Lullaby Deception
by
Susan Kearney

"I think your brother's the father of my daughter."

At Brooke's mention of Max's identical twin, all traces of his
amusement had vanished.  He went absolutely still.  His sapphire eyes
glazed over as it they were shielded by a protective screen.

She'd just told him he was an uncle, and she'd prepared for denial,
laughter, questions.  She got nothing but piercing silence.

She waited for him to say something.  Anything.  B he loomed silent and
still.  Yet, if the throbbing vein in his neck was any indication,
beneath the cool exterior he seethed.  She had the overwhelming urge to
talk fast, explain, spit out the story and her suspicions.

That would be a mistake.  Now that she had his full attention, she
intended to keep it.  At least until he told her what she wanted to
know.


Dear Reader,

Happy New Year from Silhouette Intrigue!  This month, star author
Rachel Lee treats us to Thunder Mountain, a dark and dangerous story
that's linked to the UNDER BLUE WYOMING SKIES series.

In January's LAWMAN, meet Hotshot PI Jake Hawkins, as he takes on a
most challenging client--a sleep-walker!  Author B.J. Daniels knows
first-hand about sleep-walking--she's gone on those nocturnal
wanderings since childhood--but unlike Jake's client, B.J."s never been
framed for murder!

Look out for Wed to a Stranger?  by Jule McBride.  This is the first in
the HIDDEN IDENTITY promotion--stories which are not linked except that
each hero is a sexy stranger who isn't all that he seems... And in
Lullaby Deception from Susan Keamey, Brooke Evans pounds ds out that
she's not the biological mother of her five-year-old daughter.  So who
is?

Starting this month, there's a special event called DOUBLE DARE: two
books about twin sisters, written by twin sisters!  The first is a
January Mills & Boon Temptation called Twice the Spice by Patricia
Ryan, and the second is a February Intrigue TM by Pat's twin sister,
Pamela Burford, entitled Twice Burned.  The two books stand alone, but
for double the pleasure, pick up both!

Have fun!

The Editors

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.  Neither the author nor
the publisher has received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the sam name or names.  They are not even distantly inspired by
any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents
are pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form.  This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises H B. V. The text of this publication or any part
thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the
written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other thn that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

Silhouette-and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books
S.A."  used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1998

Silhouette Books', Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

Richmond, Surrey TW9 I SR

Susan Kearney 1997

ISBN 0 373 22410 9

46-9801

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham PLC, Chatham

This one is for my husband, Barry--who knows why.

Special thanks to Charlotte, Julie, Judith, Genie and Margaret for
getting me through this one.  Couldn't have done it without you.

Chapter One

The pediatrician returned to the examining room with an anguished look
in his usually composed eyes.

"Brooke, I need to speak with you in my office."  Not like to, but need
to speak with you.

At the doctor's soft words, a cool shiver slid down her spine.
Something was wrong.  Never before had Skyes pediatrician suggested
they speak in private.

What could be so terrible that Dr.  O'Brian couldn't speak in front of
Skye?  The thought of losing another family member had panic pounding
behind her eyes and at the base of her skull.  After Brooke's sister
died six years ago, love for Skye had drawn her out of her grief.  Now
her precious little gift was the last remaining link with family.  Any
family.

Brooke took a deep breath and glanced at her daughter.  In five years,
Skye had rarely been sick.  The child glowed with health.

The doctor opened the door wider.  "Skye can stay with my receptionist
while we talk."

Her daughter gazed at Brooke, her cherubic face shirting with
curiosity.  "I want to stay with you."

Brooke stooped until she was at eye level with the little girl and
forced casual words through a mouth dry with tension.  "It's okay,
sweetie."

"Don't let the doctor change your mind," Skye said.  Always perceptive,
her daughter had clued in on Brooke's anxiety.  "You promised I'm going
to camp like a big kid.  I'm old enough.  I'll be starting school
soon."

"I'm just going to talk to the doctor about your paperwork," Brooke
reassured her.

Skye threw her arms around her neck for a quick hug, and as Brooke
scooped her daughter into her arms and carried her from the examining
room, she breathed in the scent of shampoo and chocolate chip cookies.
She wanted to hang on tight and never let go.  Skye was really too old
to be carded, but she couldn't resist one all-too-short embrace before
setting Skye on her feet.  Brooke handed her a book from her purse and
steered her daughter toward the receptionist.  "Be a good girl.  I'll
be back in a few minutes."

While Skye settled happily in the front office, Brooke followed Dr.
O'Brian down the hall.  The minute his office door shut behind her, she
spun around on shaky legs.  "What's wrong?  Is Skye sick?"

"She's a healthy little girl.  I'm sorry to have alarmed you, but
during my examination, something else came up."

The knotting in her stomach eased but her eyes must have mirrored her
confusion.  "I don't under--"

"Please, let's sit where we can be more comfortable."  Creases of
compassion and puzzlement deepened in his weather-lined face.

Brooke had never been in his office with its dark paneling and lush
emerald carpet.  Instead of seating himself behind his mahogany desk,
he led her to a leather sofa.

Her words came out in a rush before she sat.  "What is it?"

"Until you brought Skye here for her summer camp physical, I've never
typed her blood."

Brooke crossed one leg over the other.  She leaned forward, her
bouncing foot betraying her nervousness.  "And?"

"We triple checked the blood test."

"And?"

"There's no mistake."  "Tell me," she demanded.  "Skye isn't your
daughter."

THE SETTING LOUISIANA sun cast shadows through the overhead branches
along the dusty road as if taunting Brooke's resolve.  The decision
she'd made during this past week to search for Skye's biological family
hadn't been an easy one.  Wrestling with her conscience had taken its
toll in restless nights and a tension that had grabbed her stomach and
wouldn't let go.

Now that she was close to her destination, Brooke hesitated.  Despite
the closed windows of her air-conditioned car, a film of dust that
tasted of ashes and shattered dreams coated her mouth, stifled her
breathing.  Perhaps she shouldn't have come to the marina.  She could
still hang a U-turn, go home to her daughter, mind her own business and
forget what she'd learned from her investigations.

Any sensible woman would do just that.

But she had to think of Skye's future first--no matter how much pain it
might cause Brooke.  Stepping .  on the gas, she turned down the
dilapidated lane overhung with century-old oaks draped with Spanish
moss.  Doing her best to avoid potholes around a bend, she cornered too
fast.  The rear tires slid.  She braked hard.  The car skidded to a
halt, launching clouds of dust so thick she was tempted to turn on her
windshield wipers.

Instead she waited for the grime to settle in the sultry air, chagrined
to discover her clumsy entrance into the boatyard had drawn attention.
Standing on a step-ladder behind a cigarette boat, a man wearing
stained mechanic's cove rails worked on an engine, his arms covered in
oil up to his elbows.

The mechanic squinted at her through a haze of swirling dirt.  Head up,
dark eyes staring arrogantly and broad shoulders squared, he scowled.
Her gaze wandered to the broad chest peeking through the open vee of
his uniform.  Grabbing a rag, he descended the ladder in one graceful
leap and approached her car, wiping oil from his hands as he
advanced.

Sweat mixed with dust trickled down the sculpted planes of his
cheekbones in grimy rivulets.  Sapphire eyes framed by jet lashes
locked with hers.  Hard eyes that saw everything and gave away
nothing.

He walked closer, and his inscrutable expression made her think twice
about unlocking the car door.  Good shoulders, flat stomach, long
legs--altogether a chiseled body, albeit ten degrees too dirty for her
taste A five o'clock shadow outlined a broad jaw.  As he made a futile
attempt to clean his hands, the corded muscles of his tanned neck
tensed.

She should have waited until Saturday.  The marina would have been
busier then.  The place was deserted, except for several seagulls
cawing overhead.  A glance toward the docks showed them as empty of
humanity as the patch of dirt used for a parking lot.

She hadn't cut the engine.  She could still drive away.  But since
she'd been unable to reach Ford Braddack, the man she'd learned might
be Skye's father, Brooke would settle for speaking to another family
member.  While Ford was currently unreachable, she'd lucked out when
she'd found Max Braddack's address in the phone book.  After leaving
Skye with a babysitter, she'd driven here determined to discover the
truth.  If she chickened out now, she might not find the courage to
come back again.  As her sister Nicole used to say, it was too late for
should-haves and could-haves.

Still, if it weren't for the challenging smile curling the man's bottom
lip, she couldn't have found the nerve to silence the engine and exit
the car.  Then he was close, too close.  She craned her head back to
look him in the eye.

Her breath caught in her throat.  She couldn't stop her stare.  The
resemblance hit her with the force of a tornado.  This man's coloring,
tanned to a deeper hue, mirrored her daughter's: The shape of his eyes,
the angle of the brows and the thickness of his lashes were Skye's
features staring back at her.  Even the way he tilted his head in
amusement reminded her of Skye.  The only difference was in the color
of the eyes, his a deep blue, her daughter's a few shades lighter.

"Sorry about the dust," she said breezily in an effort to hide her
nervousness.  "I'm looking for Max Braddack."

One oily finger pushed the car door shut, keeping out the dirt, but
also preventing a quick escape.  "Lady--"

"The name's Brooke Evans."

"You just clogged my carburetor with dust, not to mention what you've
done to me, and all you can say is' sorry ?"

Her stomach danced a quick jig.  But sensing no violence in the
stranger's Southern drawl and guessing that he simply wanted to toy
with her, she raked her gaze from dark, slicked-back hair to the tips
of his dingy sneakers.  "It's not like you didn't need a shower
anyway."

He grinned at her gibe, radiating a confident but easygoing vitality
under the last rays of the setting sun.  "I clean up just fine, thank
you.  However, I'll be flushing the dust from that open engine for--"
"You're Max Braddack, aren't you?"

"Why do you want to know?"  His smile, which made him look five years
younger than her original estimate of thirty-five, took the sting out
of his evasive answer.

Her eyes narrowed.  "You're Max Braddack?  Brother of Ford
Braddack---"Wonder Boy of Wall Street'?  Can you help me find your
brother?"

He folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head at a wry angle.
"I should have guessed you didn't drive out here for a boat mechanic.
You know my brother?"

"I've been trying to reach him.  His private number's unlisted.  His
secretary keeps putting me off she won't even convey a message unless I
tell her why I'm calling."

One cavalier brow arched.  "So tell her."

"It's personal."

He studied her thoughtfully for a moment.  "How personal?"

Very personal.  And coming from his lips, "personal" took on the most
intimate of meanings.  The last thing she wanted was to explain her
predicament to this all-too-perceptive man.  But he wasn't giving her
much choice.

At her first remark about his identical twin, all traces of his
amusement had vanished.  Was he being protective of his brother?  Or
perhaps this was a case of sibling rivalry.  After all, Ford was
wealthy, famous, respected Max didn't seem any of the above.  Yet she
didn't sense jealousy from Max but wariness, like a just-fed tiger, not
hungry but ever ready to strike.  With pulse-skittering certainty, she
knew he wouldn't send her to his brother until she'd satisfied his
curiosity.

At least he was part of the Braddack family.  She took a deep breath,
held his gaze and blurted the pent-up secret she'd kept all week.

"I think your brother's the father of my daughter."

He went absolutely still.  His sapphire eyes glazed over as if shielded
by a protective screen.

She'd just told him he was an uncle, and she'd pre pared for denial,
laughter, questions.  She got nothing but piercing silence.  For a
moment in the fading sun she thought his swarthy skin had paled, but it
must have simply been a trick of the light.

She waited for him to say something.  Anything.  But he loomed silent
and still in the marina parking lot.  Yet if the throbbing vein at his
neck was any indication, beneath the cool exterior, he seethed.  With
rage or disbelief--she couldn't say, didn't know him well enough to
guess.  She only knew she had the overwhelming urge to talk fast,
explain, spit out the story and her suspicions.

That would be a mistake.  Now that she'd shaken him out of his
amusement and had his full attention, she intended to keep it.  At
least until he told her What she wanted to know.

As coolly as she could manage, she stared back at him, determined to
out wait him.  A flag flapped in the breeze.  Boat riggings clanged as
their hulls rocked.  The air between them crackled.  Her feet itched to
take a step back in the Louisiana dirt, but she didn't retreat.

Grudging respect flickered across Max's face and disappeared in a
heartbeat.  "I'll finish and clean up, then we'll talk."

With an economy of motion, he climbed back to his engine and used an
air hose to blow away the dust.  He looked so much like her daughter
that she wanted to cry.  But this past week, alone in her room as she'd
thought of losing Skye, she'd cried so many tears, she had none left.

Quick, efficient actions of his hands and the easy grace of his motions
as he folded the ladder and stored it with his tools in a shed, drew
her from her thoughts He reappeared from the building with a clean
towel a bar of soap, and a bottle of shampoo.  Obviously h intended to
bathe--perhaps in the Gulf.9

After tossing a towel over a waist-high fence, h{ pulled his arms out
of his cove rails to reveal a broad tanned chest slick with sweat.  As
if sensing her gaze on him, he gestured past the shed.  Next to the
dilapidated building and beside the towel he'd tossed ove the fence was
a shower, really little more than a hos hooked to a spigot.

"I'm too filthy to rinse at home."  He spoke easily as if unaware of
her interest in him.

When he peeled the cove rails past his waist, she turned and looked out
to sea.  He might not give a fig about modesty, but she'd been brought
up with more restraint and found his actions unnerving.

"Don't worry."  His words carded to her, threaded with laughter.  "I'm
wearing running shorts."

At his reassurance that he'd maintained his decency, she turned back to
catch him striding into the shower behind the waist-high fence.
Although the fence hid him from waist to knees, when he kicked off the
running shorts, she swallowed hard.  As water sluiced down, she studied
his calves--muscular, lean, and powerful but in familiar proportions.

"If you see something you like--" his tone mocked her "--you're welcome
to share the water."

Heat rose to her face.  She had been staring.  "Sorry."  Why did she
always seem to be apologizing to this man?  "You reminded me of
Skye."

Determined to regroup from confronting an adult male version of her
daughter, Brooke strolled to the docks and watched the splendid colors
wash across the sky.  The sun had set, leaving a trail of lavender and
pink clouds hovering under darker thunderheads in the distance.

Had she done the right thing in coming here?  The decision had been a
difficult one--the most pain-racking of her life.  After Dr.  O'Brian
dropped his bombshell, she'd returned to the Kine Fertility Clinic
where Skye's life had begun.  Brooke had been unable to discover the
identity of Skye's biological parents until a kind research assistant,
Karen Forester, had whispered the name Ford Braddack.  The nervous
researcher had refused to say more at the lab, but the name gave Brooke
her starting point.  Now that she'd seen Ford's identical twin, she
knew she'd found Skye's family.  Her scheduled meeting with Karen for
tomorrow was unnecessary.  Except for one thing.  How did this
happen?

She'd tried to talk to Ford Braddack to find out what he knew.  When
she couldn't reach him, she'd come here to speak to his brother.  She
had to be insane, risking the loss of her child to strangers.  Yet if
Ford and Rhonda Braddack were Skye's genetic parents, and this man
Skye's uncle, her daughter had a right to meet them.  Didn't she?

With Ford unreachable and Max clearly suspicious, Brooke was glad she'd
left Skye with a baby-sitter.  Until she was sure of her daughter's
welcome, Brooke wouldn't disturb Skye's happy world.

Even now, doubts troubled her.  Perhaps Skye would be better off not
knowing.  But suppose something happened to Brooke?  Skye would be
totally alone and could find herself in the same foster care system
that Brooke and her sister had hated.  Fiercely, Brooke strengthened
her resolve.  Hiding from the truth was not a solution.  Besides,
Brooke had known the loss of growing up without any family except one
sister, and she couldn't deprive her daughter of relatives.

Brooke took a seat on a wooden bench, pulled her feet up and hugged her
knees.  She'd gone over the same thoughts a thousand times.  Each time
she came to the same conclusion: Skye had a right to the truth.  The
right to an extended family.

Once Brooke had made her decision, she hadn't expected contacting Ford
Braddack would prove so difficult.  Apparently, the man had almost-star
status.  If to get to Ford she had to go through every member of the
family, she'd do so.  Ford's parents were next on her list.  But she'd
prefer to explain the difficult situation only once.

Convincing Max wouldn't be easy.  On first acquaintance, Ford's brother
had appeared playful, prideful, and imbued with stubborn confidence. So
why hadn't he bombarded her with questions?

His seeming disinterest had thrown her off balance, and her thoughts
raced.  She hadn't expected Ford Braddack's brother to be a
mechanic--not that she'd thought much about it beforehand.

Footsteps interrupted her musings.  Max joined her on the dock,
smelling of soap and shampoo.  His dark hair glistened and his lashes
were spiked with water droplets.  He wore ratty but clean jeans and a
sweat-shirt with the sleeves cut out.  Max hadn't only taken time to
clean up and change, his previously casual demeanor had turned more
serious.  She sensed a tautness in him that hadn't been there before.
He offered her a beer--as what, a peace offering?  More likely a way to
get her to let down her guard.

"No, thanks.  I'm driving."

"Suit yourself.  After that shower of dust, I'm thirsty."

Leaving plenty of room to aVOid rubbing elbows, Max sat next to her,
stretched out his long legs and tipped his beer to his mouth.  His
unreadable eyes stared across the lake.  Sensing he wasn't going to
start a conversation but would leave that to her, she braced herself
for a difficult discussion.  "Will you help me talk to Ford?"

"That depends."  "On what?"  "Your story."

Damn, he could be frustrating--just like Skye.  Maybe stubbornness ran
in the family.  She'd learned from newspaper articles that Max and Ford
were identical twins, sharing the same genetic makeup.  It was likely
Skye had inherited those genes.  When her daughter made up her mind, it
was set in concrete.  Orders, cajoling, even outright bribery, failed
to change her opinion.  Only one thing could do that--a logical
argument that had no loopholes.

Resigned to telling him the entire story, Brooke's hands shook with the
fresh attack of nerves scrambling through her.  She made herself lift
her chin.  "Skye needed a physical to start summer camp.  Last week her
pediatrician did a blood test."

"So?"

"She can't be mine."  Brooke choked over the words.  Held back tears.
She would not break down in front of him.

"It's usually the fathers who don't know when a kid is theirs," he said
dryly.

"My sister Nicole couldn't have kids, so I donated an egg."

Max stiffened.  "Donated an egg?"

"The Kine Fertility Clinic specializes in helping women get pregnant.
My egg should have been fertilized in a test tube with my
brother-in-law's sperm, then implanted in my sister.  At least, that's
the way it was supposed to happen."

An odd look crossed Max's face, but then he swigged some beer and hid
his thoughts behind downcast lids.  When he didn't comment, she forced
words past a throat dry as sand.  "Two months after my sister bore
Skye, Nicole and her husband John died in a car accident.  At the time,
I was baby-sitting Skye."

"You kept the baby, thinking she was yours?"  His face was unreadable
and she had no idea what he was thinking.

"I would have kept Skye whether she was Nicole's or mine.  She's the
only family I have left."

"Now you think Skye is my niece.  Why?"  His drawl softened to an
ominous murmur, a direct contrast to the nonchalance of a moment
before.

His lightning mood change confused her, but she tried to ignore it.
"After I spoke to Skye's pediatrician, I thought maybe Skye could have
been mixed up with another child at City Hospital.  But while she
wasn't the only delivery that morning, she was the only girl.  My
sister went home the day after Skye was born."

"Go on."

"Once I learned a hospital mix-up was unlikely, I went back to the Kine
Clinic.  If I'm not Skye's mother, I need to find out who her parents
are.  I'd also like to learn what the clinic did with the egg I
donated."

"You didn't find any answers, did you?"

She flinched at the skepticism in his tone.  In the nightmare she'd
been living every day since she'd heard Dr.  O'Brian's news, she'd
expected to face wariness.  But she hadn't thought explaining could be
so difficult.  He was staring at her intently and she shifted her gaze
back to the water.  "Dr.  Clifford Arnold, my sister's doctor, wasn't
available.  His secretary refused to give me any information."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back and sip the last of
his beer, a thoughtful expression on his face.  "Not surprising.  The
legal implications could force them into bankruptcy.  But there is a
lot more at stake here than legal ramifications."

Brooke's throat tightened.  She could lose Skye, and she would never
have another child, but she had to speak past the lump in her throat.
She owed it to the daughter she loved to find her family.

"A researcher..."  She paused, unsure how to tell him the rest.
Discovering that Skye wasn't her child had scared her to the bone.  She
still hadn't recovered from the shock of learning that Skye's father
might be an international businessman who could--besides offering a
two-parent family--give Skye advantages sh couldn't.

Max perused her face, a hint of impatience in his eyes.  "What?"

Just say it.  She had to tell him.  Obviously he wouldn't believe her
unless she did.  She spoke in rush.  "Karen Forester keeps track of
equipment am supplies at the Kine Clinic.  She told me about six years
ago she had overheard that your brother and sister-in-law's embryo was
implanted in my sister."

"What else did she tell you?"  He balled his finger into a fist,
belying his casual words.  "Did she offer Who was responsible?  Did she
think the mix-up was an accident or deliberate?"

She should have known he'd leave no statement unchallenged.  Brooke
sighed.  "Karen wouldn't say more.  I have an appointment to meet her
tomorrow But whether or not she has proof doesn't matter except to find
out how and why the mistake happened."

"And just why are you so sure Skye is Ford" daughter?"

"Because she looks just like you.  And you and you brother are
identical twins."

"Looks can be deceiving.  My brother won't believe he's a father unless
the researcher provides us with more information.  I hate to get his
hopes up.  Ford and Rhonda have wanted a child for a long time."

Scientific tests would do the proving for her--bin first she had to
talk to Ford, find out if he was willing, and what his intentions would
be.  To do that, she had to go through his stubborn brother.  She
struggled to keep her tone even.  "A genetic test will prove the
truth."

"If you're right, then what?"  His tone was soft but woven with steel.
"Will you give your daughter to my brother?"

"No!"  Anger layered over her fear and she stiffened barely containing
her fury.  "I have no intention of giving my daughter away.  But if
Ford and Rhonda are her parents, they have a right to know.  So does
Skye."

He lowered his voice to a menacing whisper.  "You want money, don't
you?"

Her hand itched to slap his arrogant face.  Instead she reiterated her
reason in as calm a tone as she could manage.  "Skye should know her
parents."

All his intensity focused on her.  "The thought of the Braddack
millions never crossed your mind?"

Although it was likely some people were after Ford for his money, she
resented Max's assumption that she was no different.  She fought to
hold steady under his scowl.  "Something very wrong happened at the
most prestigious fertility clinic in the country.  I want to find out
what happened and why.  The idea that Skye isn't my daughter is tearing
me apart, and I have her best interests in my heart.  Why else would I
be searching for her genetic parents?"  "For Ford's money."  "Wrong."

Clearly, he didn't believe her.  An icy knot coiled in her stomach. How
dare he accuse her of ulterior motives when all she cared about was
Skye's welfare?

She twisted on the bench to face him, her eyes burning with pride. "I'm
here for Skye."

"Sure, lady."

Cut deep by his sarcasm, she refused to bleed in front of him.  Taking
a quick, sharp breath, she stood, back straight, refusing to crumple at
his condemnation.  "If your brother knew about his daughter, surely he
would want the best for her, wouldn't he?"

SHE HAD A POINT.  One he didn't Wish to concede until he decided if the
indignation in her tone and the fury in her shimmering eyes were due to
his insults, or because he'd seen through her plan so quickly.

She was bold, this schemer.  Usually women sank their hooks into him
before making demands.  Especially the pretty ones.  Like her.  He'd
always been a sucker for redheads with attitude, and Brooke Evans had
it in spades.  From the sassy tilt of her head, he read her ambition
while her soft pouty lips suggested greed.

Of course Brooke was the first attractive woman who hadn't thrown
herself at him in a coon's age.  But then he'd been too busy to notice
women much lately.  With readying the Sea Mist for the race, his
socializing had suffered.  Now that he'd finally come up for air, she'd
stolen the wind right out of his mainsail.

Why did she have to be slender yet curvy in all the right places?  Her
incredibly long legs encased in blue jeans distracted him as did the
fibbed T-shirt that molded her breasts.  Round breasts of the variety a
man could worship, and right now, they heaved with each furious breath
she drew.

As much as she appealed to him on a physical level, Brooke Evans wasn't
for him.  Even without the complications of her daughter and his
brother and wife, there was so much more at stake here than she knew.

He debated his next step, wishing he could dump Brooke Evans in Ford's
lap.  But even if Ford and Rhonda weren't out of the country on
vacation, Max wouldn't go to Ford with Brooke's story without
substantiating facts.  Ford and Rhonda had wanted a child for too long
for him not to consider the ramifications of carelessly divulging such
information.

Rhonda had suffered through numerous miscarriages and disappointments.
His brother adored his wife and he wouldn't appreciate Max raising
Rhonda'-s hopes that Skye might be their daughter, only later to
possibly find out otherwise.  Before Max informed Ford of the
situation, he needed to check out Brooke's story.

Yet he didn't want to spend much time in her company.  Max had a habit
of picking the wrong type of woman--a habit he was determined to break.
So as the clouds moved in over the marina, casting shadows across the
lake's curling crests, he resisted his attraction to the leggy
redhead.

"Ford and Rhonda have wanted a child for a very long time," he
admitted.

Her eyes flashed.  "Then I think it's time you put me in touch with
them."

"Not just yet."

The air charged with the electricity of a storm about to break was
temperate compared to the bottled pressures inside the woman in front
of him.  She stood, the wind whipping her T-shirt and hair, her chin
angled defiantly.  Seemingly too young to be a mother, too scared to be
scheming, she revealed a vulnerability that appealed to him on a level
he didn't care to acknowledge.  Damn!

He had one thing in his favor.  She didn't want him, didn't like him.
He should be safe from any flirtation on her part.  Now if only he
could curb his own desires and concentrate on the child.

A Braddack granddaughter.  His mother would be ecstatic.  She'd gladly
cancel all her social engagements to spend time with a grandchild.  Dad
would enjoy sitting a kid on his lap as he drove his golf cart over the
green... But first Max had to make sure
little-miss-ambitious-for-her-daughter's-sake wasn't fabricating her
story.

"What will you do if my brother decides to take

Skye from you?"

" "He won't."

Pain laced her words, and yet he couldn't stop himself from wounding
her further.  "Do you have the kind of money it would take to fight
him?"

She swallowed hard.  "Not on a secretary's salary."  He suspected she
was close to tears, but she stood proudly on the dock, as if courage
and determination made her invincible.

Fear wouldn't make her back down, and he didn't understand why.  Surely
she knew the forces his brother could bring to bear on her, his
influence in the judicial system, the clout of the best attorneys.  She
couldn't be so ignorant that she thought to fight and win'.

Was it possible to share a child?  Turning off his roiling emotions in
what he saw as a painful situation for everyone, Max finally asked the
question he couldn't hold back, unsure he wanted to hear her answer.
"Suppose you lose your daughter?"

She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze straight-on and without
flinching.  "I hope your brother and his wife won't be so heartless.
I'm doing what is right.  I can't give her two parents.  I owe it to
her to find out the truth."

"On a mere hope, about people you've never met, you risked your
future?"

"Skye's future," she insisted, "is what is most important.  To keep
father and mother and daughter apart is wrong."

No one could possibly be that selfless.  Rhonda was a wonderful, giving
woman and Ford worshiped her, but Brooke had no way of knowing that no
matter how badly Rhonda wanted a child, she was not the kind of person
who would take Skye away from the only mother the child had ever
known.

Max looked at Brooke, really looked at her, past the pretty facade to
the pouty lips trembling with stress, to the ruler-straight back held
so stiffly she seemed ready to snap.  And reconsidered.  Her spirited
eyes flashed with an iron will she appeared to impose over welling
panic.  Perhaps she was telling the truth.

The thought startled him into testing her resolve.  "Go.  Leave here.
What my brother doesn't know won't hurt him.  We'll forget this
conversation happened."

While he had no intention of forgetting what she'd told him, he saw no
reason he couldn't do a little investigating on his own.  He'd keep his
inquiry quiet.

But when every curve in her body blazed defiance he got the distinct
impression she wasn't about to drop her mission.  She snapped her
fingers.  "Just like that you make the decision for your brother, his
wife, an my daughter.  Just who the hell do you think you are
mister?"

A pushover--with a tendency to allow redheads to wrap him around their
little fingers that's who.  A habit he'd hoped he'd broken.

If she was telling the truth, she hadn't deserved what he'd put her
through.  Guilt pricked at him.  On the other hand, he couldn't allow
himself to announce the possibility of a Braddack child just yet--not
before he did some investigating of his own.

He eased to his feet and towered over her.  "I think it's time I met
Skye."

Chapter Two

Brooke's eyes widened in outrage.  "Why?  Why do you want to see
her?"

Max took her arm and led her toward her car.  The sun had set and as
they walked though the dusty boat-yard amid the chirps of crickets and
croaks of tree frogs, mosquitos buzzed their heads.  But Brooke's
reaction to his suggestion was sharper than any mosquito bite.

In spite of the fact she had no reason to trust him, that he'd
deliberately goaded her, he'd foolishly hoped she wouldn't hold his
skepticism against him.  But clearly she didn't want him anywhere near
her daughter.

Too damned bad.

"My brother will want to know what Skye looks like, where she lives,
how she's been treated--"

Brooke yanked her arm from his grasp and her eyes flared with anger.
"Skye's been treated just fine.  She's a healthy and happy
five-year-old child.  I won't let you upset her just to satisfy your
curiosity."

When he spoke, he kept his voice flat.  "You're the one who wants to
bring her back to her family.  But if it will put your mind at ease, I
have no intention of discussing her parentage with her."

Brooke looked deep into his eyes, swallowed hard and nodded, acceding
to his request.

As he followed Brooke in his pickup truck southward from Lake
Pontchartrain and its massive levees, Max debated what he would say to
the child.  He was no closer to an answer as he passed through the
Vieux Carte, the old French Quarter with its street front Creole
houses, iron balconies and sizzling nightlife.  When he finally left
the city and drove past the Superdome, he was glad she lived in the
suburbs.  He imagined it was a better atmosphere in which to raise a
child.  Not that he was any expert.

He'd always liked children and had planned to spoil Ford and Rhonda's
kids rotten.  Unfortunately, the couple had had difficulty conceiving
and not even the renowned Kine Fertility Clinic had helped.

Panic gnawed his stomach.  He supposed people gradually became used to
babies and learned how to talk to them as they grew.  The idea of
meeting the five-year-old while Brooke watched curiously had him almost
squirming in his pickup seat.

Much too soon for his liking, she pulled off the broad avenue into a
parking lot.  They passed a swimming pool and a playground in a brick
apartment complex before he'd begun to set his edgy thoughts in order.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen them and, resigned, wiped his sweaty
palms on his jeans before exiting his truck.

Get a grip.  Skye's just a kid.

But she wasn't just any kid.  Would Skye look like his mother, Eva?
Would she possess his father, Red's, calm determination?  Or would she
have Rhonda's easy personality?

When he joined Brooke on the sidewalk, she already had keys in her
hand.  A slight jiggle of the metal revealed he wasn't the only nervous
person here.  A need to get this over with suddenly overwhelmed him.

As if sensing his unease, she shot him a warning look from eyes clouded
with worry.  "Remember, Skye knows nothing about this.  Don't scare
her.  Right now I'm the only family she has."

He had the strangest urge to take her into his arms and kiss her--not a
passionate kiss, but a gentle show of affection on the forehead to
reassure her.  The front door flung open, interrupting his thoughts.  A
little girl in pink overalls flew over the threshold and made a beeline
for Brooke.

"Mommy, Mommy.  Look what I made."

Max barely glanced at the pot holder in the child's hand or the
baby-sitter following close behind.  The parking lot lights revealed a
dark-haired child with glossy curls framing her rounded face.  She
looked up at Brooke with deep-set blue eyes the exact same shape as his
and Ford's.

Skye was a miniature--an almost exact feminine version---of him and
Ford.

Stunned, he rocked back on his heels and stared in marvelous
fascination.  Her pixieish lips split into a wide grin, revealing
gleaming white teeth beneath a button nose.  She spoke in animated
torrents, her sunny face bursting with pride.  "I'll already know how
to weave pot holders when I go to camp."

At the sight of her daughter, Brooke's face brightened.  "Max, I'd like
you to meet my daughter, Skye.  Skye, this is Max, a friend of mine."

Skye glanced at him, seeming not the least bit shy.  "Hi.  Do you know
how to make pot holders?"

She certainly was a friendly kid and he was grateful she'd given him an
opening.  "Think you could teach me?"

Skye looked to her mother.  "Can I teach him?  Can

I?"

Brooke nodded at her daughter, then nailed him with an
I-told-you-she-was-a-Braddack expression in her eyes.  "Sure, sweetie.
Take him inside."

Brooke paid the baby-sitter while Skye took his hand.  "Come on.  We
can make a red and white design.  You do like red, don't you?  It's my
favorite color.  Mom says I can take my red sleeping bag and pajamas
when I go to camp.  "Course I won't be sleeping over until the special
weekend."

Max grinned at Skye's contagious enthusiasm.  He could see he needn't
have worried about what to say.  Skye could chatter on like a magpie,
and he wondered who she got that from.  Her hand felt tiny in his and
surprisingly strong.

As she tugged him into the apartment, she looked up at him with those
big blue eyes that branded his heart.  It wasn't fair that Ford and
Rhonda and his parents had missed watching her grow up.  He'd bet she'd
been a beautiful baby.  While Brooke had taken care of her, the
Bradclacks had all missed Skye's first tooth,

her first word, her first steps.  Now more than ever he understood the
sacrifice it had taken for Brooke to contact him.

He glanced around the apartment.  Although not large, the place was
clean and comfortable, consisting of a combination kitchen and den with
the bedrooms down a short hall.  Evidence of Skye was everywhere.  Her
crayoned pictures stuck to the refrigerator with cartoon magnets.  A
child-sized red tent with a matching sleeping bag unrolled inside stood
beside the coffee table scattered with children's books, and the couch
had a doll propped in a corner.

Skye led him to the kitchen table where a plastic frame with colorful
cloth loops awaited.  Instead of letting go of him, she turned over his
hand and examined it.  "Your fingers may be too big for the frame. This
may be hard for you.  But my morn says we can do hard things if we
try."

"Your morn is a smart lady."

He sat next to Skye who busily explained pot holder making as Brooke
entered the apartment and puttered around the kitchen.  Over the phone
hung a framed black-and-white photo of two girls with their arms around
one another.  In the background was an old Vie-toil an farmhouse with
peeling paint on dilapidated shutters.

Brooke must have picked up on his interest as she wiped down the
kitchen counter.  "That's Nicole and me in front of the foster home
where we grew up."  "In New Orleans?"

Brooke shook her head.  "We were originally from Baton Rouge, but when
the oil business went flat, the family ended up in Bayou Goula.  The
people who ran the foster home said our parents were there looking for
work when they both succumbed to swamp fever."

"Nobody dies of the swamp sickness anymore," Skye piped in.  "They have
medicine now."

"So how did you end up in New Orleans?"  Max asked, steering the
subject away from losing one's parents.

Brooke dried her hands on a towel.  "Nicole fell in love with John when
she met him at Tulane University Nicole was the only family I had--"

"Till me," Skye interrupted.

"Yes, till you, sweetie."  Brooke ruffled her hair.  "And now it's time
for bed."

"But, Mom.  I haven't finished showing Max how to make the pot holder.
You always say I should finish what I start."

Brooke shook her head with a grin.  "Nothing like having your own words
used against you.  You can finish tomorrow.  It's bedtime.  Say
good-night to Max and don't forget to wash your hands and face and
brush your teeth.  I'll leave the pot holder right here.

It'll be waiting for you in the morning."

"But I want Max to have one."

"I could stop by tomorrow," he offered, the words out of his mouth
before he stopped to think.  The homey atmosphere was more enticing
than he'd expected.  He liked the easy mother-daughter relationship
between Brooke and Skye, the way Brooke valued family--a trait he found
in so few people.  They clearly cared for one another the same way his
family did.  When Brooke's head jerked at his suggestion, he wheedled
an invitation.  "Your mother has an appointment tomorrow.  I thought
I'd go with her."

"Goodie."  Skye slipped off the chair and hugged Brooke.  She turned to
him next and with an impish grin, blew him a kiss, and skipped off down
the hall.  "Night-night."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he responded with a sheepish grin,
drawing on childhood memories long buried.

"You did well with her."  Brooke complimented him, clearly aware of his
previous nervousness.  "Thanks.  She made it easy."

Brooke placed the last plates in the dishwasher,

poured soap and set the timer.  "After I tuck her.  in, I'll be right
back."

"What time are you leaving for your meeting with Karen Forester?"  he
asked as she followed Skye down the hall.

"Nine o'clock," she told him over her shoulder.  "I'll see you tomorrow
then."  He slipped out the door, acknowledging the cowardly action for
what it was.  She watched him leave, her eyes narrowed in frustration.
Tomorrow she'd probably give him hell for his rude behavior.  But he
couldn't face talking with her about Skye--not until he settled his
feelings.

Ah, Skye.  The child had captivated him the moment he'd seen her.  Her
dark, curly hair framed a round face, but it was the shape of her eyes
beneath arched brows that made a genetic test superfluous.  The gift
was pure Braddack, tempered with his sister-in-law's sweetness but with
a practicality that had to come from Brooke.

He couldn't deny Brooke had done a terrific job raising Skye.  And as a
single parent, struggling to make a living, raising a child couldn't be
easy.

Skye's presence had spun him for a loop.  He drove back to the marina
knowing one thing for sure.  Skye was going to be welcomed into his
family.  He hadn't really believed Brooke until he'd seen Skye.  Now he
felt as if he'd been flattened by a ten-ton truck.  He should have been
happy, yet heartache awaited both families.  To take Skye from Brooke
would be cruel.  She loved the child and had taken great pride in
raising her.  His brother and his wife would face unimaginable pain.
They could never regain the years they might have had with Skye.  And
what kind of relationship with their daughter could they hope for in
the future?

Back at the garage apartment over the marina's shop, he glanced at the
phone.  He should probably call Ford, but his brother would want to
know who was behind the mix-up at the Kine Clinic and how it could have
happened.  And Max wouldn't have more information until tomorrow, after
he spoke with Karen Forester.

Tomorrow he'd see Brooke and Skye again.  As he lay in bed, for the
first time in a long time, he was eager for a new day.

BROOKE DIDN'T SLEEP well.  She'd tossed and turned after Max's abrupt
departure.  She'd finally fallen asleep only to have the alarm blast
her awake.  A few hours of sleep hadn't relieved her anxiety from the
night before.  Why hadn't Max waited to leave until after she'd put
Skye to bed and they'd had a chance to talk?  He'd raced out the door
as if the apartment had been on fire.

She'd kept glancing at Max and Skye as she'd straightened the kitchen,
but she hadn't been able to read him.  Had he recognized his own
features in Skye?  Or had he refused to see the evidence right before
his eyes?

The pressure had her on edge, and she hoped he would put her in touch
with his brother today.  Waiting was nerve-racking.  Even if Ford and
Rhonda agreed to the genetic test that could prove Skye was their
biological daughter, it would take two weeks for the results to come
in.

But Brooke didn't need scientific proof.  In her heart she knew.  Skye
was Rhonda and Ford's child, and her throat tightened.

For once, oblivious to Brooke's feelings, Skye ate quickly so she could
work on her" pot holder.  The sitter and Max arrived at the same time
and again, Brooke had to wait until she got him alone.

He showed up in a faded shirt and frayed jeans and sauntered through
the front door whistling "Dixie."  Freshly shaven and with his hair
still damp, he had an appealing bright-eyed quality that made her
notice him more than she would have liked.  "Morning.  You ladies
ready?"

Skye looked up from the table, saw the baby-sitter,

and turned to her mother.  "I want to go with you."  "Not this time."

Skye's lower lip trembled.  "But you said you would take me on an
adventure today."

"How about when we get back, we'll take you on a streetcar ride?"  Max
suggested.

Brooke didn't appreciate him offering a treat without first clearing
the idea privately with her.  If she said no, she'd be the bad guy. But
she supposed Max didn't know better so she forgave him.  Besides, it
was difficult to stay angry at a man who was trying to make her
daughter happy.

At Max's suggestion, Skye immediately brightened.  "Can we go?  Please,
Mom."

"As long as it doesn't rain.  Now give me a kiss and a hug."

While Brooke issued instructions to the baby-sitter, Skye insisted Max
help her brush her teeth.  He pretended horror Skye brushed after every
meal, and she giggled in amusement at his silliness.

Finally Brooke and Max were ready to go.  As he opened the door for her
and she stepped outside into the crisp morning air, she hoped it would
stay sunny.  The radio had predicted rain later, but she wouldn't mind
a trolley ride herself.

"I'm sorry," Max said as he headed for his truck.  "I should have
cleared the outing with you first.  It won't happen again."

"Thanks."

Damn, he could be charming and intuitive when he wanted, and he looked
even better than she remembered.  The dark hair framing his piercing
blue eyes both unnerved and interested her.  But then how could she not
find him appealing when she'd fallen in love with his features, Skye's
features, years ago?

Still, she wasn't about to allow him to charm her out of her annoyance
with his disappearing act last night.  She let him open his truck door
for her, then she fastened her seat belt and waited for him to pull out
of the parking lot before she asked the questions that burned in her
mind.

"Did you call Ford?"

"Not until we talk to Karen.  Do you have directions?"

"Karen lives in an apartment in the Old Quarter."  She shifted so she
could watch him.  His body language clearly said he was loose, eager
and ready to go.  He kept his gaze on the road, checking the rearview
mirror every thirty seconds or so.  At first appearance he seemed
relaxed, but then she noted how he avoided her gaze, and reconsidered.
Perhaps he wasn't finding this as easy as she'd thought.

She tempered the sharpness in her tone.  "What do you think of Skye?"

"She's inquisitive, intelligent and damned cute."  "And?"  she
pressed.

He raised a brow.  "And she looks just like me.  Is that what you
wanted to hear?"

No, she wanted to scream at him.  That's not what she wanted to hear.
She wanted Skye to be hers in every way.  But she tried to remain Calm
and keep her voice even'.  "Then there's no reason to avoid calling
Ford and Rhonda."

"Fine.  We'll call after this meeting."

At his sudden capitulation, relief flooded her, but as his words sank
in, wariness overtook her once more.  "Can't I talk to them in
person?"

"Ford and Rhonda are skiing in Switzerland.  A phone call will have to
do for now."

While she absorbed the surprise that the Braddacks were out of the
country, Ford switched on the radio and jazz engulfed them.  Fifteen
minutes later he parked in front of a three-story building that
borrowed from both French and Spanish designs.  They walked on uneven
pavement through wrought-iron gates into a courtyard with dogwoods,
magnolias and azaleas.

"That's Karen's apartment."  Brooke pointed.  "Number twelve."

Max rapped on the door.  A curtain in the window moved.  The door
opened about three inches and the Kine Clinic researcher, Karen
Forester, peeked through the opening left by a latched chain.  "I'm
sorry, I can't talk to you."

She closed the door in their faces.  The latch snicked shut.

Puzzled and frustrated, Brooke spun to look at Max.  He furrowed his
forehead and shrugged.

Unwilling to give up, she knocked on the door again.  "Karen.  Karen,
it's Brooke.  Brooke Evans.  We met yesterday.  We have an
appointment."

The door remained closed.  The curtain didn't move.  Karen had been
willing to talk to her yesterday.  What had happened since then to
change her mind?

When no one answered, Brooke's shoulders slumped.  WithOut verbal
confirmation, Max might not call his brother.  She'd be right back
where she'd started.

"Let's get out of here."  Max took her elbow and ushered her away.
"She's not going to answer."

"I don't understand.  Do you think she has a guest?"  Brooke asked as
they walked back to the truck, disappointed with Karen's refusal and
all too aware of Max's fingers on her elbow.

"It's possible.  But I think someone got to her."  "What do you
mean?"

"This smells like a cover-up."

"I don't understand."

"Someone scared her into keeping her mouth shut."

She jerked up her head.  "But how?  Why?"  "How is the easy part."  Max
started the truck and headed to Brooke's place.  "She could have been
told that if she talked to us, she'd lose her job."

"But no one knew I spoke with her."

"They didn't have to see you.  You were at the clinic asking a lot of
questions.  Word must have got around."

Max stopped in the traffic as the cars waited for an old mule-drawn
carriage to clip-clop by.  Brooke shook her head at the mule decked in
ribbons, flowers and a hat, glad she didn't have to drive.  Her head
pounded and the sunshine hurt her eyes.  "Why would someone threaten
Karen with losing her job for talking to us?  Isn't that illegal?  She
could just go to the police."

"Not necessarily.  Medical records are confidential.  Someone in
authority at the clinic would be within their rights to tell her if she
talked out of turn, she'd be fired or sued."

"But why did she tell me anything in the first place?"

"Look, the best-case scenario is someone accidentally screwed up in the
clinic when Skye was implanted in your sister.  The clinic could be
sued for millions.  If a doctor is found negligent, he could lose his
livelihood--not only be sued and fired, he could lose his medical
license."

She sighed.  "We need to talk to Dr.  Arnold, but he won't return my
calls."

Max weaved through the heavy traffic with expertise.  "Ford is on the
board of directors of the Kine Clinic.  His name ought to get us in to
see the chief administrator."

"Ford's on the board of directors?  I didn't know.  You'd have thought
he'd have gotten primo treatment."

Max frowned.  "Yeah.  You'd think so, wouldn't you?  There's a phone
book by your feet.  Look up the number of the clinic, please."

He used his cell phone to make an appointment with the administrator,
turned his pickup around and headed into the city.  Driving straight to
the Kine Clinic, they had parked and entered the building in less than
fifteen minutes.  They took the elevator to an upper floor of the
facility.  A strawberry-blond secretary escorted Brooke and Max around
a saltwater aquarium into a corner office with a magnificent view.
Glass windows provided a panorama of an elbow of the muddy Mississippi
and the Greater New Orleans Bridge.

Dr.  Edward Henschel, a short, balding man with a baby-smooth face sat
behind a massive desk covered with papers.  "Max.  It's good to see you
again.  What can I do for you?"  He stood and held out his hand.  "Is
Ford enjoying his vacation?"

Max introduced Brooke and gestured for her to take the chair beside
him.  "I haven't heard from Ford.  That probably means he's having a
great time."

Brooke stared at the framed diplomas over the desk, unable to read
specifics from her position.  Before she'd always taken for granted the
integrity of a physician.  Now she realized doctors were people and,
just like in any other profession, they sometimes made mistakes.

To find out if an honest mistake or an accident had caused the mix-up
would be tricky.  When faced with trouble, doctors usually closed
ranks, but Karen's whispered words about overhearing a conversation and
naming Ford Braddack as Skye's father, indicated that someone might be
hiding beneath the Kine Clinic's spotless reputation.

Brooke would have preferred to speak with Dr.  Arnold, the physician
who had culled her egg for Nicole.  He'd always seemed pleasant and
professional.  She had no wish to malign Dr.  Arnold and wondered why
he hadn't returned her calls.  That he hadn't sent suspicion prickling
at her nape.

Dr.  Henschel moved a few papers out of the way, adding them to a
stack, and then placed his forearms on the desk.  "How can I help
you?"

Brooke fidgeted in her seat.  "I--we were hoping to speak with Dr.
Arnold."

"I'm afraid that's going to be difficult."

"Why?"  Max asked.  "He still works here, doesn't he?"

Dr.  Henschel sighed.  "He's on his sailboat for a few weeks.  He
prefers to take vacation time in late spring."

Max leaned back in his chair and peered at the doctor.  "Does he have a
radio?"

"Oh, yes.  But don't get your hopes up.  He never turns it on.  Arnold
says if we could reach him, he'd never have any time off.  And he's
right.  There's always some kind of medical crisis in a facility the
size of this one."

Upset that Dr.  Arnold was unreachable, Brooke's thoughts raced. Arnold
had been in charge of the fertilization and implantation stages, but
there must be records on file.

"Could we look at my sister's file?"

Dr.  Henschel focused a genial smile on Max.  "Patient files are
confidential."

She glanced at Max, sprawled in his chair, hands clasped behind his
head.  He tilted his chair onto its rear legs with an unruffled poise
and confidence that surprised her.

She turned to the doctor.  "Six years ago, through the efforts of the
Kine Clinic my sister had a baby girl, Skye.  I donated the egg.  Last
week after a blood test, her pediatrician told me the child cannot be
mine--nor was she Nicole's."

Dr.  Henschel removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Dr.  Arnold works directly with patients.  My talents run toward
administration.  I'm afraid I can't be much help.  Is the child
healthy?"

"The point is that skye's blood proves she couldn't be my daughter or
my sister's."

Dr.  Henschel replaced his glasses.  "Dr.  O'Brian, your pediatrician,
called me last week."

While Henschel spoke, Max leaned forward and reached down to tie his
shoe.  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him pick up a piece of
paper that had missed the trash can.  When he straightened, he thrust
the paper into his pocket.

Dr.  Henschel didn't seem to notice.  He continued to speak nonstop.
"But with everyone working extra shifts to cover my colleague's
patients, I didn't take the call.  Since your sister wasn't my patient,
I'm unfamiliar with the particulars of her case.  I'll check our
records, talk to our attorney.  Why don't you stop by tonight around
seven, and I'll see if I can give you some answers?"

Max nodded appreciatively.  "That would be very helpful."

"But why consult an attorney?"  Brooke asked impatiently.  "Right now,
all we want is evidence the mistake was made.  My sister is no longer
alive.  I assure you, I'm only here to learn the truth."  It seemed
such a simple thing for Dr.  Henschel to check the files and give them
the information they sought.  She had no plans to sue, or even to
expose the mistake because of the publicity it would bring on Skye. Max
didn't look any more pleased by the delay than she did, yet he seemed
to be taking the news more in stride.

"It's our policy--uh ... Ford's and the board of directors'--to have
our attorney deal with these matters."  Henschel's tone indicated he
disagreed with this practice, but what was a poor doctor to do except
follow the rules?

Max stood.  "We understand.  Thank you for your help and your time,
Doctor.  I'll see you this evening."

When Brooke and Max left Dr.  Henschel's office, the secretary was
nowhere to be found.  Frustrated by Dr.  Henschel's delay, Brooke gazed
with longing at the unattended file cabinets behind the reception desk.
They might hold some answers, but with the door still open to
Henschel's office, she dared not attempt to peek in his files.

They strode past Dr.  Arnold's office.  Max looked up and down the
empty hall.  Then his hand snaked to the doorknob while her heart leapt
into her throat.  What would happen if someone caught them trying to
get into Arnold's office?

Max shook his head.  "It's locked."

As he held the elevator door open for her, she didn't know whether she
was disappointed or relieved they hadn't stolen inside.  The doors
swished shut, and simultaneously they pushed the elevator buttons.  Max
for the lab, Brooke for the ground floor.

"Let's find Arnold's lab assistant and ask a few questions," he
suggested, his stance relaxed, but she didn't miss the hint of
determination in his eyes.

How did he stay so calm and composed?  Perhaps she'd been mistaken
about the seething emotion she sensed deep beneath his surface.  Her
perception might be way off, especially when she was so worried about
the possibility of losing Skye.

"What did you take from Henschel's office?"  she asked curiously.

Max smoothed the crumpled paper while the elevator descended.  "It's a
note from the company accountant He says he needs to talk to Dr.
Henschel about over billing

"That could mean the clinic is being overcharged.  Perhaps someone is
taking kickbacks," she suggested.

"Or it could mean the clinic is overcharging for its services."  "

For all of Max's laid-back ways, she couldn't criticize his
resourcefulness.  She took in the strength of his shoulders and
followed the clean lines of his shirt down to his hard flanks.  She
couldn't help but admire his persistence in looking at every
possibility--and the way his clothes fit.  Stop it.

Annoyed by her lapse, she redirected her thoughts from the sensual
strut of his walk to the cunning, patience and intelligence he'd
displayed during their quest for information.  She needed to follow his
example and keep her mind on business.

Max stuck the paper into his back pocket.  "I'll ask Ford about this
when I call him."

They exited the elevator and approached the brightly lit entrance to
the lab.  From the locked metal doors barring their entrance, she
guessed they had new problems to solve.

A security guard stood in front of the laboratory, his arms crossed
over his chest.  "This area is off-limits."

"We just want to speak to Dr.  Arnold's assistant."  Brooke smiled,
hoping the man would allow them by.  He didn't.

"Sorry.  Without permission from Dr.  Henschel, no one goes in
there."

Max's hand squeezed her elbow, a silent signal to let him try.  "Could
you ask Dr.  Arnold's lab assistant to come out here?"

"Sorry.  I'm forbidden to go inside."

Max gestured to the phone on the wall.  "What about calling?"

"Sorry.  That's only for emergencies."

With each refusal, Brooke's annoyance grew.  Her blood pressure
skyrocketed.  As they retUrned to the elevator, she barely contained
her temper.

Once the doors closed, Max chuckled.  "Do you think he begins every
sentence with' sorry

His laughter aggravated her exasperation.  "This isn't funny.  This
place is locked up tighter than the Pentagon."

Max faced her and his serene blue eyes drilled her with innocence.
"Hey, I'm on your side."

"Then act like it."

"What do you want from me?  Would putting my fist through that guard's
face have made you feel better?"

"How perceptive of you to notice my annoyance," she snapped, realizing
she did indeed wish to goad him into a reaction, although not one so
violent.

His forehead creased.  "Why are you so angry?"

"When you don't show the same frustration I'm feeling, it seems as if
you don't care."

He raked a hand through his hair.  "Nothing could be further from the
truth.  Would you feel better if I cursed, started a fight, got myself
arrested?"

She almost smiled at the image.  Yesterday, in the boatyard, she'd have
believed him capable of violence, but now she was thankful for his
self-control.

Still, she refused to allow his statement to go unchallenged.  "There's
detachment in your calmness."

"It works for me," he admitted.  "If I acted otherwise to make you
happy, I'd be living a lie."  The doors opened and he switched topics.
"Why don't we try the research department?"

"I shouldn't have taken out my frustration on you, but we've wasted
half the morning and haven't found anything useful.  I want to know how
this happened.  And I want to know what became of the egg I donated to
my sister."

Max winked.  "Patience."

She wanted to choke him.  "Something obviously went wrong in this
clinic."

"Agreed."  He shoved his hands into his pockets.  "And somehow I don't
see the clinic's attorney giving us information.  Whatever happened
took place six years ago.  There's been plenty of time for someone to
cover their tracks.  All documentation would have been destroyed long
ago."

Brooke moved past him and through a door into a fifth-floor windowless
office.  A brass plate on the door told them the researcher's name.
Grant Donovan had the build of an NFL linebacker and his huge frame
looked ridiculous cramped behind a desk, His meaty fingers lumbered
over the keyboard, his face fixed in concentration.

"Excuse us," Brooke interrupted.  "We thought you might help us solve a
problem."

"Problem-solving isn't exactly my department."  He'd stopped typing and
looked up, his lips twisted in a parody of a smile.

"Look, all we want to know is how the Kine Clinic mistakenly placed his
brother's embryo," she pointed to Max, "in my sister.  We know from the
blood tests someone in the clinic made a mistake.  We want to see the
records."

Grant shrugged and returned to his typing.  "Sorry, lady, I can't help
you."

"I want to know what happened to my egg," Brooke insisted, hoping a
different tack might sway the man.

Grant cracked his knuckles.  "Look, I'd like to help you, but I could
lose my job."

Brooke didn't blame the man.  Still her thoughts whirled in
frustration.  as she and Max exited the office and, finally, the
facility.  "We aren't getting anywhere," Brooke complained as they made
their way to the pickup.  "Surely there must be a record of Rhonda and
Ford's blood type somewhere?"

"Since we're identical twins, Ford's blood is exactly the same as
mine."

"Then there's no need to return to the lab.  If you'll consent to a
tissue scraping of the inside of your cheek, a genetic test will prove
within a week or two whether Skye is Ford's daughter."

"After seeing Skye, I'm convinced she's a Braddack," he said, opening
her door.  "Do you think the mix-up could have been deliberate?"

The idea worried her.  "I can't help wondering how a distinguished
institution, renowned for ethical and compassionate treatment of
fertility problems, could treat us as if they are a fly-by-night
facility."

"We should consider all the possibilities.  What would be the motive?
Tonight if we get a chance to look around, maybe we'll pick up a few
clues.  If there are records to be found, no lawyer worth his pay will
let us within a hundred miles of them."

Her stomach lurched.  The idea of skulking around in the dark had her
nerves jumping.  "But suppose we're caught?"

He winked at her.  "We'll tell them Ford gave us permission."

Chapter Three

The afternoon rain held off while Max treated Skye and Brooke to the
hour and a half trolley ride down St.  Charles Avenue.  After they
boarded on Canal Street, Skye sat happily by the open window in the
seat in front of the one Max and Brooke shared.

Max was good with Skye, Brooke thought.  She bit back a smile at the
memory of him helping Skye brush her teeth that morning.  He hadn't
complained at the delay.

When they'd returned to her apartment, Max had even tried to call Ford.
But he hadn't been in his room.  She still hoped Ford would use his
influence to get the records.  But until Max talked to him, that's all
it was--hope.

As they rode along St.  Charles past a statue on a white granite
pedestal in Lafayette Square and Galier Hall's Greek Revival
architecture across the street, Brooke's thoughts veered again from the
familiar New Orleans" landscape to more pressing problems.  Max's
suggestion about a deliberate act of sabotage at the Kine Clinic
unnerved her.  Why would anyone do something so cruel?  She wasn't out
to make millions in a lawsuit, but she certainly didn't want this to
happen to anyone else.  And for her own peace of mind, she needed to
find out what had happened to her egg.

She'd been thinking all along that an accident at the clinic had caused
the mistake.  The possibility that someone deliberately switched
genetic material had never crossed her mind.

"Max, why would anyone want to---"

He raised his finger to her lips, the pad teasing an intimate response,
and she gasped, then jerked back at his unexpected gesture.  "Shh. Keep
your voice down," he whispered, softening his words of caution with a
grin of satisfaction at her reaction to his touch.  ""People from the
clinic or a neighbor, or family or friend might be on this trolley. 
We're going right through the Garden District.  I know Dr. Arnold and
Dr.  Henschel live there.  We don't want anyone to overhear our
speculations."

At his simple touch, her pulse accelerated, but she hid her reaction as
she looked around.  The trolley was about three-quarters full and no
one appeared to pay them the slightest attention.  Still, she lowered
her voice.  "What do we know?"

"The right questions to ask."  His mouth curved into a wry grin as if
he guessed the effect he was having on her.  "First we need to figure
out who at the clinic had the opportunity to swap genetic materials.
Then we need to find a motive for doing so."  As he spoke, he ticked
each point off on a finger, and each time he did, she recalled his
finger touching her lip.

As they stopped by Lee Circle, she drummed her fingers on the purse in
her lap, trying to ignore his hard thigh pressed against hers.  "Motive
usually comes down to money.  Although I can't imagine how anyone could
make money mixing up embryos."

"Look, More."  Skye pointed to the huge statue of Robert E. Lee.

"He's facing north so his back will never be to his enemies," Max told
her.

Skye's eyes rounded.  "What enemies?"

He chuckled.  "It was a war fought a long time ago.  It's over, and the
enemies are now our friends."

Brooke enjoyed watching Max talk to Skye.  He'd immediately realized
he'd frightened her, and he'd reassured her with simple truths Skye
could understand.  If only he could find Brooke such simple answers to
what happened at the clinic.

She couldn't let go of the mystery.  Recalling Max's warning, she kept
her voice low.  "Dr.  Arnold has to be at the top of our list.  He was
in charge of the entire procedure."

"And he's on vacation.  Convenient."  His eyes, narrowed in
calculation, burned with fierce intensity.  For the first time she
understood just how formidable an enemy Max Braddack could be.  Her
initial instincts about him had been correct.  He was dangerous.

It had been so long since a man had been a part of her life, she'd
forgotten the raw animal power they exuded, concealing their predatory
instincts behind more civilized manners.  Reminding herself not to
cross Max without good reason, she forced herself to continue the
conversation.  "There's Dr.  Henschel, the head of the clinic, his
medical assistants, and secretary.

I suppose we'll have to include the entire impregnating team.  We can
scratch anyone off the list unless they worked there six years ago."

The trolley stopped again and several people got on.  A young man with
a backpack took a seat beside Skye.

"How about former employees that have since found new jobs?"  Max
rubbed his square jaw, drawing attention to a small indentation in his
chin.  "Then there're the lab techs and research assistants.  For all
we know, the cleaning lady could have mixed up a test tube."

The trolley lurched forward, pressing her closer to

Max.  She edged away, but not before a tingle spiraled through her.
"You're right.  We can't discount a simple mishap."

"I'm betting the records we need are in the lab."

She lowered her voice to the merest whisper.  "So how're we going to
sneak past that guard?"

He grinned, a pure macho grin.  "I'm betting the guard won't be there
tonight."

But what if he was?  A student exited in front of Loyola University
across from Audubon Park.  Skye, her expression wistful, eyed the live
old oaks and the lagoon.  "Can we get off here for a while?"

Max looked to Brooke, leaving the decision to her.  "Sure, why not?"

Skye skipped ahead of them through the park, taking a winding path
beneath evergreens with spreading limbs that turned the walkway into a
covered alley.  They ambled past gazebos, playground areas, and
shelters toward the pavilion on the riverbank of the Mississippi.

While Skye played on a swing set, Max and Brooke watched steamboats
full of tourists ply the river, tugboats pushing enormous barges, and
ocean-going ships heading out into the Gulf of Mexico.  From a vendor
Max bought them all beignets, square, French donuts heaped with
powdered sugar.  While she and Max drank strong chicory-laced coffee
with hot milk, Skye raced back to play, sugar still coating her lips.
Max grinned.  "She has a lot of energy."

"Keeping up with her can be a full-time job.  But she's a great kid."

"It must be tough raising her alone.  You've done a good job."

And she wanted to go on doing a good job.  She gazed into her coffee,
then back into Max's blue eyes.  "Skye means everything to me."

His voice softened.  "I can understand why."  Brooke gleed to the
playground.  Skye no longer played on the swing.  She moved her gaze to
the slide, then the teeter-totter.  But she wasn't there, either.

Her heart fisted in her chest and she leapt to her feet.  "Skye!"

"She was on the swing just a minute ago."  Although Max's words were
meant to comfort her, his jaw knotted and a hint of panic entered his
tone.  "She can't have gone far."

Brooke raced toward the playground, fear feathering down her spine.
"She never runs off."

They rounded a grouping of trees.  Skye was bent over a cardboard box,
a stranger beside her.  As they approached, the man hurried away.

"Skye!"  Brooke swept the child into her arms and buried her face in
her baby-soft neck.  "You know better than to wander off."

Skye pulled back.  "I didn't wander.  This is still the playground. The
man said so."

"The man who just left?"  Max asked, an odd expression on his face.

Skye pointed to the box.  "He said I could have a free kitty if I want
one."

One tiny gray and white kitten curled in a corner and meowed.

Brooke eased Skye down, realizing she'd overreacted.  The man had
probably hurried off so they would keep the abandoned kitten.  And Skye
was still on the playground, she'd just been out of their view.  While
She didn't like the stranger's tactics, she couldn't're pounds t
picking up the cat, which immediately licked her hand.

"She's hungry.  Can we keep Fraidy-cat?"  Skye pleaded.

Max chuckled.  "Fraidy-cat--now there's a fine name."  "

Brooke handed Skye the kitten.  Max knelt down and showed her how to
hold it.  "The coffee vendor sells milk.  Why don't we pour some onto a
paper plate and see if she'll eat?"

On the streetcar ride home, Skye slept in Max's lap with the kitten
curled in her arms.  Brooke would have given anything for a camera. But
then she remembered there would be many moments like this in the
future, memories with Skye sleeping in her uncle's arms.

When they got back, Max was going to call Ford.

THEY STOPPED at a fast-food restaurant on the way home.  Skye, tired
from the long afternoon, never woke as Max carried her from his truck
to her bed while Brooke hunted for a place to keep the kitten.  She
found a shoe box and lined it with newspaper.  "This will do until
tomorrow."

In the kitchen, the light on her answering machine was blinking. Brooke
retrieved the message.  "This is Dr.  Hens cheFs secretary calling to
cancel the meeting tonight.  The doctor was unable to get in touch with
our attorney.  He'll call you back next week."

Brooke sighed in frustration.  "I guess I should cancel the sitter."

"Don't."  Max's eyes twinkled with mischief as he straddled a chair.

"Why not."?"

"Suppose we hadn't returned and heard that message."  '

"But--"

"We could have spent the day at the park, eaten out and gone straight
to the clinic.  Let's show up for the meeting."

She cocked her head.  "But what's the point Dr.  Henschel won't be
there."

He grinned.  "Exactly!  We'll be free to look around."

Her stomach twisted into knots.  She couldn't decide if she was more
anxious over their upcoming foray into the clinic, the way her heart
stuttered when he looked at her with that gleam in his eye, or the
phone call he was about to make.

As if reading her thoughts, Max stood and removed a slip of paper with
Ford's number from his wallet.

He used his credit card to call Switzerland, while she sat at the
table, staring at her hands, wondering if Ford would believe his
brother.

"Ford Braddack, please."

Brooke couldn't seem to draw enough air into her lungs.  She'd thought
about this moment all week, couldn't wait for it to arrive.  Now the
moment had come too soon.  How should she begin?

"This is his brother."

Brooke's stomach lurched with anticipation.  Finally she would speak
with Ford Braddack, and she still hadn't decided what to say.  That
would depend on what Max told him.  She turned and listened more
carefully.

Suddenly Max's shoulders slumped and his eyes lost their teasing glint.
Disbelief and grief deepened his tone.  "What?  Are you sure?"  He
listened some more.  "I see."  Finally, his face bleak, he hung up
without mentioning one word about Skye.

She forced herself to breathe.  "What "is it?"

"My brother and Rhonda were heli-skiing in the Alps.  An avalanche
swept down the mountain yesterday.  Rhonda's dead."

"Oh, no!"  Brooke went to him and wrapped her arms around him.  "Max,
I'm so sorry."

She'd agonized all week over the decision to come forward.  If only
she'd called sooner, the Braddacks might have ended the trip, might be
back here now safe.

Max's tone deepened with grief.  "They're holding back the news from
the press until all the bodies are identified and the families
notified.  They just found my sister-in-law's body.  Ford was seriously
injured and has lapsed into a coma."

She didn't want to imagine how he felt.  When she'd lost her sister,
she'd fallen apart.  Only caring for Skye had pulled her together.  And
Ford was his identical twin.  His only sibling--they had to be
especially close.

His hard body shuddered and she held him tighter.  Tilting her head
back, she looked up to see tears flowing down his face.  He didn't
appear the least bit ashamed of his tears as he pulled her tighter into
his arms.

She had no idea what to say.  Nothing could make this better.  She
stood there with a lump in her throat, holding him, letting him hold
her, the two of them swaying on their feet.

"You should tell your parents."

"I will.  Give me a few minutes."  He put his hands on her shoulders
and gently leaned away from the hug so he could look at her face.  "The
desk clerk told me one more thing."

"What?"

Max's eyes darkened with pain.  "Before Ford passed out, he gave the
ski patrol that brought him down a message for me.  He said, "not an
accident."

She took a napkin from the counter and gently dabbed the tears from his
cheeks.  "He must have been delirious."

Max pivoted and slammed a fist on the counter in frustration.  "I don't
think so.  It's too much of a coincidence that you discovered Skye
isn't yours the same week her biological mother is killed and Ford is
barely hanging on.  And I'm not so sure that man in the park was
innocent."

She recognized blazing fury in his eyes.  "But he didn't do
anything."

"Because we stopped him."

"This is crazy, You think he meant to hurt Skye?"  He clamped his jaw
and paced, obviously too wired to sit.  "I don't know.  Maybe I'm half
out of my mind with grief.  But Skye is living proof of the mix-up at
the clinic.  With Ford and Rhonda out of the picture and Skye gone,
what evidence would you have?"

"You're scaring me.  Maybe we should go to the 'police?"

"They won't do anything without solid documentation.  We've got to go
to the clinic.  I want to see Dr.  Arnold's files.  But first, I'm
going home to tell my parents about Ford and Rhonda."

TE I CLUe, with its black glass windows, was eerily silent at night. As
a malevolent gust coughed across the Mississippi, wheezed over the
empty pavement and whistled around the lofty building's corners, Brooke
was glad Skye was safe at home with the sitter.  She was also glad Max
had returned from his parents" house to drive.  He'd claimed navigating
through the bad weather would help take his mind off the news that had
devastated his parents.

As if death loomed around them, overhead, storm clouds, choked with
dark moisture, obliterated the moon.  On the horizon, magenta heat
lightning fizzled across the sky.  Mments later thunder rolled, an
ominous precursor of the impending storm.

The tiny hairs on the back of Brooke's neck stood on end as she climbed
out of the pickup.  Telling her.  self her reaction was simply due to
the static electricity in the air didn't stop her hands from shaking as
she glanced at her watch.  It seemed too dark for seven o'clock.

The wind blustered around her.  Fat drops of rain splattered, and she
debated whether the downpour would hold off until she and Max came out.
Not likely.

Leaning against the wall of the clinic, finding wha!  shelter she
could, she tapped her foot with impatience.  The front door was locked.
When no one answered Max's knock, he pounded, the loud thumps barely
audible over the thunder.

Finally, the door opened a crack.  "Who is it?"  "We have an
appointment with Dr.  Henschel."  The woman, Callie Wainwright,
according to the name tag clipped to her lab coat, opened the door.  He
eyes widened at the sight of Max.

Uh-oh.  Had the woman recognized Max from their previous visit?  Or had
Dr.  Henschel warned her against letting them in?

"Ford?"  Callie opened the door and gestured them into a brightly lit
waiting room, a wide smile breaking through her obvious shock.

"No.  It's Max.  I'm Ford's twin."

Her face dimmed a bit but she recovered fast.

"Sorry, Max.  Do you have an appointment?"  "With Dr.  Henschel," Max
replied.

"Is he working late again?"  She relocked the door behind them.  "No
one tells me anything around here."

Glad that Callie had let them inside, but annoyed by her too eager
smile at Max, Brooke followed him, feeling like a drowned rat compared
to the perky technician.  Water dribbled from her hair into her eyes
and down her collar.  As Callie led them through the empty waiting room
and down a hall, drops of water sprinkled around Brooke's feet.

Max smiled at Callie.  "Are you the only one in the lab tonight?"

"Yes.  Except for security."

Brooke noted he'd never smiled at her like that--open, warm, charming.
So what?  It's not as if she wanted Max Braddack for herself.  He was
too laid-back, too uncommitted for her taste.  Conveniently ig-noting
her former impression of him, she put her annoyance down to his
unnecessary chitchat, impatient when he didn't ask a few more important
questions.

Callie led them to the elevator.  "You remember the way to his office?
I've got work in the lab I should return to."

"Don't let us keep you."

Unnerved by the quiet building, Brooke couldn't wait to search the
place and leave.  When the elevator door closed behind the lab tech,
she asked, "Now what?"

He moved close to her, close enough for her to appreciate the fragrance
of soap and rain mixed with his masculine scent.  He spoke softly, his
tone low and husky, making it difficult for her to forget what they
were supposed to be doing.  "I'd like to check Dr.  Arnold's office
first, then Henschel's?"

"I thought we were going to the lab."

"We will.  Maybe Callie will be through by then.  But I'll bet some of
the important paperwork is kept upstairs."

"Let's go."  She stepped toward the elevator door,

uncomfortable with his nearness.  "Wait a sec."  "Why?"

He held the elevator door open.  "Let's listen for a moment."

With his damp shirt emphasizing the muscles of his virile chest and
revealing too much golden skin, his closeness had her nerves jumping.
Although he didn't appear the least "concerned by the darkness or their
proximity, heat rose to her cheeks.  She had to quit thinking about him
in a way she shouldn't.

Her hormones had picked one hell of a time to act up.  The elevator
doors closed and they ascended.  Ever since they'd met, she'd had that
tingly alive feeling she hadn't felt in years.  It was a great
feeling--but not when attributed to Max Braddack.  No way.  In the
past, her choices in men might not have been too terrific, but a
relationship with Max Braddack could never happen.

Not a chance.

Reining in her emotions, she followed him out of the elevator to Dr.
Arnold's office.  He'd come prepared.  Using his penlight, he picked
the lock with a tiny screwdriver.  She entered Dr.  Arnold's office
with a shiver of anticipation that quickly died.  The walls stood bare
of the framed pictures of his family and the numerous medical degrees
that she vaguely recalled from her first visit.

Max shone the penlight on the desk.  "It's empty."

"All his personal effects have been cleaned out, as if he doesn't
expect to return."

Except for the nameplate still on the door, nothing indicated a vital
man had once worked in this office.  Meticulously, Max inspected every
drawer of the desk, searched the back of the closet.  Brooke checked
the fax and copy machines but found only blank paper.

They spent a long time searching until anxious to move on, she opened
the door into the hallway.  "Come on."

They tiptoed to Dr.  Henschel's office across the hall.  Brooke glanced
at her watch.  "What are we looking for?"

Max shrugged.

He didn't have a plan.  But after the bad news he'd received, it was a
wonder he could focus at all.

Where Dr.  Arnold's office had been vacant, Brooke couldn't even see
the surface of Dr.  Henschel's desk for the stacks of medical journals,
patient files, and pharmaceutical brochures.  Walking over to the file
cabinet, she tugged on a drawer and found it locked.

Max shone the penlight on the lock.  "I can open that--but I can't
relock it."

"Let's see what else we can find first."  With a frown of distaste, she
sorted through papers on the cluttered desk.  "What should I look
for?"

"I don't know."

She glared at Max, suddenly furious.

He returned her gaze with a scowl.  "What?  What did I do?"

Her gaze dropped from his perplexed frown to a stack of books on the
floor.  Tax documentation.  Kneeling, she sorted through brochures on
oil fields, global bonds, and commodities.

Max aimed his light so she could read.  "This place must be making a
fortune."

"They're supposed to be very successful.  That's why my sister came
here."  She held up a brochure of a Mississippi riverfront mansion.
"But would the doctors be this rich?"

Max turned away, losing interest.  "Maybe Henschel sold his private
practice before coming to work here.  Or he might have inherited his
wealth, or have a rich wife."

Suddenly Brooke wished she could put her hands on the corporate
financial statements, especially the expense reports.  She wanted to
see if the company was over billing As she restacked the papers and
slipped a few loose financial papers into her pocket, a niggling
suspicion that something was not right pricked her mind.

The elevator doors suddenly clanged open.  Footsteps echoed down the
hall.  Her mouth went dry.  Max turned off his penlight and dragged her
beneath the desk.

Her back pressed against a lumpy briefcase.  Her heart hammered so
hard--she assumed--the guard couldn't miss the thumping.  With her
shoulder tucked into Max's side, her hip pressed to his hard thigh, he
must feel her trembling.  Calm and composed, Max squeezed her icy hand.
As the footsteps slowly faded, she released her pent-up breath, but the
tension would not recede.

With every nerve stretched taut, she yearned to bury her face in his
chest and have him tell her they'd be fine.  Of course, she did nothing
of the sort.

Down the hall, the elevator doors shut.

He released her hand, shoved up from behind the desk and reached down
to her.  Pretending not to see his outstretched fingers in the dark,
she ignored his offer of help.  The spot where he'd touched her still
pulsed iron-hot.  The less touching, the better.

Brooke bent to retrieve the briefcase from beneath the desk.  She
fumbled with the clasp and jerked it open.  "Max, I need some light."

She extracted papers and her hands trembled with excitement.  "These
are Nicole's and John's medical files.  And these are Ford's and
Rhonda's."

"Henschel must have pulled them for the attorney."  Max flicked on the
copy machine.  It warmed up with a loud hum.  "I'll keep watch.  Put
everything back like you found it."

With copies bulging in her pocket, they exited the office and hurried
down the hall.  Max twisted the knob on the door marked Billing and
Records.  "It's locked."

He took out his penlight and examined the lock.  "Picking this is
beyond my abilities."

"Then let's go."  She headed toward the elevator.  "I don't think we
should take the elevator again," Max whispered.  "That might be why
someone came up here."

In silence they walked down five flights of stairs.  Brooke expected
the lab to be locked, but the metal doors stood open wide.  Her
instinct screamed a warning not to enter.

Max boldly stepped inside the laboratory.  "Callie.  Callie, you in
here?"

Brooke's gaze swept the lab, and she recognized a microscope, a
centrifuge and not much else in the sophisticated array of equipment.
Science had never been her strong suit.

They rounded a counter, and she took in the rest of the room.  "Maybe
Callie took a break."

"A permanent one, I'm afraid."  Max had jerked back to avoid stepping
on the lab technician who lay on the floor, her face twisted in agony,
her eyes wide and sightless.

Chapter Four

Certain she would be sick, Brooke spun around to spy 'the security
guard from the afternoon shift, his gun drawn and pointed at them.

His gun didn't waver.  "Sorry to interrupt your little party."

Max straightened.

"Stay right there."  The guard's free hand fumbled for a red button and
a siren wailed.  "The police are on the way."

The blood drained from Brooke's face.  With the guard aiming the gun in
their direction, she was sure the killer must be behind her.  She edged
closer to Max and glanced back to see empty aisles between counters
laden with lab equipment.  No one else was there.

The gun was aimed at them.  The security guard thought she and Max had
murdered that poor woman.  "Y-you don't u-understand," she stammered.
"We didn't--"

"Save your story for the police."  The guard sidled toward a phone on
the wall but kept the gun pointed at them.

The evidence against them flashed through her mind creating havoc with
her trembling nerves.  They'd entered the building under false
pretenses.  She had financial papers from Dr.  Henschel's office
stuffed in her jacket pocket.  Damn it!  They'd been found standing
over a dead body.  She and Max would be accused of murder.

At the thought of spending the rest of her life in jail, her palms went
clammy and her mouth turned so dry she couldn't swallow.  My God!  What
had she done?  Who would take care of Skye?

Paralyzed with fright, she thought she'd be sick.  Her feet rooted to
the spot.

Max gripped her fingers.  From the corner of her eye, she saw his free
hand whip out and flip the light switch, plunging the lab into
darkness.  Understanding sliced through her with the sharp pain of a
razor.  Oh, God!  He meant to escape.

He jerked her toward the hallway.  She stumbled, careened into a table,
and scrambled for balance.

In the blackness, a shot fired.  The gun flash seared her vision, the
noise loud enough to leave her ears ringing.  Her heart battered her
ribs.  Glass shattered, liquid splashed onto the floor, and the sharp
odor of chemicals mixed with the stink of gunpowder.  All the while Max
yanked her through the darkness.  She tripped after him blindly, hoping
he could lead them to safety.

It seemed like hours of racing through the blackness, but it must have
been mere seconds until they reeled into the hallway.  The absolute
inky dark of the lab softened into the murky gray of tenuous shadows.

An Exit sign over the far door cast the minimum red glow necessary to
sprint down the hall.

"Run," Max ordered, his voice low and urgent.  He needn't tell her
twice.  Unquestioningly, she sprinted toward the exit, racing several
steps before.  realizing Max had remained behind to close the lab doors
to delay the armed guard.  By the time she reached the exit, his long
strides had made up the distance between them.  He shoved open the
metal door and they climbed a staircase to ground level.

Stumbling into the downpour, disoriented, she gasped for breath and
looked right, then left.  Rain pelted her face.  Over the crack of
thunder, police sirens wailed, but she didn't yet see blue flashing
lights in the darkness.  They still might get away.

At the thought she was a fugitive on the run from the police, her knees
almost buckled.  They should have stayed and tried to explain.  Doubt
slowed her.

Max grabbed her arm and almost dragged her around to the west side
entrance.  The building had seemed to turn around and she'd lost her
bearings in the rain.  Still running, they splashed through puddles,
and she dragged air into her lungs in an attempt to calm her rising
panic.

The siren closed in on them as they sprinted around the building.  Max
dug into his pocket for the keys and dropped them.

"Keep going.  I'll get them."  Max scooped up the keys from the
pavement with barely a pause.

She darted to his truck, the only vehicle in the lot, a prime target.
Max caught up with her and unlocked the doors.  She jumped in and
before she had shut the door, he peeled out of the lot, tires
squealing.  Fumbling for the safety harness, she jammed the clip in the
buckle.  Soaked and shivering, she turned up the heat.  The windows
steamed and she notched the toggle to defrost.  As they lurched over a
curb, Max found the wipers.

Getting away would do them no good if they crashed into a telephone
pole.  She braced against the dash.  "Take it easy."

"I haven't even floored her.  Yet."

She braced her hands against the dash and wondered if she'd live long
enough to hold Skye again.

They hadn't driven two blocks before blue lights flashed ahead of them.
Just when she wanted him to press the pedal to the floorboard, Max
slowed to a normal speed and turned left as two police cars screamed
by.

Images of being handcuffed and dragged off to jail flashed through her
mind.  That she who had never had even a speeding ticket could be
accused of murder had her senses reeling.

Although she'd turned up the heat, she couldn't stop shivering,
couldn't stop the hysteria rising in her.  Rubbing her palms across her
thighs, Brooke fought to keep her thoughts from pummeling out of
control.  Max had been right to slow down and appear like an ordinary
driver instead of a criminal fleeing a crime scene.  His instincts and
luck had led them this far, yet she worded whether she could rely on
his judgment.  "That was close."

"We're not out of the woods yet.  After the guard gives them a
description, they might remember us driving by and be able to ID us."

"But how?"

"Cops see things other people don't.  They're trained to be observant.
In this weather, how many pickups do you think they passed on the way
here?"  "You aren't making me feel better."

"Sorry."  He turned left and crossed under the interstate.  "I figure
we've got an hour--maybe two--before there's an A.P.B. out on us."

Her stomach lurched.  ""A.P.B."?"

"All Points Bulletin.  Maybe the investigation at the Clinic will buy
us an extra hour or two.  We can't count on it."

Everything had happened so quickly.  As she thought it over, her
stomach roiled with nausea.  It wouldn't be hard for the cops to match
the guard's description of them with Dr.  Henschel's or Grant DonOVan

She blinked back tears.  "Perhaps we should turn ourselves in."

"Not until we make sure Skye is safe."

A skittering sense of panic welled in her chest.  "You think she's in
danger?"

"Yes.  First Rhonda is killed and Ford is injured.  Then we go to the
clinic and are caught standing over a dead body.  The connection has
got to be Skye."  A streetlight flickered through the sheets of rain on
the window and reflected off his harsh cheekbones.  "The cops got here
too fast.  We were set up."

Had they walked into a trap?  An icy chill scrambled down her spine.
"How?  No one knew we were coming."

"Perhaps we're being watched.  That guard wasn't toting a weapon this
afternoon.  And isn't it odd how Dr.  Arnold's office was cleaned out
when Henschel implied he was on vacation?"

She sighed.  "We have no proof."

"If our butts are parked in jail, we won't find answers."

He sounded more annoyed than frightened.  In fact, since the entire
disaster began, he hadn't once raised his voice or panicked.  He'd
reacted in a calm, unemotional manner, as if he evaded cops for a
living.  Either he had nerves of steel or he didn't know enough to be
afraid.

Suspiciously, she faced him, unable to hide her tone of accusation.
"You sound like you know about this kind of thing from experience."

"I wasted more than a few years of my misspent youth around a
courthouse."

He'd been a juvenile delinquent.  As if her innocence wasn't already
hard enough to believe, now she was hanging out with a habitual
offender.  That would add to her credibility.  Yeah, right.  Unable to
contain a shudder, she wondered just what kind of man she'd hooked up
with.

She slumped in the front seat, grateful for the darkness that hid the
mixture of distaste, fear and horror rumbling inside her.  Yesterday,
Brooke had been a normal single parent.  Today she'd stumbled over a
dead body.  Tomorrow her face might be plastered across Wanted posters
on bulletin boards throughout Louisiana.  And what would become of
Skye?

Max's low voice, soft but alarming, broke into her thoughts.  "If we
don't want to risk the cops pulling us over before we reach Skye, we
need to ditch the truck.  Soon."

"But--"

Reflected in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, Max's expression
stilled and grew serious.  "We need to leave Skye somewhere safe until
we work this out."

Leave her daughter?  A bitter taste soured in her mouth.  He sounded as
if he expected her to go on the run with him like some kind of modern
day Bonnie and Clyde.  "I'm not leaving.  I can't uproot my daughter.
Besides I have a jobs"

"You have no choice."

Brooke shuddered.  She was tired of his cool and calm demeanor in the
face of what they'd been through.  For a moment the horror of her
situation overwhelmed her.  Refusing to burst into tears, she
straightened in her seat and spoke with a confidence she was far from
feeling.  "What's your plan?"

"We'll leave the truck in Ford's garage and borrow his car.  Then we'll
pick up Skye and stash her with my parents."

Didn't he have feelings?  No matter how well he planned, she wouldn't
refer to her sweet little girl as an object.  "Skye is my daughter, and
I'm not stashing her anywhere.  She stays with me."

"Fine.  Okay.  Whatever you say," he agreed, while his tone mocked her.
"If you think it's safe to leave her with a baby-sitter to protect her
from harm."

"She stays with me."

"By tomorrow our faces will be plastered on the front page of every
Louisiana paper.  Depending upon current state and national disasters,
we may be the headline on television news.  We're going to be
questioned, maybe arrested.  We need to be prepared.  And

Skye needs to be someplace safe."

"What are you suggesting?"

"We'll leave her with my parents.  I'll talk to my attorney, then we'll
make our statement to the police."

Before she could answer, Max, alert and wary, veered off the highway,
turned down several streets past manicured lawns, and finally drove
between the wrought-iron gates of a three-story house with a
wrap-around porch.  Max parked beside the three-car garage.

"After I back Ford's car out, park the truck inside.  Maybe we can keep
the cops and anyone else off our trail."

A quick switch into Ford's four-door Mercedes sedan, and they were once
again on the road.  The idea of leaving Skye while she went to jail
continued to horrify Brooke.  Unless her missing egg had also been
mistakenly implanted in another woman, Skye was the only child she
would ever have.  If this kept her holding on to Skye too tightly, she
couldn't help herself.  They'd never been apart.  "Your parents won't
mind taking in a stranger's child?"

"Nope."

"Your lengthy explanations are so reassuring," she muttered.  When he
remained silent, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds, she
asked, "With Ford hurt, won't your parents want to be with him?"

"The housekeeper can look after Skye.  She used to watch Ford and
me."

She didn't want strangers watching her daughter.  The woman might be
ancient.  "Oh, I feel much better now, seeing how you turned out."  She
couldn't keep the sarcasm from tumbling out.

"Skye isn't just a stranger.  She's Eva and Red's granddaughter."  Max
paused, glanced at her, then continued.  "I wasn't going to tell you
this until after I'd cleared it with Ford.  There's something else you
should know."

"What?"

"During one of the few times Ford and I were separated as children, he
caught the mumps."  If not for the catch in his almost too casual tone,
she wouldn't have guessed how much Max cared about his brother.  He'd
obviously been caught up in Ford's problems.

"The disease left my brother sterile."

"Sterile?"

"His sperm count is so low that by the clinic's standards, he's
considered sterile."

Then Skye wasn't Ford's child, either.  Brooke's thoughts raced.  A
suspicion niggled at the back of her mind, something didn't fit.  She
struggled to understand why the Kine Clinic would attempt to fertilize
an egg with "Ford's" sperm if the man was sterile.  What would be the
point, unless they were just taking his money?  And he was on the board
of directors, so that didn't make sense.

She gasped.  How convenient that Ford had an identical twin who could
provide healthy sperm.  "You donated the sperm?  You're Skye's
father?"

"Yes."  For a moment he studied her intently.  A light flickered in his
eyes.  Then the mask descended once again, and she couldn't read him.
"I would have told you sooner but I wanted to clear it with Ford.  You
have to understand, it wasn't my brother who cared whether people knew
he's sterile.  Rhonda was determined that their child should always
consider Ford the father.  But apparently their problem wasn't only due
to his childhood illness.  Rhonda couldn't carry a child.  She suffered
one miscarriage after another until Ford forbid her to try again.  Ford
loved her so much, he didn't want to risk losing her."

Brooke's laboring heart battered her ribs, but she forced herself to
speak in a casual tone.  "You and Rhonda are Skye's parents."

"It's horribly ironic and sad you turned up with Skye just before
Rhonda's death.  She died without knowing the daughter she'd wanted so
badly really existed."

"I'm sorry Skye will never meet her biological mother.  Rhonda sounded
like a wonderful woman.  But I don't understand how you pulled off the
switch with your brother."

"I just walked into the clinic and pretended I was Ford.  Acquaintances
often can't tell us apart."  "How many people are aware you donated
sperm?"  "As far as I know, only Rhonda and Ford."

Her mind spun in shock.  Skye's biological mother was dead.  Max--not
his twin--was Skye's father.  Max had been willing to let his brother
and his wife raise his child.  But that wasn't the same thing as al
lowing her--a complete stranger--to raise Skye.  Would Max try to take
Skye from her?

He'd certainly been playing his cards close to the vest.  And while she
understood his reasons for keeping the information from her, anger at
his deception clouded her thoughts.  In her eyes, Skye had to come
first and he shouldn't have kept his fatherhood a secret.

"So how do you feel about being a father?"  "Frankly, I'm scared to
death.  I'm a bachelor, a man without a home to call my own."  He
winced.

"I'm not exactly prime father material."

"I see."

He spoke quietly, as if realizing she was shocked by his admission. "My
parents have plenty of room.  The grounds are fenced.  There's a
state-of-the-art alarm system, too.  Skye will be well cared for and
safe there."

Her fists clenched in her lap until her nails dug into her flesh.  No
matter what he said, she wouldn't leave Skye with his parents unless
Brooke and Skye felt comfortable with them.  With that settled, she
considered the immediate future.  Nervously she straightened her
fingers and wiped damp palms on her thighs.  She had to think ahead.
Tomorrow they would turn themselves in.

With her meager savings, money was going to be a problem.  Her sister
and husband had spent their life savings at the clinic and what few
assets had been left, Brooke had sold long ago.  Since then, she and
Skye managed to live on her salary.  But she never saved much.

Now, she might need to make bail.  Frustrated by her lack of money, she
knew her problems had only just begun.  What would her boss think when
she failed to show up for work and if the police started asking
questions?  Before her hands started shaking again, she told herself
grimly that if she couldn't clear her name, she wouldn't need a
job--not if she landed in jail.

And it might be months until a trial.  A lump formed in her throat over
the possibility of being separated from Skye.  If convicted, she could
lose custody.  She blinked back tears.  "How long do you think your
parents can watch skye?"

"Don't worry.  My parents will take care of her forever if
necessary."

"Forever!  You're scaring me.  And when we turn ourselves in, I won't
have enough money to make bail."

A hint of huskiness edged his velvet tone.  "You can owe me."

She stiffened at the amusement beneath the surface of his words.  What
could he possibly find funny in their situation?  That she was broke?
He didn't seem much better off.

But it was kind of him to offer, and she had no choice but to accept.
"I don't know when I can pay you back."

His eyes glinted with a hint of unspoken promises that set her senses
on alert.  "Rest easy.  You can be sure I'll collect--with interest."

She almost protested aloud at his insinuation, then bit her lip,
wishing she didn't have to depend on a stranger.  She didn't like owing
people, especially a handsome man like Max.

The fact she had no real choice filled her with apprehension.  Ignoring
his innuendo might be the best way to defuse the situation.  "I always
pay my debts."

PACKING FOR SKYE and herself while she tried to stay calm had been a
nightmare.  At every sound, Brooke expected a hand to clamp on her
shoulder and a cop to haul her off to jail.  Max called the Swiss
hospital to check on his brother, but there was no change in Ford's
condition.  He also left a message on his attorney's voice mail.

Skye didn't awaken as Max carried her to the front seat, gently placing
her into the car seat, and tucking the kitten into her hands.  He
seemed casual enough about holding his daughter, but she'd caught him
staring tenderly at Skye.  His lips softened, and he hugged her
daughter closer.  A moment later he caught Brooke staring, and his face
gave away nothing.

They drove into the Garden District, an area of beautifully landscaped
gardens surrounding elegant antebellum homes.  Brooke flinched at every
passing car, fearing the police would pull them over before Skye was
safe.

About ten minutes later, Max pulled through wrought-iron gates onto a
pecan-shaded drive.  A Victorian-style mansion with the gingerbread
look of steeply pitched gables and even a tower dominated the grounds.
Their headlights flashed on geraniums blooming in flower boxes under
arched windows and a charming wraparound porch with delicate wicker
furniture.

The moment they drove through the gate, an upstairs light came on. What
would Max's parents be like?  Knowing she might have to depend upon
strangers, blood relatives or not, to look after her child made
Brooke's stomach knot.  Unstrapping Skye from her car seat, Brook
pulled her daughter closer as Max got out of the car.  Brooke dipped
her head and kissed Skye's tender neck.

Skye snuggled against her shoulder.  Even as the front door slammed
shut, she didn't wake.  Brooke looked up to catch sight of a couple
hurrying toward them.  Although not as tall as Max, the man, who wore
his salt-and-pepper hair short, possessed the same calm intensity as
his son, and the family resemblance was striking.  With his harsh
cheekbones and piercing grief-stricken blue eyes, he looked an older
version of Max.  The haunting sorrow in his eyes reminded her how
inappropriate their timing was.  While she and Max might be accused of
murder, the Braddacks" daughter-in-law was dead and their son in the
hospital.

Max's mother raced down the steps, uncaring of the misting rain soaking
her designer dress.  His father wore a golf shirt and shorts, as if
he'd come in and heard about Ford, then hadn't bothered to change for
an elegant party that his wife had been dressed for.  Concern marred
Eva's thin face as she hurried past the porch light.  Her short brown
hair helmeted a thin face and huge eyes puffy from crying.  She hugged
Max with a fierce passion that left no doubt of her love for her son.
"Have you more news of Ford?"

Max pulled back to look the woman in the face.  "There's been no change
in his condition."

"Something else is wrong, isn't there?"  Eva asked perceptively as Max
moved from her arms to his dad's, hugging him as he'd embraced his mom.
"Mom, we'll all be staying the night."

No wonder Skye was so affectionate.  Hugging and caring about one
another seemed to come naturally in this family.

Skye had begun to awaken when Max shut off the engine.  She
straightened as Max's mother came around to Brooke's side of the car.
"I'm Eva Braddack.  And that's my husband, Red."

Brooke helped Skye from the front seat of the car.  ""This is my
daughter, Skye.  I'm Brooke Evans."

Skye held up her kitten.  "And this is Fraidy-cat."  Eva squinted
curiously at Skye in the dark.  Up close, Brooke could see that Eva's
mascara had run, probably from tears over her son and daughter-in-law.
"Please, come inside.  I'm not thinking" straight, and being rude
keeping you all out here in the rain."

Obviously wanting a few private words with his dad, Max gestured for
her to go with his mother.  "I'll meet you inside."

Feeling abandoned, Brooke and Skye, clutching Fraidy-cat to her chest,
followed Eva into the house.  The foyer boasted a chandelier that shone
on a staircase that ascended to a gallery on the second story.
Nineteenth-century art was framed on plastered walls.  And Persian rugs
protected the gleaming polished oak floors from scuff marks.

Eva bustled around her visitors, a tight expression of worry on her
face.  Brooke could see the woman was bursting with questions.  Max's
mother must be fretting over Ford, and now Brooke and Skye had caused
more problems.  With all that Eva had on her mind, the last thing she
needed was guests.

Still, as if reading Brooke's mind, Eva sought to reassure Brooke as
she led them upstairs.  "The distraction of having guests will help
take my mind off Ford and..."  She paused.  "The guest room is on the
fight with a double bed for Skye.  There's a connecting bath to your
room.  The bed's made up.  Would you like to rest?"

Brooke glanced into the bedroom and saw a canopied wrought-iron double
bed with a quilted spread.  Lacy curtains hung over the windows and
another carpet decorated the wood flooring.  Brooke looked from the
welcoming room to Skye.  "Oh, this is such a nice room.  Do you want to
stay with me or go back to sleep?"

Skye's eyes were rounded in curiosity at the elegant surroundings.  She
was wide awake.  "I want to stay with you."

"That's fine, honey."  With shaking hands, Brooke ruffled Skye's curls.
How was she going to explain to a five-year-old that her mother might
be wanted for murder?  That the only parent she knew may have to leave
her with strangers?

Eva took one good look at Skye in the full light of the upper hallway
and gasped.  Her face whitened and then her lips split into a wide,
welcoming grin.  Her gaze flew to Brooke as if seeking silent
confirmation that Skye was her granddaughter.  Brooke simply held the
woman's stare, and let Eva draw her own conclusions.

Max's mother seemed to take only a moment to regain her composure
before she took charge of Skye.  "Your mom brought you to visit us.
Would you like to help me make a pie?"

Had Brooke heard right?  Eva Braddack was going to bake a pie, wearing
a designer dress?  At 9:00 p.m. at night?

Eva's suggestion lit up Skye's eyes.  "Can I, Mom?"  "Sure, pumpkin.
Let's leave Fraidy-cat here and I'll come, too.  We can all get to know
one another better."

As Brooke followed her daughter and Eva downstairs and into an
oak-floored kitchen with all the modern conveniences, she wondered
where to begin.  Should she explain the mix-up at the clinic?  How
could she when she didn't know if Max had told his parents he'd donated
his sperm.  Eva and Red might not be aware that Ford and his wife had
tried to have a baby with the help of a fertility clinic.  Even if Eva
had guessed some of the truth, with one look at Skye, she must be
curious.  Brooke was grateful Eva didn't say anything in front of her
daughter.

Where was Max?  It wasn't Brooke's place to make the explanations.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, the back door opened.  Max and his
father walked inside, the older man's arm curved over his son's
shoulders, affection for one another on their faces.  The two men
showed their feelings so easily that Brooke felt better about leaving
Skye here.  Clearly there was a lot of love in this home.  As much as
she didn't want to leave her daughter, the child would be well looked
after and safe.

Eva shook out an apron.  When she tied the apron around Skye's waist
with no care for her own gown, she won over Brooke's heart.  As
grandmother and granddaughter poured flour into measuring cups on the
otherwise spotless granite-topped counter, Brooke caught Max's parents
exchanging glances over her daughter's head.  Eva nodded and Red lost
his griefstricken expression for a moment.  Clearly they'd both guessed
Skye was their granddaughter.

Brooke couldn't tell what Max was thinking from his expression.  Did he
realize his parents had guessed the truth?  Did he think of Skye as
his?  She couldn't forget the way he'd lovingly cradled Skye in his
arms as if he'd always known her.  She would have given a lot to have
known his thoughts at that moment.  Was Max thinking this was the first
time he'd been together with both his daughter and his parents?

Brooke should have felt triumphant that she'd finally found Skye's
family, but a sense of loss was already seeping in.  Within minutes his
parents appeared to have accepted Skye.  In the coming days they'd
probably come to love her.  They might not want to give her
back---especially to a mother who didn't share Skye's blood, a mother
wanted by the police.

Her stomach clenched.  No matter how painful a separation would be for
her to bear, she wanted Skye to have a family, relatives, and love.  So
why did Brooke hurt so badly that a lump formed in her throat and she
had to hold back tears?  Her feelings had nothing to do with the fact
that she could never have another child.  Skye's world was opening and
hers was threatening to close.

As if sensing her fears for Skye, Max stepped to her side and eased her
into a kitchen chair.  "She's going to be fine."

Brooke licked dry lips.  He couldn't understand what she felt.  He
didn't know Skye's good fortune was ripping her insides out.  Brooke
still had to explain to her daughter she was leaving and didn't know
when she'd be back.

The phone rang.  Brooke jumped and glanced at her watch--9:30 p.m.

"I'll get it."  Eva wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the
phone.  "Hello?"

Eva blanched.  "It's your attorney."  She held out the phone to Max.
"He says it's an emergency.  He needs to talk to you right now."

Chapter Five

While Eva and Skye put the pies in the oven, Max took his attorney's
phone call in his father's den.  Before he returned to the kitchen,
Brooke had taken Skye upstairs to put her to bed.  Max chose this time
to explain to his parents about Ford and Rhonda's involvement with Skye
and Brooke Evans.  He also told Eva and Red about the police wanting to
question Brooke and him concerning the murder of a lab technician at
the Kine Clinic.

When Brooke returned downstairs, his mother assured her she was happy
to have Skye to fuss over.  Clearly his parents were overjoyed with
their granddaughter and as Brooke and Max readied to leave, Brooke
seemed confident they would take good care of Skye.

As Max drove toward the police station where they would meet his
attorney, he glanced at the woman beside him.  Even in the dark,
whenever they passed a streetlight, he could see her face was pale.
Dark circles curved under eyes, wide and unfocused, that stared had to
hold back tears?  Her feelings had nothing to do with the fact that she
could never have another child.  Skye's world was opening and hers was
threatening to close.

As if sensing her fears for Skye, Max stepped to her side and eased her
into a kitchen chair.  "She's going to be fine."

Brooke licked dry lips.  He couldn't understand what she felt.  He
didn't know Skye's good fortune was ripping her insides out.  Brooke
still had to explain to her daughter she was leaving and didn't know
when she'd be back.

The phone rang.  Brooke jumped and glanced at her-watch--9:30 p.m.

"I'll get it."  Eva wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the
phone.  "Hello?"

Eva blanched.  "It's your attorney."  She held out the phone to Max.
"He says it's an emergency.  He needs to talk to you right now."

Chapter Five

While Eva and Skye put the pies in the oven, Max took his attorney's
phone call in his father's den.  Before he returned to the kitchen,
Brooke had taken Skye upstairs to put her to bed.  Max chose this time
to explain to his parents about Ford and Rhonda's involvement with Skye
and Brooke Evans.  He also told Eva and Red about the police wanting to
question Brooke and him concerning the murder of a lab technician at
the Kine Clinic.

When Brooke returned downstairs, his mother assured her she was happy
to have Skye to fuss over.  Clearly his parents were overjoyed with
their granddaughter and as Brooke and Max readied to leave, Brooke
seemed confident they would take good care of Skye.

As Max drove toward the police station where they would meet his
attorney, he glanced at the woman beside him.  Even in the' dark
whenever they passed a streetlight, he could see her face was pale.
Dark circles curved under eyes, wide and unfocused, that stared

ahead.  In her lap, her fingers repeatedly rubbed her thighs.

Even worried and nervous about Skye, Brooke had an inner beauty that
shone through.  Although she was a strong woman, he suspected it had
been difficult for her to leave Skye, probably more difficult than he
could imagine.  He'd only known his daughter a short time, yet he'd had
to tear himself away, too.  He'd already missed so much of Skye's life,
each minute seemed precious.  But he and Brooke would return soon.

He tried to reassure her.  "My folks already adore Skye."

"I could see that.  Do you think..."

"Think what?"  he prodded.

Brooke spoke hesitantly as if trying on the idea for size.  "Do you
think we'll be arrested?"

She looked so fragile and sad in the seat beside him, he reached over
and rubbed the back of her neck.  "We're not going to jail.  At least
not for long."

"Max, are you sure we should turn ourselves in?"  "My attorney says
that if we cooperate, our actions will go a long way with the police.
We should make bail.  And it's possible we won't even be arrested.
Besides; if we run, we'll be too busy hiding to get to the bottom of
who is behind our problems."

"I suppose."  She fidgeted in her seat.  "But the idea of running away
is more appealing than a waiting jail cell."

"You'd have to leave Skye behind," he said gently.

"I know.  That's why I'm here with you."  She didn't protest his touch,
but sighed and closed her eyes.  "Are we going to play this by ear?  Or
do you have a plan?"

He continued to massage the tense muscles of her shoulders with one
hand while he steered with the other.  "First we'll talk to my
attorney, Akins.  He'll advise us which questions to answer and which
to refuse.  And he'll be right there with you during the police
interrogation."

"Then what?"

Heating the slight tremor in her tone, he tried to reassure her. "We're
going to find Dr.  Arnold and learn what he knows about the mix-up at
the clinic.  He's on a sailboat.  By law, it has to be registered. 
We'll check around with his neighbors and at his marina. Someone will
know where he sails on vacation, then we'll go find him."

Her eyes flew open, shining with hope.  "You really think the police
will let us go?"

He winked, glad he'd lightened her mood just a bit.  "Akins seems to
think so."

She turned to face him, her lips set with determination.  "Suppose Dr.
Arnold won't talk to us?"  "Don't worry.  I can be very persuasive."

And so could Akins.  He was the best attorney money could buy.  But Max
kept Akin's high fees to himself.  He had no wish to add money worries
to all her other problems.  With the charges they might be up against
and their freedom at stake, he wasn't about to quibble over attorney
fees.  He had confidence in Akins.

His confidence was well placed.  Five hours later, he and Brooke walked
out of the police station.  Although

the detective had told them not to leave town because they were part
of an ongoing investigation, he had seemed to believe Max.  Since both
he and Brooke lacked a motive to kill someone they didn't know, and the
police had no physical evidence against them, there wasn't anything to
hold them on.

When the detective pointed out that Ca!lie had fallen near the alarm
and suggested Max and Brooke shot her to prevent her from sounding the
buzzer, Akins had told the police they were stretching reality.  When
asked why they'd run from the guard after Cal-lie had been shot, Max
said they ran to take Skye somewhere safe.  Besides, he'd had no way of
knowing if the guard was about to shoot them, too.

Without a motive or a weapon, the circumstantial evidence against them
wouldn't convince a grand jury, much less hold up at a trial.

But the possibility they could be blamed for Callie's murder weighed
heavily on Max.  The police hadn't found the murder weapon.  Yet he
mentioned none of this to Brooke on the way back to his parents"
home.

He couldn't make up his mind about Brooke.  He glanced at her in the
seat beside him, and she sent him a weary smile that sped his pulse.
Normally the additional responsibility of having her with him would
have annoyed him.  Instead, he wanted her close, and refused to delve
into why.  The laboratory may have accidentally given his daughter to
Brooke to raise, but fate couldn't have chosen a better mother.

At first he'd suspected Brooke had tracked him down to extract money
from Ford.  But after she'd learned that he, not his twin, was most
likely Skye's father, Brooke didn't seem disappointed.  She had told
him the truth from the beginning.  Skye's welfare was her primary
concern.

He made a left turn and smothered a yawn.  "My parents are arranging
for Ford to be flown here and admitted to a private hospital.  When
Ford doesn't show at Rhonda's funeral, there's going to be lots of
questions.  The official version will be that he's still in Switzerland
and too grief-stricken to return."

She turned her head but still leaned against the seat.  "Why the
lie?"

His tone hardened.  "If someone is trying to kill my brother, we don't
want them to know he's lying in a coma, helpless to fight back."

She nodded.  "If anyone asks, I'll remember what to say."

He appreciated her cooperation, and he was learning he could count on
her to hold up her end.  Much like Eva, she was stronger than she
looked.

It was almost dawn when they pulled into the driveway.  But as he knew
they would be, the house lights were still on.  MaX walked around the
car and opened her door.

Brooke stood, blinking her eyes sleepily, close enough for him to take
in the lingering scent of her lemon-scented shampoo.

"It's great the way your family pulls together.  Nicole and I only had
one another.  That's why I wanted Skye to have more than just me to
count on."

He put an arm across her shoulders and it felt like the most natural
movement in the world.  He drew her

closer to his side until her hip brushed his.  "I think Skye's lucky
to have you for a mother."

She fought the urge to lean against his chest.  "I don't know how I
would have handled this by myself.  I'll pay you back the attorney's
fees when I can."

He considered telling her the truth about his financial status to put
her mind at ease.  But it had been a long night, she was exhausted, and
he still had to fill in his parents about their legal situation.  And
he was anxious to find out if Ford's condition had improved.

Vowing to come clean tomorrow about his means of support, he squeezed
her arm.  "Don't worry about money.  Consider it part of the back child
support I owe you for taking care of Skye for all these years."

At the front door, she stopped and faced him.  "I don't want your--"

In the dark intimacy of the front porch, he raised his hands and cupped
her chin, surprised to find her skin as silky as Skye's.  "Hey, your
daughter isn't the only one that has a new family.  You're her mother,
so you.  belong, too.  And we take care of one another.  Now, no more
arguments.  Go to bed before you fall asleep on your feet."

"But--"

Without thinking, he dipped his head, ending her protest with a kiss.
She gasped, her lips parting.  But he didn't take the opportunity she
offered, instead he nibbled her lips, reveling in her softness as he
gathered her into his arms.

She felt good against his chest.  Too good.  His jeans were tight with
his arousal.  He fought the urge to lower his hands from her waist to
her bottom and press their hips together, sensing the action would
shock her.

She wound her arms around his neck, hesitantly, sleepily.  He held her
tenderly, sensing this wasn't just a kiss, but an emotional barrier
they'd crossed.  She was vulnerable, her feelings close to the surface
with what she'd been through these past few days.

No matter how much he wanted her, his sense of fair play wouldn't let
him take advantage while she was exhausted.  He wanted her awake, her
pulse on fire when he kissed her.

Tomorrow was another day.

AFTER SLEEPING IN late, Brooke and Max-returned to Ford's home in hopes
of finding information that might illuminate what Ford had meant about
"not an accident."  Skye stayed behind with the Braddack housekeeper
but either Red or Eva would soon return.

Max had a key and the code t his brother's alarm system so they had no
trouble entering the impressive three-story house.  Yesterday, Brooke
had been so concerned over reaching Skye and spiriting her to safety
that she hadn't noticed the opulence.  But today in daylight, she
couldn't help but notice this house was three times the size of his
parents" mansion.

Max led her through an impressive plant-lined carriage way that led to
a fountained courtyard.  Most of the second-floor rooms had balconies
that faced the courtyard and each room they passed was different in
size and decor, and furnished with French, English and Louisianan
antiques.  The floors, polished hardwoods,

were covered with Oriental rugs.  Brooke craned her neck looking at
the luxurious rooms.

She especially liked one bedroom with its crocheted lace canopied twin
beds, exposed brick walls, charming fireplace and an eighteenth-century
armoire.  Max led her past an elevator that, she assumed, led to the
third floor.

"This is some house."

"Ford collects houses the way some people collect stamps.  He has homes
in more countries than I've been to.  Luckily for us, when it comes to
business, my brother is the most organized man on planet Earth.  His
office in his house is a duplicate of the one at Norton Industries."

She matched his easy stride, losing interest in the house.  "Let me get
this straight.  The Kine Clinic is a subsidiary of Norton Industries,
where your brother is a major shareholder."

"That's right.  I'm hoping we might find something indicating why that
avalanche was no accident.  I seem to recall Ford mentioning a power
struggle."  He frowned.  "I was otherwise occupied at the time."  She
arched a brow.

"It was game point at Ping-Pong.  I wasn't paying attention to Ford and
his business deals."

The pleasant way his mouth curled at the memory caused her to picture
Max playing while his brother talked about balance sheets.  She had no
fight to feel impatient with Max that he played while his brother
worked.  After last night's kiss, she had to admit she liked the way
Max played.  Besides, she had no claim on him.  To keep him from
guessing at her thoughts,

she stared at a sculpture that looked like it belonged in a museum.

They'd walked down so many hallways and past so many rooms she'd lost
count.  While the house was most impressive, she couldn't picture
living here.  How would she ever find Skye amid so many rooms?  "Where
is his office?"

Max chuckled.  "The place is a little overwhelming.  We're almost
there."

Just a little overwhelming.  Her entire apartment could fit in the
front hall.

Max stopped in front of a massive mahogany door.  His lips curled in
amusement but his eyes watched her warily.  The man was so in control,
just once she'd like to see him lose his cool.  All that unleashed
passion would be magnificent.  Dangerous.

"This house just doesn't seem to fit you.  I thought identical twins
would be more similar in nature."

"Ford likes to blaze new trails.  If he thwarts a few less hardy souls
in the process, he can live with it."  She thought he meant to evade
her question, but he surprised her by continuing.  "I prefer to take
the path of least resistance."

"Why?"  she asked, hoping to provoke an honest response and find out
what seethed beneath his surface.  Maybe then she wouldn't find him so
fascinating.  "Why not?"  he answered flippantly.

She should have known getting to him wouldn't be easy.  He was a master
at putting up walls.  "Why is it so hard for you to tell me what you do
for a living?  Somehow I don't think you're a boat mechanic."

His eyes pierced her.  "And why is that?"

"Between your pictures that Eva has framed on the walls and the huge
trophies in the closet, I'm assuming you do more than work on boat
engines.  You own that boat, don't you?"

"I race on the World Cup circuit.  It's just a hobby."  "An expensive
one."

He chuckled.  "You know what they say about men and their toys--the
older the man, the more expensive the toys."

"Fine."  She threw her hands into the air.  "Keep your secrets.  I just
thought it might be nice to have an answer when Skye asks me what you
do for a living."

"I'm an inventor," he told her as he opened the door into Ford's
office.

She preceded him inside, paying little attention to the magnificent
furnishings.  She was much more interested in Max.  "What do you
invent?"

"I had a dream about a more fuel-efficient carburetor."

She should have known.  Remembering their first meeting and how he'd
treated his boat engine with the deft and delicate touch of a lover,
she bit back a grin.  Him and his precious engine.  He even dreamed
about it.  Odd how she found the trait so typical of him and at the
same time, endearing.  "Did you make it?"  "Only one, a prototype." 
"It worked?"  "Yup."

Dragging information from him was harder than making Skye brush her
teeth.  But clearly he was more comfortable inventing than speaking, so
she made the extra effort to get him to explain.

"What happened?"

"I sold the idea and moved on to more interesting projects."

Like fixing boat engines?  She held the words back, and as he settled
in the leather chair behind Ford's massive desk, her thoughts dwelled
on Max.  Who was she to question what he did for a living?  She figured
the money from his invention must not have lasted long since he lived
at the marina.  So what?

How could she be falling for a man who probably had no savings account,
who had no interest in a savings account, who lived from day-to-day,
avoiding responsibility?

She didn't consider money the be-all and end-all of life.  Yet she
wanted a roof over her head in a decent neighborhood.  She wanted Skye
to take dance and piano lessons.  She wanted to drive to work in a car
that wouldn't break down once a week, and she intended to save to send
her daughter to college.

What Brooke wanted as much as her own independence was the chance to
graduate from college and win the marketing promotion that would start
a career.  It was important, this dream of hers.  So she had no
business thinking of Max as anyone more than Skye's father.

Max fired up Ford's computer, a smile of satisfaction on his face that
made her heart skip.  Even after the talking-to she'd just given
herself, her pulse soared.

She peered over his shoulder at the computer screen.  "Do you know the
password?"

"In a manner of speaking.  My brother and I share

our love of gadgets.  Ford had this system installed with retina
imaging.  All I have to do is look at the screen and the computer will
think I'm Ford."  "Okay, you're in.  Now what?"

"I don't know.  I've never done this before.  Do you have any
suggestions?"

"We need a connection between Ford's accident, the Kine Clinic and
Skye.  See if he has a file on the Kine Clinic."

Max shot her a thumbs-up.  "Bingo."

"Now check the subdirectories for personnel files.  Maybe we can find
something useful on Dr.  Arnold, the doctor in charge of Nicole's
embryo."  Her eyes.  widened as Max brought up the data.  Each
employee's file was complete with addresses, phone numbers and
education.  "How'd he get all this information?"

"These are copies of the clinic's personnel files.  As a member of the
board, Ford has full access to these records.  But why did he bother to
bring a copy home?"  Max swiveled, grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and
handed it to her.  "Take down Dr.  Arnold's address and phone
number."

She scribbled happily.  She'd tried to get that number but it had been
unlisted.

He moved the cursor, skimming.  "I don't see anything else useful in
his file.  Any other suggestions?"

"We should check for memos about internal problems at the clinic,
too."

Max switched to a calendar and perused his brother's notes during the
last financial quarter.  "Ford strongly encouraged Dr.  Henschel to
replace Karen Forester with Pete Wilson."

"Wilson is an accountant."

"My brother has a reminder to check research and development but
doesn't say about what.  Could be about advertising, public relations,
or ordering high-tech equipment."

She looked at the screen while chewing on the pencil tip.  "Does Ford
have background information on everyone at the Kine Clinic?"

"Looks like it."

"Can you print the entire file?"

"It'll be thick as a book."

"I'd like to see what comes up on Callie Wain-wright, Dr.  Henschel,
Karen Forester and Grant Donovan.  Oh, and the accountant, too.  That.
crumpled memo you found on over billing bothers me."

Max craned his neck to look at her.  "What could the financial status
of the company have to do with Skye?"

"I'm not sure.  That's what we need to find--a connection."

After sending a command to the printer, Max leaned back in the chair.
The printer started but she barely noticed the hum over her focused
concentration.  Brooke tapped the pencil on the desk.  "When I was
researching your brother, I read that the Kine Clinic is traded on the
stock exchange."

Max raised his arms and laced his hands behind his head.  "So what?  I
still don't see what this has to do with Skye or Ford."

"I'm no expert, but I do know" if the scandal of an embryo switch in
the clinic hit the papers, the price of the stock would plummet."

Max groaned.

"What?"  Expecting him to poke holes in her theory, she braced for an
argument.

"My brother sees to it that every employee owns a piece of the company.
So everyone at the clinic would lose if news of Skye got out.  That
leaves a lot of people with good reason to cover up the switch."

She let her shoulders relax.  Max's groan had been one of agreement of
her point.  Why was she so defensive around him?  Or was it that she
didn't want to disappoint him?  "Competitors would be eager for a
scandal.  I'd hate to think our investigations could hurt your
brother's company."

"Ford isn't hung up on money.  Business is more a challenge with him.
He'd give everything he owned to have Rhonda back alive.  And he won't
care if we bankrupt the company if we find out who was behind Skye's
embryo being placed in your sister's womb."

"Let's search his desk."  Brooke opened a side drawer, leaving the top
middle drawer for Max.  Her drawer was full of hanging folders and she
skimmed through the numerous corporations filed in alphabetical order.
Spotting the Kine Clinic folder, she pulled out and opened the file.
She flipped though pages of financial documents until a familiar date
on a report caught her eye.

Her voice rose with excitement.  "This is the same quarterly report we
found in Henschel's office."  "And?"

"The numbers are different.  I'm sure of it!  The research and
development costs are much lower on this statement."

"So maybe the accountant adjusted them.  Maybe the first statement was
a mistake."

"Maybe."  But she didn't think so.

He shook his head and a lock of hair fell across his forehead.  Her
fingers itched to smooth it back.  To distract herself, she flipped
through the rest of the papers.

"There are several interesting memos in here.  This one's from the
researcher, Grant.  He's claiming they have a virus in the computer
system.  He's taking the system off-line for a few days to fix the
problem."  She stood and paced excitedly.  "Max, suppose the Kine
Clinic isn't being over billed Suppose the clinic is over billing
patients.  The computer records would have to be altered regularly to
conceal improprieties."  "What are you saying?"

"If a scandal breaks now, them would be an intense investigation.  They
may need time to doctor the books and cover their tracks."

"Those are some gargantuan assumptions from a note about over billing
two financial statements that don't match, and a computer virus."

"Grant could be taking the computer off-line to hide the over billing
He may be stealing."

He shook his head.  "Or maybe the computer really is down, the
accountant made an error in the first financial statement and corrected
it.  And the over billing refers to ordering too much paper for a copy
machine or an overcharge on cleaning supplies."

Her theory did sound crazy--even if the pieces all fit.  "You're right.
We need pro off

She thought Max would drop the idea.  But he surprised her.  "Let's go
with your idea for a moment.  As

a stockholder, any employee might want to cover up the mix-up with
Skye.  If we can find out who actually switched the embryos, maybe we
can resolve the reason behind the cover-up and whether it has any
connection to Ford's accident.  The way I see it, we still have to find
Dr.  Arnold."

A PHONE CALL to Dr.  Arnold's housekeeper gave Max the name of the Lake
Pontchartrain marina Arnold had sailed from.  They'd left Ford's
Mercedes in his garage, and now, back in Max's truck, swung by his
parents" house.  Eva had left them a note, informing them that Ford
would arrive later that day and would be transferred to a private
facility.  Rhonda's body would go straight to the funeral home.

Skye sat listlessly in a chair in front of the television, her cat in
her lap.  She perked up when Brooke told her they were all going on a
boat ride on Lake Pontchartrain.  While Brooke and she scampered
upstairs for swimsuits and towels, Max queried the housekeeper. "Skye's
not settling in, is she?"

The older woman frowned.  "She wants to go to camp.  And she misses her
mother.  I'm afraid she feels cooped up in the house.  I gather Brooke
normally takes her on a daily outing--to the park or the library.  I've
kept her busy coloring, but she's restless.  And she won't put the
kitten down."

Max vowed to make the day pleasant for Skye.  He wanted her first
impressions of him to be good ones.  And he didn't want her thinking he
was taking her mother away from her, either.  Unfortunately, with the
funeral tomorrow, Skye would be stuck with the housekeeper again.  So
today he'd do his best to entertain her with lots of fresh air and
sunshine while they searched for Dr.  Arnold's boat.

Brooke came downstairs wearing a sun flowered short-sleeved shirt and
navy pants.  A wide belt with a sunflower buckle cinched her narrow
waist, and a yellow jacket completed the outfit.  He finally admitted
to himself that Brooke would look good in anything she wore, but he'd
really prefer her in nothing at all.

Thoughts like that would get him into trouble.  Brooke wasn't the kind
of woman to indulge in one-night stands.  He wasn't the kind of man to
offer more.  Keeping his randy thoughts to himself, he turned his gaze
on his daughter.

Skye looked adorable in red overalls and a white T-shirt.  "You think
Fraidy-cat will miss me?"  After Brooke convinced Skye the kitten would
live up to its name and be afraid of the boat, Skye had agreed to leave
her pet at the house.

"Of course," Brooke told her.  "She'll probably cud up and go to
sleep."

Max had changed into khaki slacks and an ivory shirt he'd found in a
closet.  He wore soft leather boat shoes--no socks--and suddenly felt
outclassed by the two ladies.  Startled at the direction of his
thoughts, he wondered what was happening to him.  Never before had he
much cared how he looked.

They left a note for his parents, said goodbye to the housekeeper,
piled into the pickup and set off for Lake Pontchartrain where he would
put the Sea Mist into the water.

In the afternoon light, the soft reds in Brooke's hair took on copper
highlights.  She'd been a terrific help in Ford's office and amazingly
creative about piecing together a theory from the few clues they had.
As if feeling his gaze on her, she looked at him over Skye's head in
the front seat of the truck and smiled.

" He was getting to like that smile.  He was getting to know her lips.
And he wanted to know them better.  Pushing the sensation of what she
would taste like from his mind, Max kept his gaze on the road.  Still,
whenever he forgot his resolve, he found his eyes returning to catch
glimpses of Brooke.

Even as he opened the garage, and hooked his boat trailer to his truck,
his thoughts were on Brooke and Skye.  He hoped they'd enjoy the
outing.  Yet he couldn't shake the feeling they shouldn't be exposing
themselves on the open water.  Grimly, he reminded himself he couldn't
keep Skye behind alarm systems and high walls forever, and there had
been no further sign of trouble since the man in the park.  While they
sought the key piece in the puzzle--and right now Dr.  Arnold held
it--Max wanted this to be a pleasant outing for Skye.

He returned from the garage with hats for Skye and Brooke.  "I'm going
to need both your help."

Skye's eyes sparkled from beneath the brim of her hat.  "Mine, too?"

"What do you want us to do?"  Brooke asked.  Max shifted the truck into
gear and headed for the boat ramp, ignoring the dust he kicked up.
Luckily the place was empty and so was the parking lot.  With Brooke's
help and Skye on "lookout" to make sure he backed straight, he soon had
the Sea Mist in the water and tied to the dock.

"First things first.  Let's put a life preserver on Skye."

"But I know how to swim."  Skye's chest puffed with indignation.

Max grinned.  "On my boat, everyone wears a life vest.  Even
grown-ups."

"Mommy, too?"

He nodded, snapping her into the yellow jacket, then lifting her onto
the front seat.  Brooke hopped into the boat with a show of a slim
ankle and an agility he couldn't help but appreciate.  "Now what?"

He handed her a life jacket.  "We won't use helmets, but after you put
that jacket on, I'd like you and Skye to strap in.  The lake is some
forty miles long and twenty-five miles wide.  Our best bet is to drive
down to the Southern Yacht Club and ask which part of the lake Dr.
Arnold likes to sail."

"Sounds good."

The racing boat had only three seats.  He'd placed Skye in the middle
one and Brooke took the other.  He made sure each was strapped in
before donning his own harness.  She rubbed her thighs, a sure sign
something was worrying her.  Finally she looked up at him.  "How fast
does this boat go?"

He should have figured she'd be concerned for Skye's safety.  "Don't
worry.  I have no intention of opening her up."

"Opening who up?"  Skye asked.

He chuckled.  "The boat is a her.  And "opening her

up means to go full speed.  But this isn't a race.  And besides, two
engines are down."

Skye looked at the deck.  "Down where?"  "That's boating talk.  Two
engines aren't working."  "Is boating talk like French?"

Max grinned and shook his head at her curiosity.  Brooke laughed
outright, but even when she laughed, shadows haunted her eyes.  While
Brooke explained, he steered for the old, white coast guard lighthouse,
omitting the fact that even with two engines out, this boat could go
more than a hundred miles an hour.  They passed parks, several yacht
clubs, a marina and a few restaurants before he turned into the
Southern Yacht Club and docked.

Getting a mechanic to tell him Arnold liked to sail the north side of
the lake proved easy.  And a friendly kid in the office marina looked
up the boat's registration number for him.  But after hours of
searching, only Skye's bright smile and the fixed determination in
Brooke's eyes kept him from suggesting they suspend their search for
Arnold until tomorrow.

After they'd checked out countless marinas and anchorages, Brooke
untied her hat and tossed it under the bow.  "It seems hopeless.  I
never knew so many marinas existed on one lake.  Almost everyone here
has a boat."

Skye frowned.  "Why do we need to find a doctor?  Are you sick?"

"I'm fine, sweetie.  We just need to ask the man a few questions."

Max kept his tone confident.  "We'll find him.  Not many doctors live
on their boats for weeks at a time."

"He may not tell anyone he's a doctor."

At each marina, Max had stopped and asked if anyone knew of a doctor
living aboard a boat at anchorage or in a nearby slip.  "It's
possible," he conceded.  "But men who earn their medical degrees are
often too proud to go back to being called plain mister."

Sunlight glistened off the ripples in the choppy water.  They drove by
shrimpers, trawlers, yachts and ferries, spotting many sailboats but
none with registration numbers that matched Dr.  Arnold's.

In spite of Brooke's doubts, she didn't give up or suggest they turn
back.  And Skye seemed to be enjoying herself--especially when Max held
her in his lap and let her steer.

Max sped into a bay with a lone sailboat at an odd angle.  The boat
wasn't facing into the wind and suspicion prickled his neck.  As Brooke
held the binoculars to her eyes and read off the registration numbers,
he sensed their search had ended.

Brooke's voice trembled with hope.  "That's Arnold's boat.  We've found
him."

"I knew Max could do it."  Skye looked at him as if he were some kind
of hero.

Max ruffled her hair.  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, sweetie."

He looked forward to a long, enlightening conversation with the doctor
As Max slowed his boat and entered the shallow area, he frowned,
wondering if he should have brought Brooke and Skye with him after all.
He wouldn't voluntarily bring either of them into danger.  And from the
way the boat tilted, he suspected

something was wrong.  "What does Dr.  Arnold look like?"

"Six years ago, he was in his mid-fifties, with surprisingly dark hair
going gray at the temples.  About medium height, he had a slight paunch
at the stomach."

"You'd recognize him if you saw him?"

"I think so."

The three-masted sailboat didn't bob like a boat at anchor.  Nor did
the hull swing into the wind.  An eerie misgiving feathered down Max's
spine.

"Do you see an anchor line?"

Brooke raised the binoculars again.  "No, why?"  "I think the boat's
aground.  I don't want us to end up stuck in the mud, too.  I'm going
to anchor you and swim over."  He handed her a cell phone.  "Stay here
until I signal.  The coast guard number is taped to the back of the
phone."

Worry darkened her eyes, but she didn't ask questions.  She kept
glancing at the sailboat, spookily silent.

It didn't take Max long to secure his boat or change into swim trunks
in the tiny cabin.  When he exited the cabin, Brooke had taken their
swimsuits out of a bag to change.

"Be careful."  She looked as if she would like to say more.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then lowered himself over the side.
The water was too shallow to swim.  He ended up wading to the other
boat.

As he neared, he saw that the boat's chrome, polished to a high shine,
had the look of a well-loved craft.  Homey curtains of bright blue in
the portholes prevented him from seeing into the cabin.  A flag flapped
and the halyards clanged against the mast.

"Anyone home?"  Max called as he drew closer, his gut tight.

When no one answered, he climbed aboard and looked inside the cabin.

The boat was empty.  Arnold was gone.

Chapter Six

Max ducked into the cabin and did a quick walk through to make sum
there would be no nasty surprises.  The letter on the table was ominous
enough.  The boat had no damage.  Them were no signs of a struggle.
Except for the note, it was as if Dr.  Arnold had left for a swim.

He climbed back into the cockpit, gave Brooke the thumbs-up signal and
prepared to return to help her with Skye.  But she splashed over the
side and took Skye into her arms, clearly not needing his help.

He leaned over to lift Skye into the cockpit, then lent Brooke a hand.
"The boat is empty."

He turned to Skye.  "Somebody lost his boat and the police may need to
search for fingerprints.  Can you stay right here and be lookout while
your morn helps me read a letter?"

Skye sat cross-legged.  "Okay."

Brooke followed him into the cabin.  Her gaze went to the letter. "What
does it say?"  she asked softly.  "A suicide note."

She leaned over the table and read the short note.

""I have no wish to live.  To whoever finds this boat, she's yours.
Take good care of her, she's a good boat."  And it's signed, Clifford
Arnold, M.D."

Brooke's shoulders sagged and she slumped.  "He must have gone
overboard in the middle of the lake and his boat drifted into this
cove.  How long do you think the boat's been here?"

"A few days, not more than a week."

Brooke began opening and closing drawers, sifting through charts, radio
instructions and the silverware drawer, careful not to leave her own
fingerprints.  She frequently glanced up into the cockpit to check on
Skye.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know.  This boat is immaculate.  Would a man about to kill
himself leave it so spotless?"  "Maybe.  We should call the coast
guard."

Brooke leaned over the chart table and her brows furrowed.  "I think
I've found something."  "What?"

She lifted a clipboard from a hook.  "This is the same pad of paper the
suicide note came from."  "So?"

"Look."  She held up the pad.  On the top page were indentations from a
previous page.  "It's a grocery list."

Comprehension kicked in, and he realized how smart she was.  "You think
he wrote the suicide note and tore it off the pad.  Then he wrote a
grocery list?"

"Tell me, Max.  Why would a man about to kill himself write a grocery
list after he writes a suicide note?  I don't think he's dead."

"Dead or not, Arnold's the key to the puzzle.  He was your sister's
doctor.  He was Rhonda's doctor.  And when you started asking
questions, he suddenly disappeared."

BROOKE AND MAX went to Arnold's house and found it empty.  They
questioned his neighbors but no one had seen him.  If Arnold had faked
his suicide, he'd vanished without a trace.

Later, at Max's parents" house, while Max visited Ford in the hospital
that evening, Brooke thought about what they'd found on the boat.  Had
Arnold killed himself?.  Or had he killed Callie and set them up for
the murder and, when his plan hadn't worked, decided to disappear
rather than risk being caught?

Brooke came to no conclusions.  They simply didn't have enough
information.

She fed and bathed Skye, then read her a bedtime story.  Her daughter
clung to her in a baby like fashion she hadn't exhibited in years.
Brooke hated to leave her with the housekeeper during the funeral
tomorrow, but she didn't have much choice.

At least she didn't have to worry about her work.  When she'd called
her boss and told him she wouldn't be in for the rest of the week, he
told her he'd call a temporary service for a substitute until she
returned.

After Skye was in bed, Brooke went through the files they'd printed
from Ford's computer.  She must have fallen asleep in the den because
when she woke up, Max was watching her.

"How's Ford?"

Max shook his head, his eyes filled with pain.  "His condition hasn't
changed.  He could wake up tomorrow or stay in a coma for the rest of
his life.  We have two guards in the room with him and one in the hall
at all times.  Mother and the nurses read to him to stimulate his
brain's activity.  There's nothing else that can be done."

He must have talked to his brother for a long time.  His voice was
hoarse.

Max took a seat next to her on the couch and she sensed his need for
comfort.  He'd dimmed the lights.  "My folks went to see Rhonda's
parents."

Suddenly nervous at being alone with him, she reached for the printout.
"I was going over these files--"

"Anything that can't wait?"  His tone turned ever" huskier, resonating
down her spine until she yearned with anticipation.

Heat in his eyes burned into hers.  She read his intention in his eyes.
He was going to kiss her.  And she wanted him to.

Leaning over slowly, he cupped her chin and let his lips brush hers. He
tasted of his own wonderful brand of masculinity.  Her heart lurched
and she wound her arms around his neck, aching to draw him closer.

He tugged her onto his lap, and she snuggled against him.  Her bottom
curved against his thighs.  Her shoulder nestled snugly under his arm,
and it required absolutely no straining to hold their kiss, as if they
were made to fit.

He rubbed his hands over her back, wound his fingers into her hair, and
inhaled as if he wanted to learn

her by scent.  Beneath her, his jeans grew tight with his need.  She
tried and failed to smother a groan.

Wrenching away, he inhaled a ragged breath.  "Unless you're prepared
for me to remove every stitch of your clothing and make love, we'd
better stop."

Surprised by the harsh adamancy of his words, her eyes widened.  Heat
flushed her face.  "I---I..."  she stammered, shaken as much by the
intensity of her emotions as the ferocity of his need.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she pulled herself together and
stared him straight in the eyes.  "If all you're offering is a roll in
bed, I'll pass."

She held her breath, waiting to see what he'd say.  "What if I offer
more?"

Her heart skipped.  Before she could respond, the lights went out.  The
alarm's siren shrieked.  "Mommy!"

Brooke leapt off Max's lap and stumbled for the stairway in the dark.
Was someone in the house?  Could they have broken into Skye's room?

Max pounded up the stairs ahead of her.  From the sound of his
footsteps, his long legs were taking the stairs three at a time.
Streetlights shone through the upstairs windows, casting light beams
into Skye's room.  Max had already scooped Skye into his arms, blanket,
kitten and all, when she arrived.

"She's fine.  The siren scared her."  Max handed Skye to her.  "Stay
here.  I'll go downstairs and check out the house."

"Max?"

He paused, his silhouette outlined in the moonlight.  "Yes?"

"Doesn't the alarm call the police?"

"Yup."

While she couldn't fault him for how fast he'd raced to Skye, he was so
composed now, she wondered if he was concerned in the slightest.

"Why don't you stay here with us and let the cops check the place?"

"It's probably nothing.  An electric surge or a squirrel could set it
off."  Nevertheless, he returned to the bed and put his arm around both
of them.  "But if it'll make you feel better, we'll wait together."

Skye sucked her thumb, and she hadn't done that since her second
birthday.  "I want to go home.  And I want to go to camp."

"You will, sweetie.  Didn't you like the boat ride today?"

"I want to go home."  Skye sobbed in her arms while Max punched in the
code to silence the alarm.  Within a few minutes, Skye fell asleep.
Brooke smoothed the tears from her daughter's face.

Although she hadn't explained much to Skye, her daughter obviously felt
the tension.  Her life had been turned upside down.  Brooke ached over
Skye's unhappiness, but her daughter's safety was paramount. 
Especially after tonight.

The police arrived and searched the premises but found nothing, except
one footprint in a flower bed--directly below Skye's second-story
window.

THE DAY OF Rhonda's funeral, gray clouds hung over the skies until the
horizon was lost in a sullen fog like mist.  Max had bought Skye a
Disney video and,

planted happily in front of the TV, she hadn't seemed upset with their
departure.  While Brooke hated leaving Skye, the sooner she and Max
figured out what had happened, the sooner Brooke and Skye could return
to their normal lives.

Hour by hour the cloud deck lowered, thicker and darker.  By the time
Brooke and Max arrived at the cemetery and parked, the air was moist
with clinging humidity.

Brooke strode beside Max past the outer walls of the cemetery where
rows of vaults, called "ovens," held the remains of the city's poor.
Inside, the cemetery grew more elaborate.  To overcome the high-water
table, aboveground tombs were constructed out of brick walls.  For the
wealthy, the entrances to the plastered, whitewashed tombs were closed
with marble tablets and enclosed within iron fences.

Max led Brooke down a narrow path to the family vault that had a
rounded roof and tiny eaves.  A tent had been set up for the service
with chairs reserved at the front for the immediate family.  The size
of the crowd who had left the dry and warm church to accompany the
family to the graveside service surprised her.  Rhonda must have had a
lot of friends for them to venture out in this weather to pay their
last respects.

Max leaned over and whispered in her ear.  "Many of Ford's business
associates are here.  And Rhonda chaired several large charities in the
area."

As the service began, the skies opened and rain sluiced down.  Those
not covered by the tent opened umbrellas.  No one left, but the
minister wisely kept the service short.

Max sat beside her, his face calm, but anger radiating off him in
waves.  She took his hand and held tight, knowing he was thinking of
Ford.

Beside him, Red and Eva clung to one another.  Not only had they lost a
daughter-in-law, they might lose a son if Ford didn't surface from his
coma.  If Ford didn't recover, they'd have the comfort of Max, but
Ford's twin would always be a visible reminder of what they lost.  She
issued a silent prayer for Ford's recovery.

Brooke glanced at Rhonda's parents who sat drawn and white-lipped in
front of the rose-draped casket as if they were in shock.  How horrible
to lose a child.  From Ford's files she had learned Rhonda'had endured
six embryo implantations, and with each progressive attempt, her
chances of having a baby diminished.  Dr.  Arnold had finally
recommended adoption.  After struggling so long and hard for a baby,
how sad that Rhonda had died before she'd known Skye.  Ice clenched
around Brooke's heart at the thought of ever losing Skye.

She'd never met Rhonda, and even though Skye looked nothing like the
pictures Eva had of Ford's wife, Brooke wished she could have talked
with her and observed her temperament and demeanor.  Rhonda's
personality might have held clues to what kind of woman Skye would
become.

From everything Brooke had heard about Rhonda, she was sweet, kind and
gentle.  Tears rolled down her cheeks for the woman who'd wanted a
child so badly and had died never knowing her beautiful daughter.

More tears followed for Skye, who'd never know the special person her
biological mother had been.

Rest in peace, Rhonda You were an angel on Earth.  Look down now and be
a guardian angel for Skye.

The service concluded and people came forward to offer condolences to
both families.  Time and again Max explained that his brother was still
in Europe, grieving over his wife and not yet ready to face coming home
alone.

Brooke noticed one young woman whose eyes were puffy and red from
crying.  "Who is she?"

"I think her name is Denise.  She's a cousin of Rhonda's and was very
close to her."

Karen Forester broke from the crowd and laid a red rose on Rhonda's
coffin.  After the way the Kine Clinic researcher had avoided them at
her apartment, Brooke was shocked when she joined them.

Karen's face was shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat.  "Rhonda helped me
find a job at the clinic.  I didn't know her well, but she was a nice
woman."

Knowing the question inappropriate but thinking she might not get
another chance, Brooke spoke in a low voice.  "Why did you change your
mind about talking to me?"

"I'm sorry.  Dr.  Arnold told me not to violate company policy."

"When did you speak to Dr.  Arnold?"  Max squeezed Brooke's hand
tightly but from his tone she'd have never guessed how interested he
was in Karen's statement.

"Let's see.  I left a message on his voice mail last week.  He returned
my call on Friday.  Why?"

Brooke watched Karen's face closely for any indication that Arnold
might still be alive.  "His sailboat was found empty.  He left a
suicide note.  It'll probably make the evening news."

"Oh, God!  No."

Karen's face turned white and her pupils dilated.  Max reached out to
steady her, but Karen turned and stumbled off into the rain.

Max frowned.  "Do you think she and Arnold were close?"

"I don't know."  She couldn't say more because Grant Donovan had
approached them and she wondered what he was doing here.  But then many
of the Kine Clinic's employees had come to pay their respects.

Grant shook Max's hand, cleared his throat and looked at the ground,
clearly not knowing what to say.  "How is your brother?"  he finally
asked.

"As well as can be expected under the circumstances.  He's shocked and
grieving," Max lied smoothly.

Grant moved on, but his appearance reminded her of what she'd learned
from Ford's files, and she filled Max in.  "Several years ago, at about
the time Rhonda started making appointments at the fertility clinic,
Grant was accepted to medical school.  Apparently he didn't have the
funds for tuition and couldn't secure a loan.  Ford made an endowment
to the school and was put on the screening committee for loans.  When
Grant wasn't chosen, he blamed Ford."

Max followed her line of reasoning.  "So Grant had

a reason to dislike Ford, plus he knows the computer system."

"And why is he here if he disliked Ford?"

"Good question.  We need to find out if Grant has access to the
embryos."

"Why don't we ask Dr.  Henschel?"  She tugged on Max's hand.  "I saw
him at the back of the tent."

They wound their way through groups of people talking in low voices
beneath the pattering of the rain on the canvas.

Dr.  Henschel broke away from a group when he spotted them, peering
through glasses foggy from the humidity.  He nodded a greeting to
Brooke and shook Max's hand.  "I'm sorry this happened.  How's Ford
holding up?"

"He's going to be okay.  It'll take some time though.  Since Ford isn't
here, I thought maybe you could help me out by answering a few
questions."

Brooke carefully watched Henschel's face.  He didn't reveal his
emotions easily, yet she caught a hint of impatience in his eyes.

"Sure.  What can I do?"

"Does Grant have access to the laboratory and the embryos?"

Henschel took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "I
shouldn't be telling you this, but it's not a secret.  I know all about
Grant's old grudge toward your brother over the medical school loan,
but even if Grant had wanted to switch the embryos, he doesn't have
access to the patients" lab.  Research and Development has their own
facility."

"Thanks.  I appreciate the information.  I assume you've heard about
Dr.  Arnold?"  Max asked before Henschel could escape.  Brooke admired
his quick thinking.

"The police contacted me last night.  What a shame to lose such a
talented man.  But I'm not totally surprised.  The man's been
overworked and on edge for years.  Still, replacing him won't be
easy."

The wind picked up, driving a drenching rain through the tent.  The
remaining mourners quickly scattered.

Max opened an umbrella and they walked to his track, huddling beneath
it.  Behind them, workers slid Rhonda's coffin into the vault and
Brooke shuddered.  "It's horrible Rhonda died so young."

"There are no guarantees.  Her life was short, but she made the most of
it."

Brooke's thoughts turned to Skye.  "If anything happens to me, promise
me you'll take care of Skye."

He guided her around a puddle.  "Nothing's going to happen."

"You just said there are no guarantees."  She chewed her lip.  "One of
the reasons I searched for Skye's family was because I didn't want her
to end up in foster care if anything happens to me."

Max wound his fingers between hers.  The gesture was oddly familiar, as
if he'd touched her so comfortingly a thousand times before.  "Skye's
part of the family now."

Brooke's spinning thoughts broke away from Max and focused on her
daughter.  Nicole hadn't planned to die.  Neither had Rhonda.  If a
similar fate befell Brooke, what would happen to Skye?

She spoke past the tightness in her throat, spurred by grief and
unchecked emotions to press Max for an answer.  "Will you promise to
raise Skye if something happens to me?"

"Sure," he agreed with an ease that surprised her.  "I promise she'll
have a good home."

A good home?  What did that mean?  After their mother had died, the
state had sent Nicole and Brooke to one foster home after another.  The
sisters had food on the table and a roof over their heads, but few of
the foster parents had cared if they brushed their teeth or made good
grades in school.  No one had cared what they did or thought as long as
they stayed out of trouble.  But at least the sisters had had each
other to share their dreams.  Skye would be all alone.

No.  A good home wasn't sufficient.  She wanted Skye to have the love
and security of family that she hadn't had.

"Promise me, you'll be there for Skye."

She didn't think he was going to answer.  Although he gripped her hand
tightly, he remained silent.  Behind her someone swore softly as the
wind turned their umbrella inside out.  Her insides churned.  "You
can't do it, can you, Max?"

"Do what?"

"Commit yourself.  Not even to a little girl."

"Hey, I'm here right next to you.  We're seeing this through together.
Both of us."

"But what if something happens to me?"

His steady blue eyes looked at her as if she was worried for no reason.
But his calm grated on Brooke's nerves.  Not exhibiting some emotion
was unnatural.  She wondered if Max didn't worry about death because he
wouldn't miss anything in life.  Or did he care so much he only
pretended indifference?

Even after his sister-in-law had died, proving how easily life could be
snuffed out, he found making a commitment difficult.  He'd been silent
so long, she jumped when he spoke.

"I'll be there for Skye."

He'd spoken the words so softly, she almost hadn't heard him over the
patter of rain.  Stunned, she thought for a moment she'd imagined the
words, since she'd wanted so badly to hear them.  As she turned and saw
resolve flaring brightly in his eyes, she knew that he'd irrevocably
acknowledged responsibility for his daughter.  The comforting rightness
almost overwhelmed her.

"Thank you.  It means a lot to know Skye has someone else to count on."
They walked along the sidewalk, his large frame shielding her from much
of the rain, cocooned in their own little intimate bubble.  His hand
still gripped hers and she wasn't the least surprised.  He seemed to
need the comfort as much as she.  The past two days had brimmed with
tragic tension.  For a moment, Brooke wondered how it could be possible
that they'd once been strangers.

When they reached his vehicle, Max released her hand, raised the keys
to the lock and stopped.  His hand shook and only a deep breath that
lifted his whole chest stilled it.

"Max?"  Brooke laid her hand softly over his.

His blue eyes pierced her.  "You're worried about Skye, aren't you?"

"I've been leaving her too much.  She's not happy staying at the house
without me."

He held her hand tightly.  "It's the safest place for her.  The alarm
going off and that strange encounter in the park were probably both
harmless incidents--but I'd rather not take any chances."

"Isn't there somewhere safe we could take her?  I want to spend a day
with her outside, if it stops raining."

"I may know just the place.  Let me talk to the folks when we get home
and I'll see what we can do."

Brooke should have been relieved and happy at his words.  Instead of
making light of her concerns he'd agreed and actually volunteered to
help.  An outing would cheer Skye.

But thunder clapped and lightning zapped a tree less than a block away.
A bad omen.  A premonition of doom.  She tried to shake off the odd
prickles diving down her back.  The storm and the funeral had her
imagining things.

Chapter Seven

The next morning, Skye was happy to go with Red and Eva, especially
once they had asked her to call them Grandma and Grandpa.  They hadn't
explained the situation in detail, simply telling Skye they didn't have
any grandchildren and would like it if she called them by nicknames.
Skye loved the idea and hadn't minded being left with her
"grandparents," especially after Brooke and Max promised to meet them
at Indian Lake for a picnic after they visited Ford at the hospital.

Max steered through the traffic with ease, but his fingers tensed on
the wheel as he thought about how much he'd wanted Brooke last night.
Once, many years ago, Max thought he'd found what he'd been looking
for--a love special enough to last a lifetime.  Then his life had
careened out of control until he'd thought he'd never get over his
past.  He had.  Now he protected himself by never allowing anyone to
come too close, by moving on before his feelings deepened.

He'd stopped looking, deciding what he needed didn't exist.  Then he'd
convinced himself he no longer

had those needs.  He'd thought he'd damn well learned to live without
them.

But Brooke Evans with her emerald eyes flashing a challenge when he'd
accused her of interest in Ford's wealth had intrigued him from the
first.  Her selfless honesty and love for Skye had almost convinced him
that perhaps, with the right woman, he might find a balm to the
restlessness that churned in him.  She was a wonderful mother, giving,
kind, loving.  And she'd faced up to Skye's biological origins with a
maturity and selflessness that amazed him.

Last night, the need to go to her had been almost unbearable.  Oh, how
he'd ached from wanting her.  He'd wanted to take her into his arms and
kiss her again, taste her until he had his fill.  He'd wanted to
indulge in her womanly scent and feel the warmth of her silky flesh
under his palms in a celebration of life.  He'd wanted to fill his
hands with her breasts.  He wanted to delve inside her and drive her
wild until she moaned and screamed his name in release.

But he couldn't touch her.  Not when the permanency and
responsibilities required of fatherhood shook him to the core.  He
loved Skye.  If things didn't work out between him and Brooke, suppose
she took his daughter away?

Keeping his hands off her delectable body would have been much more
difficult if he hadn't been so drained from the funeral.  Still the
recollection of her silky skin beneath his fingers as he'd cupped her
chin during their kiss had him twisting and turning.  Luckily, fatigue
took over and at last he'd fallen asleep.

He'd awakened this morning with the same problem--wondering if she was
awake, wondering what she'd worn to sleep, wondering what she'd do if
he carried her into his bed.  Not even a cold shower had stopped his
fantasizing.

He'd stepped into the icy spray, reminding himself to stay sharp.  And
now, as a car followed them through one right and then three left
turns, he reminded himself again.  He suspected someone had arranged to
kill Rhonda and Ford in Europe while simultaneously framing Max and
Brooke at the Kine Clinic in Louisiana.  Chances were they were up
against more than one individual.  Or had their foes tried to fix it so
both Max and Ford looked guilty of crimes?  Why?  What was the
connection to Skye, the clinic and the avalanche?

No matter how unlikely, he was stretching the possibilities, trying to
come up with a motive that made sense.  There had to be a connection to
Skye, but he just couldn't see one.

As the car that had followed them for a short time veered onto the
interstate, Max relaxed.  He was beginning to see danger around every
corner, even where none existed.  Today, after this visit to Ford, he
intended to kick back and clear his head and enjoy Skye.

WHEN THEY'D REACHED the hospital, Brooke opted out of the visit to
Ford's room, preferring to wait in the lobby.  Max had been quiet on
the way over, and the tension between them hummed.  She didn't know
what she wanted to do about it, and she needed time to think.

As Max exited the hospital elevator, striding in her direction, her
heart raced a little, just knowing he was coming for her.  Controlling
her response to him was getting old.  She wasn't sure how long she
could maintain the constant vigilance over her own reactions to him,
but she wanted him to make an emotional commitment to her first.  And
to Skye.

With his brother's condition unchanged yet stable, Max had kept the
visit short.  He helped her into the truck and quickly merged with the
traffic.  "Are you ready to head into Cajun country?"

"I haven't been back here in years."  She relaxed as he drove through a
countryside dotted with tiny towns and villages where antique seekers
could poke around in bliss.  Centuries" old oaks covered with Spanish
moss formed canopies over bottle-green bayous.  The rural road Max took
followed the contortions of the Teche, the state's largest bayou,
meandering through ancient Arcadian villages of cypress cabins that
rose out of the water on stilts.  Moored fishing boats and pirogues
barely rocked on the still waters.

Max drove the speed limit; Brooke kept an eye out for alligators or
wild boars that might dart across the road.  The only wildlife she
spotted was a snow-white egret.

They took a curve in the road and ahead a small town nestled in the
crook of the bayou.  A school bus pulled out into the road, cutting
them off.  Max jammed on the brakes.  Their speed didn't slow.  The
pickup kept traveling on collision course--straight toward the bus. Max
swore, shifted into low gear and steadily applied pressure with the
hand brake.  The rear wheels screeched across pavement.  As they
skidded off the road, gravel battered the fenders.

Oh, God.  They were going to die.

Brooke's heart jammed like a fist in her throat.

Bone-scared, she braced her hands against the dash.  The truck spun.

She lost sight of the bus.

She squeezed her eyes tight, held her breath, waiting for the crash,
breaking glass and twisted metal.

It didn't come.

She opened her eyes, her nostrils flaring at the stench of burned
rubber.  They sat partway off the road, facing away from the school
bus, the pickup engine dead.  Miraculously, Max had managed to stop the
truck by pulling a one hundred and eighty degree turn.

"Are you all right?"  He released the hand brake, restarted the engine,
and eased the pickup fully off the road as if he'd pulled that stunt a
hundred times.

Nausea churned her stomach.  "I think I'm going to be sick."

Max cut the engine and came around to her side of the truck.  He opened
the door and gently pushed her head down to her knees.  "Take several
deep breaths.  That's it.  Breathe in through your nose and out through
your mouth."

She did as he instructed and the nausea eased.  She straightened at the
sound of footsteps pounding the pavement.

A mechanic ran over from the corner garage.  "You folks all right?"

Max nodded.  "The brakes went out."

"That was some mighty fine driving, mister.  If you

hadn't stopped, it would have been a sorry accident with that busload
of kids."

"Could you take a look at the brakes?"

"Sure enough.  Drive her over and we'll put her up in the rack."

Brooke preferred to walk on unsteady legs the half block to the garage
rather than ride in the truck.  The fresh air cleared the last vestiges
of dizziness.  She caught up with the men as they inspected a dripping
hose.

Max's expression didn't change, but the muscle in his jaw was so tight
he had to be gnashing his teeth.  He rammed his hands into his pockets
in a gesture so violent, a shiver rippled down her back.

"What's wrong?"

"Looks like someone cut the brake line, ma'am."  It took a moment for
the implication to sink in.  This was no accident.  Someone had tried
to kill them.  And only because they'd changed plans at the last
moment, Skye hadn't been with them.

"Someone's after us," she whispered as Max walked her into the
air-conditioned waiting area.

"They must have sliced the brake line while we visited Ford.  This
isn't pressure to back off our investigation.  These people are
serious."

She sank onto a cracked vinyl couch.  "I think we should give it up.
It's not worth risking our lives to find out what happened."

Max's eyes darkened.  His voice was grim.  "We no longer have a choice.
If we don't find out who is behind this and stop them, they'll try
again until they kill us."

How could he be so calm when she was shaking inside like a leaf in a
summer storm?  "But why is anyone after us?"

"We must be close to finding out what's going on at the clinic."

"Let's talk to the police."

Max folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a wall.  "What
do you expect the police to do?"

"Investigate.  Protect us."

He shook his head, dashing her hopes of an easy way out.  "We don't
have any legal proof until a genetic test confirms our suspicions.
Besides, the police don't have the manpower to guard us-twenty-four
hours a day.  There's nothing they can do to help us."

"Then what's the answer?  I refuse to do nothing but wait until someone
tries to kill us again."

"My sentiments exactly."  He paced the tiny office.  "We have to solve
this fast.  Before someone takes another shot at us."

Goose bumps raised on her flesh.  "Do you still think my theory is
crazy?  Something fishy is going on at the clinic with the money--and
somehow it's connected to Skye.  Maybe the accountant can provide the
connection: We should talk to him."

"I agree.  But for Skye's sake, let's try to put what happened aside
and enjoy the rest of the day.  I don't want to upset her any more than
we absolutely have to."

Before long the mechanic had the hose and the brake fluid replaced. Max
checked the engine thoroughly to make sure nothing else had been
tampered with before they continued their trip.

They swung south from the two-lane highway to a dirt road.  He
monitored the rearview mirror with a vigilance that reminded her of
their narrow escape.  "How much longer?"

"About twenty minutes once we go through those cow pastures.  We should
arrive in time for lunch."

Max halted at the pasture, opened the barbed-wire gate and motioned her
to drive through.  He closed the gate behind them and slid back into
the pickup.  "My parents own this place.  We should be safe here."

She wondered if she'd ever feel safe again, but didn't say so, not
wanting anything to spoil these hours with Skye.  Perhaps his parents
would have some suggestions on how to proceed.  Always in the back of
her mind, she hoped the police would catch Callie's killer so they
would be without-a-doubt in the clear, and hopefully, the danger would
end.

They drove through several cow pastures separated by fences.  In the
distance lay a blue-green lake in a valley between two rolling hills.
Max opened his window and let in the scent of fresh air and campfire
smoke.  "We vacationed here when we were kids.  There was plenty to eat
and not much trouble to be found.  Dad hunted and fished.  Morn
barbecued.  Ford and I ran wild."

"It sounds wonderful."  His free and easy childhood sounded like a
scene from a movie.  She couldn't imagine growing up in such a normal
environment.  Instead she remembered struggling to keep warm in a
threadbare coat during a brisk Louisiana winter while she walked to
school in hand-me-down shoes with thin soles.  Most of all, she
remembered struggling to keep her grades up so she could someday go to
college--a dream she still intended to fulfill.

She wanted a better life for Skye and wondered how her daughter would
like the country.  As she sensed her daughter's nearness, anticipation
washed away Brooke's weariness.  Today, for Skye's sake, she'd try to
put aside her fears and pretend nothing was wrong.

Max pulled around a bend.  In the distance was a comfortable-looking
farmhouse.  Ahead, two canopies had been pitched overlooking the lake
to provide shade, and a blue tent stood nearby.  Red fished from a
canoe.  Eva and Skye sat on a blanket by the lake bank and waved.

When the car rolled to a stop, Brooke opened the door and ran toward
her daughter.  "Skye!"  "Mom!"

Her daughter, in a swimsuit Brooke didn't remember buying, let out a
whoop, clambered to her feet and raced to Brooke.  She swept the
giggling child into her arms, wishing she'd never have to let her go.
"I missed you, sweetie."

"Missed you, too."  Skye planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and Brooke
had never felt anything so wonderful.  No matter whose blood ran
through the child's veins, Skye was hers.

Ever impatient, Skye wriggled from her arms, grabbed her hand, and
tugged her toward Eva.  "Mom, we're having a tea party in the mud. Come
on."

Brooke grinned at Skye's exaggeration.  Eva had spread towels along the
lake bank, and she needed to

muddy only her feet to join the party.  As Skye tugged her toward the
lake, Brooke glanced over her shoulder to see Max wave her on.

Free to turn her full attention back to Skye, she rumpled the little
girl's black curls.  Like yesterday's gloomy weather, her worries
faded.  "Are you having a good time?"

"We baked bread and I have some for you."  Her hand went to her mouth,
spreading mud onto her cheeks.  "Oops.  That was supposed to be your
surprise."

Eva laughed from her seat on the blanket, doing her best to keep the
atmosphere light.  "It's okay.  We won't tell your mother what kind of
bread we baked."

"Hi."  Brooke joined Eva and surveyed the peaceful setting.  Several
gulls swept over the lake.  A turtle sunned on a broken log by the
bank.  Still, she couldn't shake the premonition of disaster that had
kept her awake half the night.

"I appreciate your looking after Skye this morning.  I hope she wasn't
any trouble."

"Mom, I'm a good girl.  I even made my bed."  Brooke raised a brow.
"Really."  Over Skye's head she smiled at Eva.  "You'll-have to tell me
how you managed that."

Max strolled down to the lake, took off his shirt in the sultry air,
and plopped into the water in front of them, creating widening ripples
that soaked the mud pies.  Max looked as if he hadn't slept well,
either.  New worry lines crinkled the edges of his eyes.  "Mom's a whiz
with kids.  After twin boys, I'd imagine Skye is a piece of cake."

Skye picked up a mud pie and threw it at Max.  "Am not a piece of
cake."

Brooke gasped.  Eva chuckled.

The mud spatted Max's forehead and slid down his cheek.  Skye broke
into a fit of giggles.  She didn't seem the slightest bit alarmed when
Max said, "You think that's funny, do you?"

Max lunged from the water, scooped a happily shrieking Skye into his
arms and spun her in the air.  "Does she know how to swim?"

Brooke nodded, a warm feeling going through her at the sight of the two
of them playing together.  It was great to feel normal for a change.
She realized just how tense she'd been.  "Skye's a regular fish."

"Nooo!"  Skye screamed as her eyes widened, but the grin stayed on her
lips when Max dunked her.  The little tease was daring him, and
Brooke's heart melted as Max rose to the challenge.

Despite Brooke's assurance that Skye could swim, Max hovered over the
spot where she'd disappeared until she surfaced.  She surfaced, a
mischievous gleam in her eyes, a scream on her lips, and splashed Max
full in the face.

He roared, pretended blindness, and played at catching her.  Sunning on
the bank, Brooke was content to watch them.  This was how life was
supposed to be--full of laughter and sunshine and innocence.

Eva rinsed the mud from her hands and dried them on a towel.  "If I
know my son, he won't leave you out of their play for long.  If you
want to change before he throws you in, I brought an extra swimsuit.
It's in the tent."

Brooke rinsed her hands in the water and stood.  Eva's planning and
thoughtfulness amazed her.  If their circumstances were reversed and
she was the one with a son in a coma while the other might soon be
charged with murder, she doubted she could remain so calm or
considerate.  "Thanks."

Ten minutes later, she reclined on the bank to let the sun warm her
before taking a dip in the lake.  After sitting in the truck,
stretching out her arms and legs felt delicious.  She wanted to enjoy
the sun heating her, savor the scent of fresh air and clean grass and
wash away the sadness left over from Rhonda's funeral, the terror of
their near accident.  Most of all, she wanted to watch Skye laugh with
her father.

But the minute Max spotted her, his gaze raked the skimpy one-piece
maillot, inflaming her with his wolfish grin: He yelled to Skye. "Let's
go get Mommy."

"Okay."  Skye squealed in delight, paddling to keep up with Max's long
strokes.

Despite his hurry, he didn't leave Skye's side, carefully watching
until she reached a place where she could stand.  Red had moved his
canoe to the far side of the lake--no doubt all the commotion had
frightened away the fish.

Eva left towels on the bank and wandered toward a hammock strung in the
shade of two granddaddy oaks.  "I think I'-11 nap before lunch."

Max rose out of the water, his bronzed chest gleaming, his dark hair
slicked back to reveal a high forehead, emphasizing his sharp
cheekbones.  As he stalked her, a wicked glint in his eyes, she sucked
in her breath, thinking how much she wanted him to catch her, so she
could run her fingers over his muscled and bared flesh.

Firmly putting aside her worries, she pretended to make a game of it.
Skye joined in the fun, grabbing her free wrist, and together the three
of them splashed into the lake up to Brooke's knees.  The sand-bottomed
water was cooler than she expected.  "It's cold."

"Baby!"  Skye splashed her, her dimples deepening in a delighted
smile.

"Yes, she is a baby."  In one swift movement Max bent with a playful
grin, placed one arm beneath Brooke's knees, the other around her
waist, and scooped her into his powerful arms.  Flinging her hands
around his neck, she threw back her head and laughed.

The tension had left Max's face, and his eyes, a deep blue, reflected
the lake's sunlight-sparkled surface and radiated a new kind of
intensity.  Suddenly she wanted to grab all life had to offer.  She
wanted to live only in this moment.  She wanted to play with Skye and
Max and forget her troubles.

He carried her deeper into the lake, and she took the opportunity to
run her hands down the cords of his neck, over his shoulders and pecs
to the sleek muscles of his chest.

With a teasing grin, she shook her hair, tilted up her chin and gave
him a provocative smile.  "Sure you want to drop me?"

Leading the way, Skye chanted.  "Throw her in.  Throw her in."

"Hmm."  His tone turned husky, but although Skye was in front and
couldn't see them, he never appeared to forget her daughter was in
listening range.  "I think you're one hot lady.  And what I want ... is
to get you wet."  "

He dropped her, but she was ready.  Instead of popping back to the
surface, she swam down, found his ankles and yanked, toppling him.
Before he could recover and retaliate, she took off after Skye with
swift strokes.

Brooke caught her daughter, stood, and lifted the wriggling child by
her waist until she held her aloft.  "So you thought your mother
deserved a dunking?"

Skye giggled and kicked her legs.  "It was Max's idea."

Brooke threw her toward Max, who scooped her out of the water and
tossed her back.  Skye screamed with joy.  The three of them frolicked
without noting the passing time until Eva called them to lunch.

"Race ya."  Skye scampered out, an endless bundle of happy energy.

Breathless, Brooke followed, a pleasant weariness in her muscles.  Max
curled his arm across her shoulder, clearly not embarrassed at showing
affection in front of his parents.

She draped a towel around her neck before walking to the picnic table.
Eva had large plastic cups filled with crashed ice and tea waiting.
Platters of cold cuts and a bowl of fruit salad beckoned.  "Dig in."

Skye snuggled against Brooke and spied her plate already filled with a
sandwich.  "Goody.  Peanut butter and jelly."

Eva already knew her granddaughter's favorite sandwich.  Grateful that
Skye was being so well cared for, Brooke swished the child's hair back
so it wouldn't drip into her sandwich.  "What do you say?"  "Thank you,
and could I have some juice, please?"  As if anticipating the request,
Eva plucked a carton of juice and its attached straw from the ice chest
and handed it to Skye.  "There you go."

Eva had laid out a veritable feast.  The fruit salad full of fresh
strawberries and pineapple accompanied by French bread set Brooke's
mouth watering.  While she and Max filled their plates, Red joined
them.

Max took a seat beside Skye but spoke to his dad.  "Catch anything?"

Red winked at Brooke, his eyes reminding her of Max when he was up to
devilment.  "Nothing as good as you did."

Brooke fought the heat rising to her cheeks, thankful when Skye piped
in, "Max wasn't fishing.  The only thing he caught was a mud pie in the
face."

Brooke admonished Skye with a grin.  "That'll be enough sass, young
lady.  Eat."

She turned her plate upside down.  "All done.  Can I go feed the
fish?"

"Already?"  Brooke noted the half-eaten sandwich in Skye's lap but
didn't have the heart to scold her when she was finally having a good
time.

Eva handed her a brown paper bag filled with breadcrumbs.  "Here you
go.  Stay where you can see us."

As much as Brooke hated to let Skye leave, she sensed that Eva and Red
wished to speak with them in private.  Picking up a strawberry, she bit
off the end and let the sweet juice trickle down her throat.

Max helped himself to a second turkey sandwich.

"Someone cut our brake line while we were at the hospital."

Red's eyes narrowed.  "Was anyone hurt?"  "Not even a scratch," Max
assured his parents.  Eva twirled her glass of tea as if the
condensation could wash her hands of the truth.  "Max, I didn't worry
about you this much during all the years you lived away from home."

Red shook his head.  "MIT and Harvard Law aren't exactly dangerous
hotbeds."

Shocked by his father's revelation, Brooke's mouth fell open, seemingly
of its own accord.  Max had never told her about his degrees.  He'd let
her believe he was a mechanic and dilettante inventor.  She speculated
over why he'd misled her.  No wonder he knew so much about business--he
was a lawyer.  Forcing her mouth closed, she swallowed her protests,
deciding to talk to Max in private.

Over the rest of lunch, which she couldn't eat but which Max had no
trouble devouring, he and Red discussed strategy and tactics.  They
decided Max and Brooke would talk to the accountant, Pete Wilson, and
then try Grant again next.  With their plans settled, Brooke spent
another hour with Skye.  The time flew, and all too soon she kissed her
daughter goodbye.  Knowing Skye would have a better time on the horse
ride Eva and Red had promised her rather than listening to Max and
Brooke question the accountant made watching her drive away with her
grandparents only a little easier.

Brooke consoled herself by keeping in mind how contented Skye seemed
with Max's parents.  But knowing how easily she could be replaced only
made her feel worse.  At least Skye had snapped out of her depression.
Yet the playful time with Skye also made Brooke all too aware of how
much she had to lose.  If she lost Skye, she'd have no one.

Walking along the lakeshore, she stooped to pick up a flat stone and
skipped it across the water.  In searching out a family for Skye, would
she lose the only child she would ever have?  She had no biological
claim on Skye--Skye was Rhonda's and Max's, and Brooke couldn't forget
that.

Max joined her at the lake and, as if sensing her worry, gathered her
into his arms.  She rested her head against his chest and let the thump
of his heartbeat against her ear give her strength.

"She means everything to me."

He smoothed the hair off her forehead in a comforting gesture.  "It's
going to be all right.  My parents will take good care of her until we
figure this out."

"Suppose Skye doesn't want to live with me when she learns I'm not her
mother?"

"You're the only mother she's ever known.  Years of love can't be
eliminated by the genetic truth.  Besides, there's no need to tell Skye
the details until she's older and can fully understand what happened.
By then, she'll probably have brothers and sisters and be so wrapped up
in a family that the thought of leaving would break her heart."

Max meant well, but he'd unknowingly caused a lump to rise in her
throat.  She blinked away tears.  Even if Max, or Red and Eva, decided
not to contest custody, there would never be sisters and brothers for
Skye.

Max led her to a log, and they sat side by side to watch the sun slip
below the horizon.  "What's wrong?"

She might as well tell him.  Lying to herself about her feelings for
Max served no purpose.  She had to stop denying how much she wanted
him.  If their relationship was to go further, he had a right to
know.

"After I donated the eggs, I acquired a massive infection.-I can't have
children unless I find out what happened to the eggs I donated."  She
raised her head to meet his gaze and saw her pain reflected in his
eyes.  "Now you know why Skye means so much to me.  She's all I have.
All I'll ever have."

There was nothing he could say, and he knew better than to try. Instead
he gathered her closer, his arms slipping from her shoulder to her
back, his fingers lightly caressing her.

He kissed her forehead with a tenderness she'd never felt before, and
it plucked a chord of desire in her.  She nipped his neck, her lips
grazing a path to his.  When he boldly claimed her lips, her willful
heart kindled a craving too strong to refuse.

She arched against his chest, her palms running over his bared biceps,
along his muscled shoulders and into his thick hair.  His skin was
smooth, slick with the thinnest layer of perspiration, hot enough to
melt into.

His scent, all male, pierced her with a need all its own.  She could
have him.  His parents and Skye were long gone.  There were only the
wispy clouds over head, the droning crickets, and the one tent--almost
as if he'd planned the scene for seduction.

As she drew in a breath between kisses, she realized Max was so good at
making the most of opportunities.  Through the steamy smoke of his
kisses, something pricked her sense of well-being.  She thought back to
this afternoon's conversation and recalled that he'd misled her.  She
wasn't about to make love with a man who couldn't tell her basic truths
about his past.

With a jagged catch in her chest, she pulled back.  Max pursued until
she placed her palms flat on his chest.  "Wait."

He nuzzled her ear and whispered.  "What's wrong?  Tell me and I'll
make it better."

If he thought she protested his kissing techniques, he obviously
couldn't tell he had her head spinning.  Yet she wasn't about to give
herself to a man who couldn't be truthful.  "You deliberately misled me
about MIT and Harvard."

He reached with his palm to caress her arm.  "I may have left out a few
facts."

"You don't trust me."

So how could she trust him with her feelings or her body?  She pulled
away, crossed her arms and looked him straight in the eyes.  Keeping
her tone soft, but firm, she let him know she needed answers.  "Why,
Max?"

He jerked to his feet as if snake bit and raked a hand through his
hair.  "You've picked one hell of a time to ask about my past."

"I don't make love to strangers."  She said the words primly, but with
heartfelt emotion.  He might not

be her first man, but she didn't take making love lightly.  For that,
she needed the degree of trust that was missing.

Bitterness entered his tone.  "Is that who I am, a stranger?"

"That's the point, isn't it?  Are you going to make a career out of
inventing things?  Do you work every day?"

"Sometimes."

Obtaining a straight story from him was harder than unscrambling an
egg.  "And the other times?"

"I take time off whenever I like.  I work when motivated."  He spun to
face her, his lips pressed in a-grim line, the words torn from a throat
tight with huskiness.  "Does it matter what I do for a living when I
hold you in my arms?  Does it matter that when I kiss you, I can think
of nothing else but being inside you?"

"It matters that you lied to me."  He still hadn't answered her, but
deflected her query with one of his own.  Well, it wouldn't work.  Not
this time.  "I can't help wondering what else you haven't told me."

"I'm rich, probably as rich as Ford.  I stopped counting my money and
competing with my brother a long time ago.  We used to vie for Red's
approval.  Striving to win Dad's attention probably drove both of us to
financial success.  But I never liked stress.  So, unlike my brother
who collects assets, I travel light, without excess baggage.  Are you
happy now?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

He shrugged.  "I'd made up my mind to tell you, but before I did, you
started asking questions that made me change my mind."

She would have been happier if she'd never started this conversation,
never learned how much he distrusted her.  With a sigh, she pulled her
knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.  "When we met, you
thought I was after the Braddack money."

He propped a foot on the log, rested his forearms on his bent knee and
spoke in a silky soft tone.  "I was wrong."

"But you wouldn't listen.  You should know better by now.  You're still
not listening."

His lips turned in a wry grimace, but his eyes were haunted by a
vulnerability she'd never seen before.  "I assure you, you have my full
attention."

Her feelings were already so out of control she didn't want to deepen
them by making love, not if he intended to leave like her parents and
Nicole had, like every person she'd loved.  He'd never claimed to be
more than a love-'em-and-leave-'em guy.  "Perhaps we should nix going
further until you're sure what you want for us."

He glanced at her before focusing on the road ahead.  "What about you?
Are you sure what you want?"

"I'm not the one whose life is as loose and fancy free as an eagle's."
She had a daughter to raise and couldn't run off with him on a whim.

"Sometimes the freedom is lonely," he admitted.  Satisfaction zinged
through her.  Sternly she reminded herself his acknowledgment was a
long way from a three-bedroom house with a white picket fence and a
two-car garage.

She stood and wiped her hands on the towel slung around her neck.  "You
don't trust me because you don't trust yourself.  I'm not about to make
love to a man with so little faith in me."  Now that he'd stirred her
up, the words poured out to douse him with the truth.  "I don't just
want your body and your wealth, Max.  I want something harder for you
to give.  I want your heart.  And I want your soul."

Chapter Eight

Brooke's words cooled Max's passion more thoroughly than a dozen icy
showers.  He was usually long gone before a relationship became
complicated, but this time he didn't want to run.  Compared to the
honest way she faced life, fleeing seemed cowardly.  Her inner strength
called to him on a level he preferred not to acknowledge, but she
refused to let him coast.

He faced her then.  "What makes you brave enough to risk losing
Skye?"

She answered him simply and without evasion.  "When you love someone,
you do what's best for them, no matter how much pain it may cause
you."

Brooke thought it best for Skye to know her real family, so she'd put
her own feelings aside.  She expected him to put Skye's welfare
foremost.  Only he didn't know if he was capable of such
selflessness.

He'd had his share of women, and he hadn't minded spending money on
them.  What he'd objected to was being unable to distinguish whether
they wanted him or his money.  He'd blamed the women for being
shallow.

But now it struck him like a thunderbolt; the fault was his.

He hadn't opened himself up enough for them to know him.  He hadn't
shared his hopes, his dreams, his needs--so all they saw was a hunk
with money--and that wasn't enough to love.  By shutting everyone out,
he'd kept his emotional distance, ruining his chance at finding love.

Always before, he'd been treated exactly how he'd expected.  Until
now.

Brooke offered him a chance for something different, something more,
something better.  He'd have to be a coward to refuse, and yet his
stomach plummeted as if he was stepping out of an airplane without a
parachute.

He bit his bottom lip, reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.
"I don't know if I can give you what you want."

"All I ask is that you try."

"Okay.  I'll promise to try.  Now what?  Do we start over?"  "

"Absolutely."  She pulled her hand away and her lips turned up in a
mischievous smile.  "If you want me, you have to catch me."

Before he guessed her intention, she raced away, her nimble feet
splashing the water along the lake and throwing sand up in her wake.
Her laughter rippled across the water.

Letting out a whoop he dashed after her.

He caught her, and they shared a kiss and a swim before life caught up
with them again.  All too soon, it was time to start searching for
answers.

MAX WISHED they could have spent more time at the lake, but with
someone from the clinic after them, they couldn't delay.  They'd have
to work out their feelings later.  In the meantime, Brooke seemed
willing to give him another chance--but then, she didn't give up on
people.

From beside him in the front seat of the truck, Brooke pulled out the
printout of the Kine Clinic employees" files.  "We have pictures,
names, addresses and bios on almost everyone who ever worked there."
Max headed back into New Orleans.  "Let's start with Pete Wilson, the
accountant."

Brooke nodded.  "Money is usually a good indicator of what's what in a
company.  And when the cops investigate a murder, they follow the money
trail--at least on television they do."

She found the accountant's picture, stared at it, then angled it so Max
could see.  Pete Wilson was short, heavyset, with a stiff smile
plastered across his otherwise bland face.  Brooke smoothed the picture
under the paper clip, reattaching the picture to the file.

"There's not much on him in the file.  He graduated from L.S.U. with
honors, earned his C.P.A."  and did the books for a grocery chain
before the clinic's board of directors hired him four months ago.  He
lives in a modest home and is a widower with three kids.  That must be
tough, raising kids alone."

"How'd his wife die?"

"It doesn't say."  She fingered the picture again.  "He looks
even-tempered enough.  You think he'll talk to us?"

Max nodded.  "I hope so-especially after we gave up the afternoon at
the lake."

"Your parents are taking turns watching Skye while the other one visits
Ford so we can work."

"My parents are watching Skye because there's nothing they'd rather do.
Having her helps take their mind off Ford."

"I'm glad.  The arrangement suits all of us.  But I can't hide forever
and even if you don't have to work, I do.  My boss can't hold my job
for me much more than a week.  And I'm missing my night classes at the
university.  If I fall too far behind, it'll be tough to catch up. What
about you?"

"Huh?"  He had no idea what she was asking.

"Haven't you had to rearrange your life to deal with all this?"

"I don't like to make plans."

"You just get out of bed in the morning and decide what you'll do that
day?"  she asked, her tone incredulous.

He barely contained a grin.  "Unless the woman I'm with decides
otherwise."

"Do you know you're impossible?"  Brooke shook her head but her lips
turned up in a grin.  She looked down at the file and returned to
business.  "With Callie murdered and Arnold's reported suicide, the
accountant is bound to be nervous.  Perhaps you should let me--" "

"No."  At her suggestion, he clenched the wheel tightly.  "Let's get
one thing straight."  No way would he allow her to question anyone from
the clinic with out him there to protect her.  "We're doing this
together.  I'm not letting you out of sight."

Some women might have been rattled by his vehemence, so when she turned
to him with a pleased smile curling her bottom lip, she almost knocked
the wind out of him.  "Do you think I'm incompetent?"  "Hell, no."

"Then you're afraid of losing me?"

"Damn straight."  The words slipped off his tongue so easily, he jerked
upright in the seat.  A man should stop and think before making an
admission like that.  About to explain, he risked a glance at her and
promptly snapped his jaws together.  Her eyes sparkled with happiness,
and he didn't want to utter one word to dim her pleasure.

If speaking the truth rewarded him with one of her sunny smiles, he'd
have to try it more often.  Her smile made him happy and he wasn't sure
why.  He ought to qualify his statement, but his throat closed tight as
a vise until he forcibly made himself relax.

They rode in silence into the city.  Back in New Orleans, the odds of
being recognized by whoever had tried to kill them would increase.

Unfortunately, they had no choice but to go where they might be
recognized--back into town.  Max parked across the street from the Kine
Clinic.  As they debated the best way to get Pete Wilson to come out of
the building, Brooke pointed.  "There he is.  The guy in the dark green
shirt carrying a brown bag and a rolled paper stuck under his arm.  He
must be taking a late lunch."

They'd lucked out that Pete Wilson wasn't eating

at his desk and that he was alone.  They followed him along the
sidewalk bustling with shops, keeping the accountant in sight, but
mixing with the busy crowds.

Max took her hand, not wanting to be separated, enjoying the idea of
being part of a couple.  "If he's having lunch in the park, that will
make it easier for

US."

Brooke walked beside him, her forehead creased in concern.  "What are
we going to say?"

"We'll tell him the truth.  just be yourself."

She shot him a wry grin.  "I should be able to remember that."

They entered a park busy with mothers taking a. shopping break, office
workers on their lunch hour, and tourists enjoying the scenery.  The
scent of roasting almonds coated in sugar and cooking hot dogs
permeated the air.  A sidewalk vendor kept a dancing monkey tied to a
leash to attract customers.

Pete Wilson settled by himself on a bench beside a fountain.  After
removing his sandwich from the paper sack, he flipped open his
newspaper and scanned the front page.  Brooke took a seat on one side
of him, and Max hemmed him in from the other.

Max leaned forward and kept his voice low.  "Hi, Pete.  I'm Max
Braddack, Ford's brother.  And this is Brooke Evans."

When Pete looked up and spied Max, he put down his sandwich and held
out his hand.  "I'm sorry about your brother's wife."

Max shook his hand.  "Thanks."

"I couldn't make Rhonda's funeral because I couldn't find a
baby-sitter."

"Could you answer a few questions, Mr.  Wilson?"  Brooke asked.

He swiveled to look at her and then stared hard at Max.  "I'm not
supposed to reveal company information.  I really need this job."

Brooke's lip quivered but she kept her tone even.  "Mr.  Wilson, six
years ago, embryos were switched at the Kine Clinic.  I just recently
discovered the child I've been raising isn't mine."

His brown eyes widened in sympathy.  "That's terrible.  But it's really
not my department.  I'm a C.P.A. I only do the books."

"We've been asking a lot of questions," Max said, "and this morning
someone cut the brake line in my truck.  We'd go to the police, but we
have no idea who .  did it."

Pete shifted uneasily in his seat.  "Look, I'd like to help you.  Your
brother hired me when I really needed a break.  But I don't go into the
lab."

Max applied a little pressure.  "I think the same people who are after
us caused Rhonda's and Callie's deaths."

Brooke pulled out two financial quarterly statements and handed one to
Pete.  "We found this is Dr.  Henschel's office."  She pointed to the
second one.  "And this in Ford's."

Pete peered at the paperwork.  "My predecessor either made some errors
or was working from inaccurate information.  I had to redo her work.
That's why the statements are different.  I never did understand where
the data came from.  It was as if she made the numbers up."  Pete
handed Brooke back the papers.  He glanced at Max, then down at the
ground as if debating whether to speak or not.

"We'd appreciate anything you could tell us," Max said to encourage
him.

"All right.  But I'm only telling you this because I'm grateful to your
brother."

Max nodded, noting a gleam of interest light Brooke's eyes.

Pete wet his lips.  "I think someone is skimming prof its from the
clinic.  But I can't prove it.  Either my predecessor pulled those
numbers out of thin air or she'd seen them somewhere."

"I don't understand," Brooke muttered.  "You're the C.P.A."  how could
anyone hide prof its from you?"

Pete sighed.  "There are always ways to cheat.  I work from a computer
system.  Someone could keep two sets of books right within the computer
system."

Brooke stiffened.  "But if this was going on, wouldn't you know it?"

"Not if I don't have access to that part of the computer.  Not if the
computer records are altered and the money transferred within the
company.  Amounts drawn daily or weekly would be easiest to hide and
could then be siphoned off in a variety of ways."  "Kickbacks?"  Max
asked.

"It's a possibility.  I've also noticed research and development costs
are high at the clinic."

"So who has access to the computer?"  Brooke asked.

"Me."  Pete waited for a couple of kids to roller-blade by before
continuing.  "And Dr.  Henschel, Dr.

Arnold, Callie Wainwright, Grant Donovan, my predecessor..."

"Who had the job before you?"  Max asked.

"Karen Forester.  But she hated it.  She's much better at keeping track
of equipment and supplies."

Brooke's voice rose in excitement.  "Could some one be over billing
collecting the funds, then siphoning the money to research and
development and stealing the illegal prof its?"

"I haven't been able to prove it.  Whoever is doing this must be wiping
their tracks in the computer almost daily."

"Wouldn't customers notice if they were billed too much?"  Brooke
asked.

"Probably not.  Most medical cases are complicated.

When a doctor orders a series of tests, most patients won't notice an
additional one tacked onto the bill.  And if a patient's unconscious
during a procedure, who would know if they were billed for an extra
pint of blood?"

Max scratched his head.  "Why would the thief care about an embryo
switch?"

Pete grimaced.  "The thief might not.  Then again, a thief might fear
any investigation could blow his lucrative scheme.  But mind you, I
have yet to prove anyone is stealing."

"But you have suspicions."

Pete nodded.  "A few days ago, Callie asked me about investing a large
sum of money.  I asked her if she'd inherited the money because I was
concerned over estate taxes."

Brooke looked as if she was holding her breath.  "And what did Callie
answer?"

"We were interrupted.  She said she'd get back to me.  The next day she
was dead."  Pete looked at Max with sad, round eyes.  "I'm a single
parent with three kids.  Please don't mix me up in this."

"You have my word.  And you've been extremely helpful, Mr.  Wilson.  We
appreciate it."

Realizing Pete had told them all he could, Max took Brooke's arm and
led her through the park.  "Every damn time we learn a new fact, it
leads to more questions.  I think We need to wait on Grant for the
moment and investigate Callie and where her money came" from next."

"But she's dead."

"She must have had friends and family.  Let's start with where she
lived."

Twenty minutes later they parked in front of a modest apartment
building.  Brooke hoped they'd discover something helpful.  After Max
locked the car, he took her hand, outwardly calm while every muscle in
her hummed with tension.  The thought of going through a dead person's
things seemed improper, and yet, how else would they find answers?

While she steeled herself for the unpleasant task, they headed for the
office of the three-story stuccoed building.  Max knocked once on the
manager's door, then entered.

A young woman with dark, soulful eyes and skin the color of caramel
looked up from her books.  "Can I help you?"

"We'd like to look at Apartment 3-D, please," Max said.

The woman placed a pen between the pages to mark her place and closed
her book.  "Are you reporters?  The police said not to let anyone
in."

Max smiled engagingly at the young woman, and Brooke wondered why he
never looked at her that openly.  "We're not reporters.  We're trying
to find out who killed Callie.  It's possible the same person who
murdered her tried to kill us this morning."

The woman hesitated, assessing them with fear and doubt in her eyes.
Brooke stepped forward, her hand outstretched.  "He's telling you the
truth.  We buried Max's sister-in-law yesterday, his brother-is still
recovering from a severe accident and someone cut the brake line on his
truck this morning.  Please, we need your help.  I've a little girl
waiting for me at home.  I'd like to sleep at night without worrying if
someone is trying to break in."

The woman stared at her, then shrugged.  "Call me crazy for believing
you, but I do.  I'm Leila Gagnet."  They shook hands, and the manager
nodded at Max, then led them to the apartment.

Callie's one-bedroom quarters certainly didn't have the look of a
wealthy woman.  If she'd been stealing from the clinic, would she have
lived like this?  An afghan tossed over a couch hid a color so faded
Brooke couldn't guess at the original.  Milk crates stacked along the
wall served to hold CD's, books, and several healthy plants.

Leila filled a beaker with water at the kitchen sink.

"I've been watering these as if Callie's going to return."

"Were you close?"  Brooke asked.

"When Callie didn't have a date, we went out for pizza on Friday
nights."

Brooke motioned with her chin for Max to go to the bedroom so she could
ask who Callie had been seeing.  He took her hint, and she smiled
inside at how well they worked together before turning back to Leila.
"Was Callie dating anyone special?"

"For a while, she dated a man from the clinic.  Grant Donovan."  Leila
glanced toward Max.  When she didn't see him, she confided, "Callie was
waiting for Grant to tire of his wife.  I told her to quit pining,
tell" the loser to get lost and find a man who appreciated her.  She'd
form this secret little smile of hers and say, "He's the one, Leila,
the one I've been waiting for."" Leila sighed.  "Callie isn't ever
going to have him now, is she?"

"How long did their relationship last?"

"A year or two."  Leila rolled her eyes before she turned the plants
toward the sunlight shining through the window.  "Lately they hadn't
been getting along so well.  Callie was depressed, and then all of a
sudden she..."

Brooke lowered her voice to a whisper.  "Leila, tell me, please."

Leila sighed.  "She came in one night last week, all excited, saying
she was about to strike it rich and get out of this dump."

"What happened?"

"Nothing for a day or two.  The night before she died, she came in
smiling this huge grin, her eyes all bright and pretty, waving a wad of
money.  She took me out for crawfish souffle, sausage gumbo and at the
end of the meal we drank cafe bralor.  The waiter brought it to the
table in this special dish and lit it on fire right at our table.  I'm
telling you, it was something--"

"Callie and you had never gone out like this before?"

"She never had that kind of money before.  Afterward, w went gambling
on a riverboat.  When she won, she smiled and said the rich just kept
getting richer."

"Do you know where the windfall came from?"  Brooke asked.  "Did she
inherit it?"

"She didn't say.  And I didn't ask.  But I don't think anyone died--she
was too happy, if you know what I mean."

"Did she mention Grant that night?"

"Nope.  I figured she finally had him out of her system

"Is there anything else?"

"I told the police, the night she died, the apartment was tossed.
Nothing was missing--except the money, and I know we didn't spend it
all."

As if knowing the conversation had come to an end, Max exited the
bedroom.  "Did Callie leave any letters or notes in her desk?"

"You won't find anything interesting," Leila told them with a quiet
dignity.  "The police already took her papers--not that she had
much."

Ten minutes later they were back in the car, heading south.  "Grant
doesn't have a wife, does he?"

Despite the hushed tones they'd spoken in, Max had heard the
conversation through the thin walls, so she didn't need to fill him in.
"If she didn't inherit that money, where did it come from?"

"I don't know."  Brooke thumbed through the files.  "Grant lied to
Callie.  He's not married."

"That doesn't make him the culprit.  Men lie about their marital status
all the time."

Brooke tossed the files onto the seat.  "Pete Wilson thinks the
financial statements might be off, too.  How much research and
development can they possibly be doing?"

"That's a good question.  One we'll have to get Grant or Henschel to
answer.  Those two have to be next on our list."

"Where are we going now?"

"To see Grant Donovan."  He read the address off the top sheet on the
file and headed west, pulled down the visor as he drove into the late
afternoon sun and merged with the traffic flowing out of town.

Brooke glanced at him, and a shiver chilled her through to her soul.
His hair, raked back from his face, revealed an expression carved of
burnished stone.  His eyes, the pupils a sapphire-hard spark of blue
behind the soft gray tint of his sunglasses, narrowed to slits as he
squinted into the glare with a determination that emanated from him in
solid icy sheets.

The easygoing man she'd come to know had turned into someone she barely
recognized.  For one nanosecond, she could see past the laid-back calm
to all the inner expectancy he normally kept banked.  Energy poured off
him, as if he was readying himself for battle.

Her heart zigzagged into her throat.  She blinked.  The hard side of
Max disappeared so quickly she would have thought her imagination had
played tricks on her--except the revelation confirmed what she already
knew to be true.  Max had more passion humming in his pinky than most
men had in their whole body.  "Right now he was directing his energy
toward their foe.  She could almost pity them their fate.  Almost.

Chapter Nine

Max's determination didn't make Brooke feel better, The idea of
confronting Grant or Henschel was fraying every nerve in her body until
she could barely keep her voice sounding reasonable.  "Do you think
it's safe to risk a face-to-face with Callie's murderer?"

"We shouldn't be in danger.  Neither Grant nor Henschel will be
expecting us.  If you like, you can wait in the track.  If there's
trouble, you can go for help."  He shot her a smile warm enough to thaw
a block of ice.

She wasn't about to let him distract her--not with their lives at
stake.  "So I'll be running away while you face the killer?"

He arched a brow, then turned at the corner.  "Grant may be innocent.
Once I have a better idea of what we're facing, we can adjust the
plan."

Icy fear slid down her neck and back and curled around her heart. Dread
sharpened her tone.  "You're going to confront Grant with what? You
don't even have a gun."

From the beginning, they'd assumed they'd been set up--that someone
wanted it to appear as.  if they'd killed Callie.  But discovering the
relationship between Grant and Callie had put a whole new slant on
things for Brooke.

She wanted to see if Max agreed.  "Callie's murder might have been a
lover's quarrel and have had nothing to do with us.  We may have simply
walked into the clinic at the wrong time."

"Exactly.  That's why" we need to talk to Grant."  She sagged in her
seat, knowing he was fight.  They didn't have much choice but an eerie
premonition grabbed her and wouldn't let go.  "A lot can go wrong if we
anger the wrong person."

"I'll be careful."  His eyes flashed a look that scorched Brooke to her
toes and simmered through her veins.  "Worried about me?"

Yes.  The answer stuck in her throat but seared her mind before she
could stop it.  Yes, I'm worried about you.  The thought rushed like a
fiver raging over Niagara Falls.  Yes, I care about you.  She crossed
her arms over her chest, unwilling to yield to the emotion suddenly
pumping through her.

When she remained silent, he took her hand and tugged her nearer.  "Do
you always worry so much?"

She couldn't resist brushing a finger down the taut muscle of his
forearm.  The hot feel of him made her eager for another kiss.

"I'm trying to cover every contingency," she replied, pleased her voice
sounded reasonable.

He wasn't impervious to her touch--a muscle tightened in his jaw.  His
flesh was warm and hard, yet surprisingly smooth.  She wanted to lean
into him.  Her gaze roamed over his broad shoulders and she remembered
the heat of his flesh beneath her palms when they'd kissed.  She
admired the smooth coordination of muscles contracting and releasing in
a mesmerizing ebb and flow as he turned the steering wheel.

"Covering every contingency is impossible," he said, and she heard a
biting frustration in his tone that she'd never noticed before.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she buried her fears,
freeing her to consider him with speed and clarity.  Unusually alert to
the changes in him, the rigid muscles of his neck, the stiff tilt of
his head, the broad shoulders that didn't relax against the seat, she
concluded Max was more concerned than he was letting on.

"What is it?"  Her hand brushed the light hairs and the tense muscle of
his forearm.

She couldn't quite believe she was allowing thoughts of him distract
her.  Somehow, she'd scooted over until she'd ended up snuggled beneath
his arm.  Blood rushed to her face.

He kept driving, but glanced at her, his eyes dancing with amusement as
if guessing her thoughts.  "You going to sit there ogling my body, or
are you going to help me find Grant's home?"

"I think I'll ogle," she said, unable to suppress the unguarded hunger
in her tone.

He chuckled with a wolfish growl that fired her nerves to overcharge.
His hot breath stirred the wisps of hair at her temple.  "We might get
there sooner if you take out a map."

"Is that so?"

"But we could delay our visit."

At the hope in his voice, she cast a glance at him.  "Why?"

"Because you want me."

Her heart sputtered.  "And just how do you know that?"

"Instinct.  My instincts are telling me, I should park the truck in
those trees up ahead, take off your clothes, right here, right now.
Ever so slowly.  My instincts tell me I'd enjoy watching you quiver in
expectant anticipation.  My instincts say you would be hot.
Receptive."

She mustered every force of will she could gather.  "Do your instincts
say whether you intend to stick around when this is over?"

"Are you holding out for marriage?"

She wanted him to tell her he cared for her.  She wanted him to make a
stab at commitment---even if that meant staying in one place for the
next few months.  The words lodged in her throat.  She couldn't bear
for him to say the words without meaning them--and that meant they had
to come from his heart, not at her suggestion.

She ducked out from under his arm and slid toward the window, proud she
hadn't given in to what her body so obviously craved.  "I'm holding out
for more than you're willing to give me.  Or yourself."

At her words, he stiffened.  His lips thinned and his expression blazed
thunderclouds.  Then, like turning off a switch, he regained his air of
insouciance.  "In that case, we'd best pay Grant Donovan a visit."

How did he bottle up his roiling passion as if it didn't exist? Knowing
better than to ask, she leaned back, closed her eyes and tried to rid
herself of tension.  But even with her eyes shut, she envisioned Max,
the passion uncorked, his face inches from hers, a wanton love
effervescing in his eyes.

She suspected when he made love, he kept his emotions behind the wall
he'd built.  Ah, but she longed to free that passion, longed for him to
take her because he could do nothing less.  Max out of control and
crazy in love was the dream she pictured in vivid color.  She wanted
steaming, sizzling, red.

Right now, she didn't trust herself to be idle around" Max.  Better
they spent the evening working.  Concentrating on solving their more
immediate problems would prevent her from torturing herself with
intimate thoughts of him.

GRANT DONOVAN lIVED in a modest trailer park.  They pulled into his
driveway after dark to the sound of country music blasting out the open
windows of his double-wide.  A Jaguar and a shiny red Cadillac sat in
the driveway.

Max whistled.  "Expensive wheels for a computer researcher."

"Maybe he has company."  Brooke wondered if the Kine Clinic researcher
would even speak to them.  She recalled Grant's overbearing size and
immense fists but stiffened her back with resolve.  During the drive
she'd regained her courage.  No way would she sit in the car while Max
took all the risks.  They were in this together.

Max opened his door.  "Let's hope he's in a talkative mood."

When she followed Max to the door, he raised a brow and his lips
twitched as if he'd expected her to change her mind and come with him
despite her misgivings.  How had he come to know her so well?

To be heard over the music, Max pounded on the door while she waited
below on the metal steps.  When no ode answered, he tried the knob.

As he entered the trailer, her breath lodged in her throat.  "Grant?
Anybody home?"

Grant was hunched over a table that looked like a restaurant booth.  He
didn't look up and apparently hadn't heard them come in.  His gaze
riveted on a computerized chess set, his meaty hand fondled a can of
beer.

The trailer was surprisingly neat and clean, with carpets recently
vacuumed.  A four-tiered, top-of-the-line sound system with blinking
red lights and huge speakers blared at them.  A sleek laptop computer
rested on the counter beside a leather briefcase.  One bedroom wall had
been knocked out to make room for a big-screen television.  However the
place lacked a woman's touch.  Actually it lacked a personal touch. She
didn't see any pictures, letters, magazines or even a book.

Max angled forward toward the sound system and flipped off the power.
In the sudden silence, Grant raised his huge head like a lumbering
bear, his beady eyes blearily focusing on them.

"Braddack!"  Even drunk, he recognized Max, and he reached for the
phone.

Unhampered by alcohol, Max snaked out his ann and ripped the phone
cord from the wall.  Before Grant could work up a protest, Max slid
into the booth, crowding the larger man.  "How well did you know Callie
Wainwright?"

Grant's eyes drifted back to the chess set, avoiding Max's piercing
stare.  "Who?"

With a sweep of his arm, Max knocked the chess pieces onto the floor.
"The murdered woman at the Kine Clinic."

"Oh, her.  Never met her."  A crafty look entered Grant's beady eyes.
"Different department, you know."  "

Max's voice softened dangerously.  "Cut the crap.

You spent the night at her place.  Often."

"So, what of it?"

"Tell me about the research and development money," Brooke said,
attacking from a different angle.  "Why are the costs so high?"

"How should I know?  Ask Pete Wilson, he's the accountant."

Max pounded the table with his fist.  "You are in charge of research.
What the hell do you spend all that money on?"

Grant cracked his knuckles.  "Can't say."  "Can't?"  she asked.  "Or
won't?"

Grant slouched in his seat, pretending he hadn't heard her.  Lifting
the beer can, he chugged.

Max jumped in with another question, obviously hoping if they kept
switching topics, Grant would spill something they could use.  "Have
you altered the financial data?"

Grant's face turned smug.  "That's part of my job."

"It's not your job to keep two sets of books," Brooke muttered.

"Who said it was?"  Grant turned suddenly sharp eyes on her.

"Did Dr.  Arnold order you to alter the books?  What about Dr.
Henschel, does he know what you're doing?  Did Ford know what you're
doing?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Max grabbed the man by his shirt collar, yanking it tight around the
neck.  "You're lying!"

"So sue me."

Max shook him, then let go.  "We'll find out what's going on whether
you cooperate or not.".

Grant lifted the beer and when he found the can empty, gazed longingly
toward the fridge.  Brooke didn't think Grant was drunk, but
pretending.  His eyes were a bit glassy, but not red.  While Max asked
questions, she examined the kitchen trash can and found only one other
empty beer can.

Behind her, Grant hiccuped.  "Henschel knows exactly what's going on.
Ask him.  Ask the board.  Ask your brother.  Just leave me the hell
alone."

Whether Grant was ignorant or loyal to his boss, Brooke couldn't
discern.  Clearly, he wasn't going to help them.

"There's just this little problem."  Max paused, and Grant lifted his
eyes.  "The board relies on your data.  And Ford's unavailable."

The researcher didn't even fake surprise.  In fact, a satisfied smile
pursed his lips.  "Well, you don't expect me to keep track of Ford
Braddack, do you?"

While she snooped in the kitchen, Brooke noticed 9 bank deposit
receipt amid a stack of bills.  Shielding her movement with her body,
she slipped it into her pocket and signaled she was ready to go.

Max nodded and gripped Grant's shirt once more.

"If I find out you had anything to do with what happened to my brother
and his wife, I'll break every bone in your body."

As they sped away in his truck, Max let out a frustrated snort.  "That
was a waste of time."

"Maybe not."  Brooke removed the receipt from her pocket and flattened
it.

"What is it?"

"It's a bank deposit, dated two days after Callie's murder, for one
hundred thousand dollars."  Excitement raced through her in an
energizing hum.  "Why would Grant have that kind of money?  Did you
notice the expensive electronic equipment in that trailer?"

Max flexed his fingers as if wishing he could tighten them around
Grant's throat.  "Maybe he inherited the money, " "

"Like Callie?"

"Could be a coincidence."

"I don't think so, and neither do you.  There has to be a
connection."

"Maybe."  The red from a traffic light at the intersection lit his
inscrutable features.  He couldn't seem to take his gaze from her
trembling lips, and she couldn't keep her eyes from drifting to the
fascinating flicker of the pulse at his temple.

"Do you want to look for Henschel?"  he asked.

She couldn't answer, her gaze glued to the way his shirt molded to his
chest, leaving a sexy vee of bronzed skin at the neck.  Energy seemed
to bubble off his skin, enveloping her like a rare champagne.

"Or are you ready to go home for the night?"  he pressed, leaving the
decision to her.

At the mention of sleep, her stomach clenched.  Sleeping in the same
house--even if it was the size of a small hotel--was out of the
question.  No way would she sleep.  Apparently she hadn't lost her
earlier tension.  Nor did she wish to confront it.  "Let's find
Henschel now.  I'm too worked up to sleep."

After the light turned green, Max tore his gaze from her mouth.  He
easily found Dr.  Henschel's home among the palatial houses in the
Garden District.  The white brick Colonial with imposing two-story
columns was set back on a manicured lawn.

Every light in the house was out.  Clearly, Henschel was asleep or not
at home.  Max knocked on the front door, but no one answered.  He
climbed into the truck and headed home.

Now she was going to confront the tension between them whether she
wanted to or not.

MAx PULLED THROUGH the wrought-iron gates of his parents" home and
parked in the garage.  He led her through a private courtyard scented
with blooming bougainvillea and magnolias to the east wing, which had
its own side entrance.  The high walls cast dark shadows across a
moss-covered fountain that trickled water into a goldfish pond.  Ivy
climbed the walls, lending an Old World ambience to the garden. Birds

fed at a feeder, their dark wings flapping in a blur of soft
moonlight.

While Brooke appreciated the luxuriant grounds, she couldn't ignore the
nervousness that gripped her.  Max led her past columns that flanked an
arched entrance and into a foyer of darkly paneled walls.  The pine
floor was polished to a deep shine.  A crystal chandelier warmed the
dark edges of the hall.

Brooke presumed Max would lead her to her room, but he whisked her
across the antique Persian carpet.  Beside her, hands deep in his
pockets, Max didn't appear to have a care in the world.  In the
burnished gold reflection of the hallway mirror, she caught a spark of
amusement in his eyes and a slight tilting at the corner of his mouth.
What was he up to?

"Aren't you taking me to Skye?"

"There's the phone."  He gestured to a table and chair in a corner
nook.  "Why don't you call?"

Her forehead creased in confusion.  "You want me to call your parents
from inside their own home?"

"Why not?  They don't have to know where we are.  While you check on
Skye, I have a few arrangements to make of my own."

He avoided her gaze and unlocked a door.  She glimpsed what looked like
a laboratory before he swept inside and shut the door behind him.

Skye was sound asleep, Eva assured her.  She'd had a wonderful time
riding her pony and had talked them into a fast-food dinner.  Eva
suggested if Brooke and Max wanted to catch a late dinner, she and Red
intended to stay in and would be happy to watch Skye.

Brooke hung up the phone, wondering if Eva was matchmaking.  Before she
could decide, Max returned with a secretive smile.

"What?"  she asked, curious.

"I've ordered a special dinner.  Would you like to see my rooms?"

She walked inside the living room of his apartment and gasped.  The
scent of jasmine drew her like a bee to pollen.  An extravagant bouquet
of orchids and baby's breath sat on a marble stand by the fireplace.  A
magnificent sunflower and fern combination rested in a silver urn on a
coffee table.  Carnations, daisies, and bougainvillea in cut crystal
occupied almost every flat table, counter or cupboard.

She turned to face Max in confusion and found him staring at her, a
satisfied glint in his eyes.  She placed her hands on her hips, her
mouth trembling as his eyes focused on her mouth.  "How did you arrange
this?"

"Ever since you moved into my parents" home, I've been hoping to lure
you over here."

Her brows rose.  "You brought in fresh flowers every day?"

He cocked his slim hip and rested his thumbs in his belt loops.  One
long lazy glance spun out and shimmered with tenderness.  "Do you like
it?"

"Oh, yes."  A frightening weakness weighted her limbs as she circled
the room, as if embraced in one giant, velvet hug.  To distract herself
from the sudden urge to fling herself into his arms, she paced, barely
noting the antique furniture, plush carpets, and rich draperies that
merged in one swirl of luxuriant golden ambiance.  "I love it.  But
this must cost a fortune."

She secretly hoped the reference to his wealth

would cause him to draw back.  She couldn't fight this seductive
setting much longer--not when she wanted him so much.

He chuckled, his tone low, deep and husky.  "I can afford it.  Maybe
I've finally found a good use for my money."

At his" words, a rush of satisfaction flooded her.  His expression
implied his feelings for her were stronger than she'd dared to hope.
The pulsing muscle in his neck, the hard wildness in his eyes, the
tense set of his shoulders indicated emotions that had to be close to
love.

At that realization, her blood hummed through her " veins, spiking her
with anticipation of tonight, tomorrow-and the day after that.  Hope
surged with the possibility he might come to love her enough to change
his rootless life-style.  In an oddly heightened state of awareness,
lost opportunities and regret filtered through her mind and filled her
with bittersweet sadness.

She could have made love with him at the lake or in the truck.  She'd
wanted to.  Desperately.

Her damn principles had held her back.

Now her past foolishness haunted her.  Life was too priceless to waste,
and she'd squandered precious moments that could never be relived.
Besides, protecting herself from the possible pain of leaving Max
before she knew how well suited they really were for each other seemed
cowardly.  But past mistakes could be remedied.

And she didn't intend to waste another moment.

A bowl of fresh fruit, almost hidden by the flowers,

sat on the counter.  Brooke plucked a grape and playfully placed one
between Max's lips.  "Good?"

"Find out for yourself."  A spark kindled and the sapphire in his eyes
smoked with a mixture of turbulent emotions.  Lust or love?  She
guessed a combination of the two.  Knowing she belonged with him,
whether or not he would admit it, she leaned toward him and let his
fierce embrace enfold her.

Sire burned for him.  And when he kissed her, taking absolute
possession, she knew by the tremble in his lips, he burned, too.  Her
breasts crushed against his muscular chest, and she wound her hands
around his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers resting on the turgid
pulse at his throat.  Her heart stuttered and desire swept her in
spiraling sensation.

She breathed in his pleasant male scent mixed with the sweetness of
jasmine.  Her fingers trailed over his neck and shoulders before
curling into the silky thick smoothness of his hair.

Giving herself over to his ravishing mouth, she enjoyed the eagerness
of his lips on hers, the warmth of his chest against her breasts, his
hips tight to hers, leaving no doubt of his passion.  He wrapped his
arms around her back, one hand tenderly supporting her neck.

Pulling back just inches, he whispered while stating directly into her
eyes, "I want you.  If you don't feel the same--"

"I want you."  She might die if he didn't kiss her again.  It was
frightening how much she wanted him.  There was honesty in that.  And a
dangerous flash of heat that caused her head to fall back limply as
he

nuzzled her throat.  Blood hummed through her veins, and suddenly she
couldn't stand the clothing that separated her from his flesh.  Aching
to explore his every contour and hollow, she tugged his shirt out of
his jeans and helped him pull it over his head.

Standing face-to-face, she reached up and ran her fingers over his
rugged brows, sculpted cheekbones and square chin, down his neck and
over the ridge of his collar bone.  Beneath her touch he quivered, but
remained still enough for her to explore at her own pace.

His flesh was both warmer and smoother than she'd.  expected.  The
hairs on his chest tickled her palms, the muscles firmer, but somehow
softer than she remembered.

She trailed her fingers over his flat stomach to his jeans.  Undoing
the top button, she looked into passionate eyes that brought a raging
flush to her face, but slowly she unbuttoned the rest.  His eyes flared
with a heat that shot a flame straight to her core.  Her fingers shook,
but she pushed his jeans down, pleased she wouldn't have to bother with
underwear.  He wasn't wearing any.

As she lowered her eyes and took in his male beauty, his lack of boxer
shorts wasn't all that pleased her.  Without a shred of embarrassment,
and brimming with confident male pride, he stepped out of the jeans.
She ran her fingers lightly over his lean hips and muscular buttocks.

There could be no denying his wanting her, and the power at her own
femininity escalated her need to a fervent pitch.  She wanted to make
him lose his control.

She wanted his passion.  She wanted his heat.  All of it.

Boldly she reached for him.

"Not yet," he whispered, his voice laden with sensuality.

He kissed her again, tiny, teasing, taunting kisses.  While finding it
powerfully erotic to stand fully clothed while a naked man embraced
her, she wanted her clothes off.  Her hand rose to remove her shirt.

"Let me do that."  He nipped kisses across her cheek and toward her
ear, his hand staying hers in a gesture tender, yet commanding.

He teased her lips with his fingers while his mouth placed a necklace
of kisses along the sensitive flesh of her throat.  Finally his hands
dipped toward the edge of her shirt and pulled it over her head.

Cool air rippled along her heated flesh, exciting rather than soothing.
Her breasts swelled from just his glance at her bra.  She started to
unhook it.

Gently he pushed her hands away.  "That's my job."

She should have known he wouldn't be hurried or denied any pleasure or
lose one iota of control.  One glance at his face reflected his
enjoyment and anticipation of each slow touch, each slower brush of the
lips that took aeons.  With a sigh, she waited, the trembling need
keeping her dizzy.

Without haste, he unhooked the front snap of her bra, leaving the lacy
silk to dangle while his fingers traced the arch of flesh now revealed.
Her breasts trembled, more aroused than if he'd bared her completely.

He played with the straps of her bra, slowly, sensuously, letting them
fall to her shoulders.  He slid the cups aside--but not enough.  He'd
left the edges just covering her taut nipples that were aching for his
touch.  As if he had forever to explore, he ran a finger from her chin,
between her breasts to her jeans.

"Don't move," he half pleaded, half ordered, until her nerves, strung
tight, seemed ready to burst.

He removed her jeans and left her standing in panties her bra unclasped
while he gathered her hair and lifted it behind her shoulders.  He
feathered the tip of his finger over her neck, the hollow of her
shoulder and toward her inflamed breasts.

"Touch me," she demanded in a voice so filled with need she barely
recognized it as her own.

"I am."  He parted her bra.  When he looked at her, he sucked in his
breath and his pupils dilated, shooting a wanton heat straight to her
groin.  "You're beautiful.

Gorgeous.  Do you know what part of you I like best.  "What?"

"The sexy gray matter between your ears."

His answer both surprised and pleased her, giving her reason to hope he
loved her.  But as his finger circled her exposed breast, thinking
became more and more difficult.  She was the one losing control.

Trying to regain mastery of her spinning thoughts,

she murmured.  "You like the way I think?"  "Yup."

"I think you should hurry."

"Is that.  so?"

Lazily, with just a finger, he continued to circle one breast then the
other and the heat of him made her ache for the caress of his palms.
When she didn't think she could stand another moment, he bent his head
and took the tip of her nipple into his mouth, shooting tiny zaps of
pleasure straight to her heart.  He gave equal treatment to her other
nipple and her legs almost buckled.

She grabbed his shoulders for balance.  "I can't take much more of
this."

He'chuckled knowingly.  "How about a shower?"  "What?"

"I'll wash your back."  Ignoring her groan and without waiting for her
answer, he led her into the largest bath she'd ever seen.  Along the
way, she rid herself of bra and panties, oddly unselfconscious.  Before
she could take in more than the lighted mirrors above a marble counter,
he'd hauled her into the two-spigot shower.

Stepping into the water, she closed her eyes and tipped her face to the
spray.  He came up behind her, the rich vanilla scent of shampoo giving
him away.  Then his hands were washing her hair, his fingers massaging
her scalp.  Nothing had ever felt this good.

She tilted her head back.  "Mmm.  If this is the reward, I should get
dirty more often."

"You're thinking dirty thoughts?"  Amusement colored his words.

"Oh, yes."  She lifted her clean hair off her neck.  "My back,
please."

He worked the soap into a lather and used his hands on her shoulders
and waist, his fingers slippery and slick.  As he moved lower over her
buttocks, the exquisite sensation almost unbearable, she trembled in
anticipation.  By now she understood he intended to keep his control,
prolong their anticipation--but the waiting was so hard.

Her skin, exquisitely sensitive, flared in response to his slightest
touch, increasing the ache deep in her belly.  When his soapy hands
slid over her breasts, she couldn't contain a soft moan.

He nipped her neck.  "I could do this for hours."

"No, you can't."

His fingers tweaked her nipples.  "Why is that?"  "Because."  She
attempted to turn away.  The fiery pleasure was about to surge out of
her control, set her.  on fire.

His fingers playing with her nipples kept her right where he wanted
her.  "Because?  That's no reason."

Her mind whirled in confusion, but amid her burning senses, one
tantalizing thought focused.  Two could play this game.  If she wanted
to drive him wild, she'd have to be bold.  After lathering her hands,
she reached behind her hips.  His sex was easy to find, and when she
grasped him, he let out a muffled snort.

His "breathing grew ragged.  "You can't--"

"Oh, yes, I can."  That she could drive him out of control and over the
edge heightened her own arousal.  Only she could no longer stand the
waiting.  She wanted him inside her.

Leaning to the side, she let the water wash off the soap, fully
intending to guide him into her.  He foiled her plan by flicking off
the water and wrapping her in a thick terry-cloth towel.

He had her stand in front of him on a thick rug.  Making a game of it,
he dried her slowly, caressing her breasts, her belly, lower--until
every inch of her burned.  Kneeling on the fluffy rug at her feet, he
urged her thighs apart.  His mouth found her.  Pleasure rippled through
her, and she climaxed hard.

She dug her fingers into his hair, expecting him to stop.  He didn't.

No longer a thinking being, but only a creature of sensation, she
marveled that the first climax had been only h teaser.  What was
bubbling inside her now was like a shaken bottle of champagne ready to
froth over the top.  The sensations gathered, building, burning,
bursting.  If his strong hands hadn't supported her buttocks, she might
have slumped to the floor.

Whimpering sounds--hers--filled her ears.  Of their own volition, her
hips gyrated, but he did not release her until the caldron of fizzing
bubbles in her veins turned her frantic with frenzy.

He stopped, and she let out a cry of protest.  "Max!  I need you."

"No more than I need you," he rasped.

He lifted her and carried her to a king-size bed strewn with rose
petals.  Reaching into a drawer by the bed, he pulled out a silver
packet.  She took it from him, tried to put the condom on him, but her
hands trembled so badly he had to finish for her.

He lay on his side and fondled her breasts, but she could no longer
stand the sensations cascading through her.  Kissing him deeply, she
rolled him onto his back, reached down and slipped him inside her.  His
fullness alone almost made her climax again.

With every ounce of will, she tamped down the sensation.  Her hips
rocked and she looked directly into his eyes.  He was burning with her,
rocking under her, wild with need.  The fierce passion in his
expression, combined with his magic fingers between her parted thighs,
was her undoing.

"Come with me, Max.  Give me everything you've got."

At her words, his hips pounded upward, and he filled her completely.
With his intensity as out of control as an erupting volcano, she
climaxed again.  He spasmed inside her before she collapsed atop his
chest, a quivering mass of satiated flesh.

Her heartbeat slowed, and she'd never felt so complete Toward the end,
the cool and collected Max Bradclack had lost his famous control.  He
may not have said the words, but the fiery possessiveness in his eyes
hadn't lied.

He pulled the covers over her, cradling her atop his chest, clearly
unwilling to release her.  She hoped he wanted to hold her forever.
Whether or not he would admit it, they belonged together, she and Max
Braddack.  She wanted a future with him.  She wanted to spend the rest
of her life with him.

With her head on his shoulder, she catnapped, averse to questioning the
joy she'd found in his arms, just knowing it was right.  Surely he had
to know that,

tOO.

A knock on the front door awakened her.  Still half asleep beside Max,
she woke up frightened that something was wrong with Skye.  But that
was silly.  She took a moment to get her bearings and recalled Max's
words about ordering dinner.  At the sound of another knock, she
climbed from the bed and slipped into Max's fluffy robe.

Padding across the thick carpet to the side entrance, she wondered what
the servants would think of her answering the door at this time of
night in her robe.  She shouldn't have worried.  A van with a local
restaurant's logo on the side was heading down the road.  The delivery
person had left a rolling cart laden with silver" trays.

Max had thrown on jeans and joined her in rolling the cart, steaming
with mouth-watering scents, to the dining table.

"Gourmet take-out?"  she asked.

He grinned, sounding eminently pleased with himself.  "Only in New
Orleans could dinner be delivered at this hour."

Beneath the cart were all the accoutrements with the name of a superb
restaurant discreetly embroidered in the corners of the fine linens.
While he removed the bouquet of flowers, Brooke floated a lace
tablecloth over the table.  Together they set out linen napkins,
silverware, china, and crystal, then carried the gleaming sterling
platters of food with their matching covers to the table.

Brooke pointed to a large manila envelope propped against the
coffeepot.  "What's that?"

"Dessert?"

"I thought I'd have you for dessert."  She laughed, comfortable with
her sudden boldness.

"Greedy woman.  You can have two desserts."

Only her grumbling stomach prevented her from having him for dessert
first.  Max poured them each a

flute of champagne.  He touched his glass to hers in a toast while
looking deep into her eyes.  "To us."

"To us," she repeated, wondering exactly what he meant by that.

They started with a cup of tasty bouillabaisse seasoned with saffron,
and crusty French bread drizzled with garlic butter.  The main dish,
lobster and crayfish over wild rice, was complemented by a light Caesar
salad.

While Max ate his last bites, she poured them coffee, her gaze
lingering on the envelope.  With her hunger sated, she sat back and
sipped, wishing Max wasn't so good at arousing her curiosity.

Finally, he handed her the sealed envelope, which she now noted was
from a prominent, highly respected medical research laboratory in New
Orleans.  "Don't open it yet.  There's something I want to tell you
first."

He sounded so serious, his tone rang a warning bell.  "I'm
listening."

"No matter what the results of that test, I will never take Skye away
from you."  He planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin on a
closed fist.

The rich food suddenly curdled in her stomach.  "I don't understand.
How did this--"

"I swabbed the inside of my cheek and Skye's, then mailed the sample to
the research center."

" "When?"

"The day we all rode the streetcar.  I helped her brush her teeth and
did it then."  "Why didn't you tell me?"  "I'm telling you now."

That he seemed to trust her at last calmed her stomach.  Her eyes
darted to the envelope and back to him, sensing he wasn't finished
talking.

"We could rip it up," he suggested, again sounding serious with just a
hint of mischievousness in his eyes.  "What?"  She hugged the envelope
to her chest.

He leaned forward and took her hand.  "I'm prepared to take care of
Skye physically, financially and emotionally whether she's my daughter
or not."

At his words, her heart swelled with love, but her head issued caution.
"Why?"

A sheepish grin and a slight flush crossed his features, revealing how
difficult this conversation must be for him.  Impatiently, she awaited
his answer.

He cleared his throat.  "I don't want you to think that what's happened
between us--the way I feel about you--has anything to do with the
possibility that Skye might be my daughter."

That had never occurred to her.  She tapped the envelope with her
nails.  How did he feel about her?  Max had never said--not with words.
Yet she sensed he was saying all he could fight now and even this much
was hard for him.

"Max, I'm sure she is yours.  But if she's not, I'll have to keep
searching for her parents."

His eyes held steady, boring into her.  "It's your decision."

She ripped open the envelope.  "Skye has a right to know her medical
history.  She needs to know who her biological parents are."

Brooke pulled out three loose pages and scanned the cover letter.  Her
reading stopped.  Relief and happiness flooded her.  "She's yours Max.
The chance of error is infinitesimal.  She's yours."

"I knew it in my heart the moment I saw her.  It just took a while to
get accustomed to the idea.  Now I find it amazing.  I'm a father, and
you're the only mother she'll ever know."

"Ford might contest--"

He shook his head.  "Since Rhonda's gone, I don't think my brother will
object to our raising her--not under the circumstances."

"Our raising her?"

"I'd like to be there, too."

She wanted him to be there--so much her heart raced with joy.  Was that
a proposal?  Her mouth went dry and she vowed to ask just as soon as
she swallowed a sip of champagne.

A pounding on the door mined her chance.  Her pulse raced, and she
prayed Ford's condition hadn't taken a turn for the worse.

"Max!  It's Eva.  Is Brooke with you?"

Max stood and unselfconsciously opened the door.  Brooke couldn't be so
nonchalant.  She was wearing Max's robe, in his room, late at night.
She might as well have a sign painted on her forehead that said she'd
slept with Max.  Heat blazed in her cheeks.

Max frowned.  "Brooke's right here.  What's wrong?"

Eva ignored the intimate dinner setting and Brooke's state of undress.
His mother stalked into the room, her eyes darting wildly back and
forth.  "Is Skye here, too?"

Chapter Ten

Despite a light sweat on Max's skin, a chill of foreboding scissored
down his spine, chopping his nerves into pulsating pieces.  One glance
at Brooke told him she was as shocked as he.  Stepping to her side, he
wrapped an arm across her shoulder and vowed whatever they faced, they
would face it together.

Brooke's skin was as white as the terry robe that swallowed her.  Her
voice shook.  "You said Skye was in bed."

"She was."  Eva covered her face with her hands.  "I thought I heard a
noise and went to check on her.  She wasn't in her room.  She's not in
our end of the house.  I thought it unlikely, but hoped she might be
here with you."

Even through the thick terry-cloth robe, he could feel Brooke
trembling.  Forcing words past the lining of his mouth turned dry with
fear, he sought to comfort her.  "We'll find her.  We'll bring her back
home."

Red sprinted down the hall and skidded to a stop.  Before he had a
chance to speak, Eva shook her head, answering his unasked question
about Skye.

Had Max found his daughter only to lose her?  He hadn't had time to
learn to take her hugs and smiles for granted.  He recalled the sound
of her sweet voice, her ready smile, and the quick curiosity in her
eyes, and swallowed a lump in his throat.

Skye.  He could close his eyes and see her face.  Hell, he saw her face
every moment.  And right now he saw her frightened tears.

As he thought how terrified Skye would be without her mother, pain
knifed through him.  Fear for her safety shuddered down his spine.  She
was the innocent here, but one who might be forced to pay for adult.
mistakes.  If anyone hurt one strand of hair on his daughter's head,
he'd spend the rest of his life hunting down the kidnapper.

Damn it to hell!  He'd promised Brooke she and Skye would be safe here.
Why hadn't he hired a full-time nanny and round-the-clock security
guards?  Why had he assumed he alone could protect her?

His parents looked as if they'd aged a decade within the last week.
Eva's eyes were red and puffy with tears.  She must have been crying as
she'd searched for Skye.

"What about the alarm system?"  Max asked, trying to think logically
despite the shock that had jolted him numb.

Red's face was drawn, his mouth grim, yet he spoke with a calming
strength.  "The back door was forced open.  Someone must have tampered
with the alarm."

Brooke sagged against him.  Her voice, filled with terror, helplessness
and shattering pain, rose an octave.  "They've taken my baby!"

"Skye's been kidnapped?"  Eva sank into a chair, confusion clouding her
eyes.

Max cursed at the agony his parents were going through.  First, Rhonda
had died.  Ford lay in a coma.  Now their only grandchild was
missing.

He glanced at Brooke and the horror on her face mirrored his own.  She
probably felt just as guilty as he did for leaving Skye alone. Brooke's
eyes riveted on th coffee table.  She stiffened and lunged toward the
phone.  "We should call the police."

In the space of a gasp, the phone's shrill ring jerked her to a halt.
She rounded on him with a silent plea to do something.

Inhaling a deep breath, he steeled himself against her searing pain so
he could function.  Yet he couldn't shake the apprehension that spiked
in unexpected intensity.

He strode to the phone and picked up the receiver.  "Hello?"

"If you want to see Skye, don't call the police," threatened a gravelly
whisper that shot adrenaline through his veins.

"Agreed.  No police."  He motioned Brooke over and tilted the receiver
so she could hear.

With his free hand he held her close to his side.  So close he shared
her trembling, weariness and sense of defeat.

"Don't talk--just listen," the VOice continued in a noxious hush.  "You
and the kid's mother meet me out on the lake in your boat in thirty
minutes.  Head north three miles from the marina and cut your engines.
I'll find you.  Oh, and don't forget to bring the ransom."

He'd give anything he owned to save his daughter, his bank account,
his stocks, his patent.  Clenching the phone so tightly he had to ease
his grip before the plastic cracked, he smothered his fury behind a
cool tone.  "What do you want?"

"The diamond necklace your mother wore to the charity ball last
Christmas Eve."

The caller must have seen his mother's picture in the paper's society
pages.  Obviously the kidnapper didn't know their family well or he
would have asked for a great deal more.

Something wasn't right, something darker and infinitely more sinister
assailed him fleetingly, but he couldn't think past his acute need to
know his daughter was all right.  He ached to hear her voice.  "Let me
talk to Skye."

"Don't be late."

The phone clicked.  Anger clenched his jaw.

Brooke swayed.  "Oh, God!  I'll never see my baby again."

"Yes, you will," Max insisted fiercely.  "Now go dress.  We haven't
much time."  He gently shoved Brooke toward the bedroom and her
clothes, then turned to his father before doubts engulfed him.  "He
wants some diamond necklace Mom wore last Christmas."

Eva spun on her heels, her soulful blue eyes luminous with tears. "I'll
get it."

After both women left the room, Red shook his head, anger in the
sharply drawn lines of his mouth.  "That necklace isn't much of a
ransom."

Exactly.  With his family's wealth, the kidnapper could have asked for
much more.  While the necklace was expensive, it wasn't close to the
fortune he could have demanded.  Was the kidnapper ignorant?  Or in a
rush?  Why not give them time to withdraw cash from the bank?

Max locked stares with Red.  "There's only one reason the ransom is so
low.  The kidnapper doesn't intend to release Skye."

Red nodded, his eyes narrowed.  "Most likely, he intends to draw out
you and Brooke."

Max had to give Red credit.  His father didn't even try to talk him out
of going, didn't try to remind him with Ford still in a coma, Max was
their only remaining son.  Red understood no matter how much Max loved
his parents, he could never abandon the daughter who had so recently
come into his life and won a piece of his heart.

His father clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed.  "What can I do to
help?"

At his offer, Max had never loved his father more.  "We have only a few
spare minutes.  I could use weapons, a flare andre"

The hurried beat of approaching footsteps injected a shred of caution
into his words.  His mother rushed back into his rooms.  At the same
time Brooke, still tucking her shirt into her jeans, joined them from
the other direction.

"Whatever else you think might be helpful," Max finished smoothly,
unwilling to alarm Eva any more than necessary.

As Brooke watched his mother casually toss Max

the sparkling necklace, Brooke's eyes brimmed with thanks.  "I'll pay
you back, somehow."

Eva took Brooke into her arms.  "They are only rocks, dear.  Skye is
flesh and blood and infinitely more precious.  You bring her back safe.
You all come back safe."

Then his mother was hugging him, making no attempt to hide her tears.
She felt frail in his arms, but then she stiffened her spine, reminding
him of her backbone of steel.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too."  Reluctantly, she released him and wiped her eyes.
"You'd better go."

Red met them in the drive and Max shoved aside the uneasy thought he
might never see his parents again.  While Brooke slid into the
passenger seat of the truck, Red handed him a Swiss army knife, which
Max slipped into his jeans" pocket, and a handgun, which he tucked into
his belt.

"There're extra clips and a loaded shotgun behind the seat.  I couldn't
find a flare but threw in binoculars."  Red handed him a tiny penknife.
"Hide this in your shoe."

He didn't think to argue with his father's unexpected vehemence.  Max
knelt and tucked the tiny weapon away, hugged his father, banking his
stirring emotions, then hurried behind the wheel.  He started the motor
and shifted into reverse, doing his best to ignore the dark despair
clawing at him.  "Got your seat belt fastened?"

From his rough tone, Brooke must have surmised he had no intention of
obeying the speed limit.  She braced a hand against the dash.  "Just
remember we can't help Skye if we don't arrive in one piece."

He sped to the lake, silently cursing the weather.  The wind beat the
windshield like a fist against a face, while the air was heavy with the
promise of rain.  Ragged edges of dark clouds scudded across the
crescent moon smudging the dim light.  The lake would be rough and
though the Sea Mist could handle choppy seas,-fear bolted through him
at the thought of Skye out on the lake in the stormy blackness.

Brooke tensed in the front seat, her palms rubbing her thighs, the
resolve on her face never wavering.  With her lips pressed firmly
together and her nostrils flaring slightly, she looked ready to battle
dragons.  Clearly she was terrified, but she wouldn't give in to the
fear.

He reached over and squeezed her icy hand, offering the gesture in
support and unity.  "We'll find her and bring her home."

Conviction frosted her voice.  "I'm holding on to that thought."

She was no coward.  No matter whom or what they faced, no matter how
frightened she was, his lady was determined to see this through for her
daughter.  His lady.

The words had a compelling appeal to them, but he had to "concentrate
on driving, corner his whirring emotions and shut the door on them so
he could protect them both.  And yet he couldn't help thinking how much
she meant to him.  He didn't want to lose her.  An impulse to force her
to stay behind gripped him.

Enough.

They had no choice.  The kidnapper had demanded both of them come and
she could no more refuse a chance to free their child than he could.
His heart swelled with pride at her courage.  Yet, no matter how much a
part of him Brooke had become, he had to put those kinds of thoughts
out of his mind.  Their lives might depend on it.

BROOKE SHIFTED in the front seat of the truck at the marina and peered
anxiously through the condensation on the window, awaiting Max.  Before
he'd left, he'd leaned over and kissed her, his lips hard and greedy,
his actions saying what he'd never put into words.  Max had kissed her
before, but never had he jolted every inch of her flesh until she felt
courage surging back into her with a power that defeated her despair. 
A scalding charge zipped along her skin, spurring her determination to
function despite her fears for Skye.

As she'd dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and back,
she'd clung to the thought that Max wanted Skye back as much as she
did.  The kiss lasted the briefest of seconds but gave her the strength
she needed.  All too soon, he'd slipped from her arms, out of the track
and into the garage.

He'd left her parked under a stand of oaks while he unlocked the boat.
She glanced at her watch.  What was taking him so long?  They had to
get out on the lake.  She shuddered to think what could happen if they
missed the deadline.

She tried to stay calm, but it was impossible when she might never see
Skye again.  Wishing away the weighty feeling of dread that pressed on
her chest and had her inhaling in short, raspy breaths wasn't the
answer.

She needed to stop fretting over her daughter and concentrate on
helping Max.  Yet how could she not worry about Skye?  Her daughter
must be terribly frightened.  Why hadn't the kidnapper let them speak
to her?  Could the worst have already happened?  Don't think it.  Get
hold of yourself.

Brooke glanced at her watch again.  The minute hand was approaching
1:00 a.m.

Her palms went clammy.  She fidgeted in the seat, rolled down the
window.  Something had to be wrong.  The last time they'd taken out the
boat, the hookup hadn't taken this long.

The humid air entered the truck in hot," heavy puffs and tendrils of
dank oxygen snaked into her lungs.  The tree branches in the woods
around the marina clicked and clattered but she barely noticed over the
sound of her own heartbeat roaring in her ears.  In contrast, the boats
rocked in the rough waters, straining their docking lines, sailboat
halyards clanging against their masts in discordant bursts.

She'd give Max another minute.  If he didn't show, she'd go looking for
him.

Sweat beaded her forehead, her upper lip, and between her breasts.
Shoving her hair from her damp face, she searched the building for
movement and listened hard.  Realizing she'd been holding her breath,
she exhaled and then drew air into her starving lungs.  Even the
crickets seemed to be hiding from the rush of the storm.

When a shadow stepped from behind the garage,

she let out a tiny gasp.  A tall man lumbered toward her, his long
legs closing the distance between them with menacing quickness.

It wasn't Max.

Frustration layered on fear until her stomach curled into a twisted
knot.  The silhouette wasn't tall enough and moved too heavily to be
Max.  Tension knotted her shoulders.  Brooke leaned on the horn to let
Max know something was wrong.  But when the stranger emerged from the
shadow, her adrenaline surged.

She knew that face, those beady eyes, the sneering lips.

"Grant?"

"Get out of the truck.  Slowly."

She spied the gun he aimed at her chest and her knees turned rubbery.
"Where's Skye?"

"Turn around," he ordered.  Without waiting for her to comply, he
grabbed her shoulder, spinning and slamming her against the truck.

Where was Max?  She had to signal she was in trouble, warn him of the
danger without betraying his presence.  "Help!"

"Shut up, fool woman.  Your brat's not here.  My partner has her.  And
as for Max, he ain't going to save you when he's all trussed up like a
chicken."

Hope of rescue plummeted.  Grant had found Max, too.

That's why Max had taken so long in the garage.  He might have been
struggling while she'd just sat in the truck and done nothing to help.
A shiver of bleak despair snaked down her spine as she realized they'd
walked right into a trap.  Grant had no intention of releasing Skye.

Grant wrenched her wrists behind her back.  At the sound of shredding
tape, she jammed an elbow into his stomach and stamped his foot.

When he didn't release her, she realized she hadn't the strength to
hurt him.  Tears of frustration ran down her face as he taped her
wrists tightly.  Where was Skyd?  Would she ever see her again?

Grant yanked her away from the truck.  She gasped as agonizing pain
shot to the sockets.

Preferring to remain upright rather than letting him drag her, she
forced her rubbery feet to walk and focused the power of her attention
on Grant.

He hurried her toward the garage, muttering all the while.  "You didn't
have to die tonight.  You could have minded your own business.  But,
no.  You couldn't leave the clinic alone.  You had to go poking your
nose where it didn't belong until we had to do something about you."
"

"Let us go and we'll never return to the clinic."  With a growl, he
shook his head, a hard, set look to his features.  "It's too late.
You've caused too much trouble.  My partner said if we left you alone,
you'd give up and go away.  But not you."

Frantic, she twisted, struggling with all her weight, but she couldn't
break his grip.  He jerked her toward the garage.  She had no choice
but to stumble along.

"What is it with you females?"  Grant snarled.  "I figured it was only
a matter of time before you started blackmailing us."

"This is all a mistake.  You're wrong.  Let me explain.  I would never
blackmail you.  I--"

"That's what Callie said."  He grabbed her chin and jaw in one hand and
yanked her around to face him.  "She lied and you are lying, too.
Rather clever of me to have you stumble over her body.  That was your
first warning--but you ignored it.  You ignored all my warnings, so now
you're going to pay."

"No.  I--"

He jerked her arm and shoved her forward again.  Brooke's heart vaulted
into her tight throat.  Her heart hammered her ribs.  Callie must have
found out Grant was stealing from the clinic.  When she'd blackmailed
him, he'd killed her.  And now he was going to kill her, too.

Grant snapped her to a stop by the stern of Max's boat.  He chuckled
grimly.  "Up you go."

He forced her to climb into the boat, which still sat on the trailer.
She stalled for time.  "If you kill me, it'll look suspicious.  The
clinic will come under investigation."

He shook his head, a twisted grin drawing the cheekbones tight on his
face.  "I'm going to take you out onto the lake.  You're going to
drown.  The boat will sink.  It'll look like an accident and have
nothing to do with the clinic."

And where was Skye?  Was she alive?  The thought of her daughter alone
out in the storm had her crazy with fear.

Grant ripped off another piece of tape and placed it over her mouth,
cutting off questions.  While she concentrated on dragging enough air
through her nose to breathe, he led her around a partially inflated
dinghy and stuffed her into the forward cabin.

She tumbled onto a body and would have screamed if her mouth wasn't
covered: Then she realized she'd fallen on Max.  His hands and feet
were tied, his mouth taped.  Before she could recover, Grant taped her
ankles and shut the cabin door, leaving them in the dark.

Max rolled her off him.  In the dark, she felt him struggling, heard
the rustle of his clothes catching on the hull.  An elbow dug into her
side, a knee kicked her shin.  What the hell was he doing?

She couldn't see him, but sensed he'd turned his body so his feet
pointed at her head.  His feet rested on her shoulder and she moved
away to give him more room.

"Uh-uh."

He put his feet back on her shoulder.  What did he want?  What was he
trying to tell her?

The truck's motor started and boat and trailer shifted.  As Grant
backed the trailer into the water, Max's feet fell from her shoulder.
The two of them rolled helplessly, abrading their skin on rough
fiberglass.

Within moments, water lapped against a hull turned cold and clammy.  As
soon as the boat settled, Max again put his feet on her shoulder.  The
heel of his sneaker scraped her skin.  Excitement zipped through her as
she realized he wanted to take off his sneakers.

Although she had no idea why he was so determined to remove his shoes,
helping was preferable to contemplating the terrifying prospect of
drowning or wondering what would become of Skye.  She did what she
could to help.  Rolling to her side so that her back was to Max's feet,
she inched up until her fingers reached his shoes.  Immediately
understanding her movements, Max scooted the other way.  Finally her
finger caught on the shoe leather and yanked.

The shoe didn't budge.  Forcing patience, she felt for the laces. Grant
jumped into the boat with a thud and revved the engines.  As the boat
peeled into choppy Waves, untying Max's laces while the bow rose up and
slammed down became more difficult.  Too often his feet jammed her
outstretched fingers, but she didn't give up, although she silently
swore curses she didn't think she knew.

Finally, she untied one lace and pulled off the shoe.

By his insistent motion, he needed the other one off, too.  Either he
needed both shoes off, or she'd removed the wrong one.  It took
precious minutes until she succeeded and earned a rest.  She lay
panting while Max flipped himself over until they were head to head. He
wriggled, as if feeling for something on the deck.

She rolled to her side, scooted into him and grunted to catch his
attention.  His face bumped her backside.  He wriggled until her
fingers reached the tape and tore it free of his mouth.

"There was a penknife in my shoe," he whispered.  So that's what he was
scrambling for.  It seemed to take aeons, but it was probably only
minutes before her hands closed on the knife.  She grunted, wishing her
mouth was free of the tape and she could tell him Grant's plans.

"Find it?"  he asked.

"Mmm-hmm."

She opened the blade and tried to cut the tape at her own wrists.
Bending her hands backward and maintaining a constant pressure proved
futile.  Maneuvering until they lay on their sides, back to back, she
sawed at his wrists, praying she didn't open a vein as the boat slammed
into wave after wave.

Her arms trembled with fatigue and sweat beaded her brow, but finally
she cut him free.  Within moments Max'ripped the tape off her mouth,
and freed her ankles and wrists.  Last, he liberated his feet and,
unfettered, donned his shoes.

Finally free to tell him what Grant had said, she wasted no time.
"Grant doesn't have Skye.  His partner does.  This was a trap."

"I'm sorry.  He took me by surprise in the garage, and confiscated the
knife in my pocket.  I didn't expect him to show until we were out on
the lake.  Dumb mistake."

"There was no way you could have known.  He's going to kill us."

"How?"

"He said he would drown us, sink the boat and make it look like an
accident so our deaths wouldn't be connected to the clinic."

"How's he getting away?"

"There's a rubber dinghy in the back."

Max gave her a quick hug.  "You did great getting that out of him. Now,
it's time to turn the tables."

Her heart quickened with hope at his words.  "How?  We're free, but he
still has a gun."

"Yeah, but this is my boat."  Max pulled away from her and edged toward
the hull.

"Where are you going?"

"To pull a spark plug and cut a gas line.  Don't worry.  The boat won't
blow until I flip a switch on the dash to turn on the number three
engine."

She tugged on his pant leg.  "Wait!  Even if you don't kill us, we
can't kill Grant.  If he dies, we'll never find Skye."

"We won't be on board when the boat explodes.  I won't set the final
switch until I'm sure we'll be safe.  Grant might survive the
explosion.  But we have no choice.  We can't find Skye if we're
dead."

Without staying to argue further, Max squeezed through the narrow
passageway along the' hull that led to the engines.  She had no way of
knowing how long he would be gone, but the wait seemed interminable.
She had too much time to think what could go wrong.  If Grant reached
their destination before Max returned, their plan would fail.  Once
Grant saw they were free of their bonds, he might tie them up again
before throwing them over to drown.  She pictured him waiting for them
to go under, then ghoulishly removing their bindings so their deaths
would appear accidental.

Suddenly, she scrambled about the cabin, searching for the discarded
tape.  They would have to make it appear as if they were still tied up.
By the time Max returned, smelling of bilge water and gas, she'd
collected the pieces of tape.

"Put this back on."  She slapped the tape into his hands.  "If Grant
sees we're free, he may retie us."  "Good thinking."

Brooke had just wound the tape around her wrists and placed her hands
behind her back when Grant killed the engine.  He shoved open the cabin
door, letting in a cool gust of wind and dim light.  "Well, did you all
have a nice bumpy ride?"

He held the gun in one hand while he yanked her from the cabin.  Before
she realized what was happening, he'd picked her up, tossed her, and
she was flying through the air.  Instinct made her hold her breath and
close her eyes.  She landed in the chilly water with a smack.  After
several harsh jerks, she removed the tape at her wrists and her
ankles.

Something large pitched into the water beside her.  Max!

Had he had time to flip the switch on the dash?  Kicking over to him,
she surfaced, blinked the water out of her eyes and searched for the
Sea Mist.  Convinced they were helpless, Grant hadn't even driven away.
He stood in the stern, pumping air into the dinghy.

"Can Grant see us?"  she whispered.

"Maybe.  Hopefully, we're just a dark blob in a large black lake."

"Now what?"

"Swim fast," Max ordered in a whisper.  "The boat's going to blow."

A wave knocked her sideways.  Her clothes weighed her down.  She kicked
off her shoes and swam after Max, wondering how long she could stay
afloat in the lake.  No way could she swim to shore, but she refused to
give in to despair.  Perhaps they could float and tread water through
the night.  A boat might spot them in the morning light.

"Hurry," Max urged, and she redoubled her efforts, kicking for all she
was worth until her lungs burned.

Looking over her shoulder at the boat, she saw Grant, a purple-black
silhouette against a murky sky, wrestle then slide the dinghy overboard
and attach a line from the bow to a cleat at the stern of the Sea
Mist.

Without sparing a glance in their direction, Grant moved forward toward
the throttle.

Brooke held her breath.  He turned a key and the engine sputtered.
Grant cursed.

Suddenly the engines roared to life.  Grant turned the boat directly
toward them.  He meant to run them over!

The boat exploded, blinding her with red, orange and yellow fingers
grasping the stormy sky.  The blast rang in her ears.  Bits of
fiberglass sparked, hissing as they landed in the bubbling cauldron of
water around the boat.  Even from this distance, the flames heated her
face.

She didn't wait.  for her heart rate to dip back to normal before
swimming to Max and touching his shoulder.  The flames cast a hellish
light in his pupils.  His cheekbones looked gaunt, his lips grim.  She
knew he had loved that boat.

"I'm sorry about the Sea Mist."

"The boat is replaceable.  I'm waiting for the fire to die to see
whether Grant or the dinghy survived the blast."

His dire reminder that they could drown had her squinting into the
flames.  When the brightness dimmed, she spotted neither Grant nor a
dinghy.  Her heart sank.  Already her limbs grew heavy with fatigue. 
As the fire died, they swam closer to the wreckage, avoiding patches of
burning gas, hoping to find something large enough to use for
flotation.

They had only one other hope.  That another boat had spotted the
explosion and would come to investigate.  But as the wind howled and
the lake water churned, she wearily realized any chance of rescue was
slim to none.  Any sane person would stay ashore, safe and dry on a
night like this.

Grant's intended end for them might have been more humane.  At least it
would have been quick.  But with both of them dead, what would happen
to Skye?

Just when she thought their situation could get no worse, lightning lit
up the sky and thunder roared.  She took in a mouthful of water and
coughed.

"Over there!"  Max shouted, his excitement giving her renewed energy.
With long, sure strokes he swam toward a dark object partly submerged
in the water and she followed a bit more slowly.

The dinghy had survived.  Sort of.  A small motor attached to a wooden
bracket was the only part of the boat completely above sea level.

Max heaved himself into the floating morass of rubber.  "These
inflatables have separate compartments.  If we can pump her up, then
bail, she may float

US."

Max inflated one section at a time with a foot pump.  Several sections
held air.  A few he patched with the standardized emergency repair kit
taped to the underside of the seat.  As the boat rose out of the lake,
Brooke climbed aboard.  She had nothing to bail with,

but plucked a scooped piece of fiberglass from the debris scattered
around them.  For the first time that evening, her hopes rose with the
thought they might survive and find her daughter.

After the water level in the dinghy was down to their ankles, Max
fiddled with the motor.  While the air hissed out of the leaky boat,
she kept pumping air into the different compartments.

"You think the engine will run?"  she asked between chattering teeth.

"She will if the engine didn't submerge.  The air held best in the
stern by the engine since it was farthest from the blast.  Let's hope
the gas line is intact."

She didn't dare ask if the dinghy would explode if the gas leaked.  She
didn't want to know.

Max stood, yanked on a cord.  The engine sputtered.  And died.  He
adjusted the choke, tried again.  This time the motor revved and
settled to a steady purr.

Max grinned and turned them away from the center of the wreckage.
Something large floated on a wave in front of them, and Max steered
around a flat piece of decking.

At the sight of a body floating in the water, her stomach lurched.  She
pointed a shaking finger.  "There's Grant."

But was he alive?  They needed him conscious and talking to help them
locate Skye.  Grant could identify his partner.

She stared at the body, wondering if his movements were by design or
simply the waves causing his hands to mimic lifelike action.

Max steered over to the body cautiously.  She envisioned Grant rearing
out of the water, gun in hand, to threaten them again.  But up close,
they could see Grant floated facedown.  He was dead.

Damn Grant to hell.  He wasn't supposed to die.  He should have lived
and told them what he'd done with Skye.  Now all they had for their
efforts was another dead body for the police to blame on them.  And
they couldn't afford the time for police questions.  They had to find
Skye.

Max held on to Grant by his shirt and steered the dinghy back-to the
large piece of deck that still floated.  With a grunt, he heaved Grant
onto the fiberglass.

"This dinghy can't support his weight.  The coast guard can claim the
body tomorrow."

She closed her eyes and shivered, rubbing her arms with her hands,
hoping Skye wasn't out in this weather and that her daughter was safe
and warm.  She couldn't muster any sorrow over Grant's death, callous
as that seemed.  Her only emotions were for Skye.  They had to find her
soon.  They had to.

Max sensed her dismay.  "We'll find Skye."  "We don't even know where
to look."  "We can start with Grant's trailer."

"I suppose.  But he said his partner had Skye."  She didn't sound as if
she believed his reassurances anymore, but at least she opened her eyes
and made an effort to shove the hair out of her face.  Even dripping
wet, without makeup and clearly exhausted, she looked better to Max
than any woman he'd ever known.  No plunge into a lake could wash away
the inner strength he found so attractive.

The urge to take her into his arms was strong, but

he didn't dare risk upsetting the boat's precarious balance.  The best
he could do was distract her from her worry over Skye.  "When we get
ashore, I'll call my folks and ask them to report that the Sea Mist has
been stolen."

"The detectives will check out their story.  If we get lucky, maybe
Grant will have left some clues to the identity of his partner."

"And if he didn't?"

Chapter Eleven

During their trip to shore the wind had picked up, and in the high
waves, the dinghy's pace had been slow.  Chilled through to the bone,
Brooke had shivered and shaken.

When they finally reached the marina, Max phoned his parents and asked
them to call the police.  He instructed them to say his boat had been
stolen and was probably out on the lake as they spoke.  Hoping the call
would buy them enough time to avoid the inevitable police questions, he
drove straight to Grant's trailer.

And they found nothing.

Not one sign of Skye.  Not one sign of Grant's partner.

Even now, with the truck's heater on high, Brooke's teeth chattered as
they drove toward his parents" home, once again filled with
disappointment and heartache.  When they reached the house, Max
insisted Brooke take a hot shower before changing into dry clothes.

Still towel drying her hair, she met Max, Eva and Red in the living
room.  Max looked up as she entered.

He, too, had changed into jeans and a dry shirt.  "We may not have much
time.  A tugboat captain found Grant's body soon after we left.  His
wallet was still in his pocket.  The police want to question us."

"They'll ask questions for hours."  Panic gripped her.  She had to find
her daughter.  To do that, they had to find out what Henschel knew
about Dr.  Arnold.  They couldn't afford to delay.  Skye's life
depended on their moving quickly.

"That's why we need to get out of here," Max said.  A brash knock on
the door interrupted her reply.  Her pulse raced.  How could they
escape if the police had already arrived?

Max checked the peephole, his brows arched in surprise as he opened the
door.  "Come in."

She steeled herself for the inevitable delay, the explanations. 
Instead a man with bloodshot eyes and a haggard face followed Max into
the den. "Max Braddack?  Brooke Evans?  I'd like to make a deal."

The man" looked vaguely familiar but she couldn't place him.  He must
have read her puzzled expression.  "Don't you recognize me?  I'm
Clifford Arnold."

The skin on her scalp tightened and Brooke staggered backward.  Max put
a steadying hand on' her shoulder.  The man was medium height and his
dark hair, now grayer at the temples than she remembered, reminded her
of Arnold's.  He'd lost his paunch but still had the same fatherly
expression that had won her misplaced trust.

"Dr.  Arnold!"  Brooke tried to steady her racing pulse.  "We thought
you were dead.  Where is Skye?"  He frowned.  "Who?"

"My daughter's been kidnapped.  And I want her back.  Tell us where she
is," Brooke half pleaded, half demanded.

"I'm sorry, I don't know where she is.  I was on my boat when Grant
murdered Callie.  I expected him to come after me next.  That's why I
faked my suicide.  I've been hiding."

Red and Eva remained silent, clearly puzzled by the turn of events but
allowing Max to handle the questions.  Max loomed over Arnold, his face
fierce, his eyes glimmering with restrained anger.  "Why are you coming
out of hiding now?"

"I heard on the news that Grant is dead."

Max glowered.  "I don't understand.  What kind of deal are you
after?"

"You're a powerful man.  If you protect me, I'll tell you everything I
know."

Max shook his head.  "I need to hear you out first."  What shreds of
control Brooke had left, began to crumble.  "We don't have time for
this.  We need to find Skye."

Max lowered his voice.  "We don't know what really happened or who has
Skye.  If he tells what he knows, we may get some answers."

When he spoke with such utter conviction, she had to believe him.  But
remaining here was hard when she wanted to search for her baby.

Max turned back to Arnold.  "You'd best make your story quick."

Max guided Brooke toward a brocade chair while gesturing for Arnold to
take a seat.  She eased into the chair at first appreciative she no
longer needed to sup port her shaking legs.  But then nerves took over
and she stood and paced.

Would Arnold tell the truth?  Was he afraid for his life?  Or had he
kidnapped Skye and come to gloat over the anguished parents in some
macabre scheme?

"When I heard about Grant's death, I risked coming here to find you."

"So you said.  Why?"  Max asked.

Arnold glanced at the well-stocked bar and licked his lip.  "Could I
have a drink?"

Nobody answered his question.

Max's gaze darted to Brooke, conveying a mixture of frustration and
apology at the delay.  But obviously he thought what Arnold had to say
was too important to rush off without hearing it.  She could only pray
he was right.  If Arnold had lied about taking her daughter, perhaps he
would slip up and they could take advantage of his mistake.  And if he
was telling the truth, he must have his suspicions about Skye's
kidnapper.  Despite her impatience, she vowed to listen carefully to
his story.

Arnold rested his elbows on the arms of his chair.  "Scotch on the
rocks, please."

While Max fixed drinks, Red and Eva settled quietly on the sofa, their
faces lined with worry, their hands locked together.  Brooke paced.

Arnold leaned forward and caught her hand.  "I'm sorry you've had to go
through this."

She jerked back and brushed her damp hair out of her eyes.  "Please get
to the point.  Every minute counts."

Frustration and fear for Skye made it difficult to restrain her
impatience.  Arnold knew how Skye had ended up in her sister's womb. He
might even know what had happened to the egg he'd culled from Brooke
that had been meant for her sister.  But most important, he might tell
them where to find Skye.

Dr.  Arnold accepted the drink from Max.  "I'm not sure where to
start."

Brooke, knowing she needed the sugar charge, sipped the soft drink Max
pressed into her trembling hand.  "Start at the beginning, please.  We
need every clue to find my daughter."

Red and Eva refused drinks and Max pulled up a chair and folded his
arms over his chest.  "How did the Braddack embryo end up in Brooke's
sister?"

Wincing at Max's hard tone, Arnold set his glass down on the side table
and stared into the liquor.  "I

mixed up the codes on the test tube labels."  "Why?"

There could be no mistaking the sorrow in Dr.  Arnold's eyes.  "It was
an accident.  We were extremely busy and working long hours.  Everyone
was tired, and it was a combination of errors."

Max's look remained harsh, the living room light sculpting the planes
on his face into one dangerous expression.  "When did you discover your
mistake?"

"I knew nothing until..."  Dr.  Arnold covered his face with his hands.
"God forgive me."  He looked up, tears running down his face.  "A few
months after the birth, Nicole called me with suspicions--"

"What caused her doubts?"  Brooke reeled with surprise that her sister
had suspected something was wrong.

"Skye didn't look like anyone on either side of the family.  I told her
characteristics could pop up from the genes of ancestors three
generations back, but she insisted I check Skye out."

A lump formed in Brooke's throat.  "She never said a word to me."

"She and her husband brought Skye to me," Arnold said.  "I ran the
tests and asked them to return the next day to receive the results in
person and discuss what we should do."

"That never happened, did it?"  Brooke asked.

"I had every intention of telling your sister about the mix-up.  In the
meantime I told Henschel about the error.  He said not to worry, he'd
handle it."  Arnold paused.  "I assumed he'd have our attorney and
insurance company quietly take care of the matter.  Then Nicole and her
husband died in a car accident before our appointment."

"How convenient for you," Max snapped.  "So what did Henschel do
next?"

"He instructed Grant to alter the computer files so no one would
discover the deception.  Karen Forester overheard Henschel's order to
Grant, but Henschel said I needn't worry about her loyalty to the
clinic."

Max stood and clasped his hands behind his back.  "You decided to keep
silent when you realized that with Skye's parents dead, you could keep
your error a secret."

Arnold flushed a deep red at Max's accusation.  "Henschel ordered me to
consider the matter closed.  He convinced me the clinic wouldn't
survive a scandal."

"Or a lawsuit," Brooke added bitterly.

Max's eyes narrowed.  "Your reputation would have been in shreds."

"That, too," Arnold admitted.  "But if the clinic closed, hundreds of
couples we might have helped would remain childless."

"What of my brother and his wife?"  Max asked.  "You didn't think
Rhonda should know about the child ghe wanted so badly?"

"Henschel insisted Ford and Rhonda would have other children, but I
needed convincing."

"Why did he have to convince you?"

Arnold sighed.  "Every time Rhonda became pregnant, she miscarried.  I
had doubts she'd ever carry a child to term.  With each attempt to
impregnate, the.  chance of success goes down."

Max pounded the table and Arnold jumped.  "And you would have lost your
medical license if this embryo screw-up had come to light.  Isn't that
right?"

"I'm sorry."  Arnold hung his head.  "Most of the time, I'm proud of
what I do.  Henschel insisted on sweeping the mistake away."

"Then what happened?"  Max asked, and Brooke realized what a brilliant
trial attorney he would make.  Nothing laid-back about him now, he
sliced straight for the carotid artery.

"For six years, nothing."

"When I called after all those years," Brooke guessed, "you must have
panicked."

"When my secretary told me you'd called, I knew you'd discovered what
had happened.  But I was packing the boat and leaving on vacation.
Henschel suggested I disappear for a while and let him take care of
things.  I thought he'd make a settlement, keep the incident
private--especially since Ford was on the board and wouldn't want the
Kine Clinic's reputation harmed.  I thought we could work something
out.  But then I heard about Ford and Rhonda's accident and Callie's
death and I got scared.  With almost everyone connected with the embryo
switch dead, I feared I might be next."

Brooke felt ripped in two.  Part of her yearned to search for her
daughter, to take some kind of action, while her more rational side
insisted what Arnold had to say would be vital in locating Skye.  "But
why was Henschel so anxious to cover up your mistake?"

"At first I thought he didn't want a scandal attached to the clinic.
But later I learned he, with Grant's help, was skimming prof its.  Any
outside investigation into the clinic from a scandal would reveal his
stealing."

This was the connection they'd been looking for.  Max shot her a
significant look.  "What skimming?"

"I discovered the fraud almost by accident.  A patient complained she'd
been billed too much."

"And?"  Max prodded information out of the doctor while Brooke paced.
Having their suspicions con-finned was all well and good, but they
still were no nearer to finding Skye.

"The patient had been overcharged, but only by a few dollars.  I
checked the billing on my other patients and found the same
overcharges.  I took the problem to Henschel."

"What did he say?"  Max asked.

"To drop the whole matter or he'd reveal the embryo switch, blame it
all on me, and pull my license."  "So you kept quiet," Brooke said with
disgust.  Arnold nodded.  "And Henschel amassed a fortune.  Overbilling
can add up to a modest fortune when totaled in every patient's bill and
each laboratory invoice.  If someone noticed an error, there wouldn't
be a big stink since most of the clinic's income is not billed to
insurance companies.  The money was siphoned into Research and
Development."

The pieces were starting to come together in Brooke's mind.  Once
Arnold had agreed to remain quiet about the embryo deception, he
couldn't turn his colleague in for theft.  The billing fraud also.
explained Grant's expensive electronic equipment.

"That's where Grant obtained his money," Brooke said.  "Then Callie
found out about his skimming and blackmailed him."

Max nodded and held her gaze.  "When Grant killed Callie and we
stumbled over her body, he probably thought he was solving two problems
at once by implicating us in her murder."

"Your brother was also suspicious," Arnold added.  "Ford hired the new
accountant."

Eva and Red exchanged anguished glances.  Red squeezed his wife's hand
tight.

Max shook his head.  "But with Grant dead, Henschel has to do his own
dirty work.  He must have Skye."

Arnold slumped in his chair.  "I never dreamed my simple mistake would
cause so much trouble.  I never thought Henschel would resort to murder
and kidnap ping."  While Arnold rambled, Max and Brooke headed for the
door.

The doctor mumbled into his drink.  "You'd better approach Henschel
with caution.  He may have hired more help.  And he has his own private
jet.  If he thinks anyone is closing in on him, he'll flee the
country."

A surge of electricity shot through Brooke.  She wrenched open the
door.  "We can't let him get away."  "

"We won't," Max assured her, his mouth tightening into a grim line.  He
spoke to his folks over his shoulder as he and Brooke ran for the
garage.  "Call the police.  Tell them everything.  Have them watch the
airports."

Brooke suspected Arnold had told them all he knew and that the police
would move too slowly to find Skye.  She and Max had to do something
fast.  She climbed into the truck thinking Henschel wasn't stupid.  He
may have heard news reports of Grant's death.  Even if Henschel hadn't,
when Grant didn't return, Henschel would suspect their plans had gone
awry.  Had he abandoned Skye somewhere while he went about his
business?  Or was Skye still with him?  Or--no, she wouldn't allow
herself to consider that possibility.  Her daughter was alive and
Brooke was going to find her.

She looked to Max for answers.  He jammed the key into the ignition and
the truck roared to life.  At the dangerous glint in his eyes, her
heart thumped.  She recognized that look.  Max had a plan.  "What are
we going to do?"

Max slammed his foot on the accelerator.  "Let's figure that out when
we get to Henschel's house.  After Mom and Dad's call, the police will
cover the airports and stop him from leaving the country.  But we can
get to his house faster than the cops.  Henschel lives in the Garden
District, remember?"

"Suppose he's not there?"

Max didn't hesitate for a moment.  "We'll ask questions until we find
him."

Fear,"clammy and icy, stole under her skin.  "Henschel could have
already--"

"No.  Skye's safe.  If Henschel knows Grant failed and we're on to him,
the only way "he can escape is with a hostage.  He won't hurt her."

Her stomach grew tighter and drawing.  her next breath didn't come
easy.  "If we find Henschel, what'll we do then?  Suppose Skye isn't
there and he has her locked away someplace?  He's not going to admit
what he did."

A dark, murderous hardness that she'd never seen before reflected in
Max's eyes.  "That's where we have an advantage over the cops.  There
are ways to make a man talk."

A bad taste coated the lining of her mouth.  She'd wanted Max to lose
his calm--but not like this.  She had a terrible feeling that if they
pursued Henschel, something awful would happen.

When Arnold had told his story, she'd been so full of hope they would
find Skye.  Now it was as if someone had tilted the floor beneath her
feet and she couldn't maintain her balance.  Her entire world had
shifted, and she was no longer sure of the right thing to do.

Max rounded a corner toward Dr.  Henschel's house.  She held her breath
as a police car, siren screaming, gained on them from behind.  Getting
pulled over for a minor violation could turn into a major disaster if
the cop asked a lot of questions.

When the police car passed without slowing, she let out her breath in a
rush.  A throng of butterflies fluttered in her stomach when she
thought of how many things could go wrong.  Henschel could flee before
they found him, take Skye with him, or do something worse.

If it weren't for Max's help and support and love, she didn't know how
she would get through this.  He'd move heaven and earth to find Skye
and she trusted him with all her heart.  He was going to make Skye a
wonderful father-once they found her.

As he drove, vigilantly checking the mirrors, she noted the tense set
of his shoulders and his tight grip on the steering wheel.  With the
patrol car out of sight, Max ignored the speed limit and slammed his
foot to the floor.

The giant mansions of the Garden District loomed in the dark like
medieval battlements.  This late at night, many of the homes appeared
lonely and desolate, empty shells.  A brittle silence stretched like
icy cords down the long row of houses.

Interrupting the silence, wind gusted through oak branches and keened a
high-pitched moan that prickled the hairs on the back of her neck.  The
wrought-iron gates spaced out in ordered formality along the road
reminded her of jailhouse bars.  The dark and star less sky smothered
the earth with thick thunderclouds that bore down with the weight of a
coffin lid.

She robbed slick palms on her thighs.  "I don't think

Skye's near here.  I have a bad feeling about this."  "We're almost
there."

Before he turned past the gates and into the driveway, Max cut the
lights.  A black cat darted around the corner of the house, but there
was no other movement.  None of the draperies or blinds stirred.  She
didn't spot a light peeking out of the windows.

She whispered, trying to control the trembling in her voice, "What are
we going to do?"

Max pressed the car keys into her hand.  "I'll ring the bell.  If he
answers, use my cell phone to call the police."

He stepped out of the car and walked the brick path to the veranda. She
slid into the driver's seat and fumbled to insert the keys in the
ignition without taking her gaze off Max.  She squirmed, ready to jump
at the first sign of trouble.

At the thud of Max's fist pounding the front door, she stifled a
scream.  She didn't know which she feared more--that Henschel would
open the door, or that he'd already gone.

The stress of waiting in the car grew to intolerable proportions.  If
they didn't find Skye here, they had no idea where else to look.
Sitting and fretting was too hard on her already frayed nerves.

Max peered in the windowpane on the front door, then spoke to her over
his shoulder.  "Henschel's gone."

Her stomach clenched into a fist.  "Maybe he's just a heavy sleeper.
Maybe--"

"The house is empty of furniture.  I doubt he's redecorating," Max
muttered in frustration.  He practically growled and tension radiated
from him in pulsating waves.  To think he'd once appeared so laid-back
seemed impossible now.

"Max, look!"

A light had come on inside the house.  Max spun to face the front door.
A woman stood in the doorway.  "Why are you disturbing the neighborhood
at this time of night?"

"I need to speak to Dr.  Henschel.  It's urgent."

"He's not here."  The woman started to close the door.

Max stuck his foot on the threshold.  "Wait.  This is an emergency."

"Call an ambulance.  I told you, the doctor isn't here."  "

Max eased his way across the threshold but his voice carded easily in
the still air.  "I'd like to see that for myself, if you don't mind?"

"I do mind.  As head housekeeper, it is my job to prevent the likes of
you from barging in on Dr.  Henschel's privacy."

"Do you realize you may be an accessory to a kidnapping?  Has the
doctor brought a child here in the last twenty-four hours?"

"Certainly not.  No one has been here but me," the housekeeper huffed,
but then protested with a bit of uncertainty, "And the doctor is not a
kidnapper.  That's absurd."

Since Max had accused her of being party to a crime, the woman's tone
had lost a bit of vehemence.  While she might be telling the truth, the
housekeeper clearly had her own suspicions about the doctor.

Max gentled his tone.  "If Henschel is innocent, he has nothing to
fear.  I just want to find my little girl and she may be with Henschel.
Please, ma'am, if you know where he is, tell me."

The'housekeeper hesitated, then spoke crisply.  "You didn't hear this
from me.  But the doctor often stays nights with Karen Forester, his
lady friend."

Max sprinted back to the truck and gunned the engine.  "We're going to
talk to Karen.  This time, even if I have to break the door down, we're
not.  taking no for an answer."

AT THEm KNOCK, Karen, wearing a thin robe, opened the door as if she'd
been waiting for them.  They walked into a dark room, the only light a
pink shade over a dim bulb.  But the dimness couldn't hide the remains
of an intimate dinner.  Candles still burned on a table and two
wine-glasses remained on the coffee table.

"We're looking for Dr.  Henschel.  Is he here?"  Brooke asked.

Karen's dark, waist-length hair hung in strings about a face distraught
with tears.  "Henschel's left me.  After all I've done for him, he's
left me."  "Where and when did he go?"  Max asked.  Karen's fingers
twisted in the belt of her robe.  She refused to meet their eyes,
hanging her head and staring at the carpet.  "He left here about half
an hour ago.

I'm not sure where he was going.  My guess would be the clinic--to
clean out his safe and clear the computer records of this month's
thefts."

"Did he have Skye with him?"  Brooke asked, desperate for news.

Karen's head jerked up.  "Skye?  He's already found another woman?"

"Skye is my little girl," Max said.

"Oh.  I haven't seen a kid, but he mentioned he had insurance."

Dear God!  Brooke's thoughts raced.  "Could Skye be Hens cheFs
insurance?  We have to stop him at the clinic.  Once he gets on his
plane he won't need her.  anymore."

"I had no part in this!"  Karen backed away, horror in her eyes.  "I
had no idea.  You've got to believe me."  She bent over the coffee
table, picked up her keys and worked several off the ring.  She pressed
them into Brooke's hand.  "Here.  These are the keys to the clinic.  Go
stop the bastard."

Chapter Twelve

Feelings of deja vu hit Brooke the moment Max turned into the clinic
parking lot.  The lofty building, blacker than the sky around it,
brought back memories of the night of Callie's murder.  This time her
nerves were raw with fear.  Skye's life was at stake.

Max pulled around the building, and the truck's headlights beamed onto
a low-slung sports car in the reserved parking section.  They exited
the truck and approached the empty vehicle hand-in-hand.

Excitement coursed through her.  Each of the reserved spots had names
painted on the curb.  Max bent and shone a flashlight on the lettering.
"Bingo.  Henschel's still in the building."

He shone the light into the car's interior and her hopes rose.  Was
Skye there?  But only a dark suitcase lay on the passenger seat.

Brooke banged on the trunk.  "Skye!  It's Mommy, sweetie.  Are you in
there?"

No one answered.  But she tried again, remembering how deeply Skye
slept.  Hopefully her daughter hadn't awakened when the kidnapper stole
her out of bed.

She could be peacefully sleeping still with no idea what had happened
to her.

Brooke looked up at the hiss of air.  Max had slashed the tires.

Grim satisfaction entered his tone.  "Henschel's not escaping with Skye
in this car."

Brooke tugged Max's hand and picked up his cell phone.  "Give me a
minute to call the cops.  How long do you think they'll take to get
here?"

"Not long.  Mom and Dad have already alerted them."

She held the phone, knowing these next moments could be critical. "What
should I say?"

"Tell them our names and location.  Stress we believe Henschel is
inside with our kidnapped daughter."

Two minutes later, she waited impatiently for Max to unlock the
clinic's front door.  She hoped the security guard was in the basement.
It wouldn't do for the guard to catch them before they found Henschel
and Skye.

Their footsteps echoed in the lobby.  They made their way toward the
bank of elevators and her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Max steered her toward the stairs.  "He'll hear the elevator.  Let's
walk up to his office.  Maybe we can surprise him."

She took the stairs two at a time and still sensed Max's impatience. To
his credit, he let her set the pace.  Six flights later, while she
caught her breath, Max cracked open the door into the dark hall.

Motioning her to follow, he stepped into the cord dorA water cooler
cycled on.  A fax machine somewhere to their left beeped.  Max turned
right.  With her pulse racing, she walked silently behind him.

No light peeked beneath the crack of Hens cheFs door.  Unless the man
had decided to sleep in his office, she didn't think they'd find him
here.  Diligently, Max turned the doorknob and opened the door.

She stifled a gasp at the chaos in the room.  The contents of filing
cabinets had been dumped on the floor, open file folders and papers
strewn everywhere.  Desk drawers had been flung across the room, office
supplies scattered helter-skelter.  Glass crunched beneath their feet
from broken picture frames that had once held doctoral degrees.

"What happened?"

"I suspect Henschel vandalized his office.  Tomorrow, the latest
month's over billing that we need to prove he's stealing will be
missing."  Max leaned to look out the window.  "Come on.  His car's
still here.  We can catch him."

"Wait."  Brooke grabbed Max's arm.  "Henschel probably wouldn't have
taken the stairs especially if he's in a hurry and if Skye is with him.
And if he'd ridden the elevator down while we climbed, we would have
heard."

Max cocked his head to the side, clearly considering her suggestion.
"You think he's in another part of the building?"

"Maybe we should split up."

He took her hand.  "We're staying together."

She appreciated that he wanted to protect her, but the police would be
here soon.  She wanted to find

Skye before they arrived.  "We don't have much time.

If we each searched--"

"We'll have more time if you stop arguing.  We stay together."

The thought of searching the dark building alone gave her the
heebie-jeebies, so she gave in with a sigh.  "Where to?"

"Let's try the lab."

Once again Max peeked through the doorway before they exited the
stairwell into the dark.  The lab doors stood closed.  When Max tried
to open them, they didn't budge.

As he took the keys from his pockets, the keys jingled and jarred her
already taut nerves.  Was that the security guard's footsteps she
heard, or just her pulse roaring in her ears?  If she called out, would
Skye answer?  Or would she be foolishly alerting Henschel to their
presence?

She shifted her weight from foot to foot while Max tried one key after
another.  Every moment counted.  If they'd guessed wrong, Henschel
could exit the front door and drive away with Skye.

Remembering the slashed tires, she realized he wouldn't get far.

Finally, the key clicked.  Max thrust open the door to find a dark,
deserted laboratory.  Disappointment coursed through her.  Where could
the doctor be?  Would Skye be with him?

Think.  Think like a criminal out to hide his tracks.  Where would she
go?  What would she do?

She tugged on Max's sleeve.  "Let's try Grant's of rice.  Henschel
needs to erase this month's computer records."

"Good thinking."

Max's praise gave her the strength to reclimb the stairs on legs
trembling with fatigue.  As a siren screamed in the distance, she
tripped and missed a step.  Max's strong grip prevented her from
falling.

"We're almost there," he whispered encouragingly.  All'this skulking
around with hated breath was corroding what nerves she had left.  Her
stomach twisted and somersaulted, spinning out of control.  And every
time she thought about Skye, her mind whirled with panic.

Henschel has to be here.

Skye has to be here.

She silently repeated the sentences like a mantra, emptying her mind of
all thoughts except to place one foot in front of the other.  Out of
breath, chest heaving, she reached the landing.

Max didn't even bother peeking past the door.  There was no time.  The
police sirens screamed loud enough to be just one block away.

Sprinting toward Grant's office, her hopes rose.  This was the first
light they'd seen in the entire building.

She heard a soft popping noise, the tinkle of falling glass.  Darkness
suffocated her as she ran, with Max close behind.

She'd lost her night vision from staring into the brightness, but she
maintained her frantic pace.  Ahead of Max, she crossed the threshold
into the room lit only by the neon glow of the soda machine.

The light hadn't gone out by itself.  Someone must be in here.

"Skye?  Are you here, sweetie?"

A swish of air from behind was her only warning.

An object sliced through the air and thudded against flesh.  Max's hand
released hers.  He let out a muffled groan and collapsed in a heap.

"Max!"

He was down, hurt.  Slipping and sliding through the litter of trash
strewn on the floor, she knelt at Max's side and groped for his wrist
or his neck to check his pulse.

Her hand landed on his thigh.  Behind her, paper rustled.  Oh, God.t

She wanted to flee, but Skye might be here.  And she couldn't leave Max
to the mercy of Henschel.  Behind her, the man's heavy breathing stung
her nerves like nettles.  Before she could locate Max's pulse or decide
what to do, a strong arm wound around her neck and jerked her to her
feet.

She tried to stamp his foot.  The arm around her throat tightened, cut
off her air.

Raising her hands to the arm at her throat, she yanked hard.  And
couldn't budge it.

Rotating blue lights of police cars in the parking lot below splashed
dimly through the window.  Help was so close, yet so faraway.  The
building covered half a city block.  The police wouldn't find her in
time.

Henschel would strangle her.  Kill Max and Skye.  Blame the break-in on
them.

Painfully, she turned her chin toward the crook of his elbow.  The
extra space she found there allowed her to suck air into her lungs.
Henschel backed toward the window and looked down.

Instead of trying to strangle her, he opened the window with his free
hand.  She took the opportunity to breathe deeply.

Below, she could hear the police fanning out through the building,
doors opening and closing.  As oxygen hit her starved brain cells, she
realized strangulation was too slow and too suspicious a way for
Henschel to kill her.  He meant to toss her out the window.

With her last remaining strength Brooke slipped to one side and rammed
her elbow into Henschel's stomach.  He expelled air with an oof, but he
didn't release his grip on her neck.  She twisted violently, wishing
she could scream.

A shadow rose out of the blackness.  Was she hallucinating Or had Max
regained consciousness and risen to his feet?

Henschel bent her sideways over the windowsill until her feet dangled
off the floor.  "Take one step closer and I'll throw her out the
window."

Max stood a good ten feet away.  With a desk between them, he couldn't
reach her before Henschel made good his threat.  Her lungs burned.
Stars exploded in her head.  Her vision blurred.  If only she could do
something to help herself.

And Skye.

Who would help her baby?

Woozy, Max fought for balance.  He felt as if a battle-ax had slammed
into his head, but all he could think about were the awful gasping
noises coming

from Brooke's throat.  He couldn't let Henschel hurt her.  He'd die
first.  "Let her breathe, or I've no choice but to kill you," Max
ordered, trying to sound stronger than he felt.

He swept his foot across the floor in search of a .  weapon until he
snagged his foot on a canvas bag and pulled it toward him.  Maybe he
could toss the bag at Henschel.

The doctor's arm must have eased around Brooke's throat, since Max
heard her gulp air greedily.  Slowly, he reeled in the bag, and all the
while kept talking.  "You're not a killer, Henschel.  Why don't you let
her go and tell us where Skye is?"

"You broke into this building and dare to accuse me of--"

"Come on, Doctor."  Max tried to lift the bag with his foot.
Surprisingly heavy, it slipped away.  "Why do you think the police are
here?"

"To arrest you and this woman."

The eerie calm with which he made the statement rocked Max.  Even
surrounded by police, the doctor still thought he could kill Brooke and
bluff his way out.  He must be damn sure he'd covered his tracks if he
thought he could toss Brooke out the window and claim self-defense.

Every muscle in Max's body tensed.  Sweat trickled down his forehead.

He had to outthink the doctor.  To protect Brooke and find Skye, he had
to cut off his feelings, concentrate on distracting Henschel.

"Shove that bag to me," Henschel ordered.

Max shook his head, and stooped to pick up the bag,

stalling for time, searching for an opening to rescue Brooke, praying
Henschel wouldn't do anything foolish.

"I don't think so."  He hefted the bag.  Maybe if he rattled the
doctor, he could make him forget his threats.  "I'll bet what's in here
contains enough evidence to put you away for a long time."

"That money can't be traced to me."

"On the contrary.  Dr.  Arnold just told us how Grant set up the
computer billing to skim prof its."  "Arnold killed himself!"

"Arnold faked his suicide."  Sensing he'd distracted Henschel, Max
waited for a chance to pounce.  Bottling his emotion so he wouldn't get
sloppy, he edged closer.

"If Grant was stealing money, I knew nothing about it."

"We have a computer statement that proves you paid Grant to do your
dirty work," Max lied, and inched a little closer, knowing he had to be
creative, promise anything to save Brooke's life.  "A copy was sent to
the police this afternoon.  That's why the police are here--to arrest
you.  Right now, you're only an accessory to Callie's murder.  If Skye
is safe, we'll drop the kidnapping charge.  Don't make this worse.  Let
Brooke go."

"This is all a big mistake," Henschel blustered, but he no longer
sounded as if he believed his own lies.

Praying Henschel would release Brooke, Max hardened his tone and
cracked his words like a whip in the hope Henschel would reply without
thinking.  "Where is our daughter?"

Once Hen cheFs words started, they ran as fast and as cold as a bloated
mountain river.  "I never intended to hurt anyone.  When Grant offered
to take care of things, I thought he would use some of our prof its to
keep any dissatisfied patients quiet.  I don't know if Grant murdered
Brooke's sister and husband.  I never asked.  I didn't want to know.
Even after Callie started to blackmail Grant, he told me he'd keep her
in line.  I assumed he would do so in the same way I kept Karen
quiet--with promises of marriage.  But then he killed her.  And I knew
I could also be charged with her murder.  Something had to be done.
Someone had to take charge."

The glittery triumph in his eyes and the twisted admission spoken in a
singsong tone forced Max to see the doctor was precariously on edge and
apt to take chances.

Brooke's life was at stake.  He had to reach her.  The separation was a
physical barrier he had to overcome.  But how?  Through their entire
conversation he'd only inched forward a half meter.  If he threw the
bag at Henschel, the doctor might toss her out that window.

The police pounded up the stairs.  Brooke dipped her head.  In the blue
lights reflecting through the open window, Max caught sight of her
teeth biting Henschel"'s arm.

The doctor screamed in surprise and pain.

Sensing opportunity, Max heaved the heavy bag at the closed window
several feet from where Henschel and Brooke struggled.  The window
shattered.  The bag opened and hundred dollar bills floated across the
room and out the window.

"Nooo!"  Henschel dropped Brooke and scrambled for the satchel, which
had fallen back into the room.  Brooke landed on the sill with only her
legs dangling inside the room.  Just as she started to slide out, Max
leapt over the desk.

God, no.  He wouldn't reach her in time.  Her hips slid over the ledge,
her feet tilted skyward and caught on the window frame with a thud. For
a heart-stopping instant; he thought she'd caught herself I Then she
plunged from sight.

He grabbed for her leg, her jeans, a shoe.  Too late.  He slammed into
the wall.  His hands came up empty.  Empty.

Shocked and shaken, in so much pain he couldn't breathe, he fought to
regain his balance, attempting to reach through the window and somehow
catch her.  As he lunged toward the window, the horrific image of her
death exploded in his mind.

From behind, the doctor seized Max's shoulder and yanked him around.
Numbed by grief, Max couldn't respond to the attack until his
peripheral vision picked up a sharp glinting instrument arching toward
his neck.  Survival instincts kicked in.  Fury quickened his pumped
reflexes.  Deflecting the scalpel with a block to his opponent's wrist,
Max struck the doctor a solid blow to the gut with his right hand and
followed with an uppercut to the jaw with his left.  God, it felt so
good to hit him.  Over and over and over.  For Brooke... for Skye...
for himself.

Sobbing, the doctor rolled away and crawled to his money bag.  Furious
the man had ceased to put up a fight, Max contained his rage before he
committed murder.  Still, no way would he allow Henschel to escape
after what he'd done to Brooke and before he told him about Skye.

Grabbing the phone that lay in the mess next to him on the floor, Max
heaved it at Hens cheFs head.  Bent over a stack of money, the doctor
never saw the knockout blow.  He keeled over and collapsed with a
groan.  Max only hoped the doctor lived long enough to suffer the
indignation of an arrest, a trial, and jail time.  But first he would
tell him what he had done with Skye.

Skye had to be alive.  He refused to think otherwise.

He would find their daughter.

At least he could do that for Brooke.  He would raise the child she'd
loved with all her heart, the daughter she would never see grow up and
marry.  He would make sure Skye never forgot her.

God, he ached to do so much more.  Selfishly, he wanted to hear Brooke
laugh while he tossed rose petals into her bath He wanted to dance with
her at their wedding.  He wanted to raise their daughter together.

He slammed his bruised knuckles into his palm,

welcoming the pain.  He staggered toward the window.  She was gone.

He had to face it, A bruising loss engulfed Max as if a great weight
pressed on his chest and splintered his heart.  A sob caught in his
throat.  He didn't bother to blink back the tears that rained down his
cheeks.

She was gone.

An odd scrabbling sound jerked him from his thoughts.  Henschel hadn't
moved.

A disembodied voice--Brook 's voice floated into the room.  "Max!  Max,
get me out of here."

She was alive!

Max bolted to his feet, leaned out the window, and peered down.  Relief
flooded through him.  Brooke hung from a ledge just below the
windowsill.

Reaching down, he snared the waist of her jeans with one hand, placed
the other around the back of her thigh and dragged her inside. 
Overcome with a fierce surge of love, he clung to her, running his
hands over her arms, shoulders and back to convince himself she was
really here.

"I thought you were dead."

Her voice cracked.  "I decided to hang around a while longer."

"Don't ever scare me like that again," He embraced her, and she'd never
felt so good in his arms.  He'd never known a feeling to equal what he
felt for her--a love so fierce he wouldn't get enough of her if they
lived into their nineties.

"I'm fine."  She kissed him, at the same time shoving one of his stray
locks from his face.  Her fingers gently wiped away his tears.

Unembarrassed by his emotions, he hugged her tighter.  "I thought I'd
lost you."

"I'm not going anywhere," she promised as she pulled back.  "Except to
find Skye.  Where is she?"  "Where in the building could he have put
her?"  "There's a day-care center for patients" children on the third
floor."

"Let's go."

BROOK ^"D MAX found Skye sleeping on a cot in the nursery.  None the
worse for her ordeal, she barely opened her sleepy eyes as Brooke
scooped her daughter into her arms, her heart fluttering with relief.
"She's okay."

"Hi, Mommy."  Skye raised her head sleepily.  "Where is my bed?  What
happened?"

"Go back to sleep, sweetie.  Everything's going to be just fine," she
assured her through tears of happiness.  Not only was Skye safe, her
daughter had slept through the kidnapping.  She would have no memories
of the horror of this night and Brooke couldn't have been more
thankful.  As much as she ached to hold Skye, her weight took its toll
and Max eagerly took the sleeping child.

"Did you mean it when you said you wouldn't go anywhere, wouldn't leave
me?"  he asked huskily.  "I'll stay as long as you want me."

Max sat in a chair and settled Skye on his lap.  He tugged Brooke
beside him, needing to hold them both.  He'd come too close to losing
them to let them go.  Brooke cuddled against Max, placed her arm around
his waist, the other on their daughter, and lay her head on his chest.
"Hold me."

"I can do better than that."

He kissed her, his hot flesh radiating heat that melted the last of her
fears.  She looked straight into his eyes.  "I love you, Max."

"Good."

"Good?  I tell you I love you and all you can say is "good'?"  She
tried to remain stern, but her lips betrayed her and twitched at the
corners.  "You can do better than good."

He kissed her nose, his eyes twinkling.

She tapped her foot impatiently.  "I'm waiting, Max."

He shrugged."  "Waiting for what?"

"For a smart man, you can really be dumb sometimes."  His brow arched
as if he didn't have a clue what She wanted from him.  "I'm waiting for
you to tell me you love me."

"Oh, that.  Of course I do."

"Not good enough."  She challenged him with a look.  "I know you love
me.  I want to hear you say the words."

He chuckled.  "That's it.  Keep your feelings back.  Play mysterious.
Don't tell me what you really want."

In his way, he'd just admitted he loved her, but she'd known that when
he didn't hesitate to risk his life to save her from Henschel.  She
knew he loved her from the tender and generous way he'd made love to
her, leaving her feeling cherished and desired.  His love was evident
in his caring looks, his sensual touch--designed to please, in the
frenzy of passion that exploded whenever they kissed.  He'd told her
repeatedly without words how much he wanted all of her.  Sure, she
recognized the lust, but what she and Max shared was evident in his
eyes alight with unspoken promises.  What she hadn't known until just
now was he'd admitted to himself that he loved her.

She wound her arms around his neck.  "Would you rather I was coy?"

His hand closed over her hair.  Gently he tugged her

lips to his.  "Don't change a thing.  I love you just the way you
are."

Five minutes later, after a thoroughly satisfying kiss that left her
blood humming and her nerves singing, he asked, "Did you really mean
you'd stay with me as long as I want?"

"Silly man.  I don't say things I don't mean."  "Suppose I want you
forever?"

Her lips turned up in a dazzling smile.  "Then forever is what you'll
get."

Epilogue

One month later

"Daddy.  Daddy!"  Skye raced into the laboratory that Max kept on the
back forty acres of their new home.

He was puttering with a new type of filter that would clean the exhaust
before the muffler released fumes into the atmosphere.  Yet he always
had time to make his daughter feel special.

Whenever he thought about his life, his heart burst with pride.  Skye
and Brooke were more precious to him than he'd ever thought possible. A
month ago, when Brooke had almost died after Henschel dropped her out
that window, he'd thought he couldn't have loved her more.  But during
these past few weeks, his love had grown stronger.  His life was
enriched beyond his dreams, and he'd settled down contentedly, with
nothing more important to him than his soon-to-be wife and his child.
The experiment could wait.

Sensing Skye had run all the way from the house, he waited for her to
catch her breath.  Picking her up,

he smoothed her hair off her face and kissed her forehead.  "Who's
Daddy's favorite little girl?"

Instead of playing their game and teasing him back, she squirmed.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Skye's cheeks flushed red and her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Mommy
said you should come quick.  She has a surprise."

"Now?"  His palms broke into an immediate sweat.

As he and Skye left the lab and headed toward the house he thought back
to the last time Brooke had surprised him.  They could have more
children.  The doctors had located Brooke's missing eggs that Arnold
had frozen so long ago, and Max had learned the frozen eggs could
survive for a decade.  Max, Brooke and Skye had celebrated the
possibility of adding to their family.  But first they had to make the
family official and the wedding was still two months away.

He entered the house wondering what surprise Brooke had cooked up now.
Skye urged him into the kitchen.  "Come on, Daddy.  Mommy said this
surprise is a really, really, really big one."

He found Brooke on the phone, her eyes filled with happy tears.

His heart lurched.  "What is it?"

"It's your mother.  Ford just came out of the coma.  He's going to be
fine."

IN THE HOSPITAL for an implantation of her eggs, Brooke watched her
husband marvel at the sonogram that showed their soon-to-be twins, and
elation swept through her that the successful medical procedure had
enabled her and Max to have more children.  Max seemed just as pleased.
He couldn't seem to take his gaze off the sonogram picture.

During the past months since the wedding, Max had doted on Skye,
spoiling her shamelessly.  If the old restlessness sneaked into his
thoughts occasionally, he wasn't saying so.  But he had mentioned with
a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that if wanderlust struck, he could
afford to take the whole family with him.

Ford ducked through the door of the hospital room, clapped his brother
on the back, and stuck two cigars in his mouth.  Now that her
brother-in-law had regained the weight he'd lost during his days in a
coma, he looked almost identical to Max.  Except for the eyes--a
sadness he tried to hide lingered there--and she wondered how long it
would take to go away.

Ford added another box of Godiva chocolates to the two Max had already
given her.  "So how's the little mother?"

"I suspect I'm more rested than you."  Tired but happy, Brooke Winked
at Skye's doting uncle who had volunteered to watch Skye until she and
Max returned home.  Before letting her out of bed, the doctors wanted
her to stay another night--just to be sure the embryos took, and Max
refused to leave her side.  "Girls her age can be a handful.  Are you
keeping up with her?"

"Barely."

Max looked up from the sonogram, for the first time, a brazen grin
twitching his lips.  "If that's the case, she's the first woman you
can't keep up with."

Ford laughed, his forehead crinkling--but the grief

never left his haunted blue eyes.  When Max sat by Brooke and put his
arm over her shoulders, Ford's face clouded and his voice choked.
"Rhonda would have enjoyed being an aunt."

She was grateful to Rhonda for her daughter, and when Skye was old
enough to understand, Brooke intended to explain Rhonda's relation to
her.  In the meantime, she'd asked Ford to save pictures, mementos and
medical records for that time.

Brooke nestled against Max and squeezed his hand while she spoke to his
brother.  "I'm sorry I never had a chance to meet your wife."

"She would have approved of the way you're raising Skye.  Rhonda was a
great lady and didn't deserve to die the way she did."

"Henschel mined a lot of people's lives."  Arnold had turned state's
evidence and received probation and a suspended medical license. Callie
and Rhonda had lost their lives.  Karen Forester had left the state. 
And Henschel?  She didn't want to think about him.  He'd gotten what
he'd deserved.

Brooke kept to herself how much she'd almost lost.  If Max hadn't
insisted they go after Henschel, they could have lost Skye and the
twins would never be born.  Instead she had the best of husbands, Skye
and children she hadn't thought she could have.  Life was good.  The
best.

Unfortunately fate hadn't been as kind to Ford.  He stoically tried to
hide the pain, but his eyes frequently stared off into space with a
grief he couldn't seem to shake.

He clenched his fist, his voice tight.  "Henschel was responsible for
the avalanche that killed Rhonda."

Brooke looked up in surprise.  Once she'd decided to become pregnant,
Max had kept news he'd thought would upset her to himself.  She'd
reveled in his over-protectiveness, but now she wanted to know the
truth.  "But Henschel never left New Orleans.  He paid someone to set
off the avalanche."

Ford frowned, his cheekbones all harsh angles.  "If it takes the rest
of my life, I'll find out who murdered Rhonda."

Max stood and put his arm over his brother's shoulder.  He knew when
words were needed and when to be quiet, and nothing could be said to
comfort Ford.  Brooke hoped the passage of time would heal Max's
twin.

As if realizing he'd put a damper on a happy occasion, Ford slapped Max
on the back.  "Hey, I've a great little lady waiting for me.  Skye and
I have a date to go roller-blading.  Besides, she wants details on her
babies."

After Ford left, Max took his seat at her side on the bed.  "Maybe it
wasn't such a good idea to tell Skye we were having the twins for her.
She thinks these babies are hers."

"At least she's not jealous, like her daddy."

His eyes widened as if he thought she'd gone crazy.  "What?"

"Don't deny it, mister."  Although she attempted to scold, her lips
broke into a grin.  "When I was talking to the nurse about breast
feeding, you were smacking your lips."

Max rolled his eyes at the ceiling.  "Did not.  I was just thirsty."

She giggled at his ridiculous excuse.  "Uh-huh.  I'm sure the hospital
has a cafeteria."

"I'm very particular.  Nothing in a cafeteria will quench my thirst for
you."

She looked up into his eyes and caught her breath at the love
reflecting there.  A love great enough to last a lifetime.  "If that's
your way of Saying I love you--"

"No."  He drew her into his arms for a kiss.  "This is the way I say I
love you."

She chuckled as happiness and contentment swept through her.  "Ah, Max,
dear.  You really do have a way with words."