyllis's startled
gaze through the shop into the back room.

"Raven," he said softly.  He caught her hand and led her to the wing
chair next to her desk then knelt on the floor in front of her.  "I
know you're disappointed that we aren't going to Use your treatment,
but as promising as it seems, the bottom line is it's not a recognized
procedure.

179:

Brockman is concerned about liability, but I think the potential
benefits outweigh the risks.  I assure you I'm not going to drop the
matter."

When she still didn't say anything, his eyes clouded.  "Don't shut me
out."

He looked so sad and sounded so sincere, she wanted to believe him. And
for a moment, she almost relented.  But she held back.  She just wasn't
sure of him.

She dropped her head, and he slid his hand up under her throat, lifting
her chin.  His fingertips were warm on her skin, and Raven stiffened,
resisting not only the warmth, but the way it made her feel.  '

"You know I care a great deal about you," he said quietly.  "And I
don't want to lose you."

There was a long pause.  "I care about you, too, but my profession is
also important to me."  She turned her head to the side, blinking back
tears.  "I'm not sure we have the makings for a relationship."

"How can you say that?"  he cried.  "Didn't last night mean anything to
you?"

"You know it did, but it's not enough."

"Raven," he said softly.  "I don't want to lose you.  I have the utmost
respect for you--"

Suddenly, his beeper went off.  "Oh, hell," he said.  "That's probably
the hospital.  I've got to go, but I'll be back.  And when I do we're
going to talk this through.  Okay?"

She drew a deep sigh then nodded.  "All right."

He took her into his arms and gave her a brief, hard kiss, then stood
and walked out the door.

She stared bleakly after him.  God, what was she going to do?

AFTER JEFF LEFT Raven threw herself into her work, trying not to think
about him.  But it was no use.  Her thoughts were in turmoil.  Had he
really tried to convince Dr.  Hill~ man and the others to use her
treatment?  Her heart told

her that she wasn't being fair to Jeff.  That she was expecting too
much of him, that the fact that he'd read her report and proposed its
use ought to be enough.  That he'd come a long way from total rejection
of the idea of using an alternative medicine to actually considering
using her herbs.  Even if his colleagues didn't agree, he had gone to
bat for her.  What more could she want?

You know, another voice whispered--she wanted his respect, plain and
simple.  He said he respected her, but did he really?  During their
conversation in the car then later at the shop, he had never once
expressed his opinion of her treatment, which made her wonder what he
really thought about it.  As much as she cared about him, wanted to be
with him, she couldn't live with a man who really didn't believe in her
profession.  In time she would grow resentful and her love would wilt
and die like a rose on an unwatered vine.

But was she ready to call a halt to things?  Or was she expecting too
much and should give him more time?  She dropped her head in her hands
until raised Voices in the front room penetrated her subconscious.

"You can't go in there!"  she heard Phyllis yell.

"Get out of my way," a high-pitched voice screeched, and then Grace
Wells marched into the room.

"Do you want me to call the police?"  Phyllis asked, following Grace
into the room.

For a moment Raven could only stare at the other woman, surprised.
"It's okay, Phyllis," she said.  Phyllis gave her a searching look,
then nodded and returned to the outer room.

"Well, aren't you going to offer me a seat?"  Grace asked in that whiny
voice of hers.

Raven leaned back in her chair and regarded her steadily.  "Frankly,
I'm surprised to see you here.  I thought I'd be the last person you'd
want to see."

"Humph," Grace snorted, moving into the room as if she owned it.  She
settled herself in the chair next to Raven's desk with the stiffness of
a carpenter's role being folded up.  The woman seemed absolutely rigid
except in the joints.

"I know you didn't kill Eleanor," Grace sniffed.  When Raven didn't say
anything, the other woman peered at her, frowning.  "Don't you want to
clear your name, find out who killed Eleanor and those other people?"

One dark eyebrow rose in surprise.  No apology.  Just that statement.

"At first--" Grace sniffed again "--I thought you were behind Eleanor's
illness.  But illness is one thing, murder is another.  You didn't have
any reason to kill her but that low-down husband of hers sure did."

When Raven still didn't say anything, the other woman added, "He's so
happy that she's dead, he can't even act sorry.  He hasn't shed a
tear."

Was she the only person who questioned Parker's guilt?  she wondered,
but aloud said, "Perhaps he's simply one of those people who has
difficulty displaying his emotions."

"Humph," Grace snorted.  "I doubt if that's the case."  "So why do you
think Mr.  Parker killed his wife?"

"Seems to me, it's pretty self-evident.  He killed her because he was
tired of her but wanted her money."

Raven gave her a skeptical look.  "It's my understanding he already had
it.  Everything they owned was in his name."

The other woman's face puckered into a frown.  "Yeah, but a divorce
would have put a whole new light on things.  Eleanor would have come to
her senses and fought for her fair share.  Mark my word, she was not
going to let him go easily.  If she thought she could hold on to him by
fighting for her share of their assets, she'd have done it."

Raven shook her head.  "Not according to Mr.  Parker.  He said his wife
would have given him anything--even a divorce."

It was now Grace who looked skeptical.  "Don't let Calvin fool you. He
talks a good story but he wasn't as sure of Eleanor as he makes out." 
She leaned forward slightly.  "I know for a fact she threw him for a
loop when she refused to sign some legal papers without reading them
first."

Grace was getting on her nerves.  Too much of what she said seemed to
be nothing more than the vindictive claims of a very angry woman.  "Do
you have any evidence supporting all this?"  Raven asked finally.

"Well, no," Grace said somewhat defensively, then added quickly, "but
it's there.  I don't know for how long, though.  If I could get a
little cooperation from our police department we could probably have
enough evidence to make an arrest in no time."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I saw you and Dr.  Knight at the precinct today, talking to Detective
Valentine.  The three of you seemed awfully chummy."  She fingered her
purse strap as she looked at Raven from beneath lowered lids.  It was a
calculating look.  "I thought if I told you my suspicions, you could
tell Detective Valentine."

"Why don't you just tell him yourself?."

"I've tried, but he won't listen."  Her eyes slid to the floor and she
shifted slightly in her chair.  "I don't think he likes me," she
mumbled.

"In other words, she'd made such a nuisance of herself that Nick was
avoiding her.  If the behavior she had observed earlier was any
indication of what Nick had to deal with, she couldn't blame him.

"I've given all kinds of information to Detective Valentine," Grace
continued, "but he just disregards it.  Sometimes I wonder if he even
wants to get to the bottom of these murders."

It was time to call a halt to the interview, Raven decided.  "I'm sure
he's working very hard to--"

"He's dragging his feet, that's what he is doing.  Too busy giving TV
interviews and while he's doing that Calving Parker is destroying
evidence."

"Do you know that for a fact?"

"Why else would he have Eleanor's body cremated, if he wasn't
destroying evidence?  He's going to get away with murder."

"He may not have been a good husband but there's no evidence that he
had anything to do with his wife's death.  It's my understanding Mr.
Parker isn't a strong suspect.  Why, he even voluntarily agreed to let
the police search the house."

She looked at Raven as if she'd grown two heads.  "Calvin's no fool. If
he let the police search the house it was because he'd already removed
any incriminating evidence.  Probably stashed it at the apartment."

That got her attention.  "Apartment?  What apartment?"  Grace gave her
a sour look.  "His apartment in Lincoln Park.  Eleanor told me about
it.  She said that was where he entertained his lady friends--" She
paused and her mouth curved into a superior little smile.  "He didn't
tell you about it, did he?"

Chapter Eleven

For the zillionth time, Raven wished she'd never mentioned Grace
Wells's name.  But when Jeff had dropped by the shop at closing time,
she still hadn't been ready to talk about what had happened earlier and
skirted the issue by telling him about Grace's visit.  When Jeff had
suggested they check out her claim, she had no idea what he planned to
do.  If she had, she'd never have let him set foot outside her shop.

"You have to be out of your mind," she whispered as she slowly followed
him down a plush corridor toward Parker's apartment.  "What if
someone's inside?"

Jeff caught her arm and dragged her along.  "We'll ring the bell first.
If anyone answers, we'll pretend we came by to get Parker's signature
on a hospital form."  He smiled and added, "Don't worry, this will be a
piece of cake."

She shifted from one foot to the next as he pressed the doorbell and
waited.  There was no sound from inside the apartment.

"Good, no one's home," he said, looking around.  "Keep watch."

"I don't like this!"  she whispered hoarsely.  Out of the corner of her
eye, she watched as he pulled out a small file and went to work on the
lock.  After a moment of him fiddling with it, she heard a faint click,
and the door swung open.

She looked at him in amazement.  "How did you do that?"

He grinned at her.  "A petty thief in Zaire taught me as compensation
for medical treatment."

Raven watched as Jeff pushed the door open wider, stuck his hand
inside, and flipped on the light switch.  Then he pulled her inside the
apartment and closed the door.  The apartment was still and silent.

"Let's make this quick," Jeff said.  "We'll both check out the living
room, then we'll split up."

"What are we looking for?"  she asked, following him into the living
room and glancing around.

He shrugged.  "Medical papers, drags, vials, a syringe.  Anything that
looks like it came out of a medical lab.  Something that might connect
Parker to these murders."

"I still say we should have told Nick," she grumbled.  "Let him handle
it."

He shook his head.  "Nick's hands are tied.  There's no way he could
get a search warrant for the apartment based solely on Grace's claim.
We both know she's not the most reliable source.  However, since Parker
failed to tell Nick about his little love nest, makes you wonder if he
isn't hiding something."

"Or maybe he thought it was none of Nick's business," she said,
surveying the spacious room.  It was a far cry from the modest house
Parker had shared with Eleanor in Oak Park.  The furnishings in the
living room alone had cost a small fortune.  In one corner of the room
there was an expensive-looking entertainment center, complete with a
big-screen TV and a fancy stereo system.  A teak rolltop desk shared a
wall with an oak bookcase and in another corner of the room was a small
bar.

"This apartment presents a different picture of Calvin Parker," she
said.

Jeff paused in his act of lifting a sofa cushion.  "It certainly does,"
he said.  "At the very least it seems to suggest he was making a new
life for himself without a wife,

which is interesting since he maintains that they weren't discussing
divorce."

Raven lifted a sculptured piece and peeked inside, then moved on to the
sofa table near the entryway, checking the contents on top and inside.
She found nothing of even remote interest.  She sighed and moved on to
the stereo system.  She inspected the contents of the cabinet, but
didn't find anything.

She turned and looked at Jeff.  He was going through a stack of letters
on the sofa table.  The way he moved his head, reminded her of the way
he looked last night, right before he kissed her.  For a moment, she
was SUspended in time as her mind replayed the way he had held her,
kissed her, loved her.

Suddenly, everything seemed crystal clear.  What a fool she'd been.  Of
course, Jeff respected her and believed in her treatment.  He never
would have suggested its use for his patients if he hadn't.  She'd just
been too insecure to see that.

Jeff met her eyes and smiled, and it was only then that she realized
that she'd been staring at him.  She looked away, but she had a feeling
he'd known that understood and accepted the decision not to use her
herbal medicine.  They needed to talk but this was not the place.  She
walked over to the oak bookcase and started going through the items on
it.

They spent several more minutes checking room, but didn't find
anything.

"I'll take the hall closet, the den and the kitchen," said.  "Why don't
you check the bedroom and the

Raven nodded and headed for the bedroom.  She opened the door, flipped
on the light switch, and froze in the way.  Wouldn't you just know it?
she thought.  It was the consummate bachelor's bedroom, decorated with
satin sheets, a tiger-striped bedspread, and a mirrored ceiling above
the bed.  "How tacky," she muttered under breath.

She walked over to the bed and went to work.  There was nothing between
the mattress and box spring, nothing under the bed itself.  She moved
on to the closet and found its wooden slat door open an inch or two.
She pushed the door open farther and peeked inside, then whistled
softly as she stared at the rows of designer suits, custom-made shins,
and a dozen or more cashmere sweaters.  The man was certainly a
clotheshorse.  She sighed.  It would take some time to go through the
closet.  She'd do it later.  She closed the door and moved on to the
bureau.  She pulled open one drawer after another, but saw nothing of
interest.

The bathroom was an equal washout.  Nothing appeared to be secreted in
the back of the toilet, or hidden among the color-coordinated towels or
concealed in the extra roll of toilet paper.  She went back into the
bedroom and was checking the nightstand when Jeff appeared in the
doorway.

"Any luck?"

Raven couldn't help the jolt of pleasure she experienced looking at his
handsome face.  "Nothing so far, but there's a closet full of clothes
over there."  She gestured toward the door with the wooden slats.  "Why
don't you check it out?"

He gave the room a critical look.  "Be sure to check the wastebasket
and curtains," he said as he headed for the closet.

For a moment she was incapable of moving.  Her eyes roamed over him as
he walked across the room.  Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, his body
was that of an athlete, with the lithe grace that was born of ingrained
confidence.  He was wearing a blue denim work shirt and jeans that fit
snugly in the back, molding to his long, muscular thighs and tight
buttocks in what she found to be a thoroughly unnerving way.  She felt
her cheeks grow warm and forced herself to look away, shuffling instead
through the papers and moving on to the next drawer.  Out of the corner
of her eye, she saw him pull back the closet doors.  A moment later,
she heard Jeff whistle, then say, "Well, well, well."

"What is it?"  She turned and gave him a quizzical look.

"I don't think this is Mrs.  Parker's."  He held up a short pink,
transparent nightgown.

Raven smiled.  "I'd say that was a sure bet."

He continued to study the flimsy lingerie.  "I wonder if the owner
helped him buy these designer suits."

"Probably," Raven said offhandedly.  "Looks like she likes expensive
things herself.  I've seen that same negligee at Victoria's Secret..."
Her voice trailed off as his eyes met hers.

She knew he was remembering how she used to buy sexy lingerie at
Victoria's Secret to wear for him.  She groped for something to say.

"Did you notice that most of hose suits don't look as if they've ever
been worn?"  she asked, trying to break the sexual tension that swirled
around them.

Her' question pulled them both back to the matter at hand.  "Yeah,
that's curious," he said.  "We'd better get back to work."

She nodded, then went to inspect the curtains.  Standing on tiptoe, she
patted the top of the drapes and the sides.

"O1' Calvin is certainly not what he seemed," Jeff drawled, holding up
a scarf and a pair of handcuffs.  "I wouldn't have thought his taste
ran in that direction.  Kinky."

"What do you mean, kinky?"  Raven demanded, turning away from the
curtains.

Jeff smiled.  "Never you mind.  Let's just say that Parker's interests
are not particularly my cup of tea.  After you finish up with the
curtains, don't forget to check the waste-basket.  I'm just about done
with the closet."

"You think there might be something here?"

Jeff shrugged.  "Who knows?"  He glanced at the small silver clock on
the nightstand next to the king-size bed.

"Hurry up, Raven.  The sooner we get out of here, the better."

She would second that.  They'd already been there twenty minutes.

She found the vials quite by accident.  All her mental energy was spent
castigating herself for not telling Jeff how she felt, and her search
of the wastebasket was desultory, mindless, instinctive.  But suddenly,
the solid weight of a seemingly empty tissue box caught her attention.
She knelt on the floor on the far side of the bed, turned the box
upside down, and the tiny vials tumbled into her lap.

She stared at them.  for a long, speculative moment.  There were four
of them, unmarked, all filled with a clear liquid.  She didn't even
look up when Jeff closed the closet door.

"Nothing in there," he said.  "Not even any videotapes.  After finding
the scarf and handcuffs, I had him pegged as the type."

"I think I found something," Raven said quietly.  "What?"  She had his
full attention now, and he materialized by her side immediately,
squatting down next to her.  She handed him one of the vials, and he
held it up, studying the contents inside the small bottle.  "I think we
just hit pay dirt," he said, a rich note of satisfaction in his voice.
His eyes searched her face, settling on her lips.  For a moment, she
thought he was going to kiss her.  And, God help her, she wanted him
to.

He must have read her mind because his lips curved into a sexy smile.
"You pick the darnedest place to tell me I'm forgiven."  He dropped his
voice, saying in a low,

husky drawl, "I am forgiven, aren't I?"

"Yes," she said, returning his smile.

"Good, then let's get out of here."  He watched as Raven slipped the
tiny vials inside her purse, then stood.

She was walking slightly in front of Jeff, and they'd made it almost
through the living room when she heard a

rustling sound.  Swinging around, she saw a tall menacing figure,
wearing a ski mask, dart from behind the sofa, charging toward them.

Jeff pushed her out of the way, but before he could take the offensive,
the man slammed his fist into Jeff's abdomen, sending him sprawling to
the floor.  His head hit the corner of the sofa table, dazing him
momentarily.  The man grabbed a lamp off the sofa table, and raised it
to drop it on Jeff's head.

Raven reacted automatically.  She grabbed his wrist and pulled downward
with all her might.  The lamp crashed to the floor.  The man whirled
around, dislodging her hold.  She staggered backward into the arm of
the sofa.  Before she could regain her balance, the man lunged forward,
and wrapped an arm around her windpipe.  She kicked at his legs and
clawed at his arm, but the pressure only increased.  Her mouth widened
in gaping terror, all sound strangled except for a sickly gurgle.  She
struggled to stay conscious.  But suddenly the man's grip was broken.

Jeff was behind him, an arm lock around the other man's neck.  He was
twisting and turning, flailing his free arm trying to break free.

"See what you can find to use as a rope to tie him up," Jeff panted.
"Hurry."

He didn't have to tell her twice.  Her eyes darted about the room;
seeing nothing they could use for a rope, she turned toward the
kitchen.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a metallic glint as the
man pulled something from his pants pocket.  Before she could warn
Jeff, the twisted, put the object against Jeff's side and pushed.  Jeff
recoiled.  He doubled over slightly, his hand going to his: side.  The
man broke free and bolted out of the apartment.  Jeff turned to give
chase, but Raven grabbed his arm.

"No!"  The anguished cry tore from her lips.  "I've to get you to the
hospital.  My God, Jeff, he stuck you a hypodermic needle!"

EVERYTHING AFTER THAT Was a blur--the trip to the hospital, Dr. Hillman
rushing Jeff into the examination room, giving the vials to Dr.
Patterson, being shown to the waiting room and then the waiting.

Raven had sat there alone for what seemed like an eternity before Shay
came out to talk to her.  He told her that he had notified the police
then he drew a deep breath and explained that Dr.  Hillman was
examining Jeff.  He tried to sound upbeat and confident, assuring her
that she had nothing to worry about now that they had the virus, that
at this very moment the vials were being packed and would be sent to
the CDC for analysis within the hour.  He said he Was confident the CDC
would be able to identify the virus and develop a treatment.

But they both knew it wasn't that simple.  It could be days, maybe even
months, before the CDC had a handle on the virus, let alone any kind of
treatment.

He tried to offer words of comfort but she noticed he couldn't look at
her.

A few minutes later, Nick arrived.  He walked over to where she sat and
took both her hands in his.  "I heard what happened," he said gently.
"I'm really sorry."

"Thank you."  She choked on the words as she spoke, blinking back
tears.  "He's going to be all right.  He has to."

For a moment Nick didn't say anything, just stood there staring at her,
shifting from one foot to another.  It was the first time she'd ever
seen the young detective at a loss for words.  After a moment, he
pulled up a chair next to the sofa.

"Do you feel up to making a statement?"  he asked in that same gentle
tone.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep, ragged breath.  "I think so."

She felt Shay stiffen on the sofa beside her.  "Detective Valentine,
Ms.  Delaney has been subjected to quite a shock," he said firmly.
"Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

She placed her hand on Shay's arm.  He looked at her, his expression
one of concern.  She gave him a reassuring smile.  "It's okay."  She
drew another deep breath.  "Frankly, I'd like to get this over with."

She watched as Nick pulled out a notepad and fountain pen.  He seemed
to be all thumbs.  The pen slipped through his fingers and fell to the
floor.  She knelt down, picked it up and handed it to him.  He mumbled
a thanks and then stuck the pen back inside his pocket.  When he
realized what he'd done, he gave her a sheepish look, then took out a
ballpoint pen.  Apparently he was more upset about what had happened to
Jeff than she'd realized.

"Ah ... why don't we begin with your telling me what you and Jeff were
doing in Calvin Parker's apartment," Nick said.

She drew a deep breath and then recounted her meeting with Grace Wells
and Grace's assertion that Parker might have hidden evidence
implicating him in his wife's murder at his apartment.  She then
explained how they'd found the vials.  She didn't falter until she came
to the part where they had been attacked.

Nick gave her a moment to compose herself then asked the question he'd
probably wanted to ask from the very beginning.  "Why didn't you call
me?"  Nick was all cop now.

"We didn't think you could do anything.  You had no basis for obtaining
a search warrant, but we also couldn't stand by and do nothing."

"It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do," Nick said.  "What was Jeff
supposed to do?"  Shay asked in astonishment.  "Sit around while his
patients died?"

Nick looked at him sternly.  "I understand Jeff's frustration, but what
he did was wrong.  He had no business breaking into that apartment." He
looked back at Raven.  "You should have called me.  As it is, the two
of you may have put any case against Calvin Parker in a precarious
position.  If your attacker turns out to be Calvin Parker, I don't know
if the state's attorney is going to be able to use any of the evidence
you found because it was illegally obtained."

"What?"  Surely, she'd misunderstood.

"Let me get this straight," Shay snarled.  "Parker attacks Jeff. Sticks
him with a hypodermic needle thereby infecting him with a deadly virus,
and you may not be able to make a case against him?"

Nick flushed.  "I know it's not fair, but that's the law.  We can't use
evidence that was illegally obtained."  There was an undercurrent of
tension in his voice and she realized that he didn't think too much of
the system.  "Some legal system," Shay said disgustedly.,

Raven looked from Nick to Shay.  "But this all presupposes that the man
that attacked us was Parker."

Nick looked at her sharply.  "Are you saying it wasn't?"  "Of course it
was Parker," Shay answered.  "Who else could it have been?  He probably
figured they'd found the vials and that's why he attacked them."

Nick threw him a sour look then turned back to Raven.  "Was Calvin
Parker the man that attacked you and Jeff?."

She turned the question over in her mind.  It could have been Parker.
It would certainly explain how the man had been able to slip into the
apartment unnoticed.  But their attacker had been quick and agile.  And
while Calvin Parker appeared to be in good physical condition, she
doubted if he had the strength and agility demonstrated by the man who
had attacked them.  "I don't know," she said finally.

Nick gave her a reassuring smile.  "It's okay.  Let's start at the
beginning.  Did you see anyone when you arrived?"

She shook her head.  "He must have slipped in while we were searching
the bedroom.  We were about to leave when he sprang out from behind the
sofa and attacked us."  Her hands shook as she relived the moment when
Jeff was stuck by the needle.

"Did you get a look at the man?"

She shook her head again.  "It all happened so fast.

We'd just turned out the living room lights and were leaving.  That's
when he--he..."  She shuddered, remembering.  God, would she ever be
able to get that image out of her mind?

"Could you make out his features?"

"No," she said.  "He was wearing a ski mask."  Her head dropped as
tears sprang to her eyes.

"It's all right," Nick said gently.  "It would have made things a
little easier if you could have ID'ed him, but I have a couple of
police officers over at the apartment building right now interviewing
neighbors.  As soon as I leave here, I'm going to make a run over to
the house to question Parker."

Suddenly all the hurt and the anger she'd been holding in came boiling
to the surface.  "I want you to catch the killer, Nick.  I want to be
there in court, pointing him out to the jury.  I want him to get the
death penalty.  I want him to die!"

Nick gave her strange look.  No doubt surprised by the venom in her
voice.  She'd shocked herself with her outburst.

"I understand your need for revenge," he said finally.  Something in
his eyes told her he did.  No doubt it was hard for a cop like him to
watch criminals evade punishment because of some legal technicality.

He leaned over and took her hand.  "I promise you, one day, you'll get
to see him face-to-face."  With that he stood and walked out of the
room.

A few minutes later, Shay returned to the examination room.

Raven sat alone, waiting.

"I'LL BE PERFECTLY blunt, I think your bst chance for survival is to
begin the AST immediately," Dr.  Hillman said.

Jeff looked over at Raven and his heart melted.  He was glad now that
he'd insisted that she be allowed in the examination room as soon as
Hillman had completed his testings.  He'd been concerned about her
sitting in the waiting room alone.  She was trying to look brave, but
she was failing badly.  He could see the terror in her eyes, and he
wanted to take her in his arms and tell her that it would be all right.
But he couldn't.  It was too soon to know if he would actually come
down with the disease, but there was little doubt that he'd been
exposed to the virus.  Hillman's tests had confirmed that.

"I know we've had some problems with the drug," Dr.  Hillman was
saying, "but you're strong, healthy.  Perhaps if we start the drug
right away, before the onset of symptoms, we'll see a different
result."

Jeff didn't say anything.

Hillman turned toward Shay.  "Because of the drug's toxicity, I think
we should admit him into the hospital tonight."

Shay nodded.  "I can get a bed--"

"Please, stop talking about me as if I weren't here.  My mind hasn't
been affected.  I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions
regarding medical treatment."

"Jeff, there's no decision to be made," his friend said.  "We've got to
begin treatment right away.  It's your only hope."

He looked at Raven.  Was it his only hope?  The reality was, there was
no hope.  If he took AST perhaps his life could be prolonged---a few
days, maybe even a few weeks.  But in the end the outcome would be the
same.  The virus would kill him.

If he took AST as Hillman and Shay suggested, he would also have to be
hospitalized, and he'd be sick the entire time.  He didn't want that.
What little time he had left, he wanted to spend with Raven.  Taking
her treatment would at least allow him to remain lucid and other drugs
could be used to reduce the pain.

Pride and stubbornness had already caused him to waste four years.  He
wouldn't waste another moment.

"No," he said, turning to look at the woman who meant more to him than
life itself.  "Raven's herbal treatment is my only hope."

Dr.  Hillman looked at him as if he'd gone mad.  "Jeff, you're not
thinking rationally."

Hazel eyes stared into chocolate brown ones.  "On the contrary, I'm
seeing things clearer than I've ever seen them in my life."

Raven's eyes widened and she shook her head.  "Jeff, you don't have to
prove anything to me.  Listen to Dr.  Hillman.  Your life is at
stake."

"See," Hillman said, his voice triumphant.  "She's not even sure of her
treatment."  He then proceeded to tick off on his fingers the reasons
against using it.

Jeff had to admit, everything Hillman said was true.  But Hillman was
dealing with logic, not emotions.

He walked over to Raven, took her hands and pulled her up.  "Shay, if
you and Dr.  Hillman don't mind, I'd like to speak to Raven alone."

"Sure.  We'll just be outside."

When the door closed behind the two men, he smiled down at her.  "I
meant what I said about taking your treatment.  I think it'll work."

She dropped her head.  He lifted her chin forcing her to look at him.
"Raven, I never would have considered giving it to my patients if I
hadn't believed that."

She blinked back tears.  "Why don't we wait a few days?  See what the
CDC can tell us about the virus?"

He shook his head.  "We can't wait.  Hillman was right on that score,
but he's dead wrong about ASTI think my chances are better taking your
medication.  Don't you?"

She looked down at her hands, unable to meet his eyes.  He knew this
was hard, but he wanted her to know that he believed in her and her
treatment.

He lifted her chin.  "Do you believe it will halt the virus?"  he asked
again.

Raven didn't know what to say.  If he had asked that same question last
week, yesterday, or even earlier that day, she would have said yes. Not
only that, she would have jumped at the chance of using it.  But this
was Jeff.  The man she loved.  Yes, she thought, she loved him. But she
couldn't tell him that.  Not now.  She swallowed as she turned his
question over in her mind.  All her fears and uncertainties came
crashing up to meet her.  "I think it will work," she said finally,
"but I'm not sure."

He gave her a reassuring smile.  "You believed up until now that it
would.  Don't start doubting yourself."

"But what if I'm--"

He pressed a finger against her lips, halting her words.

"We have to think positive."

"But if I'm wrong--"

He saw the anguish in her eyes, and wished he could take the pain away.
He forced himself to sound upbeat and confident.  "No more
second-guessing."  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tucking her
securely against his side.  "Let's get out of here," he whispered.

Arm in arm they walked out of the hospital to face an uncertain
future.

Chapter Twelve

Their first stop was at Nature's Cure to get the various herbs and
other items Raven would need to prepare the herbal medication, then she
outlined the treatment schedule.  Jeff would take one eight-ounce glass
of the medication every four hours.  Once she was sure they had
everything they needed, they headed to Jeff's apartment.

When they reached his apartment, he came quickly around, opened the
passenger door, and she wrapped her arms around him.  Together they
walked inside the building.  She leaned against his shoulder, thinking
how good it felt to be in his arms, how reassuring it was to have him
with her now.  She refused to think of a future without him.

As soon as they were inside, she made him take a seat on the sofa.  "I
want you to just relax while I prepare the medicine."  "I feel as if
that's all I've been doing for the last few hours," he told her,
leaning back against the sofa cushions.  "Then you shouldn't have any
trouble taking it easy for a little while longer," she said with a
lightness she didn't feel.

"Okay, but first I want to check my phone messages."  "No problem." 
She nodded.  "It'll take about twenty minutes to prepare the
medication."

She watched him walk into the bedroom.  He was still the same sexy,
powerfully attractive man that had come into her shop two weeks ago.
But so much had changed.  She knew him better now, even better than she
had four years ago, knew his fears and his pain and she had come to see
how sensitive and loving he was.  He was more than just a sexy man, or
a hunk as Phyllis had called him.  Oh, he was more than that.  He was
the man she loved.  She wished she could tell him how she felt, but
somehow now didn't seem to be the time.

When she thought of the nightmare days ahead, she felt a dull numbness,
a disbelief that slowed the truth from registering in her brain.  She
had heard people talk about how they.  had coped with the terminal
illness of a loved one, how they had blocked the pain by focusing only
on the moment, but she had never understood it.  Not until now, as she
accepted it and was grateful for its presence.  She was afraid that
numbness was the only thing that could keep her sane in the days ahead.
She had to be strong.  She couldn't afford to be weak or frightened.
Jeff was depending on her.

She straightened her shoulders and walked into the kitchen.  She laid
the items she needed on the counter and began meticulously preparing
the herbal mixture.  When she was done, she placed the ingredients into
a teakettle to brew.  While she waited, she walked to the window and
stared out at the street below.

The world looked the same.  It was the same for millions of people.
Yet, for her and Jeff everything had changed--their world had not just
been turned upside down--it had been shattered, and nothing was going
to change that.

She shivered, stepping away from the window and feeling that same
ominous feeling that had been lingering with her all day.  She wondered
if anyone or anything could stop this madman ... the man who had... She
swallowed, blinking back tears.  What kind of human being could kill in
such a cold-blooded way?  But he wasn't human, he was an animal.

She turned around, trying to dispel her thoughts, and

saw Jeff standing in the doorway.  He wore a navy robe, tied at the
waist and open to reveal the smooth dark skin of his chest.  The sight
of him made her breath catch in her throat, and even in her sorrow,
made a small flutter begin in the pit of her stomach.  She walked to
him and silently held out her arms, letting them slide around his
slender waist as she cradled her head against his chest.  For a moment
she closed her eyes savoring the feel of his hard, muscled body against
hers.

"Your medication is ready," she whispered.  "Why don't you sit down
while I get it."

A moment later she was back.  She stood watching as he drank the herbal
brew.  Her eyes followed his every movement as he lifted the glass to
his lips.  He made a slight grimace then downed the contents and handed
her the glass.

Then she drew a small bottle out of her pocket, shook out one white
pill and handed it to him.

He frowned up at her.  "What's this?"

"It's a sedative," she explained.  "Dr.  Hillman wants you to take it
so you can rest ... and I agree with him," she added hurriedly.  "It
won't interfere with the medication.  Okay?"

He nodded.  The fact that he didn't put up a fuss was a testimonial to
just how tired he was.

After he had taken the pill, they snuggled on the living room sofa. She
held him, letting her hands move down his arms, murmuring soft words to
him and holding him tight so that she could hear his breathing and his
heartbeat.

"We need to talk about what happened," he began.

Her hand stilled.  Talking would make it real.  "We'll talk later ...
you need to rest now."

Jeff closed his eyes, feeling the effects of the sedative beginning to
dull the edge of reality.  He reached for Raven's hand and felt her
warm fingers clutch his tightly.

Don't leave me he

"Never," she vowed softly.

He pulled her up from the couch and with his arms around her, moved
with her toward the bedroom.  He slid into bed beside her, drawing her
to him and holding her close.

Soon the security of his arms, the quiet of the apartment, took its
toll and she felt her eyes growing weary.  And even though she woke
several times during the night, Jeff was always there, quick to reach
for her with arms that were solid and comforting.

Oh, how could she face the future without him?

JEFF WASN'T SURE how long he slept, but when he woke, it was morning.
Bright light streamed through the curtains and settled across his
face.

A faint sound made him look in the direction of the bathroom, and he
saw Raven standing in the doorway wearing one of his shirts.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice gentle and concerned.  "I didn't mean
to wake you."  She walked over to the bed, switched on the lamp on the
nightstand next to the bed.

"That's all fight," he said, sitting up and feeling the pull of stiff
muscles in his neck.  His head ached a bit and he felt warm.  "How ...
how long did I sleep?"

"About four hours," she said, taking a seat on the bed.  "How do you
feel?"

He saw the fear in her eyes, and knew what she was really asking.  How
did he feel?  Like he was hung over, but it could be the result of lack
of sleep and stress, not early symptoms of the virus.  "Fine," he
lied.

He didn't know if she believed him or not, but she didn't question
him.

"Nick called," she said, changing the subject.  "He'll be here in about
an hour.  Do you feel up to talking to him?"

"Sure."  He nodded.  Then regretted the head movement.  "But first I
think I'd like to take a shower."

She nodded.  "I'll make breakfast."

"I don't want anything," he said, feeling his stomach churn slightly.
"I'm not hungry."

"You've got to eat something.  You have to keep your strength up."  She
smiled at him and her voice was quiet and persuasive.

He returned the smile, feeling the warm concern that radiated from her,
feeling a deep, almost spiritual connection to her.

"All right," he relented.  "But just tea and a piece of dry toast."

Later they sat at the small wooden table in the dining room, eating.
The food helped more than he had expected and he had to admit he felt
better.  Raven kept up a constant stream of chatter, talking about
everything but what they should be talking about--the virus, their
relationship... and what to do next.

Jeff's eyes roamed over her lovely face and he saw the fear in her
eyes.  He reached for her hand across the table, holding it.  He was
about to tell her not to worry but before he could say anything, the
doorbell rang.

"That's probably Nick," she said, standing.  "Finish your coffee, I'll
let him in."

A moment later Jeff stepped into the living room.  Nick's blue eyes
watched him and he saw sympathy there.

"How are you feeling?"  the young cop asked.

"I'm fine," Jeff said, taking the seat next to Raven on the sofa.

"I just have a few questions for you about what happened last night."

He felt Raven stiffen beside him.  He turned and saw the anguish in her
eyes.  He reached for her hand, holding it as Nick began to speak.

"Do you know if the man that attacked you was Calvin Parker?"

Jeff shrugged.  "It could have been, but I'm not sure.  The room was
dark and he wore a ski mask."

"What about clothes?  Do you remember what the guy was wearing?"

Jeff thought for a moment.  "I'm not sure if he was wearing a jacket or
shirt, whatever it was, it was made out of a slick kind of material,"
he answered.  "So were his pants.  I remember the fabric because it
made holding on to him harder."

"That's good," Nick said excitedly.  "One.  of Parker's neighbors
reported seeing a man fitting Parker's description run from the
apartment building about the time of your attack.  She remembers
because she was out walking her dog.  She thought it was Parker because
she's seen him jog about that time of night.  The man she saw was also
wearing a navy jogging suit."

He glanced over at Raven.  "What about you?  Now that you've had time
to sleep on it, do you remember anything else?"

She shook her head.  "No.  I'm sorry."

"That's okay," he said, closing his notepad.  "I think I have enough to
call Parker in for questioning."  At Jeff and Raven's look of surprise,
he added, "Forensics checked the apartment door and there was no sign
of forced entry, except, of course, yours.  So the guy that attacked
you..."  Nick's voice trailed off when he saw the pain reflected in
both their eyes.

"It's all right," Raven whispered, taking a deep breath.  "Go on ...
I'm all right."

He cleared his throat.  "I was just going to say the intruder didn't
break into the apartment.  Forensics was also able to lift a clear set
of prints from the front door, the door facing, and the sofa lamp. They
belong to Calvin Parker."

Raven frowned.  "It's his apartment.  I'd have thought it strange if
his prints weren't there."

"Yeah, but I also learned that Calvin Parker took out a
half-million-dollar life insurance policy on his wife three

months ago.  In my book, that's a powerful motive for murder.

"When you couple that with the vials, you and Jeff found in his
apartment ... well, it looks like we may have found our killer."

Jeff nodded.  It sounded like Nick had a pretty strong case against
Parker.  "Have you questioned him yet?"  he asked.

Nick shook his head.  "We haven't been able to locate him."

"You think he's fled the jurisdiction?"

"I don't think so," Nick said, standing.  "I've got men coveting the
airport, train station and bus terminals, and no one has spotted him.
He's around here somewhere.  It's just a matter of time before we
locate him."

"When you do," Jeff said, "call me.  I'd like to be in on the
questioning.". At the puzzled look Nick threw him, he added, "I'd like
to ask him about the vials we found at his apartment.  We could develop
a treatment, possibly even a cure, a lot quicker if Parker would
cooperate and tell us where and how he got the virus.  Without his
help, it may take some time."

"Sure thing."  Nick clapped him on the back.

"Are you going to stop investigating Daniels now that you have evidence
implicating Parker in the murders?"  Raven asked.

Nick frowned.  "I don't see how I can justify continuing to investigate
him.  I think a good defense attorney could use that against us."

"You're tight."  She nodded.  "It's just that if there's any
possibility that you could be wrong about Parker..."  Her chin quivered
and she blinked back tears.

Jeff's response was quick.  He pulled her back into his arms, cradling
her head against his chest and stroking her back.

Nick cleared his throat.  "I'll let myself out."

After Nick left, they sat on the couch, talking.

"Do you really think Parker is the killer?"  she asked.  Jeff sighed,
leaning his head back against the sofa.  "I don't know.  Nick seems to
thinks so, and he makes a persuasive case for his guilt."

"I know."  She twisted in his arms, looking up at him.  "It's just that
he's so anxious to make an arrest.  I don't want him going off
half-cocked."

Jeff shook his head.  "He's ambitious, but he's a good cop.  He seems
to have a strong case against Parker."  He glanced at his watch.
"Listen, we'd better get going."

She looked up at him, surprised.  "Where are we going?"

"I'm going to the hospital.  You're going to work."

"Jeff, I don't think that's a good idea," she said, following him into
the bedroom.

He frowned.  "Why not?"

She made a flip-flop with her hand.

He took her by the shoulders and stared into her troubled eyes.
"Whatever's going to happen will happen whether I'm here or at the
hospital.  I think it would be a lot healthier for both of us if we
kept busy, and not sit around here letting our imaginations run
wild."

For a moment he thought she was going to argue with him then she issued
a sigh and nodded.  "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Of course, but nothing's going to happen."

"When she still didn't say anything he gave her a playful shake.  "It's
going to be all tight," he murmured.  "We've got the virus.  The CDC
should be able to give us some answers before too long.  I've started
your treatment."  He smiled at her.  "I'm going to be fine."

He kept up a steady stream of conversation until he dropped her at
Nature's Cure.  The moment she was out of the car, he leaned his head
against the headrest, and closed his eyes.

It was funny, he thought, even though he dealt with life-and-death
issues every day, he'd never really given any

thought to his own mortality.  He guessed, like everyone else, he'd
always thought he would have plenty of time.

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel.  It wasn't fair.  He
and Raven had finally put the past behind them and now this had
happened.  For a moment he couldn't see beyond his own misery.  Then he
gave himself a mental shake.  It was time to take some of his own
advice.  He was going to think positive.  He put the car in gear and
headed for the hospital.

When he arrived at the hospital, he pulled into the parking lot
adjacent to the emergency entrance to avoid any members of the press
who might be camped out front.

Once inside, he headed straight for the research lab.  He knew it was
too soon to expect the results from the CDC, but he needed to talk to
Shay.  Then he'd check on his patients.  As he stepped into the room,
Shay looked up from the slide he was studying.  He did a double take
when he saw Jeff.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"And hello to you, too," Jeff said, heading for the coffeemaker.  He
poured himself a cup and took a swallow.  "How are Lauren and the
others doing?"

"Jeff, I really don't think you should be here," Shay said, ignoring
his question.  "You ought to be in bed resting conserving your
strength."

"Don't you start on me."

Shay gave him a sour look.  "Well, if you didn't listen to Raven then I
guess you're not going to listen to me."

"That's perceptive of you," Jeff said with a grin.  "Now, back to my
question.  How are Lauren and the others doing?"

Shay hesitated, then shook his head.  "I wish I could tell you better,
but they're not.  And there was another patient admitted last night.  A
guy by the name of George Whitman.  He's in bad shape."

The news depressed him.  Jeff closed his eyes.  He thought about going
to Brockman and asking him to reconsider his decision to not use
Raven's treatment, but knew it was futile.

"You also got another stack of documents from the CDC.  They're in your
office."

"Thanks.  I'm going to make a round," he said, striding out of the
room.  His first stop was at the cubicle of George Whitman.  According
to the medical chart, he was a fifty-six-year-old city worker.  Like
Eleanor and David Foster, he'd had the virus injected directly into his
system.  His condition was listed as critical.  Apparently he'd
suffered a heart attack as a result of the mugging.  Jeff rubbed his
temple.  He felt utterly frustrated and completely helpless.

He sighed, then moved on to Lauren's cubicle.  Her condition was
deteriorating.  It was the same with Susan Kelly and David Foster.  He
then spent some time with Greg Connor and David Foster's wife.  He
wished he could give them some good news but he had to prepare them for
the worst.  That only depressed him further.

He spent the rest of the day cloistered in his office, updating patient
files.  He didn't know what the future held for him but thought it best
that he put his files in order in the event someone had to take over
his workload.  Once that was done, he began working his way through the
remaining stacks of Dr.  Ross's writing.  The man had been a prolific
writer, chronicling virtually every aspect of his medical research.  He
was midway through the studies when Shay stuck his head in the doorway.
He looked grim.

"We got the test results on the vials from the CDC," Shay said, moving
into the room.  The look he threw Jeff could only be described as one
of pity.

Jeff's heart began to slam against his chest.  It should have taken
days, maybe even weeks for them to analyze the contents of the vials.
He closed his eyes.  If they had an answer now, it couldn't be good.

RAVEN STARED at the phone on her desk, debating whether she should call
Jeff at the hospital.  She tapped one manicured nail on the receiver.
He's all right, she told herself I Shay or Dr.  Hillman would have
called her if he wasn't.

She was being an alarmist.  He was fine.  Besides, it was too soon for
him to be exhibiting any symptoms.  Jeff was right.  Sitting here
thinking the worst was getting her no-where.  She needed something to
do to take her mind off Jeff and the disease.

Now was probably a good time to take inventory of her stock.  She
usually dreaded it, but today she threw herself into the job.  But
before too long she found herself going through her herb books
double-checking, then triple-checking the herbal formula.  She couldn't
afford to make a mistake.  Jeff's life depended on it.  On paper, it
seemed to work, but what if she was wrong?  No, she thought, she
wouldn't think that way.  But it was hard.

If only she hadn't told Jeff about her meeting with Grace Wells.  If
only they hadn't gone to Calvin Parker's apartment.  If she could turn
back the hands of time, do it all over again, she'd do things
differently.  For one thing, she would have worked harder on her
relationship with Jeff, and not let stubbornness and pride stand in the
way.  She'd always accused him of not being willing to listen to her
views on alternative medicine.  But, she'd done nothing to help him
bridge the gap.

Oh God, she'd been such a fool.

"Can I come in?"  a voice said, breaking into her troubled thoughts.

She looked up to see Nick Valentine standing in the doorway.

"Sure," she said, waving him in.

Nick's eyes swept the room before he plopped down on the sofa.  "I
thought I'd find Jeff here," he said.

She shook her head.  "He's at the hospital."

One sandy eyebrow rose.  "Shouldn't he be taking it easy?"

She raised one shoulder.  "Probably, but he needs something to do.
Something to take his mind off..."

Nick cleared his throat.  "How long before you -know--' '

If he's infected?  she completed the question in her mind.

"Probably within the next twenty-four hours."

There was a strained silence.

She gave him a tight little smile.  "What did you want to talk to Jeff
about?"

"I just wanted him to know we put out an APB on Calvin Parker, but we
haven't located him yet.  But when we do, I'm going to take a great
deal of pleasure in bringing him in."

"Well, you can't arrest him soon enough for me, but remember, don't
spook him.  Jeff needs to talk to him, find out as much as we can about
this virus.  And he's the only man who can give us that information."

Nick frowned.  "We'll do what we can--"

"Detective Valentine," Phyllis interrupted from the doorway.  "There's
a call for you."

"You can take it here," Raven said, pointing to the phone on her
desk.

She listened as he talked to the person at the end of the line.  He
didn't say much, just nodded.  Finally, he said, "Good work.  Listen,
don't approach him ... just watch him until I get there.  I'm on my
way."  He hung up and turned to Raven.  "Parker was spotted about three
minutes ago going into his office building," Nick said.  He was already
moving toward the doorway.

"Wait, aren't you going to call Jeff?."

He looked hurriedly at his watch, then shook his head.  "There's no
time."

"Then I'm going with you."

He turned.  "Now look--"

"You going to waste time arguing with me or go after Parker?"

Nick issued a deep sigh, knowing this was one battle he was not going
to win.  "Okay, let's go."

CALVIN PARKER WAS bent over his desk, haphazardly dumping papers into
an opened briefcase, and didn't see them when they entered the office.
'

"Going somewhere?"  Nick asked, moving into the room.

Parker's head snapped up.  He looked terrible, Raven thought.  His eyes
were bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled as if he'd slept in them.  He
looked old and tired and scared.

Parker's mouth curved into the semblance of a smile.  "I thought I'd
get away for a few days.  Eleanor's death affected me more than I
thought."

Nick shook his head.  "I'm afraid you're going to have to cancel your
trip.  I'd like for you to come down to headquarters.  I want to talk
to you about some vials we found at your apartment."

Parker's eyes grew as round as saucers.  "Vials?  Ah ... I don't know
what you're talking about."

"Of course not," Nick said, his voice laced with sarcasm.  "So I guess
you shouldn't have any problems coming down to headquarters to answer
some questions."

Parker's eyes darted about the room as if he were looking for a way to
escape.  "Sure, just give me a few minutes to finish up here.  Why
don't you and Ms.  Delaney wait for me in the conference room."

"This is fine," Nick said, settling into the chair in front of Parker's
desk.  Raven maintained her position off to the side.  "We don't mind
waiting here for you."

Parker was squirming now, fear flashing in his eyes.  "I don't know why
you keep hassling me."

"Give me a break," Nick said firmly.  "Your protestation of innocence
is getting a little fire some From where I sit, things don't look so
good for you."

"I haven't done anything wrong.  I swear."

"Things will go easier for you if you come clean."  Nick gentled his
voice.  "Why don't you just get it off your chest?  Maybe it's not your
fault, what you've done.  There are doctors who can help you."

Parker wasn't listening.  "You're not going to pin this on me," he
whispered in a hopeless monotone.  "I didn't do anything and I'm not
going to say I did."

"The evidence seems to suggest otherwise."

"Then you're reading it wrong," Parker said, picking up a small
paperweight.

"What about that hefty life insurance policy you took out on Eleanor's
life?  And let's not forget about your fancy apartment and that closet
full of designer suits.  Am I reading that wrong?"

Parker was sweating bullets now.  "You don't understand.  I thought
about it, but I--" Suddenly, he clammed up.

Raven stood up straighter.  Had he been about to confess?  Apparently
Nick thought so because he pounced on his words.  "What did you think
about?"

Parker shook his head.  "Nothing."  .  "Come on, Calvin.  Talk to me.
Get it off your chest."

Raven sensed Nick was running out of patience, and was pushing hard,
maybe too hard.

Parker shook his head again, with the stubborn tearful defiance of a
child.  "But I didn't--"

"Okay, Parker," he said, standing.  "That's the way you want to play
it?  Fine by me.  Let's go--"

"No," he said, backing away.  "Stay away from me."

Suddenly, Parker threw the paperweight he was holding at Nick's face,
and bolted for the door.

Nick ducked.  The paperweight nicked his cheek.  Raven gasped at the
trickle of blood that was running down his face, but Nick barely
noticed.  He was on his feet, running after Parker.  Raven took off
after him.

Parker's office opened onto a long, narrow corridor.  Parker was
running fast but sloppily, caroming off the walls like a pinball.
Chuffs of breaths and piggish grunts rose over his slapping
footsteps.

Raven caught a glimpse of Nick's face as he rounded the corner and ran
down another corridor.  His face was

flushed, his eyes gleaming, and his hair bouncing everywhere.  She
flashed on the thought that this was a rash for him.

Suddenly the hallway veered to the left.  Nick skidded and banged his
shoulder.  He winced, then muttered an expletive, but kept on running.
She rounded the corner after him and saw they were in the general
office area now.

Parker was just ahead, running through the office area, zigzagging
among the desks and the dazed secretaries who sat glued in their
chairs.  Raven was right behind them.  Startled faces snapped past her.
She bumped into a man in a business suit and saw paper fly through the
air.  She mumbled an apology then she was running past the man, ducking
furniture.  Somewhere a woman was screaming for someone to call the
police.

Ahead, Nick was gaining on Parker.  A few steps shy of the front door
he grabbed for Parker; his hand caught the end of a flapping shirttail
that tore free.

One of the double doors swung wide open.  Parker ran down the front
steps of the building then sprinted for the parking lot.  Nick
followed, shouting at him to stop.  Raven was right on his heels.

Parker ran to a parked car, a blue Mercedes, tugged open the door, and
jumped inside.  Nick was running for the car when the engine started.
Parker pulled away, and Nick staggered to a stop, clutching his
stomach, and gulping air.  Then he was on the move again, running for
his unmarked Chevy.  Raven pulled open the passenger door and jumped
inside as Nick was putting the keys in the ignition.

A moment later the car screamed away from the curb, straightened out
and arrowed at the fleeing Mercedes.  "Nick grabbed a portable siren
and attached it to the hood of the car.  Parker took a sharp left turn
down a side street.  Nick swore then Raven felt herself thrown against
the seat as Nick suddenly gunned the engine and made a sharp left turn.
He jammed his foot on the accelerator.  The passenger seat bucked as
the Chevy shot forward.  They were just inches away.  Nick arrowed the
Chevy at Parker's car, rammed his rear bumper with a crunch of bucking
metal, and bulldozed him into a utility pole.

The impact tossed Raven forward then flung her backward against the
headrest.  Nick was already out the driver's door, gun in hand.  She
was fumbling with the door handle on the passenger side when a shot
rang out.

She ducked down on the front seat while Nick took cover behind the
driver's door of the Chevy.  Nick returned the fire.  She inched up and
saw Parker leaning out the driver's side window, firing at Nick.  She
ducked down.  Nick squeezed off a round that dimpled the Mercedes's
door.  Parker fired back.  A bullet pinged off the Chevy's front
bumper.  Nick raised his head and fired another round.  Raven huddled
in her seat, her hands over her ears.  The firing seemed to go on
forever.  Then suddenly it stopped.

She raised up and looked out the front window.  She couldn't see
Parker, couldn't determine his condition.  Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw Nick slowly stand.  He emerged from behind the car door
and slowly approached the Mercedes in a half-crouch position, gun
drawn, ready to fire.  At the passenger side of the car, he paused. 
She knew looking into the car would be the most dangerous moment. 
Parker could be lying in wait for Nick, poised to squeeze off a shot at
close range .... She held her breath as Nick raised his head fast over
the door frame, then quickly turned his head away.  He lowered the gun
and stared at her.  His face told her everything she needed to know. 
She shook her head, refusing to believe it could be true.  She jumped
out of the car and ran to the Mercedes and looked inside.  Calvin
Parker was slumped over the steering wheel, a trickle of blood ran out
the side of his mouth, and his eyes stared straight ahead.  He was
dead.

Not wounded.  Not unconscious, but dead.

Raven closed her eyes.  Calvin Parker was dead.

Her body shook.  Nick had said he'd take him alive.  They needed him
alive.  And now he was dead.

A swell of nausea rose inside her.  She turned away from the car,
wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, as first one tear then
another fell.

A moment later she felt Nick's hand on her shoulder.  She turned and
looked up at him.  His face was etched in pain.  "I tried to take him
alive," he said, "but he tried to get away, started shooting."

"I know."  Raven wiped her face with the back of her hand.  "I know."
She drew a shallow breath, then a deeper one.

"Damn it, I didn't mean to kill him.  He shouldn't have run.  Why did
he run?"

She couldn't answer that.  "I just wish ... I wish..."  The words stuck
in her throat.  She couldn't say it because she didn't want to think
what the future held.

Nick drew a deep breath then nodded.  "Thank God, you and Jeff found
those vials.  Everything's going to be all right."

Yes, she thought.  Thank God for the via is

WATER!

It had been plain tap water in the vial st

Raven watched Jeff's lips move, but she didn't hear his words.  It was
as if her mind had absorbed one shock too many and had shut down.

Her breathing became strained and she felt light-headed.

She reached out and gripped the side of the sofa, steadying herself. It
had never occurred to her that the vials could be anything other than
what they appeared to be.  She'd just assumed that because they'd found
the vials hidden in a tissue box in Calvin Parker's wastebasket they
contained the deadly virus.

"Could they be mistaken?"  She knew she was grasping at straws.  Jeff
shook his head.  "There's no mistake.  Just to be sure, they ran the
test three times on each vial, and every time it came out the same.
It's just plain tap water."

"It doesn't make sense.  Why did Parker hide the vials if they only
contained water?  And why did he run?"

She watched as Jeff raked his hand over his hair.  "I don't know.  I'm
afraid without Parker there are a lot of questions we aren't going to
get answers to.  If only Nick hadn't killed him.  Maybe we could have
gotten him to talk, tell us where or how he got his hands on this
virus."  He paused, looked up at the ceiling, his throat working.  "Why
couldn't Nick have taken him alive?"

She'd wondered that, too.  And it always came back to the same
thing--ambition.  Nick had been so anxious to make an arrest, to be the
hero, he hadn't bothered to call for backup.  Now his ambition may have
sealed Jeff's and the others'.  fate.

She felt cold.  She didn't know what to do with her hands.  "What
happens now?"

Even as she asked the question, she knew the horror that lay ahead.
Jeff knew it, too.  He could barely look at her.  His gaze shifted from
her neck to her forehead.  "We wait."  His voice was strained and
hoarse, as if the words themselves were strangling him.  "We'll know in
the next eighteen hours."

Eighteen hours!  How do you cram a lifetime of living into such a short
time?  she wondered.  She walked over to him and wrapped her arms
around him, savoring the feel of his hard, muscled body against hers.

"Hold me," she whispered.  She felt his arms tighten around her,
pulling her close.  She closed her eyes, wishing they could remain this
way forever, locked in each other's arms.

"Maybe I should double-check the formula," she said, pulling out of his
arms.

"Don't.  You've done all you can.  Now--" His voice broke.  "Now we
wait."

"But there must be something else we can do."  Her voice had a hollow
ring even to her own ears.

"There is."  He kissed her lips tenderly.  "We think positive."

"I know," she said.  "I want to be strong.  I want to think positive,
but I'm afraid."

"Don't, Ray..."  he breathed, his hands moving, slowly, sensuously,
down her back, over her hips.  "Don't be afraid."  He tilted her chin
so that their eyes locked and held.  "Nothing's ever going to take me
away from you ... nothing."

Then he covered her mouth with his in a mind-shattering kiss.  The
spark between them was hot and quick, running like a jolt of
electricity through Raven.  He wanted to make love to her.  She could
see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch, his kiss.  He kissed her
again and again, with an urgency... with all the intensity that was
his.

"Raven..."  he whispered against her mouth.  "I need you .... I need
you."  His hands were warm and insistent, his mouth sweet and
persuasive.

"She didn't answer, but looked up into his eyes before moving with him
toward the bedroom.

There was.  an intensity, a desperation in both of them that had not
been there the last time ... not even the first time they'd made love.
All the events of the past few days, their fear of what was to come
seemed to have them desperately in need.  Raven was acutely aware of
Jeff's vulnerability and the bittersweet way he held and kissed her, as
if he thought this might be the last time they'd be together.

His kisses, hot and searching, left her breathless and aching for more.
And his hands ... the slow, seductive way they moved and stroked, the
way he methodically removed her clothes, made her tremble.

"You've taught me so much, Raven," he whispered.  "Do you know that?"
His voice became muffled as his mouth touched the sensitive area just
below her ear, as he nibbled and moved downward to the delicate skin of
her shoulder.  "You've taught me to dream again ... to feel again.  My
life has been so empty without you."

Raven could no longer resist his mouth, pulling his head down so that
she could taste him, and breathe in the seductive male scent of him.
She shivered, tilting her head back, eyes closed, as she clung to his
hard, muscled shoulders.  He said she'd taught him to dream again,
well, he'd taught her to dream again, too.  She hadn't realized it, but
without him, she'd only been half-alive.  Now she was complete.  It was
like the sun breaking through the clouds.

There was no patience in either of them for waiting, no preliminaries
as they fell onto the bed and he quickly took her with a soft
impatiently muttered groan.

Raven saw his wistful smile and felt her heart melting.  His look, his
touch, made her crazy and as she moved beneath him, she felt herself
growing hotter and more restless.  She could not keep her hands from
touching his spine, where the muscles moved so seductively beneath her
fingers.  His chest, so beautifully sculpted and hard as it moved
downward, skimmed tantalizingly against the peaks of her breasts, then
up again.

Jeff felt her response, felt the leather and pulled his hands down
beneath her hips, holding her hard and tight, the feel of her making
his muscles tremble with the excitement of loving her.  Her soft groans
and quiet breathy little gasps made him crazy, and even though he
wanted to take it slow, wanted to remember every touch, every vision of
her, he could feel the heat spiraling upward as both of them moved
quickly out of control and past the slow heat of passion.

"Oh, Jeff," she gasped, moving almost frantically, and grasping his
shoulders.  "Oh..."

"Yes, sweetheart," he urged, holding her tight and feeling her own heat
overtaking his body.  "Let it go, sweetheart ... just ... let it go..."
His last words were lost in a husky groan of pleasure, lost in the heat
and passion that

overtook both of them and left them trembling and clinging almost
desperately to one another.

Later, they lay for long, silent moments in each other's arms.  Jeff
let his fingers move slowly back and forth along her neck, moving
upward to her hair then back down to her shoulder.

Raven felt the cool air upon her heated skin, and she felt herself
growing drowsy.  And yet ... deep inside her was this desperate need to
hold on to him, just for another moment.

She was afraid of what tomorrow would bring.  It ate at her, tore at
her deep into her very soul, and it caused her to tremble.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered.  He wrapped his arms around
her until the shivers stopped.

How she wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but time had run
out for them.  There was only one thing left to do pray that her herbal
treatment worked.

Chapter Thirteen

The first symptom Jeff noticed was a sudden rash that appeared on his
chest.  As he examined it, the rash seemed to spread quickly from his
chest to his abdomen.  With his index fingers, he spread the skin at
the site of the blotches to see if it would blanch with pressure.  Not
only did it not blanch, the pressure deepened the color.

Then, as quickly as the skin eruption appeared, it began to itch.
Although at first Jeff tried to ignore the sensation, it increased in
intensity to the point where he had to scratch.  An application of the
topical antibiotic hydrocortisone relieved the itch ... but then came
the fever.

It started to rise slowly, but once it got past a hundred degrees, it
shot up.  Soon Jeff's forehead was awash with perspiration.

When he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and saw his face
flushed and eyes sunken, he was horrified.  A few minutes later he
began to experience difficulty breathing.  Even with deep breaths, he
was gasping for air.

Then his head began to pound like a drum with each beat of his heart.
The seriousness of his condition was obvious.  Jeff knew the virus was
spreading rapidly throughout his body, destroying his immune system and
other vital organs.  Somehow he'd skipped the initial stage and gone
directly to the final stage of the disease in a matter of hours.  He
was going to die!

Jeff's eyes flew open and he jolted upright.  For a moment he didn't
know where he was.  He felt disoriented and confused.  His eyes dropped
to his abdomen to look at his rash, but it had disappeared.  Only then
did Jeff realize that he'd been dreaming.  He drew a deep breath, a
nightmare would be a more apt description.

He looked at Raven who was sleeping peacefully next to him.  Even
though the air conditioner was going full blast, he felt hot.  He
looked down at his pillow and bed-sheet; they were drenched in sweat.
He threw back the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He
felt a clanging noise inside his head, as if someone was beating him
over the head with a sledgehammer.

When he stood his legs felt rubbery, and he swayed slightly.  He was
glad Raven was asleep and didn't see him like this.  No doubt it would
frighten her.  It frightened him.

He walked gingerly into the bathroom and closed the door.  The cool
tiles felt good on his feet.  He leaned on the sink and recoiled at the
remembrance of the nightmare.  It had been so frighteningly real.  He
even looked at his chest and abdomen again to make sure he didn't have
a rash.  Thankfully, he didn't.  But he definitely had a headache,
which he prayed was due to stress and sleep deprivation, and not the
virus.

Looking into the mirror, he saw that his eyes were red, and he was in
dire need of a shave and shower.

He stepped into the shower stall and let the hot steaming water pour
over him and tried not to think about the next twelve hours, but it was
impossible.  He had so much to live for, he loved Raven and wanted to
spend his life with her, have children with her, grow old with her.

Suddenly it was all too much for him.  His shoulders slumped and he
fell back against the shower stall, eyes closed; he let the pain and
fear he'd held at bay for the last twenty-four hours wash over him.  He
didn't know how long he stood there before he was able to pull himself
together.

By the time he'd showered and shaved, he felt a world of difference
from when he'd awakened, but he did not feel up to par.  He still had a
headache and the muscles of his legs were sore.  So was his lower back.
He couldn't help but worry that he was exhibiting symptoms of the
disease.  If he was coming down with the virus, he didn't want Raven to
know, not yet anyway.

Jeff slipped on a robe and returned to the bedroom.  He sat down on the
edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair from Raven's face, trying
to store up a lifetime of memories in a few hours.  The past day and a
half shimmered in his memory like a dream, and last night had been
wonderful.  Except for a quick dinner and a couple of hours at the
hospital, they'd spent the evening in this room, in this bed.  The
memory of exquisite lovemaking wove in and out of the dream like a
shining thread of gold, but even more precious was the way Raven had
shared herself.  They talked for hours.

She talked about her childhood, growing up with an older brother, and
what had made her go into herbal medicine.  She told him about opening
Nature's Cure, about her work and how much she loved it.  They'd talked
of everything and nothing, from their favorite movies and books to
their preferred restaurants.

Never once had she pressed him to talk about the future.  As a result,
he'd found himself opening up to her, telling her things he had never
told anyone--his dreams, his hopes, his fears.  And all the time she'd
listened and held his hand, wrapping her arms around him and resting
her cheek against his chest while he spoke.

He couldn't remember ever feeling this connected to anyone in his life,
or ever wanting anybody more.  They'd made love countless times in the
past couple of days, but as he watched her sleep he found that he
wanted her even more than he had before they'd made love the first
time.

He didn't want to look at his watch, because this was the day.  He
swallowed.  By tonight the symptoms would... He brushed the thought
aside and thought of Raven.  She was his rock, his beacon, his love.
For a moment he permitted himself to fantasize about a life wit
her--waking up every morning next to her, coming home to her every
night, making love.  He couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe,
he would beat the odds.

"Hi, there," he heard her say, her voice low and incredibly sexy.
Raising up on one elbow, she ran her hand down his chest where his robe
parted.

"Don't tempt me," he teased, smiling down at her.  She frowned. 
"You're going to the hospital?"

"Yes," he whispered against her mouth.  Then he kissed away her
frown.

"Are you feeling okay?"  she asked, running her hand over his face and
down his shoulder.

He pulled back, not wanting her to know that he wasn't feeling well.
"I'm fine," he said, then he leaned over to brush another kiss across
her lips.  Easing himself off the bed, he stood up and stretched,
enjoying the way she looked at him.  Grinning at her again, he said,
"Come on, you've got to get up and feed me."

She shook her head.  "I'm going to shower, while you make breakfast."
With a jaunty little smile, she slipped out of the bed and disappeared
into the bathroom, and he stood staring after her delectable body.

His body had hardened instantly.  An image of making love to her in the
shower flashed through his brain.  He reminded himself that he needed
to concentrate on what he had to do today, not lovemaking.  He frowned
when he thought of the workday ahead.  In addition to checking on
Lauren and the others, he still had a few patient records to write
notes on, and a stack of Dr.  Ross's files to go through.  He wanted to
know he had done everything he could for his patients and to identify
the virus.

He quickly dressed and was making breakfast when Raven walked into the
kitchen.  He felt her come up behind him, inhaled the intoxicating
smell of her perfume mixed with her own sweet womanly scent as she
pressed against his back.

"Did you remember to take your medicine?"  she asked.  She tried to
make her voice sound light, but he heard the undercurrent of fear.

"Yes, I did."  He turned and slid his arms around her and smiled down
at her.  "I don't think I've told you but I want you to know how proud
I am of you for your work on this virus."

"Oh, Jeff."  He felt her shiver in his arms, then burrow deeper.  "I
would feel better if I could be with you today."

"I'd like that, but we both know I wouldn't get any work done with you
there."  His arms tightened around her, then he stepped away.  He gave
her fanny a playful swat.  "If we don't get some food soon, I can't be
responsible for my actions."

"Then we'd better get this food on the table.  I'm afraid to see what
might happen."

He watched her as she went about setting the table.  He loved this
woman.  He wanted to promise her the stars, the moon, that everything
would be all right, that they would have a tomorrow.  But in his heart,
he feared they only had today.

RAVEN STOPPED PACING and looked out the window.  She chewed her lower
lip then glanced at her watch again.  When she'd talked to Jeff at
noon, he had said he was leaving the hospital by five-thirty so they
could spend the evening together.  It wasn't like him not to call if he
was going to be late.  Something was wrong.  Maybe she should just
drive over to the hospital.

No, she told herself, she wouldn't think that way.  She had to think
positive.

She went into her small kitchen and turned the burner beneath the
teakettle.  Using the few minutes it took to heat the water, she closed
the greenhouse window over the

kitchen sink against the warm sunny air and watered the collection of
herbs growing in ceramic pots.

The teapot whistled and the phone rang at the same time, jangling her
nerves.

She snatched it up on the second ring.  "Jeff?"  There was a pause.
"No, it's Nick."

"Oh ... how are you?"  She couldn't keep the disappointment out of her
voice.

"Raven, I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

He sounded tired and a little down.  Raven straightened.  "No, I was
just waiting for Jeff to get home from the hospital."  She glanced at
her watch.  Six forty-five.  Surely,

Jeff was on his way.

"How is he?"

She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat.  "I ... I think he's showing
signs of the virus."

There was a silence at the other end of the line.

"It's still early," Nick said finally.  "Your treatment could still
halt the disease.  Maybe even cure it."

She closed her eyes.  "I hope so.  H-have you found anything new?"

For a moment Nick didn't say anything.  Then he drew a deep breath.
"Look, Raven, I don't want you to get your hopes up," he said gruffly,
"but you may have been right about Mark Daniels."

Her heart began to beat double time.  "But isn't the case closed?  I
thought Parker was the killer."

"I thought so, but Katherine Olsen paid me a visit today."

"Mark Daniels's girlfriend?"

"I guess you should say, his former girlfriend, and she's singing a
different tune.  Seems Daniels wasn't with her and her friends all
those Monday nights after all."

"She could just be a woman scorned--out for revenge."  "She probably
is, but she also brought in an interesting piece of information--a
social security card belonging to Mark Daniels.  However, the name on
the card was Daniel Martin and the social security number was different
from Mark Daniels's.  I've been working around the clock the last eight
hours, and I hit pay dirt.  It seems under the alias Daniel Martin,
Daniels has worked in the medical field.  Get this, his most recent
stint was in a medical research lab as recently as a year ago."

She tried to hang on to her excitement.  "Are you going to arrest
him?"

"I wish I could, but the case is officially closed.  I'm going to need
hard evidence to take to the captain in order to get the case reopened.
My gut tells me he's our man.  I just can't prove it."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing.  "Can't you at least call
him in for questioning?"

"I could, but that would tip him off that we're on to him, and I don't
want him fleeing the jurisdiction before we can build a case."

"Nick, you've got to do something now to make him talk.  Jeff doesn't
have much time."

"I know," he said, his voice laced with frustration, "but I've got to
be damn sure of the facts."

"I know, but there's got to be something you can do?"  "I really don't
think--" He paused in mid-sentence.  "What?  Did you think of
something?"

"Yeah, I did."  She could hear the excitement in his voice.  "I don't
know if it will work," he said cautiously, "but it's definitely worth a
try.  This is what I'd---" He broke off and she heard the telltale
squeak of a chair coming upright.  "Can you hold a minute?"

"Sure."

She heard him muttering beneath his breath, as he talked to someone in
the background.  A moment later he came back on the line.  "Raven, I
gotta go," he said hurriedly.  "Something's come up.  But listen, I
want you to meet me at Daniels's office in the Sears Tower at
seven-thirty.  I can't explain now, but be there."  He hung up,
breaking the connection before she could ask any questions.

She glanced at her watch.  It was almost seven.  If she was going to
make it to the Sears Towers by seven-thirty, she'd have to leave now.
She chewed her lower lip.  She would have preferred to wait for Jeff,
but there was no time.  She scribbled a hasty note, recounting her
conversation with Nick and asking him to meet them at the Sears Tower,
then scurried out the door.

AT THE SAME TIME Raven was talking to Nick, Jeff was pacing the floor
in his office waiting for the results of the second battery of tests
he'd undergone that afternoon.  He'd seen little point in all this
testing, but Dr.  Hillman had insisted, especially after he had told
him about the symptoms he was experiencing.

He glanced at his watch.  He'd tried calling Raven to tell her he was
running late, but the line had been busy.  It was just as well that he
hadn't gotten through, he thought.  No doubt she'd want to know what
was keeping him, and he didn't know what to tell her.

He sighed and looked at the one remaining pile of Dr.  Ross's reports
he had to go through.  He'd already spent several hours earlier that
day going through his documents, and hadn't found anything that shed
any light on the mysterious virus.  Nor, for that matter, had any of
the other numerous studies and reports by Dr.  Ross that he'd perused
over the last week and a half.  He saw little point pursuing this line
of inquiry further, but he had nothing better to do.  He sighed again.
It would at least be a more productive way to pass the time than
brooding.

He crossed the room, plopped into the chair behind his desk, picked up
another report and began reading.  Once again he had to marvel at the
detail and meticulous manner in which Dr.  Ross had chronicled his
work.  He'd been a brilliant scientist and his death six months ago had
been a loss to the medical community.  Thankfully, his work would live
on through his writings.

As Jeff read, he realized the documents he was now looking at
chronicled the doctor's work during the last three years of his life.
Like a lot of scientists, Dr.  Ross had been deeply interested in
finding a cure for AIDS, and his writing reflected that interest.  He'd
done an amazing amount of research on the subject.  It was fascinating
reading.

Jeff skimmed several more reports.  It seemed interest had progressed
to the development of a theory regarding a cure for AIDS.  Dr.  Ross
postulated that the disease could be cured by introducing another
virus--a super virus--into the infected person's system which would
kill the AIDS.  Jeff sat up straighter in his chair.  The CDC, however,
had refused to fund the project on the grounds that it was too
dangerous.  Their concern was that the super virus was too unstable.
That it wouldn't be able to distinguish between good cells and bad
cells.  It would attack various parts of the body indiscriminately, as
well as destroy the immune system Jeff felt the hair on the back of his
head bristle.  Dr.  Ross's super virus sounded a lot like the virus
they had been dealing with.  He set the report aside and stood.  He
paced for a while, thinking.  He crossed to the window and stared out
at the street below without really seeing it.  He had a terrible
suspicion that Dr.  Ross's virus and the one they were dealing with
were one and the same.

He began to pace again.  If that was the case, it would mean that Dr.
Ross had gone ahead with his research, and after he died someone had
gotten their hands on his papers and developed the virus.  Assuming
that had been the case, the person would have to have had access to a
number of live viruses, not to mention, possess the expertise to
develop Dr.  Ross's super virus He chewed his lower lip.  With the
exception of a handful of scientists at the CDC such as Dr.  Hillman,
there were few people that possessed that kind of ability.  And then
there was the problem with timing.  Dr.  Ross had been dead for about
six months.  The

virus had appeared two months ago.  Could it have been developed that
quickly?

Then an even more frightening thought occurred to him.  What if the
person hadn't stolen the doctor's papers, but the actual virus?  Of
course that presupposed that Dr.  Ross had gone ahead and secretly
developed it.  It would have been totally irresponsible on his part to
do such a thing, but he had been almost obsessed with finding a cure
for AIDS.  The more Jeff though about it, the more certain he became
that that was exactly what had happened.  It also meant Dr.  Ross had
probably left a paper trail.  Given his propensity to meticulously
chronicle his projects, he thought it was a sure bet.

He went back to his desk and began to quickly go through the remaining
reports.  After about twenty minutes of searching, he hit pay dirt.  It
wasn't much, just some preliminary notes on the research project, but
it spurred him on.  He was so engrossed in looking for more project
information that he almost missed the dog-eared color photograph.

It was stuck to the back of one of the pages and appeared to have been
taken a number of years ago.  It showed a smiling Dr.  Ross, and a very
familiar looking man.  Jeff sat for a moment, staring at the picture,
stunned.  Suddenly all the pieces clicked into place.

Jeff wasted no time.  He snatched up the phone on his desk and was
dialing the police when he heard the door open behind him.  He glanced
over his shoulder and saw Shay, followed by Dr.  Hillman, barge into
the room.

"I know who the killer is," he said hurriedly.  "You're--"

"Jeff, put the phone down," Dr.  Hillman ordered.  "We have something
to tell you."

He could hear the urgency in the other man's voice, and a sense of
foreboding washed over him.  He wanted to run away, to put his hands
over his ears, anything to not hear Hillman's pronouncement.

But he did none of those things.  Instead he lowered the phone back
into the cradle and sat perfectly still, waiting for Dr.  Hillman to
tell him what he'd known since the moment he'd awakened that
morning--that he had the virus.

Chapter Fourteen

Raven drove fast, making it into the Chicago Loop in record time, since
the nighttime traffic was fairly light.  The anxiety she had felt all
day increased in direct portion to how close she got to the Sears
Tower.  By the time she parked her car across the street from the
high-rise office building, her heart was pumping hard.  She looked for
Nick's unmarked Chevy, but didn't see it.  She'd either gotten there
before him, or he'd parked on one of the side streets.  She chewed her
lower lip trying to decide what to do.  She glanced at her watch.  It
was seven-thirty.

Figuring that he was probably already inside, she locked the car and
approached the tall, imposing building.  As she reached the revolving
door leading into the building lobby, a young couple exited, allowing
Raven to slip inside.

It took a moment for the elevator to arrive.  Leaning back against the
wall, she forced herself to breathe deeply and let the silence of the
building calm her nerves.  By the time she finally stepped into the
elevator, her heart had stopped its wild hammering.  The doors slid
closed.  The elevator whined upward.  She felt a strange sense of
unreality as she watch the lights flash in succession: thirty,
forty-five, fifty-five.  Except for a faint hydraulic hum, the ride was
silent.

On the sixty-third floor, the doors slid open.

Raven stepped out of the elevator and took a left, moving through a set
of double doors leading into a suite of offices.  The first thing she
noticed was that, except for the emergency overhead lighting, the
lights were off in this wing.  She listened for the sound of voices or
activity, but heard nothing.

"Nick?"  she called.

There was no answer.

She proceeded down the deserted corridor, pausing when she came to a
door labeled Conference Room.  The door was closed, but there was a
ribbon of light on the floor.  Could Nick and Daniels be inside?  she
wondered.  Nick had said e would meet her in Daniels's office, but
maybe it was the conference room.  She pushed open the door and peeked
inside.  The lights were on, but there was no sign of Nick or Mark
Daniels.

Frowning, she closed the door, stepped back into the corridor, and
continued down the narrow hall.  The smell of coffee brewing drew her
to the tiny kitchen area.  Raven saw a fresh pot of coffee and a
half-filled mug on the countertop.  Well, someone was here.  Nick was
probably in Daniels's office.

She'd only gone a few steps when she thought she heard something..

Scrape.

She spun around quickly and peered down the corridor,

straining to hear.

Scrape.

It took her a moment to realize that the sound was coming from the
hallway on the other side of the corridor.  It sounded like footsteps,
quiet and quick, almost as if someone was walking on tiptoe.  She
stared wide-eyed into the dimly lit corridor before calling out, "Nick?
Is that you?"  She was greeted with silence.

"Hello?  Who's there?"  she called again.

The footsteps hurried on, and then she heard a slight clanking sound
like that of an elevator door closing, and then nothing.  For a moment,
all the horror stories of

women being assaulted in deserted offices flashed through her mind.
She gave herself a mental shake.  She was being a paranoid alarmist.
"Don't be silly," she muttered to herself.  "It's probably just
somebody who works here, who's anxious to get home."  But, all the
same, she quickly walked the short distance to Mark Daniels's office.
At the door of the outer office, she drew a deep breath, then knocked.
There was no answer.  "Nick?  Are you in there?"  Still no answer.

She turned the knob and stuck her head inside.  The lights were off,
and there was no sign of the young detective or Mark Daniels.  Nick
must have gotten held up at the police station.  She sighed and leaned
against the door-jamb, trying to decide if she should wait here for him
or go outside and wait for him in her car.

But as the minutes ticked by, her nervousness returned.  She'd wait for
him outside.

She was about to leave when she thought she heard a noise coming from
Mark Daniels's office.  She walked across the room, pushed the door
open a crack, paused and peered inside.

"Mr.  Daniels?"  she called softly.  "Nick?"

There was no answer.

She gave the door a little shove.  Slowly it swung farther open and she
stepped inside.  It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness
and the sight that greeted her--the toppled chair, the scattered
papers.  Clearly there had been a struggle, she thought.  Nick and
Daniels must Suddenly her toe caught and she pitched forward into the
darkness.  Her knees and outstretched hands slammed into something on
the carpeted floor.  Something that cushioned her fall.  She groped
blindly.  One hand sank into wetness and she recoiled.  But even as she
did, the realization hit her.  There was blood on the floor, and she
was touching a body.

She fell back on her haunches as a wave of dizziness swept over her.
All her medical training and years of working around blood couldn't
prevent this totally visceral response.

A groan shuddered the silence.  The sound was like an alarm, screaming
at her to move, to take action.  She knelt next to the body.

"What happened?"  she cried.  "Where are you hurt?"  She found an arm,
then ran her hands over the chest.  A man's chest.  Her fingers traced
the outline of his face.  "Nick?"

He turned his head slightly and his lips moved against her skin.

"Oh, God," she moaned.  "Nick!"

"Listen."  The word was little more than a whisper.  "Not much time..."
He coughed, and she leaned closer.  "Police..."  There was another
groan, then a word she couldn't understand.

"Don't try to talk," she ordered gently.  "Just lie still.  I'll go for
help."

He grasped her arm, clutching the sleeve of her sweater as she tried to
rise.  "No," he whispered.  "I have to..."  He coughed and sputtered as
he tried to sit up, but his' efforts proved futile, and he fell back,
gasping in pain.

"You're going to be all right.  But I've got to call for help," she
explained to him as gently as one would reassure a frightened child.

His right hand slowly slid down her arm and groped for her trembling
hand.  Finding it, he squeezed with strength born of desperation. "No,"
he cried.  She sensed he was staring straight ahead.  "Too late," he
whimpered, his voice fading.  "You got..."

His body shuddered.  Then he went still.  His head rolled to the side,
and the hand that had clutched her hand fell to the floor.

"Nick!"  Raven cried, shaking his shoulder.  He didn't respond.  He
couldn't respond.  He was dead.

Her hand flew to her mouth as realization dawned.  Nick

had confronted Mark Daniels, and Daniels had killed him!  Her eyes
darted frantically about the room.  He could still be in the building.
Maybe even in the vicinity.  Get out of there!  an inner voice
screamed, but it was already too late.  As if in slow motion, Raven saw
the door explode inward, and a man charge toward her.

JEFF READ RAVEN'S note again.  Moments later he was in his car headed
for the Sears Tower.  The expression on his face was grim.  He pressed
on the accelerator, ignoring red lights and speed limits, his eyes
trained on the highway.  He'd called the police and passed on the
information from his car phone, but he was unwilling to entrust her
safety solely to them.  He had to get to the Sears Tower as quickly as
possible.  He just prayed he wasn't too late.

A SCREAM DIED in he3 throat.  "My God, Nick, I thought you were dead,"
Raven said, slowly getting to her feet and walking toward him.

Nick Valentine stood in the doorway, not saying anything, taking in the
scene before him.

"Am I glad to see--" she paused in mid-sentence, frowned and looked
back at the body lying on the floor.  If the man wasn't Nick then who
was it?  She leaned over and flipped on the desk lamp.  It was Mark
Daniels.  She quickly turned her head away from the ghastly sight.  It
took a moment for her to compose herself, and then she voiced the
question that tickled at her subconscious.  "If Mark Daniels is dead,
then--" she began.  "--he couldn't be the killer," Nick finished for
her.  Her eyes flew to his face.  He hadn't moved from the doorway.  He
just stood there, shoulders hunched under the sport jacket he wore, one
hand shoved deep into his coat pocket.

"Well, aren't you going to do something?  The killer could still be
here."

He glanced briefly at the body then back at Raven.  "I'm sure he is."
His normally warm voice sounded odd.

"Shouldn't you call for backup or at least building security and have
them secure the building?"  she asked, confused by his demeanor.

An elusive emotion danced in his eyes.  "That won't be necessary."

"But the killer will get away!"

Nick chuckled.  "Yeah, he will, won't he?"

Raven looked at him as a cold chill worked its way up her spine.  Nick
pushed himself away from the doorway and took a step toward her.  She
took a step back, suddenly afraid.

"You know, you're a little too clever for your own good," Nick said,
taking another step forward.  As he spoke, he slowly drew his hand from
his coat pocket.  "It's just too bad no one ever told you that
curiosity killed the cat."

Raven was about to ask him what on earth he was talking about, when she
noticed the snub-nosed revolver held loosely in his hand.  Staring into
the black hole of the two-inch barrel, she tried to swallow, but her
throat muscles wouldn't obey.  The words that rattled through her mind
like a runaway freight train could not fight their way through the
dryness of her mouth.

"I see you've nothing to say."  He shrugged.  "It's just as well.  I
don't have time for a lot of chitchat.  I have an appointment to keep
for my alibi."

"You killed Daniels?  But why?"

He smirked.  "Oh, come on, Raven, you disappoint me.  I killed him
because he saw me outside Julie Hartman's apartment."

She frowned.  "But the man he saw was--"

"--the killer," he finished for her.  "That's right, I'm your man."  He
flickered a disparaging glance toward Mark Daniels's body.  "I'm not
sure if that little worm actually knew it was me he saw, but I'm not
taking any chances."

Stall.  Keep him talking, an inner voice screamed.  Jeff knew she was
here.  She hoped he was already on his way.  "But all those people? 
Why did you do it?  They never did anything to you."

He shrugged.  "It was like you and Jeff said.  It was a smoke screen to
divert attention from the four that I wanted to kill--Eleanor Parker,
David Foster, George Whitman and Ned Rodgers."  At the mention of the
last name, he tilted his head and gave her a thoughtful look.  "You
didn't know about Ned Rodgers because I just infected him.  And now my
work is done."  He smiled then.  "You know I was really impressed with
your and Jeff's analysis of this case.  Too bad you won't live long
enough for anyone to know how smart you am."

Raven hoped she didn't look as frightened as his words made her feel.
"But what did they do to you?"

He shook his head.  "Not me... my father.  Did you know he was a
Chicago cop?  He was a great guy ... well-liked, good reputation.  He
was in line for lieutenant and he would've made it too if they hadn't
taken it all away from him."

She sensed this was an emotional subject for him.  If she could keep
him talking maybe she could get closer to the doorway, and when he
wasn't looking make a run for it.  "How did they hurt your father?" 
she asked.

"He was accused of being the bag man for a local mobster His voice took
on a bitter note.  "On the dates the hood claimed Dad was collecting
protection money for him, he was working.  On the first Monday, he
issued a verbal warning to Eleanor Parker for speeding.  On the second
Monday he was having lunch at David Foster's diner.  On the third
Monday, he talked to George Whitman about a domestic disturbance at his
place.  And on the fourth Monday, Ned Rodgers, the Internal Affairs
investigator on the case, handed in his report, recommending Dad's
dismissal from the department."

Raven swallowed.  "So this has all been about revenge," she said
quietly.

"Yeah."  The smile that spread across Nick's face turned him from the
person she'd once thought of as a friend into a cold-blooded killer.
"Parker, Foster, Whit-man-they all knew the truth, they could have
given Dad an alibi, but they didn't give a damn about him.  If they'd
just cooperated or if Rodgers had done a decent job of investigating
the allegations, Dad would be alive today.  Eleanor Parker didn't even
bother to keep her interview with Rodgers, and David Foster claimed he
didn't remember what day it was that Dad had lunch at the diner.
Whitman flat-out refused to even talk to him."  Nick's voice had risen
steadily as he talked.  "Not one of them lifted a finger to help clear
an innocent man.  These good citizens didn't want to get involved, and
their apathy cost a man his life."

Raven wondered if there might be more behind their reluctance to get
involved than he had realized.  It could have been fear of or actual
threats from the mobster that had kept them silent, but she didn't
think it was wise to contradict a man holding a gun on her.  As Nick
continued to rail against his victims, she took another step back.

"They took away everything he'd worked for--his job, his pension,.  his
pride, his dignity, his good name.  They destroyed him.  He had nothing
to live for and he took his own life."  Nick's eyes hardened.  "I was
eleven when Dad died and I swore that I'd make them pay.  It took years
of planning, but I pulled it off."

She frowned.  "But we looked for connections between the patients, and
we never found any of this."

He nodded.  "They never knew about each other.  Only Internal Affairs
knew the identity of the people who were questioned.  Ned Rodgers was
recently diagnosed as having Alzheimer's.  So I wasn't worded about
him.  The man barely ram embers his own name.  And the others--" He
gave a bitter little laugh.  "It meant nothing to them.  The

only one of them who even remembered the incident was Foster."

"What about you?"  she asked.  "How come none of this was uncovered in
your background check to get on the force?"

His mouth curved into the semblance of a grin.  "Right after Dad died,
we moved to Atlanta.  A year later, my mother remarried, and her
husband adopted me.  As you know, adoption records are sealed.  My
birth certificate lists Barry Valentine, not John Kramer, as my
father."

"I see," she said slowly.  "But how did you get your hands on a virus
that no one has ever heard of?."

She watched as he almost preened with pride.  "It took years and a lot
of planning," he explained proudly.  "After I graduated from the police
academy in Atlanta, I moon-lighted as a security guard.  A lot of cops
do, so no one thought anything of it.  I kept my nose clean and
eventually got on with a firm supplying security guards for the CDC."
She stared at him in horror.

"That's right," he said smugly.  "I got the virus from the CDC."

"Bu-but how could they not recognize their own vi-rusT'

He grinned.  "Because Dr.  Ross, its creator, didn't share his
discovery with his superiors.  Well, actually," he amended, "he
couldn't.  You see, he wasn't supposed to be doing research in that
particular area."

"Then how did you know about it?"

He smirked.  "Dr.  Ross was a brilliant man, but a social misfit.  He
had no family and no real close friends.  Work was the only thing he
knew and loved.  Right after I came to the CDC, I thought I might be
able to use him so I cultivated his friendship.  Over the years, I
gained his trust and confidence.  I knew about his research project.  I
encouraged him to go ahead with it, so naturally I was the only person
he told about his creation of a super virus

His eyes hardened.  "And I killed him right on the spot and made it
look like a mugging."

Raven trembled violently at the cold, matter-of-fact manner in which he
spoke of killing his friend.

"Then I destroyed the relevant portions of the doctor's research and
stole the virus."  He spared her a hard look then.  "I know you are
hoping for a cure, but as far as I know there isn't one."

That was too much.  She grasped the corner of the desk to keep from
falling, overcome by the horror of his words.  "You killed eight
innocent people."

"Only five."  He shrugged.  "I had to divert attention from myself.  My
only slipup was in choosing Lauren Connor.  She was too closely
connected to Eleanor Parker."  He shook his head.  "That was sloppy."

She had to agree with him.  But for Lauren, Jeff may never have come to
see her, and she wouldn't have gotten involved in the medical or
criminal investigation.  In fact, there may never have been a criminal
investigation.  "You spent your whole life in search of revenge. You're
mad!"

He gave her an icy cold stare.  "Like Dad used to say--I don't get mad,
I get even."

He waved the barrel of the gun with a jerk.  "Move away from the desk,
and put your hands behind your back."

Hesitating only a moment, Raven did as she was told, moving so that she
now stood with her back to the open doorway.  Her voice was barely a
squeak.  "What are you going to do?"  she asked as she watched him take
several steps backward until his back was to the only window in the
room.

Nick smiled and answered almost pleasantly.  "Tie up loose ends.  It
seems you committed suicide.  You were so distraught over Jeff's
impending death, you convinced yourself that Mark Daniels was the
killer.  You somehow got his gun away from him, then killed him before
taking your own life."

"No one is going to believe that!"

"I think they will.  Everyone knows how much you love Jeff.  You've
also made it plain that you thought Mark Daniels was the killer.  Once
I remind Dr.  Alexander of your outburst at the hospital about wanting
o see the killer dead ... well, I think he'll make a fine grand jury
witness."

She moistened her lips.  "W-was any of the stuff you said about Daniels
true?"

He shook his head.  "Not a word, but I knew it would get you here."
With his free hand he proceeded to undo the lock on the window.  She
had no doubt what he planned to do.

"I know you find this hard to believe," he said conversationally, "but
I'm really sorry about this.  Under other circumstances I think the
three of us could have become good friends but you and Jeff left me no
other choice."  He shook his head.  "Too bad the two of you decided to
burglarize Parker's apartment at the exact time I was there.  I thought
I could spare you but after you saw the hypodermic-"

She shook her head.  "I didn't see any--"

"It was at the hospital," he explained.  With his free hand he pulled a
fountain pen out of his coat pocket.  "It looks like a writing pen,
doesn't it?  But I assure you, it's quite unique.  It allowed me to get
close enough to my target so that I could..."  He pressed the top of
the pen and a small stream of clear liquid squirted out of the point.
"I can either squirt it into a drink or inject it directly into a vein.
You see, it was all quite simple.  But unfortunately, you saw the pen
at Parker's, then later at the hospital.  I was afraid one day you'd
remember what you saw and put the pieces together.  So, as much as I
like you, I have to kill you."

Raven blanched and whispered hoarsely, "You'll never get away with
it."

Nick's smile was wicked.  "I already have."

She watched as he slipped the hypodermic pen back into his pocket and
fumbled with the window.  It was apparent he was having difficulty
lifting the window with one hand.  He's going to have to put the gun
down, she thought.  And when he did, she would make her move.  She
doubted he would shoot her in the back since he wanted her death to
look like a suicide.  She had to keep him talking, distract him as he
fumbled with the window.

"What about the vials we found at Parker's apartment?"  she asked. 
"Did you plant them?"

"Sure did.  He was the perfect fall guy.  But don't lose any sleep over
him.  While I was planting the vials, I found several bottles of
insulin.  I think he was planning to kill his wife with an insulin
overdose.  That's why he took out the insurance policy and that's why
he ran.  He thought I was talking about his murder plan."  Nick laid
the gun on the table next to the window and looked away for just a
moment in order to raise the window.  It was only for a moment, but it
was enough for her to make her move.

She turned, bolted out of the room, and sprinted down the corridor.  To
her terrified eyes, the long, narrow corridor seemed to stretch out
endlessly before her.  She heard her own screams echo off the walls.

Surely someone was working late on this floor or the next and would
hear her!  Someone who would answer her cry for help.  It was her only
hope.

She pounded on the first door that she came to.  She turned the
doorknob.  It was locked tight.  She ran to the next one.  She screamed
and pounded, but there was no answer.

She heard Nick's footsteps coming down the corridor, coming closer. She
took off running.

The corridor curved to the right.  She looked back over her shoulder so
she didn't see the computer table until she ran smack into it.  Pain
shot through her leg.  Blinking back tears, she stumbled to her feet
and took off again.

Her purse flew off her shoulder but she couldn't stop to retrieve it.
Her leg was screaming with pain as she ran toward the office door
directly ahead.  Was it locked, as

well?  Were they all locked?  Should she make a try for the elevators,
or were her chances better in the stairwell?  Could she make it down
sixty-three flights of stairs?  And if she did what would she find?  A
parking lot?  An alley?  Is that where they'd find her body in the
morning?

She kept running.  She could hear Nick behind her.  Getting closer.

She sprinted for the door dead ahead.  It was unlocked.  Stumbling
through, she found herself in a large room filled with computer
equipment.  Her eyes darted about the room, looking for a place to
hide.  Just as the door flew open again, she ducked behind a tall file
cabinet.

She heard him prowling the room.  Her heart was thumping so loudly, she
was surprised he didn't hear it.  She held her breath, and waited.  An
object clattered to the floor, echoing like a pistol shot in the
darkened room.

She tried in vain to locate the source but the sound seemed to come
from a dozen different directions at once.  "Oh, Jeff," she whispered.
"Where are you?"

The echoes faded, leaving total silence.  The minutes ticked by, and
she heard nothing.  Had he left?  she wondered.  It had been quite a
while since she'd heard any movement.  Slowly she inched her head
around and peered from behind the file cabinet.  What she saw made her
reel back in horror.

Nick was on the other side of the room and moving toward her.

She jumped up and took off like a jackrabbit, but Nick was faster.  He
caught her around the legs and she went down.  She tried to crawl away,
but he held on.  He flipped her over then his hands were on her throat,
squeezing hard and long as he shouted things at her, things she
couldn't hear because her brain was screaming for air.  But she could
see.  She could see the way rage had distorted his handsome face,
seized it, claimed it, and she knew she was going to die here, now.

Then his hands flew away from her throat as though someone had grabbed
them.  She gasped for air, gulped at it, sucked at it, coughing and
rubbing her throat.

"I ought to kill you right now," he panted.  "You pull another stunt
like that and I will."  He jerked her up, twisted her arm behind her,
and pushed her toward the door.

The walk back to Mark Daniels's office seemed to take seconds and
before she knew it, they were standing in the doorway.  Her eyes flew
to the opened window, and fear unlike anything she'd ever felt flashed
through her.  She'd believed Jeff would come.  But time had run out. An
image of Jeff's handsome face came to her.  A wave of tears threatened,
and she fought them back.

With a rough nudge, Nick pushed her back into the darkened office.
"Now, we'll walk slowly across the room.  '

But her feet wouldn't cooperate, and he gave her another shove.  She
thrashed, twisted, pried with her free hand, struggled to get free.
"You're not going to get away with this.  Jeff knows I'm here with
you."

"You're lying!"  As if to emphasize his words, he gave the arm he held
a vicious twist.

She cried out in pain..  "No, I'm not," she gasped.  "I left a note for
him, telling him about your call and your asking me to meet you
here."

Nick froze.

"You didn't think of that did you?"  she asked, taking advantage of his
momentary hesitation to pull out of his grasp and put some distance
between her and the open window.  "Jeff will know you're lying."

"Shut up!  I need to think."  He chewed his lower lip as he paced,
agitated.

"You ought to let me go," Raven said.  "Jeff will be here--' '

"Well, he's not here now!"  He lunged for her then but she sidestepped
his hands.  He grabbed her by the arm and shoved her hard.  She nearly
fell and grabbed on to the corner of a bookcase.  She dug her hand
into the wood, holding on for dear life.

"I've come too far to let you mess things up now," Nick sneered. "After
I kill you, I'll just have to kill Jeff, too.  I'll make it look like a
double suicide.  Then I'll be home free."  He pried her hand from the
bookcase, and grabbed her about the waist.

But she was not going down without a fight.  With the strength
adrenaline was pumping into her veins, she gouged at his eyes; her
nails tore into his flesh.

He reared back, slapping her hard.  For a moment, stars danced before
her eyes.  He began dragging her across the room.  She thought of Jeff
and tried to form words to leave behind in this world for him.  "Jeff,
I love you..."

"How touching," Nick taunted.  They were just inches away from the
window now.  "I'll be sure to give him your love before I kill him."

"That won't be necessary."

The voice came from the darkness behind them.  Nick whirled around.  At
the same time, a small black object sailed through the room, hitting
him squarely in the face.  With a cry of anguish, Nick released
Raven.

Out of the darkness, a larger shape rushed into the room.  With the
impact of a linebacker, Jeff struck Nick in the midriff, pushing him
back against the desk.  Nick was up instantly, swinging.  Jeff used his
quickness to sidestep a blow.  Nick pulled the hypodermic pen from his
pocket, clicked the cap so the needle point gleamed in the darkened
room.  Holding it like a knife, Nick came at him.

He took a swing at Jeff, barely missing his arm.  Nick pivoted and
brought the hypodermic down again.  Jeff knocked the pen from Nick's
hand, and kicked it away.  Nick lunged at him, but his foot slipped on
the pen on the floor and he fell backward--toward the opened window.

Nick's face was paralyzed in stunned disbelief as he scrabbled for
something to hold on to and his hand locked on Raven's wrist.

She felt herself falling.

She heard screams, cries, curses, but couldn't tell where they came
from.  Nick was screaming, surely; she could see his open mouth as she
was inexorably dragged toward the open window ledge by his weight.
Maybe she was even screaming herself; she simply didn't know.

Then strong arms clamped around her waist and stopped her slippery
progress over the window ledge.  Her shoulder was burning with agony
from the strain of Nick's weight.  His hand was locked like a vise
around her wrist on the area where she wore her watch.

"Jeff, please don't let me fall."  Nick was babbling, his handsome face
white, his eyes terrified.

"Give me your hand!"  Jeff shouted.  He dug in his heels, straining
backward with every ounce of strength in his body, one arm wrapped
tightly around Raven, and the other stretched forward reaching for
Nick.  "Take my hand," he ordered.

"I can't reach it," Nick screamed.

Jeff leaned out as far as he dared, and reached for the other man.
Raven wasn't making a sound.  Nick was still screaming and kicking
wildly, pleading with him not to let him fall.

"Damn it, hold still!"

Nick either didn't hear or didn't understand, senseless to everything
except his own terror and the emptiness beneath him.

"Shut up!  Shut up and listen to me!"  The raw fury in Jeff's voice
must have gotten through, for Nick abruptly stopped screaming.  The
sudden silence was as nerve-racking, in its way, as the screaming had
been.

"Hold still," Jeff ordered, his voice tight.  "Give me your hand.  I'm
going to try to pull you up."

Nick's gaze was blank with terror, but somehow he focused on Jeff.
"Okay," he said, the word barely audible.

In the distance he heard the faint sound of police sirens.  Help was
coming but Jeff couldn't wait.  He leaned forward, reaching out a hand
toward Nick's swaying arm.  All he wanted was to grab Nick's hand and
pull him up.  But the other man had had a change of heart, As if in
slow motion, he watched with growing horror as' Nick stuck his hand
inside his jacket and drew out a gun.  His intent was clear.

"Oh, my God!"  Jeff whispered.  He had to dislodge Nick's hold on
Raven.  But how?  His eyes fell on Raven's watchband.  Jeff went to
work on the buckle, frantically trying to undo the clasp on her
watchband.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other man point
the gun at him.  Jeff doubled his efforts.  Beads of sweat dotted his
brow and he felt as if his heart were beating out of control.  He heard
a click like the barrel of a gun being pulled back.  He glanced down
and saw Nick's finger squeeze back slowly on the trigger.

"Say bye-bye."  He smiled.

At that same moment, the clasp on Raven's watchband sprang open and the
watch slipped from her wrist and along with it--Nick Valentine.  Nick's
screams rent the night air.  And then there was silence.

"Oh, Jeff," Raven sobbed as he gathered her close and buried her face
against his chest, "Nick was the killer.  He killed them all."

"I know," he said, leading her away from the window and into the outer
office.  "It's over, sweetheart.  It's over..."  He blinked back tears
when he thought how close he'd come to losing her.  "It's over ... he
can't hurt you or anyone anymore."  He held her for a long moment,
telling her about the things he'd learned from Dr.  Ross's files, how
the virus had been developed and Nick's theft of the virus.

"The virus!"  she gasped then pulled out of his arms.  "We've got to
get over to Nick's apartment right away," she said.  "Maybe he was
lying about destroying Dr.  Ross's paper.  If we--"

Jeff caught her about the waist, holding her in place.  At her stricken
look, he shook his head.  "We don't need them now."

"Oh, God, no," she moaned then slumped against him.  "It's too late."

"It's not what you think," he said quickly when he realized she'd
misunderstood his words.  "Your treatment worked."  He gave her a
lopsided smile.  "I'm going to be fine."

She stared into his eyes for a full minute before his words finally
sank in.  "Are you sure?"  Her voice was full of wonder, as if she
couldn't quite take it in.

"Yes."  He laughed then hugged her close for a moment before setting
her away again.  "Thanks to you, I am fine.  Dr.  Hillman gave me a
clean bill of health."

She couldn't believe it.  Her herbal medication had worked.

"I gave a batch of your medication to Dr.  Hillman.  He and Shay are
working on Lauren and the others right now.  I think they'll all make a
full recovery.  Hillman agrees."

"That's wonderful," she said, blinking back tears of joy.

"No, you're wonderful," he said, smiling down at her, "and soon the
entire world is going to know it.  Your herbal treatment has turned the
medical community and its view of alternative medicine on its head.
Hillman thinks it has applications for a number of infectious diseases.
The medical community is going to be at your door."

She looked at him, her eyes brimming with love.  "You're the only
person whose opinion I care about.  You believed in me when no one else
did ... when I didn't believe in myself."

He framed her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.  "How could I
not?  I love you, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life showing
you just how much."

Her face broke into a brilliant smile.  "And I love you."  "You are my
life," he told her with a fierceness that brought tears to her eyes.
"My rock, my beacon.  Your

love and the pleasure of being with you is all I want.  All I'll ever
need."

In the background he heard the sound of heavy pounding like footsteps
running down the corridor.  "Looks like the police have arrived.  Do
you feel up to making a statement?"

"I can do anything as long as you're by my side."

He pulled her close so that her body was flush against his.  And then
he kissed her.  A long, slow, hot kiss that promised a lifetime of joy
and happiness and love.