father, lover, bodyguard
by
cassie miles

ISBN 0373225210

Danger, deception and suspense.  Silhouette Intrigue

} SILHOUETTE BOOKS

^Exactly how many assassins does it take to convince you you 're in
danger?  "Fine.  I'll hire a bodyguard," Amanda stated coolly.

Midsummer heat flowed over them like lava, and David's temper was
firing on all eight cylinders.

"There's not a man on earth who can protect you better than I can."

"Oh, really?  Do you have gun?"

"Don't need one."

"Do you know karate?"

"I know you," David said.

Amanda planted her fists on her hips and scowled up at him.

"What difference does that make?"

"I know when you're tired, when you're angry, when you're pleased.  I
know you pretend to be efficient when you feel out of control.  I know
you sometimes say " no" when you mean " yes.  " For example, if I asked
you right now to kiss me, you'd say no..."  He slipped his hand behind
her neck and slowly moved towards her.

"But I know you want to..."

tExact1y how many assassins does it take to convince you you 're in
danger?  "

Tine.  I'll hire a bodyguard," Amanda stated coolly.

Midsummer heat flowed over them like lava, and David's temper was
firing on all eight cylinders.

"There's not a man on earth who can protect you better than I can."

"Oh, really?  Do you have gun?"

"Don't need one."

"Do you know karate?"

"I know you," David said.

Amanda planted her fists on her hips and scowled up at him.

"What difference does that make?"

"I know when you're tired, when you're angry, when you're pleased.  I
know you pretend to be efficient when you feel out of control.  I know
you sometimes say " no" when you mean " yes.  " For example, if I asked
you right now to kiss me, you'd say no..."  He slipped his hand behind
her neck and slowly moved towards her.

"But I know you want to..."

Dear Reader, What a month May is!  With four gripping tales of
mystery, Silhouette Intrigue* will have you on the edge of your
seats!

Gayle Wilson's SECRET WARRIORS trilogy comes to an end this month with
Her Baby, His Secret, where Griff Cabot comes back from the dead and
has to save the baby daughter he never knew he had--it's romantic
suspense at its best!  But don't be too disappointed by the loss of the
warriors, we have more than a sneaking suspicion that they'll be back
and, meanwhile, we have a new trilogy beginning-CAPTIVE HEARTS.

Three women go from hostages during a crime to prisoners of passion.
That's Father, Lover, Bodyguard from Cassie Miles now and, next month,
Patricia Wemer's His To Protect.

In Tina Vasilos's In Her Lover's Eyes nurse Abby Chance becomes
involved with sexy murder suspect Zach Andros.  And in Saranne Dawson's
Lawman Lover Michael Quinn is reunited with old flame Amanda Sturdevant
in their quest to find a killer.  We're sure you'll find them all quite
breathtaking!

Look after yourselves and come back next month when there'll also be
new books from Rebecca York, Shawna Delacorte and Charlotte Douglas.

The Editors

^SILHOUETTE

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

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

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

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form.  This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises II 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
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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
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without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
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Silhouette and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books

S.

A.

" used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 2000 Silhouette Books, Eton House,
18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Kay Bergstrom 1999 ISBN 0 373 22521 0 460005

Printed and bound in Spain by Litografia Roses S.

A.

" Barcelona

Dear Reader,

While researching CAPTIVE HEARTS, Pat Werner and I took an insider tour
of a bank in Denver in order to check out the vaults, safe-deposit
boxes and security procedures.  We asked the security guards so many
questions that they began exchanging suspicious glances.  Perhaps they
wondered whether we were-as we claimed--wide-eyed, innocent romance
writers or whether we were plotting the next big heist.

I have to admit that the idea of bank robbery flitted across my mind,
but I was more intrigued by the possibility of being held hostage.

Such a terrifying and intense situation would be like drowning.  My
LIFE would flash before my eyes.  I'd regret the mistakes and promise
that if I got out alive I would be a better person.

In Father, Lover, Bodyguard, Amanda has a chance to heal the mistakes
of her past and reconcile with the most important man in her life.

I hope you'll enjoy reading this and the other CAPTIVE HEARTS
stories.

His To Protect and The Safe Hostage.

Happy reading!  Cassie Miles To Matt and Jackie Prologue

The windowless conference room on the lower level at Empire Bank of
Colorado was conveniently near the safe- deposit boxes, but it was
small--claustrophobically small.  The beige wall seemed too close to
Amanda Fielding's back.  She felt crowded at the square laminated wood
table with the two other women, Tracy Meyer and Carrie Lamb.

Amanda's discomfort was underlined by the difficult subject of this
nine-o'clock meeting on July 1. In short, Tracy Meyer needed ready cash
to care for her stepdaughter, and Amanda opposed dipping into the
stepdaughter's trust fund.

Closing the manila file folder on the table, Amanda stated, "I'm not
completely heartless."

"I know," Tracy whispered in a shy voice.

"I appreciate that you would take the time to meet with me."

"That's my job."  Amanda was president at this midsize branch of Empire
Bank.

"As I see it, we need to consider the big picture.  Your stepdaughter
is seven years old, and we must consider her best interests in the long
run.  I understand your attachment to the child, but" -- "Do you?"
Tracy Meyer softly interrupted.

"I don't think of Jennifer as my stepdaughter.  She's as much a part of
me as my hands and my eyes.  I've raised her since she was four.
Jennifer and I went through her father's death together."

A tear spilled down her cheek, and Carrie Lamb reached | over to pat
her arm and murmur comforting words, j This meeting had been Carrie's
idea, and Amanda was glad that she was here.  Carrie was a teller at
the bank with a personal connection to the Meyer family.  She was
Jennifer's tutor whenever the child, afflicted with a severe pulmonary
disorder, couldn't attend public school.

More important in this situation, Carrie had an innate ability to
comfort others, a talent Amanda lacked.  Not even motherhood had
softened her in this respect.  Her philosophy could be summed up in
three words: "Get over it!"  Amanda worked hard to attain her goals,
and she expected similar discipline from others.

Impatiently, she peered across the table at gentle Tracy Meyer with her
long auburn curls and at kindhearted Carrie Lamb with her adorable,
short black hair.  In contrast, Amanda felt like the blond ice
princess, dressed in a wheat Armani pantsuit with black piping.

"Tracy," she said, "let's start by reviewing the facts."

"You're right," Tracy said.

"I'm sorry."

"After your husband, Scott, was killed in the line of duty, a trust
fund was set up for Jennifer.  The Denver Police League has made
significant contributions, as have several citizens.  The amount in
that fund is close to seventy thousand dollars."

"I need to use some of that money," Tracy said.

"I've had to quit my job to stay home with Jennifer.  She's sick.  She
needs me."

"What about your insurance?"

"It doesn't even cover all the medical costs, much less living
expenses."  Tracy unlatched the lid on her metal safe- deposit box and
opened it.

"I have the papers right here.

I'm Jennifer's legal guardian.  And I'm the trustee for that fund.  "

When Tracy removed a stainless-steel revolver from the box, the beige
walls of the small conference room seemed to shrink even more.

"My God, Tracy.  Why do you have a gun?"

"It's Scott's service revolver," Tracy explained.

An odd memento.  Amanda would've assumed the gun would be confiscated
by the police department.  Did Tracy have a license for that thing?

"Not loaded, is it?"

Startled, Tracy blinked.

"I don't know.  I hate guns.  I wouldn't even know how to check."

Carrie took the revolver from the tabletop and expertly unlatched the
barrel cylinder, removing five bullets and dropping them into the
box.

"It was loaded, but not anymore."

Tracy thrust the documents toward Amanda.

"Here."

"I have copies.  I know what they say.  Legally, you have the right to
access the trust.  However, as the overseer of this fund, I advise
against it.  The money should be used for Jennifer's college, possibly
for special schooling right now."

"She's keeping up with her class.  With Carrie tutoring her, Jennifer
reads well beyond her grade level."

"I'm not criticizing."

"It sure sounded like you were."

Amanda flashed a glance at Carrie, seeking her support.  But Carrie
shrugged, unwilling to take sides as Amanda struggled with her
recurring claustrophobia and a tense situation.  Hoping for a quick
finish to this situation, she was blunt.

"Your problem, Tracy, is more than immediate cash flow.  You need to
think of how it looks to a judge before you start using money from the
trust fund.  As you know, Jennifer's grandfather has initiated a suit
for custody.  He's a biological relation.  And he's a wealthy man who
could offer certain advantages."

"But he doesn't even know Jennifer," Tracy said with surprising
vehemence.

"His daughter died when Jennifer was two years old.  During the four
years I've taken care of her, he's only seen her six times.

He hated Scott.  "

"Sounds like a hard man," Carrie said.

"Surely, he doesn't have a chance of winning custody.  Does he?"

"I'm afraid so."  Amanda had a law degree and had practiced for a few
years before going into banking.  She was not prone to sugarcoat the
facts.

"After all, Jennifer's grandfather can afford the best attorneys."

"And I can't."  Tracy cringed.

"I can see how it would look bad if I started using the trust fund."

Finally, they were making headway.

"Tracy, you need to find another way to support yourself and Jennifer.
A job with flexible hours.

Possible loans from your family or"-Before Amanda could dole out more
painful advice, the door handle jiggled and she called out, " We're
busy in here.  "

The door crashed open, kicked in by a heavy boot.  The man who stepped
inside was dressed all in black, wearing a black ski mask and carrying
a semiautomatic weapon.

"Let's go.  Now!"

"What's happening?"  Tracy asked.

Amanda knew exactly what was happening.  A nightmare.

"Bank robbery."

The man yanked her arm.

"You're Amanda.  The lady bank president, right?  You know the
combination to the vault."

She nodded.  This couldn't be happening!  It couldn't!  But it was. 
This really was a robbery at Empire Bank.  My God, what would happen to
her employees?  To herself?  If

Aman*^ were injured or worse, who would care for her baby?

Nine-month-old Laurel Fielding was her life.

Roughly; ^e bank robber shoved Amanda and Tracy through tn conference
room door.

"Move it!  All of you!"  he ordered, turning to push Carrie out the
door.

The shock of being physically threatened exploded in an all-consuming,
suffocating rage.  Amanda literally saw red.  Her throat constricted,
and she couldn't speak.  Get over it!  She had to get a grip.  This was
her bank.  These people were her responsibility.  Stiffly, she marched
up the stairs to the main level.

On the main floor, two other masked men with guns stormed back and
forth between the teller counter and the desks.  The early-morning
customers and employees lay facedown, not moving.  The security guard,
Harry Hoffman, sprawled motionless on the marble floor.  The back of
his head was bloody.

She prayed he wasn't dead.  Gritting her teeth against her disabling
anger, she spoke to the robber who stood behind them.

"We'll do anything you say.  Please don't hurt anyone else."

"Move fast.  We need you to open the vault."

Amanda walked steadily past the teller counter.  Her only thought was
to get this over with quickly before there were any more injuries.

Standing before the walk-in Remington vault, she halted.

"It's a dual lock.  It needs the combination and a key."

"Who's got the key?"

Amanda pointed to the head teller, Jane Borelli, who lay facedown,
trembling.  Her shoulders heaved with silent sobbing.  When another of
the robbers grabbed her, she curled into a tight little ball.  He drew
back his boot to kick her.

"Stop it," Amanda ordered.

"Can't you see she's too frightened to move?"

Carrie stepped forward.

"I'll get the key from her."

Quickly, she knelt beside the other woman, retrieved the key and held
it up.

A burst of semiautomatic gunfire shattered the air.  The largest of the
three men barked, "Quit playing games!  Get the god damned vault
open.

Now!  "

Side by side with Carrie, Amanda faced the main door of the vault,
three feet of tempered steel that automatically unlocked from eight in
the morning to five-thirty in the afternoon.  If Amanda closed it now,
the system would activate and the vault would be inaccessible.  There
was over a million dollars in cash and bearer bonds inside, since the
Wells Fargo armored truck had made a drop this morning.  With a shove
of the door, she could protect the money.

But the cash was insignificant compared with the lives of her employees
and customers.  She approached the combination lock beside the heavily
barred safety door.  Working the combination from memory, she twisted
until she heard the final click, then she nodded to Carrie, who turned
the key.

The vault was open.

While one robber stood watch, the other two went inside.

Amanda, Carrie and Tracy stepped back, huddled together.  Though none
of them spoke, they communicate^ by touch, sharing their fear, their
helplessness, their frustration.  These two women--Tracy Meyer and
Carrie Lamb--might be the last people Amanda ever saw.  They might die
together.

Amanda swallowed that thought.  She had to survive.  She had to take
care of Laurel.  Touching Tracy's arm, Amanda felt a bond between them
that went deeper than logic or words or what would look good to a
judge.  If they got out of here alive, she'd make things right for
Tracy Meyer.

Amanda's gaze turned toward the windows overlooking

Speer Boulevard.  Across the street, she saw a man holding a cell
phone. Before he turned away, she recognized him.  What was he doing
here?  Why was he?

"You!"  The shout came from the robber who patrolled outside the
vault.

"Get away from the windows.  Now!"

But before she turned away, Amanda saw a sight that quickened her heart
and, at the same time, filled her with dread.  Police cars.

The robber saw them, too.

He yelled to the others.

"We got company!"

At that moment, one of the customers changed position.  He was gray
haired, but moved with the agility of youth as he whipped a handgun
from beneath his sports jacket and fired three times.

The masked robber screamed with pain, then aimed his weapon and let
loose with a prolonged blast that echoed deafeningly.  Bullets
ricocheted.  There was the hot smell of cordite, gunpowder and death.

Amanda ducked and covered her head.  She heard screaming as if from a
distance.  Then there was a whimpering stillness.

When she looked up, the gray-haired customer had fallen in a disjointed
heap.  His arm stretched out toward her in mute appeal.  His blood
seeped across the marble floor.

"Oh, God.  This is my fault."

"There was nothing you could do," Carrie whispered.

"I have to do something."

The need for resolute action burned within her.  But what?  How could
she stop them?  She was dimly aware of a telephone ringing and brusque
conversation.  The robbers must be negotiating with the police.

Decisions were being made; their fate was being determined.

One of the robbers announced, "We're going to let you people go."

"An ambulance," she said to him.

"Tell the police we need an ambulance."

He gestured toward her, Carrie and Tracy.

"You three stand over there."

Quickly, he organized their retreat, using the male executives to carry
the injured bodies of the bank guard and the customer with the gun. 
The others followed one by one, and Amanda watched gratefully as her
employees and customers reached safety.

Finally, it was their turn.  Amanda and her two companions started
toward the door, toward freedom.

"Not you three," said the big man.

"We need hostages."

"Not them," Amanda argued, nodding toward Carrie and Tracy.

"Sorry, honey.  By yourself, you're not enough."

Imperiously, she drew herself up.  Amanda was president of this bank,
damn it.  She had a reputation in this town.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah," he sneered.

"You're a hostage."

Idiot!

"You have to let these other women go."

"Don't push me.  Or you're going to be a dead hostage."

She turned to Tracy, the guardian for a sickly seven-year- old who had
already lost her natural mother and father.  Why had Amanda been so
hard on her?

"Tracy," I'm so sorry.  "

"I know."

She wouldn't let them hurt this woman.  Or Carrie.  My God, Carrie had
already been through too much pain in her life.

Whirling, Amanda confronted the robbers.

"Listen to me.  I insist" -From the corner of her eye, she saw the
butt of an automatic rifle swinging toward her.  Before she could
dodge, she heard an explosion inside her head.  Her vision distorted in
nightmarish images of blood and terror.  Then her world went dark.

Chapter One

Amanda lay flat on her back, arms at her sides.  Intense pain roared
inside her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the agony
that threatened to sweep her more deeply into clouded slumber.  Why did
it hurt so much?  She didn't remember being sick, didn't remember
anything.

Through the haze, her mind emptied into a surreal desert, uninhabited
by thought or sound.  She stood alone beneath a blank gray canvas of
sky.  All around her, as far as the eye could see, the desert plains
stretched toward a desolate horizon.

She needed to regain consciousness and find her way home, but she
didn't know which way to go.  The cracked brown earth beneath her feet
gave no indication.  Thfere were no signposts.  Not a path or
roadway.

Forward or back?

"Amanda!"  A deep baritone voice called to her, "Amanda, wake up!"

I'm trying.  But she couldn't move.  A great heaviness sat upon her
chest, weighting her limbs.  In her condition-whatever that was--she
considered the mere fact that she was breathing a major
accomplishment.

"Wake up now."

Why wouldn't he leave her be?  She inhaled, exhaled and inhaled again.
The blankness began to clear.  Behind closed eyelids, she saw shapeless
flashes of neon.  Her aching brain ordered her arm to move, but she
only managed to twitch her fingers.

"Amanda!"

"Stop it!"  Her eyelids snapped open.  Blurred images sorted into a
glaring light in the middle of a white acoustic- tile ceiling.  Where
was she?

"Good," the voice said.

"You're going to be all right."

Easy for him to say.  He wasn't lying here, helpless.  In a hospital?

Was she in a hospital?  Her ears became aware of steady bleeps, buzzes
and an undercurrent of faraway voices.

Cautiously, she squinted and looked around.  She found herself in a
square cubicle.  The wall in front of her was a white, sheet like
curtain.  Though she still wore her black silk blouse, a hideous yellow
blanket covered the legs of her Armani pantsuit.  All around her were
machines with dials and screens.  The sleeve of her blouse was pushed
up to the shoulder, and an IV was attached to her arm.

A hand stroked her cheek, and she gazed at the man standing beside her
bed.  His thick black hair was trimmed short.  A cleft marked his
chin.

He smiled as she gazed into his hazel eyes.  She knew those eyes. 
She'd seen them flare with stormy turbulence and glisten with
pleasure.

"David," she said.

"You remember me.  That's good.  I was concerned about possible memory
loss."

"There's nothing wrong with my memory," she snapped.  What was David
Haines doing here?  He was the last person on earth she wanted to
see.

A fury, disconnected from logic, churned inside her mind, making it
difficult to recall exactly why she was so angry with him.

"Damn you, David."

With her free arm, she slapped his face.  The sudden movement was more
exertion than she could handle.  With a groan, Amanda closed her eyes
again.

Oh, God, that was the wrong thing to do.  She and David were engaged to
be married.  He'd bought her the most magnificent diamond.

But her ring finger was bare.

She gazed up at him again.  Redness from her slap colored his jaw
beneath the high cheekbone, but she wasn't sorry she'd hit him.  He
deserved a punch in the mouth, even though she couldn't remember why.

A tight smile twisted his lips.

"You haven't changed, Amanda."

Oh, but she had.  She wasn't the same hapless twit who'd fallen in love
with him and forgiven him a hundred times.  Forgiven him for what? 
God, she was confused.

Her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared.  David wore a white lab coat
with a name badge and had a stethoscope in his pocket.  Underneath were
shapeless blue hospital scrubs.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

"I'm a doctor.  A second-year resident."

None of this made any sense.  She was absolutely sure that he'd never
completed his medical training.  He'd graduated from med school, but
hadn't gone on to do his internship How could he possibly be a doctor?
David Haines was an irresponsible playboy, a man about town who drove a
sleek black Porsche.  He had taken her love and torn it to shreds.  A
succession of wild parties and drunken brawls had made a mockery of her
sincere commitment.

And what had happened to their engagement?

"We didn't get married, did we?"

"You dumped me.  Twice."

She remembered.  The.  decision to end their engagement had been more
agonizing than the stabbing pain inside her skull.  It was a long time
ago.  Five years ago.  That miserable tragedy was far behind her now.

She turned her head toward the loudly bleeping machine beside her.

"Where am I?"

"Denver General Hospital," he said.

"You're in the E.R. In an examination room."

"The emergency room?  Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?"

Her defenses rose.  Instinctively, she knew better than to admit that
her mind was a blank, desolate landscape.  Hadn't he said he was
looking for memory loss?  She didn't want to stay here and be examined,
poked and prodded.  Especially not by David.

"It's the, um, details," she stammered.

"They're a little vague."

His eyebrows lowered in concern.  For a moment, she almost believed he
was a real doctor, practicing his bedside manner.

"Can you sit up?"  he asked.

"Of course I can.  What a ridiculous question!"

But when she propped herself up on her elbows, the room began to spin
like a rushing carousel.  The inside of her head exploded in brilliant
Technicolor pain.

Get over it!  She forced herself to sit upright on the hard hospital
bed.  The dizziness accelerated.  She was caught on the carnival ride,
unable to dismount.  Faster and faster she whirled.  She was going to
faint again.

A terrible panic overwhelmed her.  Amanda could cope with the pain. 
She could face this bizarre confusion, but she couldn't stand being out
of control.

"David, help me."

He wrapped his arm around her.

"You're going to be okay."

Grateful for his support, she leaned against his chest and closed her
eyes, drawing on his masculine strength for solace.  Even when David
behaved irresponsibly--which he did quite often--he was strong.  In his
arms, she felt secure.  His cotton scrubs chafed the side of her face,
and she inhaled his familiar clean scent.  It had been a long time
since he'd held her.

Over a year, a bittersweet year.  Pressed against him, she heard his
steady heartbeat as he held her firmly, rescuing her from the storm of
pain.

"Amanda, don't go back to sleep again."  His deep voice vibrated inside
his chest.

"Amanda?"

She shifted within the shelter of his arms, not wanting to leave his
embrace.  But she had to resist him.  David wasn't the right man for
her.

She pushed away from him.  Being too close was dangerous to her mental
health.  Sitting on her own with her legs dangling over the edge of the
rock-hard bed, she said, "I'm fine."

"If you say so."

"I do."

"Okay."  He took a spoon-sized instrument with a light on the end from
a drawer.

"Hold still.  I need to look in your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just do as I say."  He held up the stainless-steel instrument.

"I want you to follow the light with your eyes.  Don't move your head."
i Though she had no idea why she should pay any attention to David
Haines, she did as he instructed.

"Good," he said.

"Your eyes are tracking."

"With all due respect," she said sarcastically, "what, exactly, is
supposed to be wrong with me?"

"Concussion," he explained.

"You haven't been in a coma, but you've been floating in and out of
consciousness.  You took a severe blow to the head."

He held up his hand.

"How many fingers?"

"Three."

Weakly, she batted his hand out of the way.  This was absurd!  She had
absolutely no recollection of being beaten.  This joke had gone too
far, and she wasn't laughing.

She needed to get off this hard bed.  She had a very full agenda.

Things to do, places to go.  At nine o'clock this morning, she had a
meeting scheduled with Tracy Meyer and Carrie.

"It's been nice to see you again, David.  But I really must" -- "You're
not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?"  The nerve of him!

"Don't even try to tell me what to do, David.  Those days are over."

"If you want another doctor, fine.  But you're not getting released
from the hospital until we're sure you don't have serious brain
damage."

Though she didn't entirely believe him, his words had a sobering
effect.

"Explain."

"Severe bruising or swelling inside your skull.  A blood clot, an
aneurysm.  If you're lucky, the only symptoms will be a bad headache
and some dizziness.  Maybe a slight loss of coordination.  Ocular
irregularities, like seeing double.  You might have short-term memory
loss."

"Amnesia?  But this can't be amnesia.  I remember my name and my
address."

"Yeah?  Tell me what you had for breakfast this morning."

She started to say that she'd had cereal and coffee, but that was
another day.  Yesterday?  This morning was a foggy haze.  Obviously,
she'd gotten dressed in this wheat-colored pantsuit that went with her
Gucci pumps.  But she couldn't remember.

"I don't know."

"Short-term memory loss is a temporary disorientation," he said.

"You can remember the distant past.  More-recent events are unclear,
but they'll probably come back to you.

Typically, the last thing you'll remember are the circumstances
immediately surrounding the trauma to your brain.  "

"This condition goes away, doesn't it?"

He shrugged.

"Some people never recall the actual events leading up to the
injury."

Amanda wasn't some people.  She did not intend to walk around with a
memory hole, a lack of cognizance.

"Tell me exactly what happened to me, David.  Exactly."

"It's not important.  You need to relax and concentrate on feeling
better."

She was alert enough to know that he was avoiding an explanation.  What
had happened to her?  A mugging?  A car accident?  Sudden panic
stiffened her spine.  A fierce tremor shook her body.

"Laurel."

"Calm down, Amanda."

What if something had happened to her baby?

"My daughter.  She's not hurt, is she?"

"Your daughter?"

"Laurel.  My baby."  She clutched desperately at the lapels of his
white lab coat, searching his eyes for an answer.

"Please, David.  Tell me nothing's happened to my baby."

His eyes darkened.

"I didn't even know you had a child."

A scream rose in her throat.

"Is she all right?"  } "Your child wasn't involved."

"Thank God."  Relief opened a door in her mind' as she visualized
Laurel's beautiful cherub face and soft blond curls.  Amanda could
endure an injury to herself, even brain damage.  But to Laurel?  She
couldn't stand it.

"How old is your child?"

"Nine months.  She's the most wonderful baby.  A little blonde.  And I
just know she's gifted.  I guess every mother says that, but she's so
bright."  Something in his face warned her to stop talking about
Laurel. An unformed memory teased at the corners of her mind, and she
winced.

"David" you have to tell me how I was injured.  I can't relax until I
know what happened.  "

"There was an attempted bank robbery at Empire Bank."

At her bank?

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Three adult males were brought to emergency.  A bank guard, a customer
and one of the men who tried to rob your bank."

"Are they all right?"

"I don't know."

"Have the police apprehended the robbers?"

"I don't know that, either."

Her shoulders slumped.  Why the hell couldn't she remember something so
important?  The bank was her responsibility, and she'd failed.  A
customer had been injured.

Amanda reached up and touched the side of her head.  The temple above
her left eye felt painfully tender.  There was a large bandage.

"Oh, my God, they didn't shave my head, did they?"

"I was tempted."  David stepped back a pace and folded his arms across
his chest.

"I thought you might be cute with a punk hairdo.  But it wasn't
necessary to shave.  The cut was superficial, right at the hairline.
You only needed five stitches."

"You put stitches in my head?"

"That's what I do, Amanda.  I'm a doctor.  A second-year resident."

"Sure, you are.  And I just won the Nobel Peace Prize."  She plucked at
the IV.

"Please take this out of me.  I have to go now.  There's a lot to
do."

Gingerly, she inched toward the edge of the bed, but when she looked
down, the tile floor seemed as deep as the

Grand Canyon.  She closed her eyes against the strange distortion.

"Vertigo," David said.

"You won't be able to walk three paces without falling down."

"I can.  I know I can."

He stood in front of her, keeping her on the bed.

"Here's the story, Amanda.  The IV drip is giving you a non narcotic
drug to relieve the pain.  Without it, you're going to be in a world of
hurt.  Another symptom of concussion is that you're going to be dizzy.
It'll take you a while to get your bearings."

"How long?"

"Stay here overnight for observation."

"Out of the question," she said determinedly.  " Where's my purse?"

He rested one hand firmly on her shoulder.  With the other, he tilted
her chin up and stared into her eyes.

"Tonight you should stay in the intensive-care unit so someone can
monitor you.  Also, I'm recommending an MRI and a CT scan."

"A CAT scan, right?  An X ray of my brain?"

"It's standard procedure."

"Not for me."  She'd heard about the CT scan.  X rays bombarded the
head of the patient while they were completely enclosed in a huge
machine.

"Don't you remember, David?  I'm claustrophobic.  There's no way I'm*
going through with a scan."

"They've made improvements in the equipment.  We don't have the latest
machine here, but we can transport you to another hospital.  You'd only
need to have your head inside the machine.  This is important,
Amanda.

We need a picture of your brain to make sure you don't have a clot or
an aneurysm.  "

"I won't do it.  I want to get out of here."

"Lie down."  There was steel in his voice.

"Now."

She glared defiance.  She would've loved to leap off the bed and storm
out of there, but she was too faint headed and confused.  And her head
hurt.  Reluctantly, she stretched out her legs and sank into a
recumbent position.

"Can you find my purse?  There's a cell phone in there and" -- "Forget
it," he said.

"I've got to find out what happened.  I need to check on the condition
of the people who were injured."

"I can do that for you."  He tucked the ugly yellow blanket around
her.

"A nurse will be in momentarily to take some information, and there'll
be a neurologist in to examine you."

"Promise me, David.  You'll find out about the bank guard and the
customer who were injured."

"Okay."  David gritted his teeth.  Frustration was building inside
him.

"I'll be back.  Don't go anywhere."

"I know my rights," she muttered.

"You can't keep me in the hospital if I refuse treatment."

"I swear, Amanda, if you try to get up, I will personally handcuff you
to the bed frame."

David stepped into the hallway and yanked the curtain closed behind
him.  With his thumb, he massaged his jaw where she'd slapped him.  She
hadn't changed.  Not at all.  Amanda Fielding was the most stubborn,
infuriating woman he'd ever known.

A year and a half ago, when they'd gotten together for a one-night
reunion that had rocked the foundations of his world, he'd thought she
might be different.  He'd hoped for her forgiveness, but it hadn't
happened.  She'd shoved him out the door of her high-rise condo like
yesterday's newspaper.  David wouldn't make the mistake of trusting her
again.

A year and a half ago, she'd been childless.  And now she had a baby
daughter.  Eighteen months ago.

The timing was right.  The child might be David's.

No way, he argued with himself.  She would've told him that he was
going to be a father.  Not.  even Amanda the ice princess could be so
selfish and cold.

At the time, she hadn't mentioned another man, but there must have been
someone.  Obviously, there was another man, the father of her child.
That was the reason she'd refused to see David again, hadn't returned
his phone calls.

Though she hadn't mentioned a husband, she might be married by now.

His gut twisted when he thought of Amanda with somebody else.  Settled
down.  Married.

Eighteen months?  He couldn't ignore the coincidence.  Biology was no
respecter of wedding vows.  Even if she was married or engaged to
another man, the child might be David's.  He might be a father.

Taking a moment, he allowed the thought to sink in.  Was he the father
of a blond baby girl?  If he'd still been a drinking man, he would now
be headed for the nearest tavern, about to order several double shots
to dull the edge of his regret.  No way would David be an absentee
father.  He loved children.

Silently, he swore not to let Amanda out of his sight untp he had a
chance to confront her.  He needed to know the truth about baby
Laurel.

after arranging for a consultation with one of the neurologists, David
instructed an E.

R.

nurse to talk with Amanda about insurance and health information while
keeping an eye on her to make sure she didn't bolt from her bed.

Then he approached Stella, the administrative nurse who manned the
central desk in E.

R.

Through her Coke-bottle eyeglasses, Stella saw everything.  She knew
every detail about the comings and goings at Denver General. 
Consulting with Stella would be the most efficient way to get
information about the other people who had been injured in the
robbery.

She glanced up from the glowing green computer screen as David
approached the waist-high counter that surrounded her workstation.

Briskly, she said, "You're treating Amanda Fielding, right?"

He nodded.

"She's a popular gal.  A bunch of people want to see her."

"Like who?"

"Like that television news reporter, Elaine Montero."  Stella pursed
her lips.

"Honestly, Ms.  Montero knows better.  We never allow news crews in
E.R."  but here comes Ms.  La-di-da Elaine Montero asking if I can
arrange a special interview.  "

Media interest was to be expected in a bank robbery.

"Who else?"

"Some real persistent guy.  Stefan Phillips.  He says he's Ms.

Fielding's fiance.  I've got to tell you, he's a babe.  "

"Her fiance?"  A knot tightened in David's belly.

"She's not wearing an engagement ring."

Stella's eyes widened with curiosity.

"What's going on, Dr.  Haines?  Do you know this Amanda Fielding?"

"We were friends.  A long time ago."  And that was all he intended to
say.  Confiding in Stella was like making an announcement over the
public-address system.

"How's the bank guard doing?  I think his name is Hoffman."

"A sprained wrist and a concussion," she said.

"He's regained consciousness, and we've already got him in I.C.U for
observation.  The other two guys weren't so lucky.  The bank robber who
took a bullet in the leg ran into complications in the operating room.
He's going to be here a couple of days, under police guard, of
course."

"And the third victim?"

She tapped the keys on her computer.

"His name is Ny- land.  Gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen.  It
doesn't look good.  He's still in

OR.

"

David made an instantaneous decision to avoid discussing Nyland's
condition with Amanda.  She was suffering enough guilt.

"Anyway," Stella said, "I need to know if Ms.  Fielding is able to
talk.  The FBI wants to see her."

"The FBI?"

"They investigate bank robberies.  Doc."  She snapped her fingers.

"Get with the program."

David was never good at keeping the various lawenforcement agencies
straight.  A lot of uniforms came and went in E.

R.

His concern was dealing with the patients.

"What can you tell me about the bank robbery, Stella?"

"I'll tell you one thing for sure, Doc."  Her expression brightened at
the opportunity for gossip.

"The cops messed up."

"How so?"

"The robbers let all the hostages go, except for Ms.  Fielding and two
other women.  The way I heard it, the robbers were about to
surrender.

They were in the middle of negotiations when, pow!  --the SWAT team
busted in the windows.  "

"Major snafu," David agreed.

"Not only that, but one of the robbers made a getaway using a hostage
for a shield.  Her picture is on the news.  Carrie Lamb is her name.

Looks like a nice girl.  "

"I can see why Elaine Montero wants a piece of this action."

"Wait, there's more.  At the same time every cop in Den 9

ver and the ace SWAT team with all their firepower were at Empire Bank,
a federal prisoner who was being taken to the courthouse escaped.  "

"Who?"

"Jax Schaffer.  A big-time crime boss.  He never would've gotten away
if the SWAT team had been able to respond."

David frowned.  Here was another bit of information he wouldn't share
with Amanda.  She was already too confused to be burdened with the
escape of a crime boss.  With her overdeveloped sense of
responsibility, she'd probably take the blame for the victims, the
escape and the lousy timing of Denver's SWAT team.

A blond man in a business suit with a maroon silk handkerchief in the
breast pocket stepped up to the counter beside David and addressed
Stella.

"Pardon me, I wondered if you could give me some information about
Amanda Fielding."

Her magnified eyes surveyed him and made a snap judgment.

"You don't belong back here.  What's your name?"

"Frank Weathers.  I'm a close associate of Ms.  Fielding."

"How close?"  David asked.

"We work together."  Frank Weathers pivoted so quickly that the tassels
on his loafers flip-flopped.  To David, he said, "I'm an executive at
Empire Bank.  And you are...?"

"Amanda's doctor."  Though Frank Weathers didn't seem like Amanda's
type, David wasn't sure how well he really knew Amanda anymore.  After
all, the woman had gone off and had a baby without even informing
him.

"Well, Doctor, can you tell me how she's doing?"

"She has a concussion and some superficial bruising," David said.

"Her condition is fair."

"Marvelous," he said.

And David breathed a sigh of relief.  No way would Amanda allow a man
who said "marvelous" to father her baby.

Frank continued, "I'll be sure to tell the other employees that our
Amanda is in no real danger.  They've all been detained, you see.  For
questioning by the FBI.  It was just my luck that I didn't happen to be
at work this morning.  Dentist appointment, you know.  So, I'm free to"
-When Stella's hand slapped down on the counter, Frank jumped.

"You'll have to leave," she said.

"Hospital policy doesn't allow a patient's associates to hang around
in

E.

R.

"

"Of course," he replied.

"I'll be in the waiting room.  Please keep me informed regarding
Amanda's progress."

"Hold on," David said.  If he were smart, he wouldn't get involved.  He
would treat Amanda like any other patient and forget about her.  But he
needed to find out the truth about Laurel.

"Do you know Stefan Phillips?"

"Indeed, I do.  As a matter of fact, I saw him in the waiting room."

"Introduce me," David said as he directed Frank through the E.

R.

to the waiting area, where rows of uncomfortable leatherette chairs
faced the desk.  A television mounted near the ceiling broadcast a talk
show.

After a quick survey of the room, David easily picked out Stefan, who
stood out from the crowd.  Tall, athletic and blond, he looked like the
kind of guy who carried himself with a sense of entitlement.  Bitterly,
David realized Stefan and Amanda would make a handsome couple.  Both
fair haired.  Both wealthy.  Both successful.

When Stefan shook his hand, David noted the muscular grip, which only
served to arouse his competitive instincts.

"Is she all right?"  Stefan asked.

"Apart from a killer headache, she'll probably be fine.  I'd like to do
some tests.  A CT scan."

"Good luck."  Stefan grinned.

"Amanda is severely claustrophobic."

"I know."  Fighting his jealousy, David peered into Stefan's
green-brown eyes.

"I heard you were Amanda's fiance."

"Not really."  He had the good grace to look embarrassed over his
slight deception.

"I thought if I said we were engaged, I could get in to see her.  We've
been friends for a long time.  Our families knew each other back in
Chicago."

"So you're the boy next door," David said.  He couldn't keep the sneer
from his voice.  His hostility was way out of line.

"Are you her boyfriend?"

Taken aback, Stefan eyed him curiously.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

His response was thoroughly appropriate.  Actually, he seemed like a
decent enough guy, and David was beginning to feel like a rabid jerk.

Why did Amanda always have this effect on him?

"If Amanda is all right," Stefan said, "I'd like to take her home."

"Would that home be her condo?"  David couldn't help asking.  He was
behaving badly, but he couldn't help himself.

"Do you live with her?"

"Amanda lives alone.  Except for Laurel and the nanny."

Good!  David permitted himself a smirk.  She wasn't married or engaged
or living with anyone.  She might have dumped him twice, but she hadn't
found another suitable mate.  For some reason, he found that
information deeply satisfying.

"Doctor?"  Stefan regarded him warily.

"Can you tell me when Amanda will be released from the hospital?"

Frank Weathers appeared at Stefan's shoulder.

"Yes, when?"

David glanced back and forth between the two blond men.  Though their
coloring was similar, they were a contrast.  Stefan matched David's
height of six foot one.  He was outdoorsy with a deep tan.  Wiry little
Frank had a prissy air about him.  And neither one of them was going to
get his hands on Amanda while David was still in control.  He needed
time alone with her to talk.

"If she refuses to stay at the hospital overnight for observation," he
said, "I'll arrange for an ambulance.  She needs special electrode
monitoring equipment."

More than a little white lie, David had just told a whopper.  Electrode
equipment?  That sounded as though she was Frankenstein's bride.  He
turned on his heel and headed back toward E.

R.

"Doctor," Frank called after him.

"Will you keep us posted on developments?"

"Yeah, sure."

David would provide the next update just about the same time that hell
opened a ski run.  If he never saw those two guys again, it would be
fine with him.

Back in E.

R.

" David went directly to the curtained room where he'd left Amanda. The
neurologist, Dr.  Loretta Span- gler, was there, looming like another
rain cloud on David's horizon.  A tall woman with black hair pulled
tight in a bun, Dr.  Spangler wasn't one of David's greatest fans and
took a dim view of his tendency toward practical jokes.

But right now Loretta Spangler directed her glaring disapproval at
Amanda, who sat upright on the bed, trying to look imperious in spite
of the IV in her arm and the bandage on her head.  Her complexion was
pale, except for feverish spots of crimson in each cheek.

As soon as she saw David, she appealed to him, "Tell this woman, David.
I'm not going to be put inside an X- ray machine."

"Be reasonable," Dr.  Spangler said curtly.

"For an accurate diagnosis, we need to see what's going on inside your
brain."

"I'm fine," Amanda insisted.

"All I need right now is my purse and my shoes."

"Dr.  Haines?"  Using her clipboard, Dr.  Spangler pushed the curtain
aside and motioned David into the hallway with her.

"I can't believe her attitude.  Who does Ms.  Fielding think she is?"

"A former lawyer," David said.

"There's no point in pushing her.  She knows we can't treat her without
permission."

"Doesn't she understand the risks?  Why is she objecting?"

"She's claustrophobic.  The idea of being confined for a CT scan
frightens her.  I'd advise you to give it up, Loretta."

"Let's get one thing straight, Haines."  She scowled.

"When I need advice from a second-year resident, I'll ask for it."

He wasn't in the mood for her snippy little reprimand.

"What the hell do you suggest, Loretta?  You can't force a patient to
take tests."

"Are you challenging me?"

"Amanda's vital signs are good.  She's coping with the pain.  She has
some short-term memory loss.  Some vertigo.  But that's all.  People
get clunked on the head all the time, and they survive.  Probability
says she's going to be okay."

"Without a scan or an MRI, I won't venture a guess."  She tapped
furiously on her clipboard with her pencil.

"I won't recommend discharging this patient."

"You don't have a choice," he said simply.

"Amanda Fielding isn't going to give permission for further
treatment."

"I'm writing you up, Haines."

"Fine.  You do that."

He returned to the room where Amanda was lying down.  She popped up on
the bed like a jack-in-the-box.

"Well?"  she demanded.

"Did you get my purse?  Do I have my cell phone?"

"Why stop with a phone?  How about a fax machine and a computer?  Hell,
you could bring your whole office in here and pretend like you didn't
have a life-threatening injury."

"You don't have to be so cranky."

Her blond hair stuck out at crazy angles.  Her mascara was smudged
around her eyes like a raccoon.  She was a mess.  So why did he still
think she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known?  What was it
about her?

As he stared, he wanted to kiss her until her intense blue eyes took on
a dazed expression of willing sensuality.  He wanted to make love to
her.  Damn it, she made him crazy.

He took the stethoscope from his pocket.

"Unbutton your blouse."

Her graceful hand flew protectively to her throat.

"Why?"

"I need to listen to your heart."

David tried to act like a doctor, but he couldn't help being a man.

When she unfastened the top two buttons on her black silk blouse, he
experienced a fierce yearning.

Sitting on the bed beside her, he gently pushed aside the material,
revealing the intricate black lace of her bra.  When he placed the
stethoscope on the silky skin of her breast, she trembled in
response.

The sound of her heartbeat, steady and slightly accelerated, resounded
through the tubing to the earpiece.  Suddenly, he remembered what it
was like to be inside her.  When he looked into her eyes, observing the
dilation of the pupils, he saw the past they'd shared.

"Breathe deeply, Amanda."

Her breasts rose and fell.  He watched, mesmerized by the silky texture
of her skin.

"David, did you find out anything about the security guard from the
bank?"

"He's in intensive care for observation.  He has a sprained wrist and a
concussion, like you.  He'll be fine."

"What about the other man?  The customer."

"His name is Nyland."  Tersely, he said, "I don't have an update on his
condition."

"Is it bad?"

David hesitated.  He couldn't lie to her.

"He's still being operated on.  He was shot in the stomach and
chest."

"Shot?"  Stark fear shimmered in her eyes before her defenses rose and
she was, once again, distant and in control.

"I want to go home.  I'm not having the scan.  I'll sign whatever
waivers are necessary."

But he wasn't ready for her to leave him.  He needed to know about the
baby.

"Here's the deal.  I'll discharge you from the hospital, but you can't
stay alone tonight.  You need to be observed and wakened every three or
four hours to make sure you don't lapse into coma."

She nodded.

"I can find someone to do that."

"Not just someone," he said emphatically.

"Me.  I'll go with you as soon as I finish my shift."

"Wait a minute," she said.

"What makes you think you're invited to spend the night at my condo?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," he said.

"Do you remember?  It was a year and a half ago."

"Don't ask me to think.  It makes my brain hurt."  All she wanted was
to go home.  She needed desperately to cuddle Laurel in her arms.

"Amanda?"

"I don't want to talk about it, David."

"Eighteen months ago," he persisted.

"We met by chance in the Cherry Creek Mall."

She visualized the stores in the mall and a bronze sculpture of geese
in flight.

"We had coffee."

At first, they'd talked like civilized human beings.  She vividly
recalled the resonance of his deep laughter.  Slowly, the memories
became clear.

"That was when you told me you were an intern and going to be a
resident," she said.

"I was happy for you."

And proud.  She remembered looking at David and feeling gratified that
he'd pulled his life together.  He was on his way to fulfilling his
dream of becoming a doctor.

Though Amanda could never take him back after their broken engagement
five years prior, she had found him irresistible that night.

Her brain flashed on a disjointed montage of images.  She saw David
lying beside her on primrose-patterned sheets.  She remembered him
striding naked to the glass doors that led to the balcony in her
fourteenth-floor condo.  His muscular body was silhouetted against the
dawn light.

Startled, she remembered the most important thing.  David Haines was
the father of her baby.

Chapter Two

They called him the Iceman.  He was known for being cool.

But not today.  His throat was dry.  He sucked down a breath to quench
the burning in his lungs.  The hospital air smelled like antiseptic,
sweat and failed dreams.

Stupid mistakes!  The Iceman still couldn't believe it.  The robbery
should have been a slick operation with three professionals: Temple,
Sarge and Dallas.  Dallas was the electronics expert who did the
override on security systems.  Temple plotted the getaway.  Sarge was
the muscle.

And the Iceman coordinated the three.  Every detail had been planned.

He should have gotten his payoff and been done with it.

Instead, Amanda Fielding had survived.

Shielding the telephone from the undercurrent of background noise at
Denver General, he spoke quietly into the receiver.

"She's recovering."

"Bad luck for you."

"This isn't my fault," he said.

"Sarge didn't do his job.  He was supposed to take care of her."

"It doesn't matter.  She's your problem now, Iceman."

And he knew what that meant.  He could get caught.  Amanda could put
the details together and realize that he was involved.  She was a
witness.

Though he'd learned that she had memory loss from the concussion, her
condition was most likely temporary.  It was only a matter of time
before she'd figure it out and point an accusing finger directly at
him.  And when she did.  "What should I do?"  he asked.

"What's the plan?"

"Kill her."

He'd never committed murder before.  He didn't even own a gun.

"That's not my thing.  Get somebody else."

"You kill her," the voice repeated.

The phone went dead in his hand.

He was isolated, on his own.  He had to take care of Amanda by
himself.

To kill her.

He centered that thought in his mind.  Her death would be ironic.  The
Iceman would kill the ice princess.

Mental preparation was necessary.  He needed to believe that
eliminating Amanda Fielding was nothing more significant than the next
step on his path.  He could do it.

The Iceman could commit murder.

david pushed aside the curtain and entered Amanda's cubicle where she
sat on the bed, waiting impatiently.  The IV had been disconnected from
her arm.

"When do I get to leave, David?"

"Now."  He reached into the hall and whipped a shiny, stainless-steel
wheelchair into the cubicle.

"Hop aboard."

"I can walk," she said.

"No doubt.  You're in great shape.  Hell, you could run a marathon, but
let's do it my way.  I have a plan."

She eased herself off the bed.  When her feet touched the floor, she
wobbled.  Her complexion was ashen beneath her summer tan, and he knew
the pain hadn't left her.

David took her arm, directing her toward the wheelchair.

"Are you still dizzy?"

"A little."  She clung to his forearm with a death grip,

refusing to sit down.

"Before we go anywhere, explain your plan."

"Why?"

"Because you're one of the most notorious practical jokers on the
planet.  You always used to get me into embarrassing situations."

"Did I?"

"I seem to remember almost being arrested for wading in the Civic
Center fountain."

"You were the one who insisted on stripping down to your underwear," he
pointed out.

"I was wearing a silk Versace.  I wasn't about to ruin it with that
water."

He'd always enjoyed putting her in spontaneous situations.  Her sense
of adventure was an incredible contrast to the cool facade.

"This time, I'm not joking," he promised.

"You get in the wheelchair, and I'll take you through the hospital to
the front entrance.  We'll get in my car and drive to your
condominium."

"Why the front entrance?  Isn't the back more convenient?"

"Here's the deal.  The bank robbery is big news in town.  Half the
media in Denver are swarming the hospital.  They'll expect you to leave
through the emergency exit."

"Don't you have security?"

"Sure, but the photographers have telephoto lenses.  If I take you out
the front and treat you like a regular patient, we might get away
without anybody noticing.  That's my plan.  Unless you want to see
yourself on the evening news."

"I think not."  A delicate shudder rippled across her shoulders.

"I

certainly don't want my picture taken with this ridiculous bandage.

Even if I can't remember what happened at the bank, I need to keep up
appearances.  "

He didn't point out that her sterling reputation was grossly tarnished
after this morning's events.  Apparently, bank robberies and brain
damage paled in comparison to a woman's vanity.

"Also, the FBI wants a statement.  If we want to avoid them, I should
sneak you out of here."

"Sneak?  That doesn't sound sensible."  She was gaining strength.  Her
backbone straightened by perceptible degrees.

"I want to do the responsible thing, David.  I don't have anything to
hide."

"Okay," he said.

"The sensible, sane thing is to let me admit you to the hospital for an
MRI and aCT scan.  Then you should talk to the feds.  After that, you
might want to issue a statement to the media.  On the other hand, if
you want to go home, we should sneak out of here right now.  Take your
pick."

Her blue-eyed gaze steadied as she considered.  Then she climbed into
the wheelchair.

"Let's roll."

Amanda might be a bank president, but she had an endless supply of
spunk.  It was one of the things he liked about her.

"That's my girl."

"I'm certainly not a girl.  And I don't belong to you or anybody
else."

"Never give an inch, Amanda."

David tucked a blanket over her legs and wrapped^ another around her
shoulders and head, hiding the bandage.  He completed her disguise by
placing his aviator sunglasses on her nose.

Sarcastically, she said, "This is subtle."

"Keep in mind that this is the city hospital.  We get a lot of
unusual-looking people here.  Try to act like a bag lady."

"Shouldn't you change out of your scrubs?"

"Nope.  This way it looks like I'm just another resident, wheeling his
patient outside to enjoy the July sunshine."

"My shoes, David.  Where are my shoes?"

He glanced around the cubicle.

"Don't see them."

"They'd better not be lost.  Those are three-hundred- dollar
Italian-leather Guccis.  Bone-white with a black half- inch platform
sole and a sling-back."

"That's what I call selective amnesia," he teased.

"You don't remember anything about the bank robbery, but you can
describe the soles on your shoes."

"It's no great deduction.  I always wear those shoes with this
pantsuit."

"Well, they don't seem to be here.  We'll find something else for you
to wear on your feet."

He pushed the wheelchair through the curtains and into the
emergency-care area.  Though it was only one o'clock on a Wednesday,
there was-a lot of activity.  The dying wail of an ambulance undercut
the sound of people talking, people groaning, people coughing.  A
harried mother dragged one child by his hand and held another on her
hip.  Interns wheeled patients on gurneys and in wheelchairs.  A
uniformed policeman accompanied a manacled prisoner wearing the
standard bright orange jumpsuit of county jail.  Emergency wasn't
David's favorite rotation, but it was never dull.

He approached Stella's counter.  Knowing that he could never slip past
her without notice, he'd informed her earlier about his escape plans.

"Stella," he said, "I'd like for you to meet Amanda Fielding.  She
seems to have lost her shoes."

"Hello, Stella," Amanda said.

"And my purse.  I still haven't found my purse."

Critically, Stella stared through her magnifying eyeglasses.

"Not much of a disguise, David.  She looks like a mummy."

"Thank you," Amanda said.

"I told him this was an irresponsible plan."

"The plan's okay.  But somebody could still recognize you, and we don't
want that to happen."  She went to a tall cabinet beside her
workstation, opened it and pulled out a cardboard box.

"Let's see what we've got in lost and found."

In moments, Amanda was decked out in a pair of cloth slippers and a
pink mohair cardigan.  A black cloche hat with a yellow daisy on the
brim covered her bandage.

"There," Stella said, replacing the sunglasses on her nose.

"Throw the blanket over your lap, and you'll blend right in."

"With the inpatients in the psychiatric ward?"

Her disguise was ludicrous.  If she hadn't wanted to get home to Laurel
so desperately, Amanda never would have considered David's scheme.  It
was typical for him to come up with something crazy.  At one time,
she'd thought his spontaneous ideas were charming.  But now?

Before she knew it, he was propelling her through back hallways, past
operating rooms and recovery areas.  At the doorway leading into the
front lobby, he leaned close to her ear.

"It might help if you slouch down."

"Oh, here's a thought.  Why don't I drool and flail my arms?  That
shouldn't attract any attention whatsoever."

"Whatever turns you on."  | Muttering to herself, she humped her
shoulders.  There was still a dull throbbing in her head, but she
ignored the pain.  Her only thought was of Laurel.

Cautiously, Amanda peered out from beneath the ridiculous hat, keeping
an eye on where they were going.  The front lobby of Denver General was
two stories with escalators on one end.  The space was plain and clean
with an information desk in the middle.  Though Amanda's condominium
was only a few miles away, she'd never been inside Denver General
before. As David had said, this was the main city hospital facility. 
In addition to the regular patients, Denver General provided for
accident victims, prison inmates and transients.  Not that Amanda could
look down her nose.  In her pink mohair sweater and daisy hat, she was
the queen of weird.

Peeping through the dark sunglasses, Amanda saw a well-dressed,
black-haired woman making a beeline toward them.

"Dr.  Haines!"  the woman called out.

Silently, frantically, Amanda prayed that David would ignore her and
keep going.  But she felt the wheelchair come to a halt.  No such
luck.

David stepped in front of her, shielding her from view, as he spoke to
the woman.

"You're Elaine Montero," he said.

"Network news."

"And you're the doctor who's treating" -- "We don't allow newspeople in
the hospital, Elaine.  Your presence tends to disrupt the patients."

"Is it true, Doctor, that Amanda Fielding is in a coma?"

"If you'll step out of the way, I need to take this nice little old
lady outside for some sun."

When he gestured toward her, Amanda ducked, but Elaine Montero didn't
give her a second glance.  The newswoman was on the trail of a scoop,
and it would take more than a bizarre lady in a wheelchair to distract
her.  She asked, "Does Amanda Fielding have amnesia?"

Behind David's back, Amanda grew more agitated.  They needed to
escape.

Immediately.  She reached out and yanked on the back of David's lab
coat.  When he turned, she clawed at his lapels, bringing his face to
within inches of her own.

"No comment," she whispered tightly.

"Tell her no comment and get the hell out of here."

"What was that, Mrs.  Higgenbottom?"  His hazel eyes twinkled.  She had
the distinct impression that he was en'd joying her embarrassment.

"No compacts?  I agree, Mrs.  Higgenbottom.  I prefer a bigger car
myself."

He circled her chair and began to move.

"Sorry, Elaine.  We have to go."

"Come on, Doc," she said.

"Give.  me a break."

Amanda slumped low in the wheelchair and hunched up her shoulders so
the pink mohair covered the lower half of her face.  Over and over in
her mind, she repeated the two- word escape, No comment.  No comment.

No comment.

But David was blithely chatting as he pushed her toward the front
exit.

"Can't tell you anything about Ms.  Fielding," he said, "but I had an
interesting case yesterday.  It seems that there was an old lady who
swallowed a fly.  I don't know why she swallowed the fly.  Perhaps,
she'll die."

They were almost to the front door, nearing the security guard's
station.

"One question," Elaine Montero pleaded.

"Just answer one question for me."

"How about if you answer one for me?  Why aren't you in the back with
all the other reporters?"

"Instinct.  I have a gut feeling that the real action is right here."

She persisted, "Is Amanda Fielding in police custody?"  < "What?"  The
word flew from Amanda's lips.  Had she really spoken?

"Now, now, Mrs.  Higgenbottom," David said as he patted her shoulder
and pulled the itchy mohair up farther on her face.

"Don't get yourself all excited."

"Is Amanda Fielding under police guard?"  Elaine asked.

"I heard the attempted robbery was an inside job, and Amanda Fielding
was involved."

"You heard wrong."  Amanda was out of the chair, confronting the
perfect makeup and immaculate coif of the network newswoman.

"Amanda Fielding is a top-notch executive whose integrity is beyond
reproach."

Dizzy again.  She must have bounced to her feet too quickly.  The
catlike smirk of Elaine Montero blurred before her eyes.

The newswoman asked, "What was your name?"

"Higgenbottom."  Amanda collapsed into the wheelchair.

"And you can quote me."

Keeping her attention trained on the wheelchair, Elaine signalled
vigorously.  From the corner of her eye, Amanda saw a man with a video
camera running toward them.

David called to the security guards.

"Detain these people.  They have no business here."

While Elaine and her cameraman were momentarily occupied, showing
credentials, David charged through the automatic front door.

"Hang on tight," he warned.

Like a high-speed race car, he went from zero to sixty in five seconds.
They flew along the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians and patients who'd
come outside to relax in the July heat.  Amanda shrieked as they
careened around a cluster of nurses and made a sharp left on one
wheel.

She saw his black Porsche up ahead.

From behind them, she heard Elaine Montero calling his name.

He halted the wheelchair by his car.

"Passenger door's open.  Get in."

She dived, flinging herself into the low-slung vehicle and squishing
down in the leather bucket seat as David fired up the powerful
engine.

Tires squealing, they backed out of the parking lot, swerving
maniacally to avoid a van.  Then they were on the street, driving at a
more sedate pace.

David gave an earsplitting whoop and thrust his arm through the open
window.

"We did it!"

"Why did I ever listen to you?"  Her head was pounding as she yanked
off the cloche hat and sunglasses.

"That was the dumbest plan of all time.  And then, you made it worse by
talking to that horrible woman."

He laughed.

"And I betrayed a patient confidence."

"What patient?"

"The old woman and the fly.

"She swallowed a spider to catch the fly, but I don't know why'"
"You're so crazy!"  Didn't he understand how serious this was?

"Nuts!"

"Come on, Amanda.  That was a grown-up game of hide- and-seek.  Just
for a minute there, you were having fun.  Admit it."

"I worked hard to build my career.  Do you think I could be a bank
president if there were photographs of me impersonating a bag lady?"

"You want my opinion as a doctor?  We should go back to the hospital
and remove that Popsicle stick from your" -- "You're the one who's
sick.  You're terminally irresponsible."  She'd been right to break off
their engagement five years ago.  Her reasoning had been correct when
she'd decided not to tell him about Laurel.

David wasn't good father material.

"You haven't changed a bit."

"Not in the important ways.  I still like to have fun."  He stopped at
a light and turned toward her.

"The difference now is that I'm doing it sober."  "Immature.  Childish.
Dangerously immature."  She leaned against the soft leather seat that
molded around her body like a glove.  It was hot.  Her head hurt.
Terrible things had happened this morning at the bank.  But that still
didn't excuse her lapse in judgment.

"How could I have said those things to a reporter?"

"I thought you did a nice job of standing up for yourself, Mrs.

Higgenbottom.  "

"Not funny."  The situation was very worrying.  Why had Elaine Montero
asked David those questions?

"Do the police really think the robbery was an inside job?"

"I don't know."  He seemed to be staring intently at the rearview
mirror.

"And we've got a bigger problem right now.  I think we're being
followed."

"That's just swell!"  Why not top off the day with a high-speed chase
through the streets of Denver?  She almost hoped for a confrontation, a
way to let off steam.  But when she glanced over her shoulder, Amanda
laughed.

"Not to worry, David.  I know that car.  It belongs to Stefan
Phillips."

"Your fiance?"

"Who told you that?"

"He told the administrative nurse in E.R. that you two were engaged."

"Well, he lied."

She couldn't imagine why he'd say they were engaged, but he probably
had a decent reason.  Stefan was a good guy, and she'd known him
forever.  His parents were friends of her parents, and they'd all
travelled in the same circles when they were back in Chicago.  It was
only natural for Stefan to make contact with her when he'd moved to
Denver.

"What kind of relationship do you have with him?"  David asked.

"We're friends.  Good friends.  Old friends."  Stefan was a willing
escort for the many social events where Amanda needed a date.  Unlike
David, he never once embarrassed her.  Stefan always looked impeccable
and behaved properly.

"I don't like him," David said.

Surprised, she turned toward him.

"I wasn't aware that you'd met."

"At the hospital, we talked long enough for me to know that I don't
like him.  He's too pretty.  I bet he never gets his hands dirty."

"For your information, Stefan is an expert rock climber and ski
instructor.  He does all those, sweaty macho things very well."

"Have you been to bed with him?"

"Shut up, David."  What was wrong with him?  He was acting like a
jerk.

"It's a simple question, Amanda.  Have you?"

The pain behind her eyes focused into a razor-edged outrage.  She
didn't have to put up with this rude behavior from David.  Nor from
anybody else.

"You have no right to know anything about my personal life.  No damned
right at all.  We shared something special in the past, but it's over,
dead, finished.  Don't ever presume you can treat me with
disrespect."

They parked on the street in front of her nineteen-story condominium
building.  When Amanda got out, she slammed the car door.  Storming up
to the front entrance, she marched through the pain and dizziness.

She'd rather fall flat on her face than lean on David.

Because she didn't have her purse or her keys, she buzzed the concierge
to let them in.  Now that she was standing still, the vertigo caught up
to her.  Waves of nausea washed over her, and she braced herself
against the wall beside the house phone.

The security door opened.  The concierge stared questioningly at
Amanda's pink-mohair sweater and cloth slippers.

"Don't ask," Amanda warned.

"I was terribly worried," the concierge said.

"Are you all right, Amanda?"

"I'll be fine as soon as I lie down."

Stefan came into the foyer.  Immediately, he slipped his arm around her
waist.

"Are you okay?  I was worried."

Gratefully, she leaned on him.

"Fine.  I'm fine."

He helped her through the door to the elevator.

"I thought you were going to be riding in an ambulance.  David?  Didn't
you say she needed an ambulance?"

"Changed my mind," David said.

"Shut up, David."  She hurled the comment over her shoulder.  Why
wouldn't he just go away?  Her legs wobbled, and the throbbing in her
head sounded like a timpani.

"Should I carry you?"  Stefan asked.

"I can walk," she said.

She needed to regain her strength before she saw Laurel.  Her baby
might be frightened to see her mother faint.  Amanda drew on her
strength, the same determination that had propelled her career, the
inner fire that had kept her sane while balancing single motherhood,
work and social obligations.

On the fourteenth floor, she led the way down the hall.  Her
equilibrium had returned.  Though she didn't move at her usual brisk
pace, she was able to place one foot in front of another without
collapsing.  Outside her condo, she rang the bell.

The nanny--a red-haired college student named Von- me--whipped the door
open.

"Amanda!"

Vonnie backpedaled into the living room, where she grabbed the remote
and clicked off the television.  "

"Are you okay?"

Later, she would discuss Vonnie's annoying television habit.  Right
now, she only had eyes for nine-month-old Laurel, who stood in her
playpen, hanging on to the side and bouncing up and down to her own
mysterious rhythm.

"Hi there, precious."  When Amanda picked up her daughter, the waves of
pain rolled back out to sea, and she smiled.  It was impossible to look
at Laurel without smiling.  She was the most beautiful baby in the
world.  Her perfectly round head was covered with downy blond hair. 
Her blue eyes, fringed with thick lashes, were bright and lively.

"Amanda," Vonnie chirped, "there have been a gazillion phone calls from
television people.  I didn't know what to say, so I took the phone off
the hook."

"Whatever."  She held her baby close, absorbing her sweet innocence. 
No matter what else happened, her child was safe.  And Laurel's
well-being mattered more than careers, concussions and all the other
craziness.

Laurel was the center of her universe.

Unfortunately, her baby's usual fragrance was particularly pungent.

"You need a diaper change," Amanda said.

"Let me," Vonnie offered.  The skinny redhead darted forward with arms
outstretched.

"I've been watching on the TV news about the robbery.

There were SWAT teams and everything.  You should have called me,
Amanda.  I was real scared when they said you had to go to the
hospital. "

"I thought you had the phone off the hook."

"Oh, yeah."  She managed to roll her eyes and toss her curls at the
same time.

"Duh!  I guess I wouldn't have answered if you did call."

Amanda held her daughter closer.

"I'll take care of Laurel.  I want to spend a little time alone with my
baby girl."

On her way to the nursery, she had to walk past David.  Though she felt
guilty about keeping Laurel from him, she was also proud.  She wanted
to show him their baby, to share the joy of this wonderful child.  But
not yet.  Not while she was so furious that she couldn't stand to look
at him.

In the nursery, Amanda closed the door behind her.  She placed Laurel
on the changing table.

"Oh, sweetie.  I've really made a mess of things this time."

Laurel cooed happily.

"And I love you, too," Amanda said with a fond smile.

As she went through the diaper-changing routine, her mind drifted back
through time.  Gradually, she sorted the memories punctuated by stabs
of conscience.

She should have told David when she first discovered she was pregnant
after their one-night reunion a year and a half ago.  As soon as she
read the result of her home pregnancy test, pure joy flooded her heart.
A baby!  At age thirty-five, with her biological alarm clock pealing
madly, Amanda was going to have a baby!

"And that was you," she said to Laurel as she swabbed her incredibly
smooth bottom.

"You're my little miracle."

Laurel laughed uproariously, as if her mother had made a brilliant
joke.

She remembered reaching for the phone, full of excitement, anxious to
tell David the spectacular news.  But she never completed the call.

She knew him too well.  David would have insisted on doing the right
thing.  He would have wanted to be married.

But he wasn't the right man to be her husband or the father of her
child.  Their marriage would have been a disaster.  She'd already
decided that when she'd broken off their engagement five years ago.  He
was too wild and irresponsible.  Completely untrustworthy, he stayed
out too late and drank too much.

In too many ways, he reminded her of her own father, a charming man who
always made her laugh.  when she didn't think about the broken promises
along the way.

She finished with the diaper and carried Laurel to the rocking chair.

Her little girl had a lot of energy and liked to scoot around.  But,
for the moment, she seemed content to lie against her mother's breast
as they rocked gently.  And Amanda thought about her father.

Jack Fielding.  A handsome man.  Third generation of the wealthy
Chicago Fieldings.  Jack was far different from his father and
grandfather. Earlier generations of Fieldings had expanded the family
fortunes, while Jack depleted it.  Though Amanda had inherited the
powerful family name and connections, there was no money behind her.

How odd that she was thinking about long-ago family history!  The
concussion must have affected her brain.  Though recent, relevant
events shimmered like vague holograms, the distant past seemed solid
and clear.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Laurel."  Her voice was low and soft.

"A long time ago, on my ninth birthday, my daddy promised to take me
for a sailboat ride on Lake Michigan.  Just the two of us."

Amanda had dressed in her Keds and windbreaker at one o'clock in the
afternoon, when the sun was high in the June skies.  She'd sat on the
front porch, waiting anxiously for her special day with Daddy.

"But Daddy was late."

At three o'clock, her mom suggested an alternate plan.  A movie or a
trip to the ice-cream parlor.  But Amanda refused to budge.  Daddy was
coming.  If they left the house, she'd miss him.

By dusk, Mom was angry.  She told Amanda that she was being too
stubborn, mining her own birthday.  At the very least, she should come
inside and blow out the candle^ on her birthday cake.

"I waited and waited."

When Daddy parked in the driveway at eight o'clock, he picked an orange
geranium from the border outside the garage.  He brought the flower to
her and held it out.  He smelled like booze.

"For you, princess," he said.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, Daddy."

When she went to bed on the night of her ninth birthday, she lay very
still, holding herself together.  She never wept.

And she never told her father how hurt and disappointed she'd been.

Her sadness was a secret.

She should have told him.  Just as she should have told David.  Though
she didn't want to marry David, a man who was too much like her father,
she should have told him when she got pregnant.  It was his right as
the father to know.

"There's a moral to this story, Laurel.  But I'm not sure exactly what
it is."

There was a tap on the nursery door.

"Come in," she said.

It was David.  He squatted down beside the rocking chair so he could
see Laurel more directly.

"She's beautiful."

Amanda should tell him right now.  She knew what he must be thinking.

David could do the math.  Laurel had been born almost nine months to
the day from when they'd made love.

"May I hold her?"

She hesitated, but how could she refuse?

"Don't worry," he said.

"Kids are my specialty.  When I'm done with my residency, I'll be a
pediatrician."

He took Laurel and held her.  Unlike most men, he seemed completely
comfortable with the baby.  Not too cautious, but not at all
careless.

When Laurel found the stethoscope in his pocket, he pulled it out so
she could see it.

"Can you say stethoscope?"

He held it to her tummy, and she giggled.

He laughed with her, and the sound of his baritone and Laurel's pealing
laughter was musical.

A year and a half ago, he'd told Amanda that he had changed.  But she
hadn't really believed him.  She didn't honestly think that people were
capable of change.  Cer'd tainly, her father wasn't.  Even now, he was
the same charming ne'erdo-well.

Still holding the baby, David sought her gaze.

"I'm sorry, Amanda.  I badgered you on the drive over here, and that
wasn't right.  I never meant any disrespect."

"Apology accepted."

When he smiled down at Laurel again, her heart melted.  Tell him.  Tell
him now.

"You're wanted in the other room," David said.

"Why?"

"The FBI has some questions for you."

Chapter Three

"The FBI?"  Amanda sank into the rocking chair.

"What am I going to tell them?"

"I don't know."  David rescued his stethoscope from the baby and
distracted her by nuzzling at her tummy, a maneuver that produced a low
chortle.

"Hey, Laurel.  Is that your tummy-turn-turn?"

"Please don't," Amanda chastised.

"I try not to use baby talk with Laurel."

Purposely disregarding Amanda, he nuzzled again.

"Woogie-woogie-woogie.  Where's your tummy?"

Apparently, Laurel didn't care, because she grabbed his ear.  With her
other hand, she smacked his nose.  When he reacted, she squealed with
delight.

She waved her pudgy arms like a cheerleader, and her shining eyes
beamed approval.  Blue eyes, he noticed, like Amanda's.  David had
hoped Laurel's eyes would be the same odd hazel color as his own, which
would have been some kind of genetic suggestion that she was his child.
 But no such luck.

More giggles.  God, she was a beauty!  If it turned out that Laurel was
his daughter, he would never want to be apart from her.

"In spite of the goo-goo talk," Amanda said, "it looks like you're a
hit with Laurel."

"I wish everybody was so easily amused."

"Meaning me?"

He didn't want to rake up old arguments about the importance of having
fun and using laughter as an antidote for stress.  But that was exactly
what he meant.

"Meaning you."

"Really," she said, bristling.

"I seem to recall you went on wild binges, occasionally ending in
blackouts.  Is that considered amusing?"

"I was over-the-top," he admitted.

"But I've changed."

"People don't change, David.  You can't alter DNA.  You can't erase
environmental influences."

David settled Laurel into the walnut-frame crib with yellow flowered
bumpers that echoed the bright yellow-and white-plaid wallpaper in the
nursery.  She flipped to her stomach and swam across the sheets toward
a stuffed pink dinosaur.

He marveled at her speedy progress.  After working with the babies at
the hospital, it was a treat to be around a normal, healthy child.  But
fun time with Laurel was over.

"I need to get back to Denver General," he declared.

"I'll finish out my shift, then come back over here tonight so I can
keep an eye on you."

"It's not necessary for you to return," she said coolly.

But it was.  Not only was he concerned about her physical condition,
but he also intended to discover the identity of Laurel's father.

"I took a risk in springing you from the hospital without the tests,"
he said.

"I want to make sure you're okay.  Just doing my job."

"All right."

"In fact, I think it's time for a little doctor-to-patient chat right
now.  I need for you to be honest with me about your memory loss,
Amanda.  Do you remember the distant past?"

"I just told Laurel a story about when I was nine years old."  She
leaned back in the rocker and closed her eyes.

"When I first woke up in the hospital, everything was foggy.  But it's
over.  I'm perfectly fine."

"Good.  Tell me' about this morning.  Start with when you first woke
up."

"I must have gotten dressed in this outfit."  She glanced down at the
black silk blouse, which was looking much the worse for wear.

"And the Gucci shoes.  And I must have-" "Do you remember putting on
your clothes?"

Frowning, she shook her head.

"What about yesterday?"  he asked.

"What did you do yesterday?"

"Vonnie had the night off.  Laurel and I were alone, and I made
popcorn.  I played some Aretha Franklin music, and we danced around the
kitchen.  It's all very clear."

He grinned as he imagined Amanda and Laurel and Aretha.  He would have
liked to have been there.  "And what happened at the bank yesterday?"

"I must have been busy.  It's always that way.  I probably signed some
loan papers and" -- "Hold it."  From the vagueness of her description,
he suspected she wasn't remembering.  She was guessing.

"What were you wearing?"

She concentrated for a moment, then shook her head.

"I don't know.

Everything at the bank is a blur.  Oh, David, what's wrong with me? 
"

Though he wasn't a brain surgeon or a psychiatrist, both disciplines
interested him, and he was familiar with the symptoms associated with
concussive injury.  Without delving too deeply, he diagnosed her
short-term memory loss as being highly topical, associated with the
bank.

He tried to explain.

"This morning, during the robbery attempt, you suffered a trauma at the
bank.  Your brain is blanking the whole thing out, trying to protect
you from remembering how scared you were."

"I wasn't scared--I was angry."

"Okay, protecting you from your anger."  Which, David knew, was a
classic psychological mechanism to battle fear and pain.

"It's possible that your memory loss will only pertain to the bank and
incidents surrounding the bank."

"But it won't last forever, will it?"

"Probably not.  However, as I said before, you might never remember the
trauma."

"The robbery itself?"

He nodded.

"That's a positive thing, Amanda.  Why would you want to relive what
happened at the bank?  It's over.  It's better to forget."

"But I want to remember."

Amanda needed to remember every second of the robbery, every detail,
every sound.  She wasn't sure why her recollection was so vital, but it
was.

Never before in her life had she been so certain.  If she didn't
remember what happened at the bank, her world would come to an end.

From the crib.  Laurel shouted.

And Amanda instinctively reacted to her cry.  She leaned over the crib,
immediately attentive to her daughter's needs.  But Laurel was all
right, just kicking up a ruckus.

"I should get out there and face the FBI," she said.

"I only wish there was something useful I could talk about."

"I can send them away," he offered.

"As your doctor, I can tell them you're physically unable to speak with
them."

"It's okay."  Get over it, Amanda.  She reached up to straighten her
hair and realized it was still a tangled mass.

"I need to clean up first.  Would you tell them I'll be out in five
minutes?"

"Sure."

She caressed her daughter's cheek before standing erect and walking
slowly toward the door.  Her balance was super cautious It felt as if
she were walking on a frozen pond and needed to take care not to slip
and slide.

"Dizzy?"  he asked.

"I'm fine."  With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back toward
him.

"I'd appreciate it if you would stay with me during the FBI
interrogation."

"Interrogation?  Come on, Amanda.  That sounds like you're a
suspect."

"Please, David."  A slight tremble in her voice caught his attention.

"I'll be there for you, Amanda.  You know that."

She left the nursery door open as she left, and David plucked Laurel
from the crib.  Staying at Amanda's condo hadn't been part of his
plans. He'd intended to finish out the rest of his shift at Denver
General emergency, then come back here tonight to monitor Amanda during
the sleep hours.

Well, what the hell?  It was only another twist on the downward spiral
he'd taken at work.  Dr.  Loretta Spangler had probably already filed
her complaints about his unprofessional conduct.  Also, his high-speed
charge across the front entrance with the wheelchair probably hadn't
endeared him to the hospital staff.

They ought to understand by now that he might be unconventional, but he
was basically a good doctor and didn't make mistakes on the important
things.  His work came first in his life.  Except for now.  He couldn't
leave Amanda.  Not when she needed him.

As he looked into Laurel's eyes, she beamed and babbled and wrinkled
her nose.  David couldn't help smiling back.  This baby girl was going
to be a heartbreaker someday.

"Just like your mama," he said.

in the bathroom, Amanda set about repairing the damage to her cool mask
of competence.  Why had she asked David to stay?  Moments ago, she'd
wanted him out, of her life completely, erased and forgotten.

Now her instincts told her to keep David by her side.

Quickly, she washed her arms and face.  Though she didn't remove the
bandage on her temple, she brushed her straight blond hair around it.

Each stroke pulled her scalp painfully, but decent grooming was
necessary.  She didn't want to look like a victim when she spoke with
the FBI.

After applying heavy-duty concealer beneath her eyes and a dash of
lipstick, she dressed in turquoise slacks and a matching sleeveless
tunic.  She snipped the plastic hospital identification bracelet and
replaced it with her gold Cartier wristwatch.  Checking the time, she
noted that it had taken ten instead of five minutes to pull herself
together.  , She slipped her feet into white sandals and went down the
hall into the living room.  Her decor, predominantly in grays and blues
to complement a very good oil copy of Monet's water lilies, was neither
masculine nor feminine.  But the four men dispersed around the room
seemed uncomfortable--too large for the furniture and too macho.  They
all stood as she entered.

Amanda sought David's gaze.

"Where's Laurel?"

"Vonnie took her into the nursery."

A tidy gentleman in a gray summer-weight suit with a white shirt and
bland necktie stepped forward.

"Ms.  Fielding, I'm Special Agent John Metcalf, FBI."

She met his gaze and shook his hand.  He looked more like an accountant
than a federal officer, but his appearance didn't surprise her.  A few
years ago, the FBI investigated another incident at Empire Bank, and
Amanda had been impressed with their calm, businesslike attitude.

"My partner," he said, "is Agent Greg Hess."

A lanky man, also conservatively dressed, Hess was clearly the junior
officer.

"I'm pleased to meet both of you," she said.

"Shall we get started?"

"Amanda, wait."  Stefan came across the living room toward her.  His
thick blond hair was a rakish halo.  Shoulders thrown back, he was the
most muscular of the men present.

"Maybe you shouldn't talk to the FBI without an attorney."

"Thanks for your concern, Stefan.  But, as you might recall, I am an
attorney."  She faced Agent Metcalf and Agent Hess.

"I want to do everything I can to help you.  However, I must warn you
that my memory of the robbery attempt is rather incomplete."

Metcalf glanced toward David.

"The doctor told us that you were totally blank."

"I'll do what I can."  She gestured toward the long cherry-wood table
in the adjoining dining area.

"Why don't we sit in here?"

The floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the table displayed a
panorama of the Denver skyline and the foothills beyond.  One of the
reasons she loved this spacious, three- bedroom condo was the view.  On
the other side of the kitchen was an enclosed porch, all windows, where
she could watch billowing clouds roll down from the mountains and
spread across the high-rise buildings, the houses and the leafy
treetops.

At night, there were a million stars.  Under those twinkling celestial
lights, she and David had made love.  Was it only a year and a half
ago? It seemed like an eternity.  That night had brought her Laurel and
changed her life.

As she moved toward the table, she couldn't help glancing toward him.

Was he sharing her thoughts?  A meeting with the FBI wasn't the
appropriate time for sensual fantasy, but her mind rebelliously
wandered.  Would David ever make love to her again?  Would he hold her
in his arms and breathe kisses along the line of her throat?  When she
told him about Laurel, would he ever forgive her?

At the dining table, Amanda sat beside David, and Stefan claimed the
head.  Agents Metcalf and Hess remained standing.

Metcalf said, "Ms.  Fielding, I prefer to interview you alone."

"As Amanda's doctor," David said, "it's best if I'm present."

Not wanting to be outdone, Stefan put in, "Amanda needs me here for
emotional support."

"Nevertheless, gentlemen, we have procedures to follow."  | "Amanda has
been through a lot today."  Stefan reached over and took her hand.

"I'm staying right here to make sure you don't bully her."

Before she could inform him that she was perfectly capable of standing
up for herself, David chimed in, "And I need to provide medical
supervision.  She's had a life threatening injury."

He grasped her other hand.

Amanda's first impression of excessive macho attitude was confirmed.

The men seemed to be posturing, pouncing upon opportunities to snarl at
each other.  She could almost smell the testosterone in the air.

"Gentlemen, please.  I" -- A loud pounding at the front door
interrupted her.

From down the hall, she heard Laurel wailing from the nursery.

It was too much distraction, even without the residual ache and vertigo
from the concussion.

When Vonnie opened the front door, Frank Weathers bounced into the
living room.  He came at her like a well- groomed, blond torpedo and
hugged her shoulders.

"Thank goodness you're all right."

"What are you doing here, Frank?  How did you get past the
concierge?"

"I have a friend in the building."  With his hands still planted on her
shoulders, he introduced himself to the FBI agents, then leaned over
Amanda again.

"You really should do something about security.  If I could stroll
right in here, so could the press."

"Enough!"  Amanda disengaged each of her hands from the grasp of Stefan
and David.  She shrugged off Frank's hold on her shoulders and stood.

It was well past time for her to take charge.  Technically, Amanda was
the least macho individual in this mix, yet she had no trouble
asserting her authority.  She hadn't gotten to be a bank president by
simpering.

"Stefan and Frank, I insist that you leave.  Immediately.  This is an
FBI investigation, not a tea party."

"I can take a hint," Frank said.  He brushed an air kiss past her
cheek.

"I'm glad you're all right.  When I talked to Bill Chessman, he sent
his best wishes for a speedy recovery."

Chessman was the chairman of the board for Empire Bank.  Of course,
Frank wouldn't waste a moment calling

Chessman to offer his services while Amanda was on the mend.

"Goodbye, Frank."

He held the door for Stefan, who was still dragging his feet.

"Amanda, I should stay.  There must be something else I can do."

"Actually, there is."  One of the most dreadful tasks of all.

"Would you call my parents in Chicago and tell them I'm all right?"

Grimly, he nodded.

"Should I tell them you'll call?"

"Yes, and they won't be able to reach me here.  Vonnie put the phone on
the answering machine.  Thank you."

He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"If there's anything else, you know how to reach me."

When she closed the door behind Stefan and Frank, Amanda finally felt
that the immediate situation was under control.  Returning to the
table, she sat beside David.

"Agent Metcalf, shall we get started?"

He placed a small tape recorder on the tabletop as the two agents both
sat down across from her.

"Do you mind?"  Metcalf asked.

"Not at all."

"First, I need to go over details about the security mechanisms at the
bank.  Let's start with the video-surveillance cameras."  | "There are
six of them," she said.  The operational system was crystal clear in
her mind.

"Four are focused on the lobby.  One is inside the vault.  One is in
the safe- deposit-box area.  They record continuously on a forty
eight-hour loop.  They're monitored at the bank and maintained by
Summit Security Systems, a local firm.  It's all computerized.  If the
transmission is interrupted.  Summit is automatically notified."

"What happens when you need to shut down the cameras to do maintenance
and change the videotape?"

"We have override computer codes to notify Summit that the cameras will
not be operating for fifteen minutes."

"Who knows this procedure?"

"The security guard, Harry Hoffman, who works for Summit.  And, of
course, I keep a copy of the codes in a locked drawer in my desk."

She hesitated.  A memory nickered in her mind like a vision seen in
peripheral vision.

"We've had some trouble with the cameras lately.  In the past month,
they've been shut down at least three times."

Or more?  She couldn't remember.  A technician from Summit had shown up
with a work order.  All of his credentials had been in order.

"Why are you asking me about this?  Were the surveillance cameras off
during the robbery?"

"I'll ask the questions, Ms.  Fielding.  You said there were six
cameras?"

From her former career as an attorney, she was familiar with
interrogation techniques.  By repeating himself and ignoring her
questions, Metcalf subtly applied pressure.  He seemed to be treating
her like a hostile witness.

"We're on the same side," she reminded him.

"In my position as president of this branch bank, I would appreciate if
you leveled with me.  Were the cameras off?"

"Don't tell me how to do my job, Ms.  Fielding."

They locked gazes, and Amanda didn't like what she saw.  Though Metcalf
had been unfailingly polite, he was the aggressor, verbally stalking
her.  Why didn't he trust her?

When David leaned toward her, she was glad for his protective
presence.

Agent Metcalf said, "Tell me about the silent-alarm system."

"There are buttons to activate the silent alarm at each teller station
and in the vault and the safe-deposit area.  Also, we have alarms in
several of the offices, including my own.  When any of these buttons
are pressed, it notifies the local police and Summit Security
Systems."

She wasn't telling him anything new.  The silent alarm was standard
equipment in financial institutions.

"During the robbery attempt," he said, "did you manage to press any of
the alarms?"

She tried to think.  Where had she been when the robbery was taking
place?

"Sorry, I can't recall what happened."

"But you would have tried," Metcalf said matter-of factly

"As bank president, you would have tried to avert the robbery."

"Yes, of course."

"Suppose one of these alarms were accidentally pressed," Metcalf
said.

"What would happen?"

"We call Summit Security.  They notify the police.  Then the alarm is
aborted.  Afterward, however, a security person comes to the bank to
make sure."

"Did you place such a call this morning?"

"I don't remember."  What was he getting at?  Amanda couldn't think of
any good reason that she would have aborted an alarm.  Certainly not
when a robbery was in progress.  | "Think hard, Ms.  Fielding."

"She doesn't remember," David said.

"Until she regains her short-term memory, there's no point in
pushing."

Metcalf didn't take his eyes off her.  His unrelenting scrutiny made
Amanda worry that she might know more than she should about this
robbery.  But how?  Amanda couldn't have been involved.  And yet,
Elaine Montero, the reporter at the hospital, suggested there might
have been an inside contact at the bank.

Struggling to recall, she looked down at her hands folded precisely on
the cherry-wood tabletop.

"My mind is blank.  I'm sorry."

"Let's talk about Carrie Lamb," Agent Metcalf said.

"What can you tell me about her?"

"She's a teller at Empire Bank and a trusted friend."

She and Carrie had confided in each other, shared silliness and
tragedy.  They knew each other's deepest secrets.  Carrie was the only
person who knew that David was the father of her child.

"When did you hire her?"

Amanda betrayed no signal of her internal tension, but warning bells
pealed in her brain.  Carrie's hiring had been highly irregular, but
Carrie's secrets weren't something she could tell the FBI.

"I must have hired Carrie about two years ago."

"Were you acquainted with her before you hired her?"

She couldn't lie, but she couldn't betray Carrie's friendship.

"It seems like I've known her forever."

"Are you telling me that you don't remember?"

She saw suspicion in his cold accountant-like eyes.  Aware of the tape
recorder, Amanda avoided a direct falsehood.

"I've had a concussion.

My memory is faulty.  "

"Dr.  Haines told us that you could recall your distant past.  It's
only the events of this morning that are unclear."

"But concussions are unpredictable," David said.

"I suggest you move on."

"Ms.  Fielding, have you ever been to Carrie Lamb's apartment?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember anything unusual about her home?"

"No."  Amanda instantly visualized Carrie's one- bedroom apartment in
Capitol Hill with beige carpets and white walls enlivened by brightly
colored posters.  There were lots of books, knickknacks and candles. 
And guns.  Carrie owned three handguns.

"Nothing unusual?"  Metcalf persisted.

Amanda didn't want to mention the guns.

"Why are you asking all these questions about Carrie?"

"After she was taken hostage this morning, we" -- "Excuse me."  A
sudden chill raced across her skin, raising goose bumps.  An ill wind
blew across the empty horizons of her mind.

"Did you say Carrie was taken hostage?"

Metcalf and his partner exchanged a glance.

"Yes, ma'am."

"She wasn't hurt, was she?  What happened?"

It was Agent Hess who responded, "One of the robbers used her as a
shield when he came out of the bank.  They took off on a motorcycle.

She was riding behind him, so the snipers couldn't get a clear shot.

This was after the SWAT team stormed the bank.  "

"They stormed the bank?"  She was stunned.

"Why?  How could that happen?"

"Negotiations broke down," Agent Hess said.

"The local police were doing the talking.  If the FBI had been called
in sooner, we never would have risked the lives of hostages."  ;

Metcalf, the senior agent, corrected him.

"The locals did the best they could.  There were only three hostages
left."

"Carrie Lamb, Tracy Meyer and me."  Icy dread flowed in her veins as
she turned toward David.

"I remember."

He took her hand.  His warm gaze encouraged her.  "Tell me, Amanda.

Tell me what you remember.  "

Her eyelids squeezed shut.  Cold.  She was so cold.

"Near the teller counter.  There were three robbers.  All in black,
wearing ski masks.

And three of us.  Me, Carrie and Tracy.  "

As if from a distance, she saw herself and the other two women,
clinging together.  They were helpless, utterly helpless, and she
couldn't make things right.  The situation was out of control.

Amanda's worst nightmare.

"Oh, David.  I couldn't stop them.  It was my fault."

A blizzard of confusion blanketed her mind, and she clutched his hand
convulsively.  His warmth was her lifeline.  Trembling, she opened her
eyes.

"It's all right," he said.

"There wasn't anything you could do."

She wanted to believe him, but his words went against everything she'd
taught herself.  Never give up.  There was always something she could
do. Always.

She clung to his steady gaze.  David was the only anchor against the
gale-force winds that buffeted her mind, tearing away her defenses.

"Ms.  Fielding."  She heard the voice of Agent Metcalf.

"What else do you remember?"

"Nothing."  The word echoed inside her head.

"Back off."  David spoke forcefully to the two federal agents sitting
across the table.  His focus remained steady on Amanda.

"You're going to be okay.  Do you hear me, Amanda?"

"Yes."

Struggling to regain control of herself, she tried to make sense of an
incomprehensible disaster.  Carrie had been taken hostage.  What about
Tracy Meyer?

Fearful of what she might hear, Amanda asked, "The other hostage... Ms.
Meyer?  Is she safe?"

"Yes," Metcalf said.

Tracy had a child, a seven-year-old daughter who had a sizable trust
fund at the bank.

"I was supposed to have a meeting with Tracy Meyer on July I."

"Today is the first," Agent Metcalf noted.

"Of course," Amanda said.

But she didn't recall whether their meeting had taken place or not.

Today's events had fallen into an impenetrable blankness.  All she
really wanted was to sleep, to allow herself the luxury of forgetting,
leaving the answers to someone else.

Get over it.  She was the president of Empire Bank.  This was her
responsibility.

Tearing her gaze away from David, she faced the FBI.  Stiffly, she
said, "Is Carrie Lamb all right?"

"She's still a hostage.  And we have reason to believe she's a willing
hostage."

"Absurd," Amanda said.

"Carrie is an excellent employee."

"The local police were on the verge of apprehending the robber, and
Carrie Lamb fired on them."

"Impossible!"  Had Carrie been involved in the robbery attempt?  Had
she betrayed bank routine to the robbers?

"I can't believe she'd have any part in this."

"But you can't remember?"

Amanda gritted her teeth.

"That is correct.  I can't remember."

Metcalf clicked off his tape recorder and rose slowly to his feet.

"That's all for now, Ms.  Fielding.  I'll be in touch."  | Still
holding David's hand, she walked the agents toward the door.

"If I recall anything that might be useful, how shall I get in touch
with you, Agent Metcalf?"

From his wallet, he produced a business card as he gestured toward the
painting on Amanda's living-room wall.

"That's a very good copy of a Monet."

"How do you know it's a copy?"

"I know that your mother gave it to you as a housewarming gift when you
moved in here.  And she had to borrow money to buy it."

Taken aback, Amanda could only stare at him.

Quiet as the hissing of a snake, he added, "I also know your net worth
and that of your family.  I know that you and your brother are paying
the mortgage on your parents' refinanced home in Chicago.  I have
information on your credit history, your phone calls and the number of
speeding tickets you've had in your lifetime."

Suddenly, she realized why he had questioned her, why he had focused on
her relationship with Carrie, who was presumed to be a bank robber.

"You're investigating me."

"Background, Ms.  Fielding.  The motive for a bank robbery is usually
money, and this attempt was well financed.  It's standard procedure to
check the background of all the principals.  We're investigating
everyone."

He handed her the white business card.

"If Carrie Lamb contacts you, call me immediately."

"Of course I will.  And it goes without saying that I'll do anything to
help find her."

She closed the door behind Special Agents Metcalf and Hess.

David was close beside her.  When he gently wrapped his arm around her
shoulder, she didn't object.

"Are you all right, Amanda?"

"They think I was involved in the robbery."

"It's their job to investigate everyone."

But so many facts pointed to her.  Amanda had the necessary codes to
turn off the video cameras and to abort the silent-alarm system.

Carrie was her friend, and Carrie was behaving extremely
suspiciously.

Who better to pull off a robbery than the bank president and her
accomplice, a bank teller?

Certainly, there were rational explanations for this circumstantial
evidence.  The problem was, she couldn't remember much of anything
associated with the bank.  The operational systems were clear in her
mind, but the day-today events were hazy at best.

Her eyes sought David.

"Is it possible, with this shortterm memory loss, that I could have
blanked out something really big and important?"

"It's possible," he said.

Though he caressed her cheek and smiled reassuringly, she couldn't
accept his comforting touch.  Somewhere in the forgotten depths of her
mind, she had the key to this robbery attempt.  Amanda sensed that the
answer was there, just beyond her reach.

"David, could I have forgotten that I was involved in the planning of
this bank robbery?"

He didn't respond.  He didn't need to.  She could see the unspoken
answer in his gaze.  Anything was possible.

Chapter Four

After David returned to emergency at Denver General, he was too busy to
think about Amanda's crisis.  In any case, her notion that she'd been
involved in the attempted bank robbery was too crazy for him to take
seriously.  Though her stubborn attitude was enough to drive a card
carrying AA member to drink, David was damned sure she wasn't a bank
robber.

While he dealt with the usual E.

R.

workload--a combination of accidental injuries and sudden illnesses,
blood and vomit--he considered what might have happened at the bank.
David checked on the condition of Mr.  Nyland, the injured bank
customer.  He'd survived surgery but remained in I.

C.

U, regarded as extremely critical.  The bank robber who had been shot,
a man named Temple, was also in the hospital with a uniformed policeman
posted outside the door to his private room.

At the end of his shift, still dressed in his scrubs and lab coat,
David decided to pay a visit to the injured bank guard, Harry Hoffman,
who had been moved from I.

C.

U to a private room.  Possibly, Hoffman had information that David
could use to jog Amanda's memory.

With his hospital bed in a sitting position, Harry Hoffman stared
fiercely at the television across the room.  His square jaw was
darkened with afternoon stubble.  His head had been wrapped in
bandages.  Above the white gauze, his hair was graying.  His age, David
guessed, was midfifties.  Physical condition, except for his injuries,
appeared to be excellent.  The short-sleeved hospital gown revealed
Popeye-sized forearms.  On his left wrist, he wore an Ace bandage for
the sprain. Just below the right elbow was a tattoo of a lion's head.

"Mr.  Hoffman," David said.

Without taking his eyes off the television, he muttered, "Another
doctor?  I haven't seen you before."

"I've been taking care of Amanda Fielding.  She's home now and wanted
to send her regards."

The expression in Hoffman's dark eyes was unreadable.

"Did she send you to fire me?"

David shook his head.

"No, sir."

"I blew it," he growled.

"You tell Amanda I'm sorry for what happened.

She's a fair boss, stood up for me when everybody else said I was too
old.  "

"How'd you get into this line of work?  Are you a former cop?"

"I had military training in the Marines, did two tours in Vietnam.  I
tried lots of other stuff before I got into security work."  His thin
lips stretched in a grin.

"Guess I always preferred the kind of job where I carry a firearm."

David hoped he was joking.

"Do you mind telling me what happened this morning during the robbery
attempt?  I could pass that information to Amanda."

"I don't think so."  He dropped the remote control for the television
and picked up a cell phone.

"If she wants information, I'll call her myself."

"Don't bother.  Her phone's off the hook."

"Reporters, huh?"  His lantern jaw stuck out.

"Damned vultures.  I hate to think of them flapping around Amanda."

"She's really worried about the robbery."  David wasn't sure how much
to reveal.

"It might put her mind at ease to hear what you have to say."

"Sorry, Doc.  It don't seem right to tell you.  I'll talk to Amanda,
though.  Give her my phone number."

As David scribbled down the number, he said, "When the FBI talked to
Amanda, they seemed real interested in the silent alarms and security
cameras."

"It's okay.  You can tell Amanda that I kept her little secret."

"Her secret?"  That didn't sound good.

"It's between her and me."  Gruffly, he added, "Tell her I'm glad she's
okay."

"Have you experienced memory loss from your head injury?"

"Not a bit."  He stared at the television, where a weatherman made
sweeping gestures at a map of Colorado.

"I'm too tough for anybody to knock any sense into or out of me."

after a quick shower in the hospital locker room, David changed: into
his Levi's and a white polo shirt.  Amanda's secret?  Apparently, she'd
conspired with Hoffman.  About what?  David couldn't believe she'd been
involved in committing a major crime.  Yet she hadn't been forthcoming
about her baby's parentage, and David couldn't help but suspect he was
Laurel's biological father.  If she hadn't told him, it was a hell of a
deception.

Outside, the summer skies blushed at the beginning of a hot, red
sunset.  He crossed the parking lot and went to his Porsche.  Might be
a good idea to pick up a hamburger before returning to Amanda's
condo.

She was likely to call pasta and a salad dinner, and he was hungrier
than that.

Firing up the car engine and turning the air-conditioning to full
arctic blast, he cruised south on Broadway and parked outside a
fast-food joint.  Next door was a liquor store.

David read the neon sign.  The back of his throat remembered the velvet
taste of fine Scotch whiskey and the satisfying after bum He hadn't
taken a drink in over four years, not since he returned to the study of
medicine as an intern.  Four years and three months.  In all that time,
not a day passed without the desire.

A perverse logic told him he could handle one drink, maybe two, maybe
just a beer.  Being around Airianda made him damned thirsty.

When he got out of the car, he paced off the distance to the liquor
store and entered.  It was a familiar haven, cool and quiet.  A dim
overhead light reflected dully on a battalion of rounded wine
bottles.

Beyond the dry whites and rich reds, he found the glistening amber of
rum and whiskey in cut-glass decanters.

The guy behind the counter watched without comment, and David realized
that he'd been in here before.  He walked between the rows, greeting
the bottles like old friends.  As if the all-night parties, the
overindulging and subsequent retching had been fun.  Driven by urges he
never understood, he'd come as close as he could to total meltdown^ His
brain was fried.  Nerves were shot.  It was hell.  And still, he craved
that first drink.

His fingers curled around the neck of a whiskey bottle, shaking hands
with the devil.  What if he was Laurel's father?  A vision of her pink
cheeks and laughing blue eyes flashed in the back of his head.  He
could hear the baby's laughter.

With a sharp pivot, he left the liquor store, went to the fast-food
place and placed his order.

"Would you like fries with that?"

"What I'd like is a double martini," David said to the teenager behind
the counter.

"But I'll settle for a milk shake, chocolate."

After quickly downing the burgers and shake, he drove to the high-rise,
parked and pressed the front buzzer.  He'd arranged with Vonnie to say
his whole name before she opened the door for him.

"It's me, David Underwood Haines."

The buzzer sounded and David entered.  He rode the elevator to fourteen
and went to Amanda's apartment.  When Vonnie opened the door for him,
her eyes sparkled with excitement.

"You were just on the news," she said.

"Elaine Montero is broadcasting from right across the street."

"Swell."  David hadn't even noticed the television truck and the
intrusive reporter.

"How's Amanda?"

"Really, really quiet," Vonnie said.

"Especially for her."

"What do you mean?"

"Amanda's so intense.  She always does ten things at once.  Writing a
letter while she's painting her toenails and taking care of Laurel.

But after her nap, when I woke her to check her eyes, like you said,
she just asked me to bring Laurel into her bedroom.  She hasn't moved.
"

Vonnie shuddered.

"It's kind of scary."

"How so?"  David asked.

"It's like she's plotting something."

More likely, David suspected, she was trying to remember.  Knowing
Amanda as he did, she probably considered her inability to remember a
personal failure instead of a physical symptom of her concussion.

"I talked to my mom," the red-haired nanny blurted out.

"And?"

"She told me I should quit and move away from here before something bad
happens to me."

"Hang in, Vonnie."  He patted her freckled arm.

"It's important for you to stay.  Amanda needs you."

He knocked before entering Amanda's bedroom.

"Come in."

He had always been fascinated by her large bedroom.  The rest of her
condo looked as if it might have been put together by a decorator, but
this room held a clutter of pretty, delicate things.  Slender green
vines patterned the wallpaper in a dainty, controlled jungle.  There
were also photographs in fancy frames.  Her parents, Jack and Shirley
Fielding.  Lots of Laurel photos.  There was even one of Stefan in his
rock-climbing gear, looking too damned healthy for his own good.

The predominant color was white--white eyelet on the duvet bedcover and
a flounce on the windows, white velvet on the chaise longue.

Dozens of mysterious bottles, mementos and jewelry boxes covered the
surfaces of the dresser and bureau.  The scent of the room was subtle
and feminine.

Amanda looked frail and small on the queen-size bed with lace-covered
pillows propped behind her back.  She slipped off her reading glasses
and set aside the paperback novel she'd been reading.  Beside her on
the white duvet, Laurel was on her back, playing with a brightly
colored set of oversize plastic keys.

David's gaze was drawn to the bandage on Amanda's forehead.  The left
side of her face was slightly discolored and swollen.  Otherwise, she
was beautiful in a peach- colored nightgown with a square neck.  The
skin above her breasts was lightly tanned, and she wasn't wearing a
bra.

His hands remembered her silky flesh, and the sweet tremors that went
through her body when they made love.

He forced himself to look only at her face.  Her almond- shaped blue
eyes beneath precisely sculpted brows held a silent appeal that sorely
tested his self-control.

"How are you feeling?"

"As long as I stay quiet, I'm fine."  Her tense smile reflected
determined bravado.

"My head barely hurts."

"And your memory?"

"Not much better.  I keep getting flashes that don't make any sense."

He sat on the edge of her bed.  The baby was between them.  When Laurel
saw David, she offered a bright-eyed, gurgling welcome.

"Hey, cutie," he said.

"What do you have there?"

She shook the keys and stared at them with cheerful concentration.

When David pulled at a key, she yanked them back.  Then she flipped to
her stomach and aimed for the edge of the bed.

David scooped her up.

"Is it okay if I put her on the carpet?"

"Sure.  The whole condo is baby proof.  Though that won't last for
long.

She's almost able to reach the top of the dresser.  "

Laurel took off crawling like a baby dragster.  She even seemed to be
making a vroom-vroom sound.

David glanced at Amanda.

"Tell me about these memory flashes."

"I remembered three names--Dallas, Temple and Sarge.  And I think those
are the robbers.  During the robbery, I must have heard someone say the
names."

When she averted her gaze, he guessed she was hiding something.

"You don't have to keep secrets from me, Amanda."

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"Your memories could be distorted.  If you tell me about them, I can
help you sort them out.  I promise I won't tell anybody what you
say."

"I can't trust promises," she said bitterly.

"I used to be a lawyer, remember?  I made a living from people breaking
their promises."

"Then trust me, damn it."

"How can I trust you?"  She eyed him coldly.  The ice princess again.

"When we were engaged, you betrayed me in every possible way."

He shoved off the bed and went to the window facing west.  He had an
urge to push open the glass and let the hot, fresh air inside to
disrupt the sterile air-conditioning.  When was she going to forget the
past and give him a break?

After she'd broken their engagement, he'd known she was right.  His
life had been a mess.  If he hadn't stopped pouring liquor down his
throat and making stupid decisions, he wouldn't have made his
thirty-fifth birthday.

But he had changed.  At first, when he'd started to pull himself
together, he did it from anger, to show Amanda that he could be serious
and responsible.  He'd swallowed his pride and gone back to medicine to
prove he could handle the work.  Only later did he realize that his
career;

was something he wanted for himself.

"I didn't mean to bring up the past," she said.  But their history kept
cropping up like a virulent weed that couldn't be killed.

"It was Carrie's voice," she said.

He turned back toward her.

"What do you mean?"

"I remembered Carrie saying the name Dallas as if she knew the man.

And I saw her with a gun in her hand.  "

"A gun?"

"It was a revolver with a stainless-steel barrel and a wood handle.
Carrie took out five bullets.  I could hear them dropping one by
one."

"That sounds a little like a dream," he said.

"Maybe that's it.  Maybe it didn't really happen."  She seized on the
possibility.

"The bullets made a plopping noise, as if they'd fallen in water, and
there's certainly not a stream that runs through Empire Bank.  I must
have been dreaming."

"Tell me about Carrie."

"I knew her a long time ago, while I was growing up in Chicago.  We
were friends, but we weren't close.  We went to different high
schools.

Two years ago, she showed up here in Denver, and she looked me up.

When she asked if I could get her a job at the bank, I knew something
was wrong.  "

"Why?"

"Carrie was from a very wealthy family.  Not like my parents, who like
to give the appearance of having money when they're really broke.

Carrie's father was rich.  It seemed strange that she'd want to be a
bank teller.  "

"But you decided to help her, anyway."

She bit her lower lip.

"David, if I tell you these things, you can't repeat them to anyone.
Especially not to the police or the FBI."

"No problem.  Haven't you ever heard of doctor-patient privilege?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I believe that has to do with information about a patient's physical
condition."

"I take a broad interpretation," he said.

"I won't tell anyone."

Laurel's cross-carpet crawl led her to a full-length mirror.  She sat
back on her bottom and babbled to her reflection.

Amanda took up her story again.

"Carrie told me she'd had a bad marriage.  She hardly knew the guy when
she'd eloped with him.  Within a few months, she found out how abusive
he was.  She divorced him, but that wasn't enough.  He kept coming
after her."

"Couldn't she turn to her wealthy father for help?"

"They were estranged," Amanda said.

"Carrie disappeared.  She bought fake identification and came out here.
To work at the bank, she needed to be bonded.  And she bought that,
too.  I hired her, knowing that her identification was completely
phony."

Helping out a friend in trouble didn't seem outrageous to David, but he
knew how difficult it must have been for Amanda to bend the rules, much
less break them.

"You're acting like this is the first time in your life you've ever
told a lie."

When she shook her head, her hair fell forward and covered her face.

"It's not the worst lie I've ever told."

Was she talking about the "secret" she shared with Hoffman?  Or was
this more personal?  David returned his focus to her.  He sat on the
bed, close and intimate.

"Tell me."

When she looked at him, there was something stark and tragic about the
set of her lips.  In spite of her cool facade, she was vulnerable.

"I

can't.  " | " What are you afraid of?  "

"Everything.  Nothing.  I can't remember."  The tendons on her throat
stood out in sharp relief as she inhaled a deep breath.  In the grip of
fierce tension, she spoke in a slow, measured cadence.

"I'm terrified that Carrie was involved in the bank robbery, and I
helped her."

"Why?"

"The money.  Empire Bank always gets a Wells Fargo delivery on the
first of the month.  There must have been a million dollars in that
vault."

"I don't get it."  He looked around the condo.  It wasn't exactly skid
row.

"You're not broke, are you?"

"No.  But a million dollars is a huge temptation.  I can't help
thinking about all that money.  Sometimes, when I'm at the bank, I have
to stop and stare.  All that cash.  Do you know what it feels like,
David, to hold crisp stacks of hundred-dollar bills in your hand?"  She
leaned back on the pillows.

"It's almost sexy."

She was sexy.

"Tell me more."

Slowly, she shook her head.

"I don't know what's going on, David.  I can't help wondering if the
real reason I feel so guilty is because I am guilty."

"Be rational," he said.

"There's no actual evidence."

"I know every operational system in the bank.  The alarms.  The
surveillance cameras.  The delivery schedules."

"There must be other people who have the same information.  Just
because you know how the bank works doesn't prove you planned a
heist."

"What about Carrie?  Apparently, she's on the run with one of the bank
robbers.  And Carrie is one of my best friends."

"Friendship doesn't count as evidence."

"There's something else," she said.

"I was watching the television news with Vonnie, and there was a
secondary story about an escaped federal prisoner."

David had heard this news.

"Jax Schaffer."

"I recognized him," Amanda said.

"That's no surprise," he countered.

"His photograph has been in every newspaper.  The guy's a major crime
boss."

"I'm telling you that I know him, David.  From back home in Chicago.  I
think he belonged to some of the same clubs as my father.  He might
have even been a guest in our home."

"So what?"

"His escape occurred at almost the same time as the robbery attempt at
Empire Bank.  Don't you think the timing is too coincidental?  The two
crimes have to be related."

Her logic made sense.  If the SWAT teams were busy at Empire Bank,
there wouldn't be as many officers available to respond to a call for
help in stopping Jax Schaffer's escape.

"And I knew him," she said.

"When he escaped this morning, two federal marshals and two policemen
were killed."

"And you think it's your fault?"

"I don't know.  That's the worst part.  I'm building a case against
myself, and I don't know if there's any foundation in truth."

Laurel gave a happy shriek as she flung her plastic keys at the baby in
the mirror.  She flipped athletically and began crawling, butt high in
the air, toward the bed.

David watched her, mesmerized, as he considered truth as it applied to
Amanda's suspicions of herself.  She made a fairly decent case against
herself, piling up associations and bits of circumstantial knowledge.

What if she had been involved in the bank robbery?  What if she was the
inside, contact for crime boss Jax Schaffer?

Laurel reached the bed.  Energetically, she pulled herself upright
using the comforter, and David gave her a boost onto the top of the
mattress. She wriggled over to Amanda and snuggled close.  They made a
beautiful picture, with Amanda's darker blond hair mingling with her
daughter's pale platinum.  When they both turned to him, their matching
blue eyes were breathtaking.

She sure as hell didn't look like a bank robber.  But she was a woman
with secrets.  Of that, he was certain.

"At the hospital," he went on, "I stopped in to visit Harry Hoffman."

"How is he?"  she asked.

"In spite of a sprained wrist, he looked like he was capable of
bench-pressing the hospital bed."

"Seriously, David."

"His condition is listed as fair.  He'll be going home tomorrow."  Not
wanting to tell her the less positive news about the bank customer who
was shot, he added, "Harry has no memory loss, and I think he might
have some important information.  But he wouldn't give me a message for
you.  Said you had to call him yourself, and he gave me the phone
number."

"He's a crusty old guy," she said.

"I'm surprised the robbers got past him."

Following that logic, David said, "Maybe they didn't.  It's possible
that Harry was the inside contact."

"No way.  He's completely loyal."

"He wanted me to tell you that your secret was safe with him.  He
didn't tell the cops or the FBI."

"My secret?"  Her eyebrows pulled together in concentration, then she
sighed.

"I have no idea what he's talking about.  Harry tends to be a little
melodramatic."

Was she lying?  It was difficult for him to concentrate on crime while
he watched mother and child at play.

"You and Laurel are beautiful together."

"She's wonderful."  Amanda rubbed noses with her tiny daughter.

"Aren't you?  You're wonderful.  You and me against the world,
kiddo."

"What about her father?"

Her sudden stricken expression told David that he'd chosen exactly the
wrong thing to say.  Her maternal serenity vanished.

"David, this isn't something I want to talk about.  Not right now."

The identity of the father was painful for Amanda.  If she'd been
making love with David at the same time as with Laurel's father, their
one-night stand might have destroyed her other relationship.  Or, the
inescapable alternative, he might be the father of her child.

He should ask her, point-blank.  He didn't think she could look him in
the eye and lie.  But he wasn't sure, and he didn't want to take the
chance.

At one time, he'd loved her.  They were going to be married.  Even when
he'd embarked on his journey to selfdestruction, she'd been the bright
spot in his life.  Their passion had been the only thing that had
silenced his demons and given him peace.  She'd been the pure, clean
center of his filthy life.

Then she'd left him cold.

Being with her again wakened a lot of old feelings.  This afternoon,
he'd almost purchased a bottle.  He wasn't ready for the truth.  Not
yet.

David pushed himself off the bed.

"Try to rest.  Forget about the robbery.  Forget guilt.  Forget truth.
Your only concern at present is to get better.  Let your body heal."

"Are you speaking as my doctor?"

" Your doctor... and your friend."

She straightened in the bed, jostling Laurel, who protested with a
little squeak.

"Is there something I can take to help me sleep?"

"Nonnarcotic painkillers.  With a concussion, the idea is to avoid deep
sleep that might become coma."

"Maybe a drink?  There's vodka and rum in the liquor cabinet."

"No booze."  David gritted his teeth.  Was this a test?  Why had he
agreed to stay the night here?  His instinct for self-preservation
urged him to run like hell.

"I'll take Laurel and give her to Vonnie.

You try to sleep.  "

Unfortunately, there wasn't any way to take the baby without touching
Amanda.  As he leaned close, he caught a whiff of her light floral
perfume.  Mingled with the scent of baby, the smell was tantalizing.

His hand brushed Amanda's breast, and he groaned inwardly.

"Thank you," she said crisply.

Her cool demeanor had slipped back into place.  And David matched her
detachment.  Inside, his frustration seethed.  But his voice stayed
calm.

"I'll be checking on you throughout the night.  Don't be alarmed when I
come into your room."

"Fine."  Her lips were tight.

David passed the rest of the evening with Vonnie in front of the
television.  When she made dinner for Amanda and carried it into her
room on a tray, he didn't join them.

The longest hours came after eight o'clock when Laurel was in bed.

On the ten-o'clock news, he watched Elaine Montero as she reported no
new developments on the bank robbery or the escape of Jax Schaffer.

She outlined the progress in the case with shots of Empire Bank, the
hospital and the front entrance to Amanda's high-rise condo.  When she
showed an ID photo of Carrie Lamb, David studied the face of Amanda's
good friend.  She didn't look like a bank robber, but she also didn't
look like a woman who carried fake identification and was on the run
from an abusive ex- husband.

After Vonnie went to her room, he was left alone on the sofa with a
comforter, staring up at the very good copy of Monet's water lilies.

He'd set an alarm clock to wake him in three hours so he could monitor
Amanda, but he doubted he would need the alarm.  David couldn't
sleep.

His tension held slumber at bay.  A couple of drinks would've knocked
him out, and he yearned for the unthinking, blissful state of
unconsciousness.  Something, anything, to take the edge off his
awareness of Amanda and what she'd meant to him.  A year and a half
ago, they'd made love on the sunporch beneath the stars, and he'd made
the mistake of thinking they'd get back together again.  Dead wrong.

At one in the morning, he was still awake to hear the click of a key
being fitted into a lock.  He saw the shifting of shadows when the
front door to Amanda's condo slowly opened.

Chapter Five

In her bedroom, Amanda rested uneasily upon her queensize bed.  It was
a little after one o'clock in the morning.  The loneliest hour of the
night.  After midnight, there should be new hopes for a new day, but
she dreaded the suspicions that loomed beyond the dawn.

Rubbing at the base of her throat, she tried to massage her tension
away.  She felt suffocated by the weight of all the questions, the
coincidences, the doubts.  Even here in her bedroom, a sanctuary, the
delicate ivy pattern on her wallpaper seemed to constrict around her.

Her gaze darted from wall to wall.  God, there was so much furniture in
this room!  Too much clutter.  A dresser and bureau and chaise in
addition to the bed.  Amanda needed more room to breathe.

She concentrated on the vertical blinds.  With bright moonlight
streaking the edges, the cream-colored blinds looked like prison bars
beneath an eyelet flounce.

Her veiled memories hinted that she was a criminal, an accomplice in
the attempted bank robbery.  Though she'd never thought of herself as
that sort of person, Amanda could trace a pattern of failed
expectations regarding her personal growth.  More clutter.  No wonder
she felt claustrophobic.

Seeking release, she rose from the bed, went to the window and cranked
it open.  In her high-rise, above the city, she inhaled the sultry air
of a summer night.

Relationships were her downfall.  She had several acquaintances but few
friends.  Even fewer lovers.  David had been the only man to whom she'd
ever made a serious commitment.  Being with him again unlocked a
treasure trove of memories, good and bad.  It was ironic.  In the midst
of this odd amnesia, she recalled her time with David so clearly.

Sunlit days and starry nights under a lovers' moon.  Spontaneous
laughter.  When times were good with him, she'd never felt so
carefree.

She had to savor the memories, because she would never have the reality
again.  Sooner or later, she'd have to tell him about Laurel.

And he'd hate her for the deception.  She'd deprived him of nine
precious months in his daughter's life.  How could he ever forgive
her?

Earlier tonight, when they'd spoken of truth, she should have told him.
But she was afraid.  She didn't want him to leave.  Get over it.  He
deserved to know.

Leaning against the casement beside the window, she heard him coming
down the hall to check on her.  Tell him now.  Right this minute.

Talking to him at night would be easier.  In the darkness, she wouldn't
see the loathing in Uis eyes.

The door to her bedroom swung wide, and he stumbled through.  Poor
David, he must be exhausted.

In the faint glow of moonlight, she saw the outline of his head and
shoulders.  But he didn't look right.  His posture was odd.  As he
groped for the light switch beside the door, she sensed that something
was terribly wrong.

The overhead light flashed on.  Instead of David, she saw a man dressed
all in black.  He wore a black ski mask.  In his right hand, he held a
gun.

His arm extended straight from his side.  He aimed at the rumpled
comforter on her bed.

Standing at the window, she tried to shrink, to become invisible.  But
he'd seen her.  An executioner, he slowly rotated his arm.  The gun
pointed at her breast.

Then David dived through the door.

Amanda ducked.

The gun fired.  The muffled explosion echoed inside her head, jolting
other memories of recent terror.

Huddled on the floor, she watched in horror as David wrestled with the
masked intruder.  Bare chested, David pressed the assault.  The muscles
in his arms flexed as he caught hold of the other man's gun hand.

Locked in combat, they staggered against the foot of her bed and
crashed to the floor.  The gun dropped to the carpet.

Instinctively, Amanda snatched up the automatic pistol.  It was cold
and black and deadly.  Her fingers trembled, and she used both hands to
steady the barrel.

"I'll shoot," she yelled.  But with the two of them struggling, there
was no way she could get a clear shot at the intruder.

David landed a solid blow to the intruder's chin, and the man fell
back, slamming against her dresser.  Perfume bottles and a small lamp
went flying.

He kicked at the chaise, and the edge caught David's knee.  But he
wouldn't be stopped.  David bobbed and weaved like a prizefighter.  His
eyes glinted like steel.  He cocked his arm and drove his fist hard
into the other man's stomach.  When the intruder doubled over in pain,
David hammered the back of the man's head.

The would-be assassin sprawled across her bedroom carpet.

Reaching down, David yanked off the black woolen ski mask.

"Do you know him?"

His face was very young.  Midtwenties.

"I've never seen him before."

"Get something to tie him up."

Adrenaline surged through her body, but she felt paralyzed.  Though
David had exerted all the effort, she was the one panting.

"Amanda," he said, "hurry."

"I don't have any rope.  I have ribbon for wrapping packages."

"How about duct tape?"

"Why would I have duct tape?"  she demanded.

"I live in a condo.  Other people do my repairs."

Vonnie appeared in the doorway.  Her eyes were wide, and her hair stuck
out in wild ringlets, a brilliant red contrast to her pink terry-cloth
bathrobe.  When she saw the man on the floor and the gun in Amanda's
hand, she unleashed a piercing wail.

"Stop it," Amanda ordered.

"You killed him!"

"Hush, Vonnie.  You'll wake Laurel."

David went toward the nanny.

"It's okay.  We have everything under control.  I want you to go into
the front room and call the police.  Can you do that?"

Dumbly, she nodded.  | "Go in the other room," he repeated.

"But first, let me use the sash on your robe."

She quickly unfastened the sash, handed it to him and fled.

As he approached the still unconscious intruder, David flexed the
fingers on his right hand and winced.

"David, are you all right?"

"I'd feel a whole lot better if you put down the gun."

Still grasping the weapon with both hands, she aimed it toward the
floor.

"What happened?  Who is this person?"

"I don't know."  David felt for a pulse before he flipped the man onto
his stomach and tied his hands securely behind his back.

"I heard him come in.  He had a key."

"My purse," she said.

"I never got my purse back.  Somebody must have stolen my keys."

He finished with his knots and came toward her.

"You're okay, aren't you?"

He held her arms and looked into her eyes, much the same as when he'd
checked for symptoms of concussion.  His hazel eyes held a depth of
concern.

"You're cold," he said.

"Warm me."

His strong arms embraced her, and she crushed tightly against his bare
chest.  He had saved her life, this wonderful man she'd once
rejected.

From the nursery, she heard Laurel's cry.  Only a few yards away, her
baby had been sleeping while a masked intruder had broken into her
bedroom and tried to murder her.  Horrified, Amanda broke away from
David and stared at the pistol in her hand.  What might have happened
if the intruder had entered the wrong room?

Gently, David took the weapon from her.

"You can't stay here.  Not even for tonight."

She surveyed the damage to her bedroom.  The broken bottles.  The
overturned chaise.

"But this is my home.  I don't want to leave."

"Your building has been on the evening news, Amanda.  This guy had a
key, and there may be duplicates."  He tossed the gun on the bed.

"After we talk to the police, I'm taking you and Laurel and Vonnie home
with me.  To my house."

Never in her life had she felt less like a decisive, hard- driving
career woman.  The assault had devastated her confidence.  All she
wanted was to lean against David's bare chest and have him take care of
her and her daughter.  Their daughter.

"Come on, Amanda.  Pull yourself together."

She nodded, trying to draw on the internal poise and strength that had
never failed her.  But fear made her helpless.  She had no control over
these terrible things that kept happening.

He directed her toward the bedroom door.

"Take care of Laurel and wait for the police.  I'll stay here and watch
this guy."

In the door of her bedroom, she paused and looked back at this
incredibly virile man with a gun in his hand.  His Levi's slung low on
his hips.  His tanned torso was lean, sprinkled with crisp black
hair.

His shoulders were broad, strong enough to protect her and Laurel.

The truth might drive him away, and she didn't want that to happen.  In
this time of confusion, she desperately needed him, more than ever
before.  But he deserved to know about Laurel.

relocating her household in the middle of the night was easier than
Amanda would have expected.  In deference to her injury, David and
Vonnie had taken charge.  They'd hurried the police through the arrest
of the assailant, answered questions from Agents Metcalf and Hess',
packed the suitcases and retrieved Amanda's minivan from the bank
parking lot.

It was four in the morning when Vonnie, driving the minivan, followed
David's Porsche down University Boulevard toward the south suburbs.

Amanda checked on Laurel, who was sound asleep in her car seat, then
turned toward the red-haired nanny, who was concentrating hard on
David's taillights, though there was virtually no other traffic on the
road.

"I'm sorry about all of this, Vonnie."

"It's kind of cool," she said.

"I'm going to have something to tell when I go back to college in the
fall.  I mean, getting attacked and everything makes a much better
story about what I did on my summer vacation."

Amanda envied her youthful resilience.

"Really?"

"I've never even gotten a parking ticket before, and now I'm on a
first-name basis with an FBI agent."

"With Agent Metcalf?"

"With his partner, Hess.  Greg Hess.  The tall guy with the incredible
blue eyes."  Vonnie all but twinkled.

"He told me he's partial to redheads, like Dee Gallant."

"Who?"

"She's on my favorite soap opera."

Amanda seriously doubted that Agent Greg Hess watched the soaps, but
the fantasy seemed to make Vonnie happy as she followed David's
taillights into the exclusive Bow Mar area in Littleton.

"Nice part of town," Vonnie said enthusiastically.

"David lives out here?"

"Yes."

"He's really a catch, Amanda.  I think you should go out with him."

"We were engaged.  It didn't work."

"But he still has feelings for you.  I can tell."

Unfortunately, this wasn't one of Vonnie's soap operas where people
dated and mated with little regard for what had happened in their
pasts.

The peppy little redhead continued, "I mean, you like Stefan, and he's
a nice guy.  But David is... incredible."

Vaguely amused by Vonnie's matchmaking, Amanda said, "Last week, you
thought Stefan was a major hunk."

"Well, he is, and I know you've got lots of important reasons to stay
with him."

"Such as?"

"The family stuff.  Over the phone, your mom and I have talked about
Stefan, you know."

"And mother approves of him," Amanda said.

"You bet she does.  I mean, she's already got the wedding planned and
everything."

"But you think I should go with David."

"It's like this," Vonnie said.

"In Gone with the Wind, Scarlett was in love with that blond guy, but
as soon as you saw Rhett Butler, you knew she ought to be with him."

"And David is my Rhett Butler?"

"You got it."  Vonnie followed David's Porsche into a circular driveway
and parked behind him.

"Oh, my God!  This is a great house!"

Amanda remembered the Tudor home from when she and David were
engaged.

When he was only twenty-seven, he'd inherited this property from a
favorite aunt who'd passed away.  Though everyone had expected him to
sell the house, David settled in, discovering an unforeseen talent for
gardening.

From what Amanda could discern by the glow from security lights, he'd
kept up the yard work.

"Do you like the landscaping, Vonnie?"  She squinted through the
windshield.

"From what I can see, it's really nice."

"David does it all himself."

"Wow!  Rhett Butler and gardening, too."  She glared at Amanda.

"You have got to dump Stefan and go with David."

While the modem-day Rhett and Vonnie unloaded the back of the van,
Amanda lifted her sleeping baby from the car seat and supported the
little bundle in her arms.  After a bit of wriggling, Laurel eased back
into peaceful slumber.

Unfortunately, Amanda was nowhere near so complacent.  Returning to
David's house brought back a painful flood of regrets.  When they were
engaged, Amanda had planned to live in this charming home with peaked
roof and shake shingles.  Though the three-bedroom house was small in
comparison to some of the mansions in this area, it was more than
adequate for two people, and she'd explored the possibility of adding
another bedroom above the garage, possibly redesigning the kitchen to
be more efficient.  This would have been her home.

She followed David and Vonnie inside, watching as he punched a code
into the keypad near the front door.

"Alarm system," he said.

"Unless it's disarmed within three minutes of opening the door, a siren
goes off and the security company is alerted.  The same thing happens
if any of the windows are broken."

"This is new," she commented.

"I needed it.  Working at the hospital, I'm gone a lot and I needed to
protect against break-ins."

Other than the security system, he hadn't made many changes.  Down a
step from the entryway was a large front room with a leather sectional
sofa.  The dining area was beyond that.  On the right was David's
office. On the left, the kitchen.

Still holding Laurel, Amanda wandered into the kitchen with its
adjoining breakfast area.  The oak cabinets were exactly the same as
she remembered.  On the countertop were a couple of empty pizza
boxes.

David might be a terrific gardener, but he'd never been fond of
cooking.

"Amanda," he called out.

"Bring the baby up here."

She climbed the stairs to the second story and entered the large master
bedroom where David had already un'd loaded the playpen from the car.
It would act as a makeshift crib for Laurel.

"I figured you and Laurel would sleep in here," he said.

After she'd ended their relationship, she'd never thought she'd see the
inside of this room again.  Being here with him disconcerted her.

Quickly, she settled Laurel in the playpen and tiptoed toward the door,
not wanting to waken her.

Downstairs, Amanda offered to help with the other suitcases.

"Not necessary," David said.

"If you want to make yourself useful, brew some coffee."

"Why?  We all need sleep."

"Can't do it.  I'm scheduled at the hospital for an early shift.  I'll
be even more tired if I go back to sleep."

"Can't you take the day off?"

"I could, but that would mess up my schedule for the rest of the week,
and I want to be off on Friday and Saturday so I miss the Fourth of
July madness in the emergency room."  He gestured toward the
coffeemaker near the sink.

"Do you remember where I keep the beans?"

She crossed the white tile floor and pointed to a vacuum- sealed
canister that held exactly a pound of beans.

"Sumatra blend, brewed with distilled water," she said.

"You were always fussy about your coffee."  ,.

"And I still am."  He headed back to the car, calling over his
shoulder, "Some things never change."

People never change, she reminded herself as she went through the
remembered ritual of preparing David's coffee.  No matter how wonderful
he seemed, this was the same David she'd broken up with five years
ago.

Leaving the dark, rich, aromatic liquid dripping steadily through the
Braun coffeemaker, she climbed the stairway to the master bedroom.  Her
feet trod heavily on the carpeted steps.  So many times she'd raced
David up the stairs to the bedroom.  They'd torn off their clothes on
the way to bed, feverish and anxious to make love.

Now they kept a careful distance when they met in the hall outside the
bedroom.  Avoiding eye contact, they carefully stepped around each
other so they wouldn't accidentally touch.

"I brought in three suitcases for you and Laurel," he said.

"That's all of them."  Their exchange felt stilted, overly formal.

"Thank you."

"No problem.  I do this kind of thing for all my patients."

"You've got a great bedside manner, Doctor."

"So I've been told."

Her gaze lit upon a grouping of family photos that decorated the
hallway above a cedar chest.  She indicated one of the pictures.

"How's your big brother and his family?"

"Fine.  Josh is still bigger than I am.  I told him it was because
Nancy fed him too well."

"Do they still live in Evergreen?"

"Right.  Josh is handling all the mountain construction work for the
family business."  David stared at the picture as if he'd never seen it
before.

"Their three boys are growing like weeds."

"I remember how Nancy always wanted a girl."

"She always liked the girlish things.  Sewing and crafts.  Now that the
boys are in school, she's started selling some of her custom clothing
designs, and she's thinking about opening a boutique in Evergreen."

"I'm sure she'll do well.  Everything your family touches seems to turn
to gold."

"We've been lucky," he agreed.

As far as Amanda knew, David was the only person in his large extended
family who wasn't involved in Haines Homes, New Construction and
Renovation.  After he'd graduated from medical school and wasn't
accepted at his first choice of hospitals for an internship, he'd tried
to make a niche for himself in the family business.  Unfortunately,
David was terrible with numbers and such a perfectionist when it came
to the construction work that it took him four times too long to
complete a job.

His father created a position for David in negotiation and advertising.
It was roughly similar to the duties of a prince in a royal family.
David's obligation was to show up at social events and be charming.

"Your parents?"  she asked.

"They're good.  Sometimes they ask about you."

"Really?"  She'd always been fond of David's parents.

"Mom tells me I was an idiot to lose you.  Nobody ever blamed you for
breaking up with me, Amanda.  It was pretty much the consensus that I
was a spectacular disaster."

She hadn't wanted to get into this.

"David, I" -- "Forget it."  Staring straight ahead, he continued, "I
put Vonnie in the guest room, and I gave her instructions to check on
you at nine in the morning.  You're not to do anything strenuous
tomorrow."

"But I feel all right," she protested.

"I'm tired and my head still hurts a bit, but I'm really fine."

"Fine?  Do me a favor, Amanda.  Don't tell me you're fine.  You keep
saying that you're fine.  And it's not true.  You had a brain injury,
okay?  A concussion is serious.  You need to rest and heal.  Promise me
you won't take on the world for at least another day."

"Okay," she said meekly.

As they mumbled their good nights she hoped he might stroke her cheek
or kiss her lightly on the tip of her nose.  But he made no such
gesture.

Though it was unreasonable to feel desolate, that was her state as she
closed the bedroom door behind her.  If things had worked out
differently between them, this might have been her bedroom, their
bedroom.

She checked on Laurel, who continued to sleep soundly on her back.  One
tiny hand curled against her rosy cheek in the blissful repose of the
innocent.  She was such a beautiful baby, their baby.

by the time david had showered and shaved, it was four- thirty in the
morning.  There was no point in going to bed.  He needed to leave for
work in an hour and a half.

He threw on a pair of khaki trousers and a shirt before staggering out
to the kitchen for a dose of caffeine.

The refrigerator light was on.  When David turned on the overhead,
Vonnie's head popped around the edge of the refrigerator door.

"There's nothing to eat in here."

He poured himself a cup of coffee.

"I'm not much of a cook."

"Well, I've got to go shopping tomorrow."

He pulled out his wallet and took out four twenties, which he placed on
the countertop.

"This should get you started at the grocery store.

Be sure you get everything Laurel needs.  "

"You bet."

She stuffed the cash into the pocket of her belt less bathrobe, closed
the refrigerator door and grinned at him.  She was a cute little
thing.

The tangled red hair and freckles made her look like a kid.

"How old are you, Vonnie?"

"Almost twenty."

He had observed her skills in child care enough to know she was
competent to care for Laurel.

"What made you decide to be a nanny?"

"I have six younger brothers and sisters.  But this isn't,

like, a career choice.  Being a nanny is just a summer job.  I'm in
college.  " She planted her fists on her skinny hips.

"David, we need to talk about Amanda."

He sipped his coffee, hoping the caffeine would do its work.

"Aren't you tired, Vonnie?"  "After all the awesome stuff that's
happened today?  I mean, the bank robbery and the guy who broke in and
that really cute FBI agent.  It's totally a Mel Gibson movie."

Her excitement was like a whirlwind.  Oh, to be nineteen again.  David
could barely remember that wide-eyed age when every day was a fresh
start, and life was a grand adventure.

"About Amanda," Vonnie said.

"She told me you guys were engaged a long time ago, and I think she
still likes you.  You should, you know, take her out to dinner or
something."

Unfortunately, life wasn't that simple anymore.  They weren't talking
about a date to the senior prom.

"Thanks for the advice, Vonnie, but" -- "Just because she had a kid
with another man doesn't mean you two can't get back together."

Another man?  David came suddenly awake.  Did Vonnie know the identity
of the father?

Though he couldn't imagine Amanda sharing heart-to- heart confidences
with this bouncy red-haired pix^e, they were two women living together.
They were likely to talk about the baby.  And the father?

"I consider Laurel to be an asset," he said.

"You like kids," she said with a knowing grin.

"I could tell.  Oh, my God, you and Amanda have to get back together. "
"What about Stefan?"

"He's like, really cute.  And I've talked to Amanda's mom about him.  A
lot.  She wants Amanda and Stefan to get married.  But I don't think
so.  I mean, he's..."  Her voice trailed off.

"Well, you know."

"I don't know," David said.

"Shed a little light for me on her relationship with Stefan."

"Well, he should have gotten married to Amanda as soon as he knew she
was pregnant with his baby.  That would have been the right thing to
do."

David's mug fell from his hand and crashed to the floor.  Numbly, he
watched the dark liquid splash across the kitchen tiles.  Laurel was
Stefan's daughter.  Not his.

Chapter Six

The coming of dawn splashed pink across the cloudless skies outside
David's kitchen window.  He poured himself another cup of coffee.  He'd
been sitting here for an hour, coming to grips with the knowledge that
Laurel wasn't his child.

Until yesterday morning, when Amanda had told him about her
nine-month-old baby, he hadn't considered the prospect of fatherhood.

And then, for a few hours, he'd imagined the possibility.  And he'd
liked the feeling.  Now the dream was gone.

It was better this way.  At least he knew the truth.

When he heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase, he was
momentarily startled.  It had been a long time since anybody else had
shared his home, and he was accustomed to silence.

Amanda appeared in the doorway, dressed in cutoff jeans and a pastel
blue T-shirt with her hair freshly washed.

"I couldn't sleep," she said.

He stared down into the circle of his mug, unable to look at her.

"Help yourself to coffee."

He listened to the sounds of Amanda bustling about in his kitchen,
finding sugar and milk for her coffee.  When he looked up, he noticed
that she'd selected the same mug she'd always used when she stayed with
him--white with yellow daisies.

They had a history but no future.

She sat at the small kitchen table across from him.

"There has to be a reason that man tried to kill me."

"Nice wake-up topic, Amanda."

"What else would we discuss?  The weather?"  She sipped her coffee.

"What do you think?  Why did he come after me?"

"Sex or money.  Those are the usual motives for murder," he said.

"In E.R."  most of our victims come from accidents.  However, when the
violence is premeditated, the reason is almost always sex or money. 
"

"But those motives don't apply to me.  The man who came into my
apartment wasn't intent upon robbery.  And I never saw him before in my
life, so it couldn't be sex."

When it came to Amanda, he would never rule out sex.  Despite the hour
and their mutual lack of sleep, she looked great.  Her freshly washed
blond hair fell neatly to her shoulders, and she'd discarded the
bandage on her forehead.

If he hadn't known better, he never would have suspected that she'd
been in the hospital emergency room less than twenty-four hours ago.  A
hell of a lot had happened since then, but only one fact stood out:

Stefan Phillips was Laurel's father.

Consciously, David put his disappointment behind him.  He wasn't angry
at Amanda.  It was more the opposite.  He was relieved that she hadn't
purposely kept Laurel's birth a secret from him.  She simply hadn't
told him because it wasn't any of his business.  He wasn't the
father.

And Vonnie's perception of him was true.  David wouldn't reject Amanda
because she'd had another man's child.  Laurel was still an asset as
far as he was concerned.  And Amanda?  She was now--and always would
be--one of the best things that had ever happened to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right," she said.

"I took some aspirin."

"Let me check that head wound."

"Stop being a doctor, David.  I want to talk about the person who
attacked me."

"The motive was money.  It's obvious.  Somebody must have paid him to
come after you."

"Who?"

"I'll take a wild guess and say it was the person who planned the bank
robbery."

"Why?"

Again, David thought the conclusion was transparently obvious.

"They want you out of the way.  You must know something that could
implicate the criminals."

"I can't think of anything."

"Do you have your memory back?"

"It's getting better."  Her eyes took on a soft, dreamy look as she
concentrated.

"I remember getting up, getting dressed for work and feeding Laurel her
oatmeal and bananas.  I even have a few flashes of the robbery, like
being with Carrie and Tracy and hearing the robber's names.  Then I
woke up in the hospital and saw you."

When her blue eyes stared directly into his, he fe a dangerous tension,
the prelude to arousal.  There was no medical explanation for his
reaction to her.  Nor was there a prescribed drug he could take to stop
the palpable symptoms of desire.  But he could tell that he was coming
down with a bad case of Amanda.  He wanted to make love to her.

His body was on super alert His senses peaked.  He could smell her
clean fragrance from six feet away.  He marveled at the way her dimples
appeared when her jaw tightened.  Though Amanda had an expressive face,
she generally kept herself impassive and cool.  She did the
ice-princess facade very well, but he knew different.  He'd seen Amanda
when she was hot, sweaty and passionate.

He couldn't resist much longer.  Pushing his chair back from the table,
he stood.

"I've got to hit the road.  I suggest you go back to bed."

"I can't sleep.  I have to figure this out."

"As your doctor" -- "You're not my doctor.  My regular physician is
gray haired, never makes jokes and is a woman."  She gave one quick nod
as if her statement was some kind of conclusion.

"Now, what do you think about this Jax Schaffer theory?"

"You mean the idea that the bank robbery was only meant as a diversion
to get the SWAT team out of the way so this super-bad guy could
escape?"

"Is that possible?"

"Sounds too complicated."  As a doctor treating the victims of violent
crime, he knew that the solution was usually simple.

"On the other hand, this Schaffer guy is supposed to be a crime boss.
If he wanted you dead, he'd hire a killer."

Her eyebrows raised.

"Do you think that man who came into my condo was a hit man?"

"Maybe."  The idea of a professional hit man was intimidating, and
David was glad he hadn't been aware of that possibility when he jumped
the guy.  Not that it would have stopped him.  He would have fought a
dozen bad guys to protect Amanda and Laurel.

"I'm going to figure this out, David."

Her expression hardened, and he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Amanda viewed the world as a morass of incompetence, where no one was
as capable as she.  She was about to confront the problem head-on.

"So, you're going to become a super sleuth Columbo in a skirt?"

"A designer skirt," she corrected.

"Only because it's a little hot for a trench coat."

"I know better than to argue with you," he said.

"So here's the bottom line.  You're still not totally well.  You could
still have major headaches and vertigo.  You need to take it easy.
Don't leave the house today."

"But I" -- "No," he said firmly.

"Do your investigating on the phone.  And don't tell anybody where you
are.  Promise you'll stay here."

"I'll try."

Not much of a promise, but he figured that was the best he was going to
get.

"I have to leave, Amanda.  But I should probably take a look at your
stitches before I go.  Did you use antiseptic after your shower?"

"Only a moisturizer."

"Don't move."

David went to the downstairs bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet,
where he found a bottle of antiseptic and a tin of bandages.

When he returned to the kitchen, she was perched on the edge of a
chair, facing him.

Before touching her, David braced himself.  Yesterday, when he'd
treated her at the hospital, it was clinical.  Here in his kitchen,
sharing a cup of coffee, a natural intimacy overwhelmed him.

Carefully, he pushed her bangs aside to reveal her temple.  Though the
area was swollen and discolored, she was healing nicely.  He'd done a
neat job of patching her up using clear surgical thread.

"I don't think you'll have much permanent scarring."

"I hadn't even thought of that.  Will I need plastic surgery?"

"It's up to you.  A slight imperfection might make you more
beautiful."

"You think I'm beautiful?"

"You know what I think."

From the first moment he had seen her, David had thought she was the
perfect blonde.  Not a buxom bimbo but a cool, sophisticated blonde,
sculpted from porcelain.

As he tilted her head toward the light above the kitchen table, his
thumb caressed her jaw, feeling the hard bone beneath her velvet
skin.

His gaze followed the line of her throat to the beginning hint of
cleavage at the scoop neckline of her T-shirt.  Her breasts, he knew,
were full and perfect.

As a doctor, his examination was over.  As a man, he'd just begun to
look.

"Am I all right?"  she asked.

Very much so.

"Yes."

"I don't need to wear that stupid bandage, do I?"

"No."  Her silky hair slipped through his fingers as he raked it back
behind her ear.  The scent of her shampoo teased his nostrils.

"You smell like flowers."

"It's my shampoo.  I told Vonnie to pack everything in my bathroom, and
she was thorough.  Probably a good thing.  I wouldn't want to use that
harsh soap of yours."

He agreed.  Her delicate skin deserved the finest ointments.  She was
so dainty, so utterly feminine.

Since he didn't have cotton balls handy, David saturated a paper napkin
with antiseptic and lightly daubed at the area where her skin had been
broken and he'd sewn her back together.

"That stings," she said with a shudder.

Her slight movement aroused him.  He remembered how she would tremble
when they made love.  Her body was amazingly sensitive.

"I'm almost done," he said, screwing the top back on the bottle.

"After this dries, I'll put on a Band-Aid."

He leaned closer, still holding her hair away from the stitches, and
lightly blew on her skin.

Amanda wriggled on the chair.

"Is that necessary?"

"Absolutely.  Recommended treatment in the first-aid manual."

He was too close.  He couldn't stop himself.  Breathing lightly, he
circled her ear.

She gasped.  Her shoulders stiffened.  "Are you sure you do this with
all your patients?"

His tongue outlined the helix edge of her ear.  Again, he blew
softly.

"David, stop!"

She pulled away.  But when their eyes met, he saw the reflection of his
own desire in her gaze.

"You don't want me to stop."

"No."  She stood.

"I mean, yes."

"You want me, Amanda."  She couldn't deny the sizzling electricity that
flowed between them.

"You want me as much as I want you."

He pulled her into a tight embrace and ravaged her mouth, tasting
deeply of her honeyed passion.  Her body molded to his.  Her lips
parted, and her tongue darted into his mouth.  His need for her almost
overwhelmed him.  His male instincts told him to sweep the coffee mugs
off the table and take her right here.  But he wouldn't allow himself
to lose control, not again.

When he loosened his grasp, she rubbed herself against him, torturing
his hard erection.

Inhaling a ragged breath, he held her away from him.

"I can't let this happen."

He stepped back, and she sank bonelessly into the chair.

"Why not?"

"Things are different now.  You have a child.  I have
responsibilities."

He had to leave.  Now.

"I'll be at work.  I left my beeper number by the phone.  Stay here and
rest.  I'll see you tonight."

Without looking back, David fled from his own desire.

when amanda opened the door to her air-conditioned minivan, the
afternoon heat smacked her in the face.  For an instant, her dizziness
returned and she hesitated, with one sandaled foot in her car and the
other sinking into the steaming asphalt of the Denver General parking
lot.  Her sleeveless, bronze-colored shift felt unbearably heavy, even
though the knit material was lightweight and the above-the- knee dress
was the skimpiest outfit she could wear without feeling unreasonably
casual.  She yanked off the long leopard-patterned silk scarf she'd
worn at her throat for accent.  It was simply too hot for fashion.

Coming here might be a huge mistake.  David had advised rest.  Agent
Metcalf certainly wouldn't approve.  But she'd slept as much as she
could and couldn't bear the inactivity of sitting around the house,
watching soap operas with Vonnie.  Most especially, she couldn't be
comfortable in David's house where every corner brought back memories
of a time when they'd been together, and every window reflected the
guilty feeling that she hadn't tried hard enough to make their
relationship work.

This morning, he'd encapsulated the barrier between them in just a few
words: things were different now because she had a child.  She was a
mother.

It wouldn't be right for them to get together for a fling and then
separate again.  Their relationship needed to be all or nothing.  She
needed to tell him the truth.  Even if things never worked out between
them.  Laurel deserved more than an occasional father.

She entered Denver General, signed in at the guard's desk and picked up
a get-well bouquet at the hospital florist.  From an earlier phone call
to Harry Hoffman, she'd ascertained that he was in a private room on
the fifth floor.  But she hadn't discussed anything else over the
phone. Amanda wanted to talk to Harry in person, to question him about
their "secret."

Taking the elevator to the fifth floor, she inquired at the nurse's
station.

"I'm looking for Harry Hoffman."

"He's a popular fellow.  Fourth door on the left.  You can't miss it.

There's a police guard.  "

"Thank you."

"Tell Harry you're the last one until somebody else leaves.  He's only
allowed to have four visitors at a time."

Though she'd hoped to have a private talk with the injured bank guard,
Amanda would take what she could get.  After identifying herself to the
uniformed policeman in the hall, she pushed open the door to Harry's
private room, where an air of festivity brightened the bland hospital
decor.  There were several bouquets and a bunch of balloons.  Harry's
wife, Muriel, sat closest to his bed.  Frank Weathers paced back and
forth, blabbing.  The head teller, Jane Go- relli, seemed to hang on
Frank's every word.

Frank halted mid-sentence when he saw her.

"Amanda," he said.

"Well, well.  You must be feeling better."

"Better than yesterday," she said coolly.

"I'm sure the board will be delighted to hear of your progress.

There's a meeting tomorrow.  " His eyebrows raised.

"But you've surely been informed."

She hadn't heard.  Though she'd checked the messages on her home
answering machine, there was no mention of a board meeting for Empire
Bank.  The omission worried her.  Her career would suffer if she was
out of the loop, but that was something she'd deal with later.

Disregarding Frank, she approached the bed where Harry sat.  His
expression was stem, but he was almost comical in the outrageous
magenta brocade smoking jacket that he wore over his hospital gown.

There was gauze wrapped around his head like a turban, holding bandages
in place.

"What about you, Harry?  How are you feeling?"

"I'm good."  He straightened his posture.

"I'm ready to get out of this joint."

Muriel patted his hand.

"Settle down, dear.  You're not leaving until tomorrow."

Amanda turned to the small round woman.

"I'm so sorry about everything, Muriel.  This must be difficult for
you."

"I knew the risks when my Harry took a job as a security guard.  When
your husband goes out the door every day with a gun strapped to his
hip, you've got to be prepared for danger."  She took the bouquet and
found a place for it amid the others.

"Thank you for the flowers, dear.  Aren't they nice, Harry?"

Though he made a grumbling noise in the back of his throat, his
fondness for his pleasant little wife was apparent, and Amanda guessed
that he rather enjoyed being fussed over.

"No need for you to be sorry," he said to Amanda.

"The hostile takeover can't be blamed on you."

"Nor you," she assured him.

"You're the best security guard we've ever had."

"Then why did this happen?"  The question came from Jane, the head
teller, who always reminded Amanda of a neat brown wren, an impression
that was enhanced by Jane's frequent choice of brown-and-beige clothing
that matched her dishwater-blond hair.  Her dark eyes darted as she
continued, "I don't mean to put the blame on anybody, certainly not on
either of you.  But how could this terrible thing have happened to
us?"

"Maybe we can figure it out," Amanda said.  She didn't think it would
improve employee confidence to mention her memory loss.

"Jane, why don't you describe the robbery attempt for us from your
perspective?"

"Fishing?"  Frank Weathers asked her.

"I beg your pardon."

"You don't have any idea what happened.  Yesterday, you couldn't
remember a thing."

So much for keeping her memory loss a secret.

"As soon as my concussion heals, I'll recall every detail."

"I wish I could forget," Jane said quietly.  Her sallow cheeks quivered
with the effort of smiling.

"But the victim- assistance woman said it was important to talk about
the hostage situation.  She said I shouldn't repress my feelings."

"You need to talk about it," Muriel said.  Leaving the floral display,
she moved toward the other woman and gently took both of Jane's hands
in her own.

"I've been in therapy for seven years, and I know about these
things."

Swell, Amanda thought.  Just what they needed.  An amateur psychologist
with good intentions.  } Muriel continued, "Tell us about it, Jane. 
How did you feel?"

"Helpless," she said.

"And scared."

"Of course you were.  Those men had guns, didn't they?"

Biting back sobs, Jane nodded.  Her eyes washed with tears.

Imperiously, Amanda watched.  Her chin lifted.  Her shoulders pulled
back.  She'd never been a touchy-feely person.  Too much emotion
embarrassed her.  She didn't enjoy hugging, especially not with an
employee.  It wasn't appropriate, wasn't right.  An individual's
demeanor was a clear indication of breeding and background.

Yet, she understood Jane's trauma.  Though Amanda couldn't recall much
about the attempted robbery, she had a residual sense of panic, anger
and fear--intense emotions that threatened her identity as a bank
president.  It was as if she knew the melody but couldn't remember the
title of the song.

"I was too scared to breathe," Jane said.

"They could have killed us all.  We were trapped.  There was nowhere to
hide."

"Just awful," Muriel said.

"What else?"

"It was ... intense.  I can't explain.  I was..."

"You don't have to explain."  Amanda understood her confusion, her
terror and unreasoning fear.

"I know what you were going through."

"You do?"

"You're going to be all right, Jane."  Though she'd never been good at
sympathetic reassurance, Amanda spoke from the heart.

"We're all going to make it through this."

"You were so brave, Amanda.  You stood up to them."

"Brave?  I was scared as a rabbit."

As she looked at Jane, she felt a kinship.  As hostages, they had
shared a profound helplessness that couldn't be explained.  Emotion
built within Amanda like a tidal wave, eroding her regal control,
crashing against her defenses.

Slowly, Jane approached her, and Amanda stumbled forward.  It seemed
that no one else was in the room, no one else could understand.  They
hugged tightly, sharing their pain.

Never before had Amanda been so demonstrative.  Now she was crying. 
Oh, God, she was ruining her mascara.  Her reputation as an executive
would be decimated.  Frank

Weathers would make sure Bill Chessman and the rest of the Empire Bank
board of directors heard about her breakdown.

But she didn't give a damn.  This time, she wouldn't just get over
it.

She couldn't deny the way she felt.  She wouldn't fight it, not
anymore.

Jane stepped away first.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to grab you like that."

"I'm glad you did."  Amanda was sorry, too.  Sorry for all the years
she'd worked with this woman and had never really seen her.  Things
were different now.

"We've been through hell, Jane.  But we'll stick together and hope the
worst is over."

"I hope so."

"Can you tell me what happened to you at the bank?"

"Ladies," Frank Weathers called out, "we're here to cheer up Harry.

Remember?  "

Dismissively, Amanda said, "Shut up, Frank."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I don't think I will.  It's quite possible that I'm not following
proper bank protocol.  And I don't care."  She squeezed Jane's hand.

"Every single person who was held hostage in the bank needs to talk
about it, to work through it."  i "Fortunately," he said stiffly, "we
have excellent insurance benefits at the bank.  I believe several
visits to the shrink of your choice will be covered."

"Get out," Harry Hoffman thundered.

"I'm looking out for your interests," Frank protested.

"You don't need to be surrounded by weeping women."

"You've got five seconds."  Harry glowered under his bandages.

"Or else I get out of this bed and kick your skinny butt out the
door."

"Fine, I'm gone.  Have a nice little crying game."

When the door closed behind him, Harry patted the edge of his bed.

"Amanda and Jane, come over here."

Amanda perched at the foot of his bed and looked toward Harry
expectantly, like a little girl waiting for her story time Two days
ago, she never would have shared her fear.  She would have been on
Frank's side as they both sprinted toward career advancement.  But now
it felt right to talk with the bank guard and the head teller.  They
were the victims;

they were the survivors.

"You start.  Harry."

"I was in the video-surveillance room, keeping an eye on the cameras.

A guy came into the room.  He was wearing a black knit cap, which I
thought was pretty weird for July.  Then he pulled the ski mask over
his face.  He was holding a gun on me.  "

"To get to the surveillance room, he must have walked through the
bank," she said.

"And he didn't have his mask pulled down.  That means we must have a
video picture of him."

"Doesn't matter," Harry pointed out.

"The cops have one guy under arrest.  Another one is here at the
hospital.  The third guy is the one who made the escape, and there are
lots of pictures of him.  He's still at large."

"With Carrie.  She's still a hostage," Amanda said.  She and Jane
exchanged a look and shuddered at the thought of what Carrie might be
going through.

"Anyway," Harry said, "the guy in the mask told me to back up.  He went
to the computer and keyed in the code to turn off the video
surveillance.  Then he ordered me to walk to the door.  Halfway across
the room, I went for my gun.  That's when he knocked me out."

"Back up a minute," Amanda said.

"He knew the correct computer information?  How is that possible?"

"I kind of wondered about that.  As far as I know, only you and the
people at Summit Security have the codes."

She didn't need to be reminded.

"Maybe it was some kind of computer-hacker thing.  Is that possible.
Harry?"

Relieved, Harry nodded.

"You don't suspect me, do you?"

"Of course not," she said firmly.

"You're the best security guard we've ever had."

"You see?"  his wife said.

"I told you so.  You aren't going to lose your job."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Amanda reassured him.  Then
she turned to Jane, "When did you first realize there was a robbery in
progress?"

"Well, it wasn't hard to figure out," she said.

"There were three of them.  All with black masks.  All with machine
guns.  They ordered us to lie down on the floor.  Facedown."

As she relived the moment, Amanda saw the panic return to Jane's
eyes.

"It's okay.  Go on."

"I was too far away from the counter to press my silent- alarm
button.

I curled up on the floor and stayed there, praying that nobody would be
hurt.  "

Amanda hugged her again.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through this."

"It's not your fault."  } But it was.  The robbers had chosen this
particular branch of Empire Bank for a reason.  They seemed too
professional to simply wander into a bank at random.  They had selected
her bank.  Which was why an assailant had come to her condo last night
and tried to kill her.

"Then what happened?"

"I froze.  I really couldn't move.  One of them wanted me to use my key
with you to open the vault, but I couldn't do it.  Carrie took the key
from me and helped you open the vault."

"Carrie took the key?"  That sounded suspicious.

"She had to.  One of the robbers was going to hurt me."  Her dark eyes
pleaded with Amanda.

"I know what they're saying about Carrie, that she's involved with the
robbers.  But I don't believe it for a minute.

She was trying to help me.  "

"I'm with you, Jane.  I don't think Carrie is a criminal."

Jane exhaled and looked down.

"They were unloading the money when the police and the SWAT team showed
up.  And that customer got shot.  I didn't see what happened, but I
heard the gun blast.  It was the loudest noise.  Then the robbers let
all the hostages go, except for you and Carrie and that woman you had
the meeting with that morning."

"Tracy Meyer," Amanda said.  Poor Tracy!  Amanda needed to call her.

"It was awful."  Jane's lips were tight.

"I feel like such a coward."

"You're not," Harry said.

"I should have been there to protect you."

They could second-guess each other forever, but that wouldn't explain
why the robbers had chosen Amanda's bank.  She needed to figure it out,
to clear her reputation, to end the threats.  Harry Hoffman might have
the answer.

Amanda asked Muriel and Jane to wait in the hall for a moment.  After
they'd left the room, she occupied the chair at bedside.

"Tell me about our secret.  Harry."

"I've kept it quiet.  I haven't told the cops or anybody about the
secret camera."

"A camera."  Remembrance teased at the edge of her consciousness.

"Where?  Why?"

"You caught some of that amnesia, didn't you?"

"But it's going away," she said.  She remembered a private conversation
with Harry.  It had taken place a few days ago.

"I suspected someone at the bank of going through my desk, but I wanted
to avoid a confrontation.  I asked you to set up a secret camera in my
office."

"And I got the equipment from Summit to do the job.  The camera only
activated when your desk drawers were opened."

This secret camera could provide important evidence.  If someone had
gone through her desk, he might have taken the security codes that were
used in the robbery.

"I need to get over to the bank," she said.

"Thank you, Harry."

"Don't mention it."  His gaze drifted past her shoulder, and she
turned.

David stood in the door to Harry's room.

His eyes were angry.

"You're supposed to be home in bed, Amanda."

"There's too much else to do."

"I told you to rest," he declared.

"Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the emergency room?"

"There's been another kind of emergency.  The entire hospital is on
alert."

He opened the door wider.  Jane Borelli and Muriel squeezed back into
the room.  Two uniformed police officers were right behind them.  }
"What's going on?"  Harry Hoffman demanded.

"There's been a murder," David explained.

"One of the bank robbers--his name was Temple--was shot and killed."

Chapter Seven

A chill crept into Harry Hoffman's hospital room.  The danger that
started with the robbery attempt at Empire Bank reached out again
toward Amanda.  She shivered, imagining the grip of ice-cold, skeletal
fingers on her shoulder.  She wasn't safe.  Death was in the air.  One
of the robbers had been murdered.

Immediately, her defenses went up.  She stood, straightened her posture
and directed her question to the two officers who stood behind David.

"May I ask how such a thing could happen?  I assume this person was
under police protection."

The cops exchanged a glance before the older one said, "We're not at
liberty to discuss" -- "Might as well tell her," David interrupted.

"Trust me on this.  She'll poke around until she finds out.  Besides,
I'm real sure this story is going to break on the five-o'clock news."

The cop shifted his weight and adjusted the holster on his belt.  His
tone was matter-of-fact as he explained, "The | officer guarding Temple
abandoned his post for a few I minutes.  The killer entered Temple's
room and shot him | once in the face.  When the officer resumed his
duties, he J failed to check on his prisoner.  When the shift
changed,

ten minutes ago, the new officer in charge discovered the murder.  "

The utter incompetence appalled her.

"You don't even know the precise time the murder was committed?"

"That's not my department, ma'am."

Another faceless killer.  Another brazen assault, similar to the one
unleashed on her by the assailant who had come into her condo in the
dark of night.  She was struck by the lack of subtlety in these
attacks. A killer simply marched forth, aimed a weapon and fired.

"Didn't anyone hear the gunshot?"

Harry piped up from his hospital bed.

"Must have been using a silencer.  Some of those babies are doggone
effective.  The only noise you hear is a thud, like dropping a book on
the floor."

Amanda never dreamed it would be so easy to commit murder and walk
away, especially not in a hospital under police guard.  No one was
safe. Her mind flashed back to the image of a man in a black ski mask
aiming a gun directly at her heart.  She could have died.  If David
hadn't been there to protect her.  Authoritatively, Harry asked, "Have
you found the murder weapon?"

"Far as I know," the cop said, "we don't have it."  } "What about
witnesses?"  Harry demanded.

"It's a full-scale investigation."

At one time, Amanda would have taken solace in the assurance that the
police were investigating.  But now?  The sense of security she'd lived
with all her life faded, chased away by brutal reality.

Acting on intuition, Amanda moved toward Jane.  Before the hostage
situation, Amanda had thought of Jane Borelli as a bright, efficient
head teller, capable of supervising others.  They shared a pleasant
working relationship.  Now, they were close as sisters.  Amanda felt
Jane's fear.  Her dark eyes glistened with stark terror.  Poor Jane
trembled at the brink of total collapse.

She grasped Amanda's hand and held on tightly, as if their physical
contact were the rope that kept her from plummeting into dark, endless
despair.

"We survived before," Amanda whispered.

"We'll survive again."

"It's so senseless.  Things like this aren't supposed to happen."

"Life is fragile."  She wouldn't succumb to this devastating
vulnerability.  She wouldn't live in fear.

"But it's precious, too.  We have to grab every moment."

"Excuse me, ma'am," the senior cop said.

"I have to ask all visitors to leave this room."

"I don't think much of your protection," Harry said as he swung his
legs off the bed.

"I'm getting the hell out of here."

"Whoa, there."  David stepped forward.

"I'll notify Dr.  Spangler."

"You don't get it, Doc.  I'm leaving.  I don't want to stay here
anymore."

David appeared to be near the end of his patience.  His expression was
haggard.  Dark circles ringed his eyes.  A smear of blood stained the
front of his pale blue scrubs.

"Lie down.  Harry.  You can't leave until your doctor releases you."

"The hell I can't."  He turned to his wife.

"Muriel, where are my pants?"

"I've had it," David growled.

"Don't give me crap, Hoffman.  There's been a murder in the hospital,
and I'm not in the mood to play games."

"You can't keep me against my will."

"Lie down before these officers put you under arrest."

"On what charge?"

"Suspicion of murder," David said.

"Have you left this room in the past hour?"

"I went for a walk.  To test my balance, get my sea legs."  Harry drew
back his chin like a turtle going into his shell.

"Are you accusing me of killing that guy?"

"You could have done it," David said.

"Oh, really," Amanda protested.

"Harry didn't" -- "I'm making a point," David said.

"This situation is serious.  It's life-and-death.  All of you people
need to cooperate without fussing and without questions.  Do you read
me, Harry?"

Resentfully, he climbed back onto his bed.

"Loud and clear, Doc."

"Good."  David transferred his steely gaze to her.

"Amanda, you're coming with me."

Though she didn't like being ordered about, now probably wasn't the
best time to raise objections with David.  He appeared ready and
willing to throw her over his shoulder and physically remove her from
the room.

Amanda gave Jane's hand a final encouraging squeeze and preceded David
into the hallway.

"Was that really necessary?"  she asked.

"Did you have to be so mean to Harry?"  i "Don't tick me off, Amanda." 
, He paused at the nurses' station and told the RN in charge to contact
Dr.  Loretta Spangler and have her check on Harry Hoffman before he
tied his bedsheets together and escaped from his room.  Then he herded
Amanda into the elevator.

"Where are we going?"  she asked.

"Don't talk," he said.

"Don't even think about giving me a hard time."

Her annoyance built as she followed him through the first-floor lobby
and out the exit, where they walked through a newly erected metal
detector.  In the parking lot, he led the way past four police
cruisers. Spotting her minivan, he escorted her to it.

Finally, he turned to her.

"Go home."

But she wasn't prepared to leave.

"Doesn't Temple's murder sound a lot like the attack on me?  Of course,
it can't be the same guy, because he's in custody.  But I need to
figure out the connection.  Possibly, Agent Metcalf could-" "You need
to go home."  His voice rasped like a knife blade grating against
stone. Anger tensed the muscles and tendons in his arms.

"Go back to my house, lock the door and stay inside."

"I won't," she retorted.

"And I don't appreciate you ordering me around."

A vein in his forehead began to pulse.  Though it was hot outside, his
red complexion had nothing to do with sunburn.

"You're in danger."

"It's my danger.  My choice."  If she gave in to her fear, she'd be
cowering in a corner, weeping and helpless.  That wasn't her way.

"If I choose to handle these threats by investigating them, that's my
option."

"Use some common sense.  Yesterday, you were a hostage.  Last night,
you were almost killed by an assassin.  How much can you conveniently
arrange to forget?"

"I didn't ask for memory loss," she said.  Her own temper rose to match
his.

"You're not being fair."

"Damn it, Amanda.  Ignoring your own personal safety is bad enough, but
you need to think about Laurel."

How dare he drag her daughter into this!  Furious, she went up on her
toes and got right in his face.

"Are you saying I'm not a good mother?"

"I'm saying that if you get yourself killed playing detective, your
daughter will suffer.  You're all she's got."

"She has a father," Amanda said.

"Where is he?"  He gestured wide, encompassing the parking lot, the
hospital, the entire state of Colorado.

"Where is the supposed mystery dad?  Is he invisible?"

"Unfortunately, he's not."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, forcing herself to remain
silent.  This certainly wasn't the way she wanted to break the news
that David was a daddy.

Turning away from him, she stared at the far end of the parking lot,
where the police had set up a barricade in front of a long line of cars
trying to exit.  She pointed.

"Look."

"A stop-and-search," he said.

"I guess I can't leave," she said smugly.

"It appears the crackerjack Denver police department is in the process
of closing the barn door after the cows have run away."

"Oh, this is great!  Just dandy."

He paced two steps away from her, raised his arms as if imploring the
heavens, then allowed them to drop to his sides.  For a moment, he
stood very still.  Then his shoulders began to shake.  When he
confronted her again, he was laughing, i "David?"  Had he snapped?

"Are you all right?"

He exhaled a final chuckle.

"I guess this is what they call payback time."

"Whatever do you mean?"  "As you know, I spent some time being an
irresponsible son of a bitch.  Everybody else had to look out for me
and cover my butt.  Now, I'm trying to do the sensible thing, and
everybody else is nuts."

"I'm not."

"Whatever you say, Nancy Drew."  He started back to 7

ward the entrance.

"Come on, let's go back to the hospital and wait for things to settle
down.  You stick with me."

"Isn't it against hospital policy for me to follow you around?"

"I've already broken most of the rules," he said.

"Might as well give the disciplinary committee a few more infractions
to consider."

"Disciplinary committee?"

"According to some people, I'm too arrogant to be a good little
resident.  Dr.  Loretta Spangler filed a complaint about my behavior
yesterday.  According to her, I shouldn't have released a certain
patient who refused a CT scan."

"I'm so sorry," she said.  It was her fault.  If she'd disrupted his
career, she would never forgive herself.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No."

"But if I can help" "No, Amanda."  Stuffing his hands in his pockets,
he sauntered under the covered walkway leading to the main building.

"Being a bank president doesn't give you any influence at the hospital.
And, by the way, you're not a detective, either.  Don't mess with
things you don't understand."

"What's the alternative?"  she asked.

"How about this--leave the doctoring to the doctors and the detective
work to the cops."

"I can't stand around and wait until the next time I'm taken hostage.

The next time an assassin comes into my bedroom with a gun, I might not
be so lucky.  "

"You've never been a passive woman."  A smile quirked the corner of his
mouth.

"I like that.  Especially in the bedroom."

Amanda definitely wasn't going there.

"I'm going to fig dure this out, David.  With or without your help.
Now, let's consider Temple's murder.  What was the motive?"

"Sex or money," David said.

"What do you think about sex, Amanda?"

Ignoring his innuendo, she said.

"I think Temple was killed so he wouldn't give information to the
police."

"Sounds reasonable."

"What information did Temple have?  Who could he hurt?"

"The other two bank robbers?"  David guessed.

"But one of them, Sarge, is already in custody.  The other, Dallas, is
the subject of a manhunt.  How could he hurt them?"

"By testifying against them.  Or he could give away the hideout
location of the guy who grabbed your friend Carrie."

"True."

She mulled over a wider range of possibilities.  There was a question
in her mind about the computer codes to turn off video surveillance at
the bank.  Not to mention the escape of a federal prisoner, which took
place at the same time as the robbery.  There was Carrie's possible
involvement to consider.

"How could Temple be murdered in the hospital?"  she questioned. 
Though security at Denver General wasn't topnotch, the murder of a
guarded prisoner seemed impossible.

"Do you think his police guard was bribed to look the other way?  What
if the police are involved?"

"It would explain a few things," he said.

"Like the sloppy hostage negotiations.  And the pathetic inability to
nab this Dallas character."

"This might be a conspiracy, David."

"And who's behind it?"

"Jax Schaffer," she said.

 y when david dragged Amanda back to the emergency area, Stella didn't
seem surprised at all.  The appointment nurse gazed at Amanda through
her huge eyeglasses and said, "You look a lot better today."

"Thank you.  I don't suppose you happened to find my shoes or my
purse?"

"The Guccis?  No luck."  She shook her head.

"You might check with the cops.  But I wouldn't advise doing it right
now.  They're a little paranoid."

David counted three uniforms in the immediate vicinity.  Their presence
seemed excessive and useless; he agreed with Amanda's assessment that
it was too late to lock the barn door.  Whoever killed Temple was long
gone.

"Doc Haines," Stella said: "There's a guy in the waiting area who
insists on talking to you.  Not a patient.  His name is Stefan
Phillips."

David was tired, frustrated and worried about Amanda's safety.  Her
cheery assumption that they might be involved in a giant crime
conspiracy didn't brighten his mood.  A confrontation with Stefan--the
father of Amanda's child, who should have done the right thing and
married her-would not be the high point of his day.

He turned to her.

"Come on, Amanda.  I'm sure the only reason Stefan wants to see me is
because he's looking for you."

In the emergency-care waiting room, Stefan lounged casually in a far
corner.  In his madras plaid shirt, preppy shorts and loafers without
socks, he looked like an L.

L.

Bean catalog model.  The moment he saw Amanda, he came at her with his
arms outstretched.  Ignoring David, he enveloped her in a muscular
embrace.

"Where have you been?"  Stefan asked her.

"I went to your condo this morning, and the concierge told me you'd
spent the night somewhere else."

"Didn't Vonnie call you?  I gave her a list of people to contact."

"There was a message on my machine, telling me that you were fine and
would be in touch."

She stepped away from him, and David had the impression that Amanda
didn't particularly like for Stefan to hold her.  She seemed
unresponsive and cold.

"As you can see," she said, "the message was correct.  I'm just
fine."

"Come on, Amanda.  I deserve more than a message from the nanny."

David had to agree.  Stefan was Laurel's father.  Even if Amanda had
refused to marry him, she should keep him informed as to the
whereabouts of his daughter.

David was actually feeling a little bit sorry for Stefan.  He looked
genuinely upset as he nodded a greeting to David and said, "I'd like to
talk with Amanda alone."

' "The nurse said you needed to see me.  Is there anything else I can
do for you?"

"No, Doctor," Stefan said.

"I was looking for Amanda and Laurel, and I thought you might know
where they were."

"Then I'll leave you alone."  He started back toward the emergency-care
unit.

"David, wait!"  Amanda caught hold of his sleeve.

"I'Al just be a minute.  There really isn't anything else for Stefan
and I to talk about."  * "But there is," Stefan insisted.

"Damn it, Amanda, I'm talking to your mother more often than to you.
What's the matter?  At least tell me where you're staying."

"I'm recuperating at a friend's house," she said.

"My condo was broken into last night, and I don't feel safe there."

"Broken into?  Why didn't you call me?"

"Because I didn't need to."  She forced a smile.

"I'm sorry if you were worried, but I really can take care of myself.
You don't need to feel any obligation to look out for me and Laurel."

"But I want to," he said.

"You could stay with me.  Better yet, we could go out of town for a few
days.  Take a trip.  You could forget all about this mess at the
bank."

"Forget about it?"  She raised an eyebrow.

"What an odd suggestion!

I've been desperately trying to remember.  "

David averted his gaze.  Their conversation made him distinctly
uncomfortable.  There should have been an intimacy between these two
people.  They shared a child; they should be close.  Instead, they
acted like casual acquaintances.

Amanda concluded with, "I'll call you later, Stefan."

He caught hold of her arm and spun her around to face him.

"Don't brush me off.  Tell me where you're staying."

"Let go of my arm."

"I know what's best for you, Amanda."

But when she yanked away from him, he let her go.  He wasn't willing to
stand up to her, nor to fight for her.  His blue eyes were sullen
beneath his floppy blond hair.

"Goodbye," Amanda said as she headed back toward E.

R.

David fell into step beside her.  He didn't understand how her
relationship with Stefan worked, but he sure as hell wasn't going to
let her roll over him like a bulldozer.

David directed her back to the emergency-care unit, where two armed
security guards flanked the metal detector.

"Don't ever do that to me again, Amanda."

"What?"

"Keep me standing around while you have a personal conversation."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"That was rude.  But I really didn't expect Stefan to be so...
concerned."

David didn't get it.  Stefan was the father of her child.  Of course
he'd be worried when he couldn't reach them.  No matter how big a jerk
he was, the guy had some rights.

"What's wrong?"  she asked.

"When you freeze somebody out" you don't do it halfway.  " But he knew
that.  When she'd ended their engagement, she'd never looked back.

After their one-night stand, she closed the door tight.

"It must get lonely," he said, "being an ice princess."

She winced slightly.

"You have no idea."

"Then give it up.  Do a meltdown," he advised.

"You'd be surprised at how much fun you can have with the rest of us
warm-blooded creatures."

Instead of backing off, he saw a warmth in her eyes.

"You know what, David?  That's exactly what I'm going to do.  A
meltdown."

Back at Stella's desk, he picked up his next assignments.  The patients
were stacking up, and he needed to get back to the job of doctoring.

"Stella, I need for Amanda to stay here with you for a while.  I'll be
done shortly."

"Sure thing."  Stella patted a plastic chair at her left.

"Sit down.

Make yourself comfy.  "

"Thank you."  ^ As soon as David disappeared into an examination room,
Amanda was aware of the other woman's scrutiny.  Those huge eyeglasses
focused on her like a microscope on an amoeba.

"So," Stella said, "what's the deal with you and Doc Haines?  You used
to date, didn't you?"

"We were engaged."

Stella clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"You're getting back together.  I can tell."

Just like Vonnie.  Rather than argue with Stella, who seemed to be in
control of this area, Amanda offered a congenial smile.

"Nothing is impossible."

"It would be good for him," she said.

"Doc Haines acts like a goofball half the time, but he's a family man
waiting to happen."

"David?"

"You should see him with kid;-He's super."

From watching David with Laurel, she knew he had a touch with children.
Still, that was a long way from being a good father.  Or a husband.

"So?"  Stella encompassed her in a questioning gaze.

"Are you going to start dating?"

Amanda was uncomfortable with this topic.  She'd never been one to
confide the details of her love life.  An ice princess didn't do that
sort of thing.

"Would you excuse me?  I need to use the ladies' room."

"Down the hall."  Stella pointed.

"Take the first left, then left again."

"I'll be back."

Her headache had started up again.  The dull throbbing behind her eyes
reminded her of how tired she was.  Tonight, there would be no waking
every four hours.  She could really sleep, and she was looking forward
to uninterrupted slumber.

In the bland hospital bathroom, she stood at the sink, washed her hands
and checked her appearance in the mirror.  The bruises from her head
wound were mostly hidden behind her bangs.  She didn't look much
different now than she had before the robbery, but something inside her
was different.

People don't change.  And yet, she felt a transformation growing within
her.  She was melting.  It was more and more difficult to assume the
guise of an ice princess.  This morning, when David had kissed her,
sensuality had flooded her body and she'd felt truly alive.  This
afternoon, she'd embraced the head teller at the bank, and they'd wept
in each other's arms.  Maybe she was becoming a warm-blooded human
being, after all.

She heard the door to the bathroom open and turned on the faucet.

Water splashed in the sink as Amanda laved her hands as carefully as a
surgeon preparing for a life-or-death operation.  There was so much to
consider.  Not only the bank robbery, but a life-changing
transformation.

"Amanda," said a familiar voice.

Startled, she looked up.  A brunette woman 'in a white lab coat stood
beside her, reflected in the bathroom mirror.

"Carrie?"

the afternoon sunlight beat down hard on the pavement, but the Iceman
ignored the July heat.  He never sweat, never let nerves get to him.

Today had been a test.  And he'd succeeded.  He'd stayed cool.

Earlier today, when he'd been inside the hospital dressed in scrubs and
a cap like a surgeon, he hadn't flinched.  He'd timed it exactly
right.

Everybody had known Temple would have to be killed if he was taken into
custody.  The guy was too weird to be trusted--always blabbing about
reincarnation.

Temple's murder shouldn't have been the Iceman's responsibility.  He
wasn't a professional killer, not like the assassin he'd hired to kill
Amanda in her condo.

After that failed attempt, Iceman figured he'd kill Temple.

It went down according to plan--smooth as a touchdown pass on third and
ten.  Every detail clicked into place.

He'd found the gun right where it was supposed to be.

At the exact right moment, the paid-off cop guarding

Temple had stepped away from his post.

That had been the plan.  The Iceman had done his part.

He'd found Temple, sedated and asleep in his room.  His right leg in a
cast, and the left cuffed to the bed.

The Iceman had taken out his gun and screwed on the silencer.  The last
whisper from his conscience had told him that killing Temple was wrong.
But he'd barely heard it.  Murder was the culmination of years of petty
crimes.  After he committed murder, people would take him seriously,
he'd thought.  He'd get noticed.

He'd stuck a pillow over Temple's face and fired through it.

He'd left the room and taken his time cleaning off the blood and
getting rid of the gun.  Everything had gone according to plan.  He'd
committed murder, and he was getting away with it.

His next job was to get rid of Amanda.  It ought to be a snap.

Chapter Eight

Amanda reached out toward the wall mirror in the hospital bathroom,
fearing that she'd lost her mind and that the face reflected beside
hers was an illusion.  Carrie couldn't possibly be here!  She was a
fugitive.  Her photograph was being broadcast on every news station and
published in the newspaper.  The entire police force was combing the
city, searching for her.

An elfin smile lit up Carrie's features.

"You're all right.  I'm glad."

"Are you really here?"

"Yup."

Amanda spun around, half expecting that the slender woman in a white
lab coat with an official-looking hospital- ID badge would disappear
like smoke when directly confronted.  But she didn't vanish, not even
when Amanda looked directly into her friendly gray eyes.  Nor did
Carrie dissolve when Amanda pulled her into a ferocious hug.

She hugged back.

"Amanda?"

"What?"  An amazing sense of relief washed through her.  She'd been so
worried.

"What is it?"

"What's happened to you?"  Carrie whispered.

"I don't think you've ever hugged me before."

"Of course I have."  Gasping for breath, Amanda drew back and dabbed at
her eyes, wiping away the beginnings of happy tears.

"Well, perhaps I've never physically embraced you, but I've thought
about it.  In my mind, I've hugged.  What does it matter?  You're here.
You're safe."

"It matters a lot," Carrie said.

"You've changed."

"People don't change."  She studied her friend carefully, noting the
odd, brownish hairdo that really didn't become her at all.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"It's a wig."

A disguise.  The only reason for a disguise was to avoid recognition.

Apparently, Carrie was not being held against her will.  She was in
hiding.

"You're not really a hostage."

"Not in the usual sense," she admitted.

"But don't draw any conclusions from that.  Do you remember when I
first came to you, before you gave me the job at the bank?"

"You were on the run.  Escaping from your abusive ex- husband."  Amanda
had known Carrie's identification was false and that her bonding
certificate was forged.

"I trusted you then."

"Trust me again," Carrie said.

"Did you have anything to do with the robbery?"

"No way," she said.

Could Amanda believe her?  Carrie was hiding from the police.  She was
at the hospital just after Temple had been murdered.  She had guns in
her apartment and knew how to use them.

Amanda's heart wanted to believe that her old friend was innocent, but
the evidence weighed heavily toward her guilt.

"Listen, Amanda, I don't have much time.  I wanted you to know that the
robbery was an inside job.  Somebody in the bank gave information to
the robbers so they could override the security system."

"Who?"

"I don't know.  But these are violent, terrible people.  You've got to
be very careful."

Bits and pieces of memories swirled like debris in a tornado.  There
was one thing that concerned her more than anything else.  She could
live with the danger and the threats, but she couldn't stand any more
self-doubt.

"Was I part of the robbery?  Tell me."

"Can't you remember?"

"I have short-term memory loss from the concussion."  A dark fear crept
over her.

"I was involved, wasn't I?  You and I planned some sort of" -- "You and
I?  How could you even think that?"  Carrie stared hard into her
face.

"I've known you since grade school, and you're the most law-abiding
person in the world.  You'd never even steal a stick of gum, much less
commit a major felony."

"But I had access to all the computer codes to override security.  And
I can't remember.  I just can't remember."

"Use your brain, Amanda.  You've got everything going for you.  A
career that you love.  A beautiful daughter.  You don't need to rob a
bank."

She checked her wristwatch.

"I've got to go now."

"Don't leave.  If you turn yourself in to the police, they'll protect
you."  ;

"I have to do this my way.  Can you trust me?"

A brave smile touched the corners of Carrie's moutn, and Amanda found
herself smiling back.  She wanted to believe in Carrie's innocence. 
And in her own.  She wanted desperately to believe they were both
victims of a larger plot, a vicious scheme that had killed and wounded
other innocent people.

As Carrie went toward the door, she pulled a pair of black-framed
glasses from her pocket and slipped them on.  It was disconcerting to
realize how easily she could blend into the hospital population.  Of
course, there were always a lot of people coming and going, especially
at a city hospital, but Amanda had always thought there would be better
security.

"Carrie!"

"What is it?"

"I'm going to figure this out.  In the meantime, watch out for
yourself.  I don't want anything bad to happen to my best friend."

"I've never seen you like this."  She held out her hand, and Amanda
gripped it tightly.

"It's a change for the good."

She pulled her hand away, waved and slipped out the door.

after finishing his shift at four o'clock, David changed from his
scrubs into street clothes and headed toward Stella's emergency-room
counter.  He wasn't surprised that, during their time together, Amanda
and Stella had become bosom buddies.  Despite their difference in
income and status, they were both highly organized women who reigned
supreme in their separate domains.

With their combined powers of persuasion, they'd managed to summon
Agent Metcalf and Agent Hess to Stella's desk.

As he approached, David nodded to Hess.  The young, skinny FBI agent
had been friendly to David when they discussed the midnight assailant
who'd tried to kill Amanda.  Though David suspected Hess's confidential
attitude might be part of a good-cop-bad-cop scenario, he was willing
to take that chance in exchange for a contact with someone who was on
the inside of the investigation.

Hess winked back at David, then turned his attention toward Amanda, who
was addressing Agent Metcalf.

"There's one more thing," she said.

"My purse and my shoes."

Stella passed out copies of a typed, one-sheet description of the
missing items under the heading, Wanted!  Reward!

Amanda said, "I've distributed this information throughout the
hospital," she said.

"But, if you ask me, I think the shoes and purse are still at the bank,
and that's where we should search."

"The bank is a crime scene," Metcalf informed her.

"Of course," Amanda said smoothly.

"And I'd like your permission to enter and search the premises."

"All this for a pair of shoes?"

"May I remind you that I am the president of Empire Bank.  And I'm not
above pulling strings to get what I want."

David noted Metcalf's tension.  Beneath his tidy white shirt and
Windsor-knotted necktie, Metcalf's chest heaved.  His breathing was
labored.  It was as if he were being slowly strangled.

"Ms.  Fielding," he said, "the scope of our inquiries has spread
through several law-enforcement agencies and security forces.  We have
included the escape of federal prisoner Jax Schaffer in our
investigation.  The body count, including dead and injured, is
approaching double digits.  My question, ma'am, is, why should anybody
give a good goddamn about your Gucci shoes?"

"It's a clue."  Amanda showed no sign of intimidation.

"The assailant who entered my apartment used a key.  Since I am not in
the habit of dispersing keys to my home, I assume he found the keys in
my purse."

"She's got a point," said Agent Hess.

Metcalf's head whipped around to glare at his partner.

"We don't have time to" -- "There might be fingerprints," Amanda
interrupted.

"Also, if my purse and shoes were in police custody when my keys were
stolen, you might consider police corruption in your investigations.

Will you allow me access to the bank?  "

His resistance slowly deconstructed.  The frustration on his face
looked like a building imploding on itself.

"I'll meet you there, Ms.

Fielding.  Tomorrow.  Two o'clock in the afternoon.  "

"One more detail."  Amanda smiled with deceptive sweetness.

"If Agent Hess isn't already married, I should inform him that my
nanny, Vonnie, finds him very attractive."

"The little redhead?"  Hess grinned in spite of himself.

"I like her, too."

"This is not the dating game," Metcalf snapped.

"Lighten up," Hess said.

"We've got this under control.  Once we take the fugitives into
custody, we" -- "Good day, ladies," Metcalf interrupted his partner.
Briskly, he retreated before Amanda could think of even one more little
thing.

David took his place at Stella's counter.

"Shame on you, ladies.

Having a little fun at the expense of the uptight FBI.  "

"I wouldn't call this fun," Amanda said.

"What do you suppose Hess meant when he referred to the fugitives?"

Stella supplied the answer, "The third bank robber and Carrie Lamb.

They're the main suspects.  "

"But they didn't do it."

She sounded completely convinced, which was enough to make David
suspicious.  What had she been up to?

"Don't be so quick, Amanda.  I think it's safe to assume that the armed
robber who held you hostage was involved in the robbery."

"Of course he's involved.  But he's not the real criminal
mastermind."

"Just a pawn," Stella agreed.  She patted Amanda's shoulder and looked
up at David.

"I like her, Doc Haines."

"I'll bet you do.  Amanda is going to teach you even more tricks about
how to run this area."

"As if I need any help," Stella scoffed.

"If I wasn't sitting behind this desk, the city of Denver would bleed
to death before you doctors got yourselves organized.  Which reminds
me, Doc, the head of administration wants to talk to you."

Couldn't be good news.

"Sorry, I'm off.  And I won't be back until Monday."

"Gotcha.  Have a happy Fourth of July."

As he escorted Amanda through the hospital, David congratulated himself
on avoiding the impending confrontation about his supposedly
unprofessional behavior.  So far, nobody'd had a chance to reprimand
him.  Dr.  Loretta Span- gler and her complaints would have to wait
until after his three-day weekend.

Not that he expected to relax over the Fourth of July.  Not with Amanda
staying at his home.  She'd keep him on his toes, dancing like a
dervish.

As they crossed the parking lot, he observed, "You're quiet."  *
"Thinking," she said.

"I tried to contact Tracy Meyer on the phone and got her answering
machine.  Could we stop by her house?"

"Sure."

As she approached the minivan, a stillness came over her, as if she
were holding her breath.  The sunlight glinted off her shining blond
hair, and the light tan on her bare arms blended delicately with the
darker brown of her sim pie dress.  She was beautiful, but that wasn't
what he noticed.

David studied the diffident set of her shoulders and the stubborn tilt
to her head.  Though he didn't consider himself the most perceptive man
in the world, he could read her moods as easily as he could diagnose
strep throat, and he knew she was withholding information.

"What haven't you told me?"

"The bank robbery was an inside job."  She unlocked the driver's door
on her minivan.

"Why are you so sure?"

"Some things are better left unsaid."

He caught hold of her right hand and deftly took the car keys from
her.

"No more games.  Tell me."

Aghast, she looked up at him.  Her blue-eyed gaze flicked across his
face like a slap.

"I can't believe you grabbed my keys."

"I'm too damned tired to play guessing games."

"I see.  So, you're playing keep away with my car keys instead."

She made an undignified snatch for the car keys, and he held them over
his head.

"Tell."

"No."

"Damn it, woman.  Exactly how many assassins does it take to convince
you?"  He opened the door to her minivan wide, allowing the sweltering
air trapped inside to escape.

"You're in danger."

"Fine.  I'll hire a bodyguard."

Midsummer heat flowed over them like lava, and David's temper was
firing on all eight cylinders.

"There's not a man on earth who can protect you better than I can."

"Oh, really?  Do you have a gun?"

"Don't need one."

"Do you know karate?"

"I know you," he said.

She planted her fists on her hips and scowled up at him.

"What difference does that make?"

"I know what to expect from you.  I know when you're tired, when you're
angry, when you're pleased.  I remember once at a party, you stuck your
nose in the air and acted condescending, but it was because you were
hurt."

"Oh, really?"  She retaliated with a vengeance.

"During your partying days, I would have thought you were too blitzed
to notice anything."

"I always noticed you.  I saw you pretend to' be efficient when you
felt out of control.  Sometimes you say no when you mean yes.  And vice
versa."

He slipped his hand behind her neck.  Beneath her hair, the skin was
moist.

"For example," he said, "if I asked you right now to kiss me, you'd say
no.  But you want to.  You remember what it feels like to have my mouth
on yours."

The chemistry between them was unmistakable.  Her eyes glistened like
cool, soothing ice on this blazing July afternoon, and he longed to
hold her against him.  Signs of her own arousal were subtle.  A
quickening of her breath.  A slight movement toward him.

"I can take care of you," he said, "because I know you, Amanda.  I know
how to protect you from yourself."

He removed his hand from her neck and took a step' back

"Be as stubborn as you want, but you're stuck with me.  You can't stop
me from caring about you.  And about Laurel."

"I don't want you to stop caring."

"What do you want, Amanda?"

Her blue eyes were a sultry invitation, painting an unmistakable
desire.  He gazed at the fullness of her lips.

"I want you to be my friend."  Her chin lifted.

"And I

want you to help me figure out what happened at the bank.  "

He didn't have much choice.  If he wanted to be sure she was safe, he
had to stay with her.  And she was determined to investigate.

"I'll do it.  On one condition."

Her eyebrows lifted.

"What's that?"

He dangled the keys over her head as a reminder.

"No secrets.  No holding back.  You tell me everything."

"Everything?"  Her eyes clouded with doubt, and he could see that she
still didn't completely trust him.  She obviously still remembered the
broken promises when they were engaged.

It killed him to realize how deeply he'd hurt her.  The wound might
never heal, but continue to fester until the only possible treatment
was amputation--cutting her out of his life.  As if he hadn't tried.  A
hundred times, he'd told himself to forget Amanda Fielding.  He'd dated
with a vengeance, hoping he'd find someone else who would take her
place.  Nothing worked.  He might as well cut out his own lungs and try
to keep on breathing.

"Tell me, Amanda.  Why are you so sure that the bank robbery was an
inside job?"

"Someone told me."

"Metcalf?"

"Why would I believe him?  Every time I talk to the man, it's obvious
that he's itching to slap a pair of handcuffs on my wrists."

"Then who?"

"It was Carrie.  I saw her here in the hospital.  She was disguised in
a wig and a lab coat, like one of the doctors."

"Carrie Lamb was here?  At Denver General?"  That took some kind of
nerve.

"How'd she pull that off in the middle of the biggest manhunt in
Denver's history?"

"For one thing, the security at Denver General sucks.

For another, Carrie is amazing with disguises.  Keep in mind that she's
been on the run from her ex-husband for two years.  She even had one of
those little ID badges on her lab coat.  "

"I'm impressed."

"But that's not the important thing, David.  Carrie told me that the
robbers had inside information about the security system at the bank.

She asked me to trust her, and I do.  "

He didn't like the way this sounded.  If Carrie was disguised, she had
to be a willing hostage, which meant she was on the run with the bank
robber named Dallas.  Why did Amanda have to pick a woman who was on
the lam, hiding from the cops, as her best friend?

"Did it occur to you that Carrie herself might be the inside contact at
the bank?"

"Then why would she tell me to be careful?  Besides, she didn't know
all the codes.  Carrie was only a teller."  Amanda pushed the hair off
her forehead.

"It's hot.  Can we go now?"

He nodded once.

"Get in the car.  I'll drive."

"What about your Porsche?"

"Not a problem."  With Amanda belted into the passenger's seat, he
pulled even with the parking attendant's booth at the exit and called
to the young man inside, "Tom, would you do me a favor?"  * Eagerly,
the uniformed attendant came to the window.

"The Porsche?  Can I drive the Porsche?"

David handed over the keys.

"You know where I live.  Get it back tonight."

"You bet!"

Amanda shook her head disapprovingly.

"Honestly, David.  You know he's going to take the car for a joy
ride."

"The Porsche might as well have some thrills," David said as he turned
the minivan's air-conditioning to full blast and rolled up the
window.

"God knows, I don't."

As he exited the parking lot and headed east on Eighth Avenue, David
belatedly considered the implications of volunteering to help Amanda
investigate.  This sure as hell didn't seem like the act of a sane
man.

A year and a half ago, after she'd dumped him for the second time, he'd
vowed never to get involved with this woman again.  Yet, he'd signed on
for another bout, another chance for her to tap-dance on his heart.  He
had to be crazy.

But something about being with her felt so damned good.

"Don't forget," she said.

"We're going to Tracy Meyer's house."

"Why?"

Amanda recited an address in the Washington Park area.

"Don't worry.

This visit doesn't have anything to do with dangerous investigating.
"

"Then why?"

"I remembered something that happened right before the attempted
robbery.  I had a meeting with Tracy and Carrie, and I should have
handled it differently."

The air-conditioning had made the temperature inside the van
bearable.

"How so?"

"She wanted access to a trust fund, and I was advising against it.

Instead, I should have figured out a way to help her.  Maybe a loan,
even though she's mortgaged to the max.  "

David glanced in the rearview mirror.  He was slow in pulling away from
the stop sign, but the pearl-gray Cadillac sedan behind him was waiting
patiently.  Maybe a little too patiently.

"Could you do that?

Make a loan with no collateral?  "

"An unsecured signature loan.  Of course I can do that.  I'm a bank
president."  With a sigh, she added, "Although,

at present, I don't much feel like an executive businesswoman.  "

"How do you feel?"

"I'm not sure.  At the hospital, I found myself embracing Jane Borelli,
the head teller who was terrified during the robbery.  We were
practically sobbing in each other's arms.  And you know how much I
disapprove of casual hugging and kissing."

"I know."

He made an unexpected left turn, doubling back toward the hospital.

The Caddy followed.  He couldn't see the driver or passengers through
the tinted windows.

"It might be for the best," she said.

"In the past, I've been a little too reserved.  Cold.  Like you
said."

"An ice princess."

"I don't mind thinking of myself as a wintry person, shielded by
glistening snow and ice.  It feels... clean."

"Clean," he repeated.  Though he was listening to her, his attention
was riveted on the Caddy, which followed as he took another sudden
left.

"Maybe I'm on schedule for a meltdown."

"That's good, Amanda."

"No big deal.  It's just a different side to me, and that's not really
a change.  I'm the same person I always was."

"There's nothing wrong with change."  , "It doesn't happen!  I've made
many decisions based on the solid premise that people don't change."

"If you're wrong?"

"Then I've made a lot of terrible mistakes," she said.  The biggest of
which was ending her relationship with David.

"Too many mistakes."

She sank back against the seat, absorbed in her own thoughts.  Amanda
wanted her world to be painted in clean, crisp black and white without
smudging.  Instead, confusion blurred the lines and created ominous
shadows of gray.  She was afraid, torn with a fear that went deeper
than threats to her life.  Could people change?  Had David changed?

She'd based her decision to end their engagement upon the firm belief
that he was too wild and irresponsible to be a satisfactory mate.  When
she'd discovered she was pregnant, she'd called upon that core belief,
knowing that to tell him would only bring heartache for both of them.

But if he'd changed.  In turmoil, she studied his profile.  The firm
jaw and strong nose contrasted full lips that always seemed to be
grinning. There were no secrets in his face.  He had always been
unfailingly honest, willing to admit when he erred.  During their
engagement, he'd piled one broken promise on top of another, but he'd
never made excuses when he'd missed appointments or shown up late in a
partying mood.

"Take a look through the back window," he said.

"Do you recognize the car?"

She twisted in her bucket seat to see through the rear of the
minivan.

"Gray sedan with tinted windows?  It's not familiar."

"He's tailing us," David said.

"And he's not being subtle about it."

Another assailant?  She cinched her seat belt more tightly, almost
relieved to abandon her agonizing emotional doubts in the face of a
tangible threat.

"Are you sure they're following us?"

"Pretty sure."

"Can you speed up and lose him?"

"If I was driving the Porsche, you bet.  But this happens to be a
minivan.  It's not the vehicle of choice for a highspeed chase."

When he stopped at a traffic light, she peered at the Caddy behind him.
Were they really being pursued?  It seemed so unlikely in this
stop-and-go traffic that led south to the suburbs.  On either side of
University Boulevard were towering, leafy elms and neat brick houses.
Sprinklers watered the well-tended lawns.

At the cusp of rush hour, commuters were headed home from work.

Parents transported their children to Little League games or picked
them up from day care or drove to the supermarket.  Real danger seemed
inconceivable.

Yet, she felt her heart beating faster.  In the airconditioned van,
she'd begun to sweat.  Was it only last night that a masked assailant
had pointed a gun to her breast?

"I wish we were armed."

"No guns," he said.

"In the E.R."  I've treated too many accidental-gunshot wounds.  "

Much as she would have liked to debate NRA policy with him, now was not
the time.

"This is different."

"Maybe."  When the light turned green, David eased forward.

"I'm going to lead him to the police station at I25."

"Then what?"

"I'll pull up close to the door of the station house.  You jump out and
run inside as fast as you can."

"What are you going to do?"

"The same."  His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.

"See if you can read the license plate."

She angled between the seats, trying to catch a glimpse, as David
changed lanes.

"I can't see the plates.  There's another car between us."

"That's good.  The police station is right ahead.  I'll speed up to
give us more time to get inside.  Take off your seat belt and get ready
to run."

Chapter Nine

Amanda braced herself as David floored the accelerator.  After two
screeching blocks, he careened into a hard right turn at the police
station.  The minivan fishtailed into the lot.  He parked at the
entrance and yelled, "Go, Amanda."

She flung the door open and leaped out.  Her sandals weren't made for
sprinting, nor was the narrow hem of her dress.  Still, she raced up
the sidewalk, expecting to hear the sound of gunfire, to feel the slam
of a bullet in her back.

"Ms.  Fielding, wait!"

At the door to the police station, Amanda halted.  Ms.  Fielding?  That
didn't sound like a thug.  The voice was female.

Amanda turned and stared.  The Caddy had come to a stop nose to nose
with the minivan.  Elaine Montero stood at the passenger's side,
microphone in hand.

"Ms.  Fielding," she shouted again.

"May I ask you a few questions?  I'm not going to hurt you."

Amanda's momentary relief was overwhelmed by righteous indignation.

How dare this newsperson stalk them!  Quite obviously, Elaine Montero
had the scruples of a cockroach who didn't have the sense to hide when
the lights came on.

She smiled and waved.

"May I call you Amanda?  Just a few questions, please."

David advanced on her.

"I'd call this harassment, Ms.  Montero," "It's my job, Doctor.  I want
to be the first to get an interview with Ms.  Fielding, and she hasn't
made herself available to the media."

She flashed a professional smile as Amanda came nearer.

"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Amanda."

Apparently, Elaine chose to disregard their earlier encounter, when
Amanda had been a mohair-clad bag lady in a wheelchair.

"I have no comment."

"You've been really elusive.  Nobody even knows where you're
staying."

Amanda grasped the passenger's door handle on the minivan.

"I intend to keep it that way."

"Last night, you were attacked in your home by an armed assailant,"
Elaine said.

"How do you know that?"

"You reported it to the police, and I have a scanner.  I've been
following this story.  Especially from your angle."

"No comment."

"Think again, Amanda."  Her voice turned harsh.

"You need to make a statement.  I'm giving you a chance to defend
yourself."

"Against what?"

"Allegations have been made."

Elaine's companion had emerged from the driver's side.  He opened the
rear door and took out his portable camera, which he hefted onto his
shoulder.  In minutes, Amanda's likeness would be captured on video for
the ten-o'clock news.

If she hopped into the van and drove away, there would be a story about
how she was avoiding the ace news 3

woman's questions.  The implication, of course, would be that Amanda
had something to hide.

Annoyed, Amanda strode toward Elaine and her cameraman.  As she walked,
she adjusted the hem of her sleeveless bronze shift, wishing that she'd
worn something more professional.  Would it help if she added the
leopard-print neck scarf?  She decided against it.  Better to be
understated.

She assumed the poised, professional facial expression that had helped
gain a promotion to bank president before her thirty-fifth birthday.

"Ms.  Montero, I will make a statement."

David stepped up beside her.

"You don't have to talk to her."

"If people are accusing me, I have to face them."  She spoke softly so
the camera's microphone wouldn't pick it up.

"If I don't answer, it looks like I have something to hide."

"Be careful.  This Montero woman is slick."

She smiled coldly.

"So am I."

When the cameraman was set, Elaine offered her introduction, "We're
talking with Amanda Fielding, the president of Empire Bank who was held
hostage yesterday during the attempted robbery."

Unsmiling, Amanda stared into the eye of the camera.

"I would like to take this opportunity to express my sympathy for those
who were injured during the robbery attempt, most especially Mr.  Harry
Hoffman and Mr.  Horst Nyland.  Our prayers are with them.  Throughout
the hostage situation, I was proud of the Empire Bank employees.  They
behaved with courage and common sense."

Elaine Montero said, "According to my sources, the security system at
the bank was bypassed."

How did she know?

"It's not appropriate for me to discuss the ongoing investigation."

"But you're the bank president.  Don't you know how the security
works?"

"Of course."  She looked directly into the eye of the camera and
launched into a dull explanation that couldn't possibly be chopped up
to provide an embarrassing sound bite.

"Every person who has been inside a banking institution has noticed
video-surveillance cameras.

They're placed above eye level and maintained by a security company.
"

Amanda listed frames per second, looping of videotape, transmission and
playback capability.  In an equally detailed manner, reminiscent of her
college math professor who could talk for hours on the Pythagorean
theorem, she described the silent-alarm buttons and standard banking
procedures.  When Elaine Montero's eyes had glazed over, Amanda asked,
"Shall I continue?"

"God, no," Elaine said.

"What do you know about the robber who's still at large?"

"I'm sure the police and federal agents are doing everything in their
power to apprehend" -- "Would you comment, please, on Carrie Lamb, the
teller who's with the fugitive."

Amanda turned her gaze from the camera to the reporter.

"Ms.  Lamb is a model employee.  I pray for her safety."

"When you hired her, were you aware that her identification was false?"
*' Suppressing an urge to snarl at the overaggressive reporter, Amanda
responded, "This is the second day Carrie Lamb has been held hostage by
an armed, dangerous man.  It's hard to imagine the terror she must be
feeling and the helplessness."

"But Carrie Lamb is suspected of" -- "Until I was held hostage and
beaten unconscious," Amanda said as she turned toward the camera again,
"I felt safe.  Like any other citizen, I thought, I can walk down the
street without looking over my shoulder.  I'm not afraid.  No one can
touch me.

But that's not true.  Fear is now my ever present companion.  I realize
just how vulnerable we all are.  I'm sorry, Ms.  Montero, there is
nothing else I can say.  "

Amanda pivoted quickly and slipped inside the minivan.  She closed the
door with a click and glanced at David.

"Let's get out of here before she tries to follow us again."

David flipped the minivan in reverse and circled the parking lot to the
exit.

"You handled that well."

"My years as a lawyer ought to count for something," she replied.

"Even though I never got to present a defense in a courtroom, I was
always good at closing statements."

"Maybe you missed your true calling."

"I love my career at the bank."  And she was disturbed by the sly
accusations from Elaine Montero, the implications that she and Carrie
were somehow involved in the robbery attempt.

"Do you really think people are saying I was involved in the
robbery?"

"I've never paid much attention to gossip."

That was a gross understatement if she'd ever heard one.  David had
almost complete disregard for the opinions of others.

"If I remember correctly, you used to start rumors about yourself to
see how quickly they would spread."

"It's that practical-joke habit.  I've never broken it."

She leaned back against the seat and sighed heavily.

"I think we should just go home."

"But you wanted to see Tracy."

"Not today."

Today had been an emotional roller coaster, with more hugging than
she'd done since her college graduation.  She didn't wish to face even
one more tense emotional confrontation.

That wish, however, was not to be granted.

As soon as she walked in the door to David's house, Vonnie called to
her.

"Thank goodness you're here.  Amanda, your mother's on the phone."

Amanda glanced at her wristwatch and mentally calculated the time
difference.  It was almost six o'clock in Denver, which meant it was
just about seven in Chicago--well past the beginning of cocktail
hour.

Long ago, she'd learned not to contact her parents in the evening when
her father was sure to be incoherent.  But this couldn't be helped. 
Her mother had probably been watching the news and was worried.

Amanda accepted the portable telephone that Vonnie thrust toward her
and went to sit at David's kitchen table.

"Hello, Mother."

"Finally, we've reached you!  We've been so upset."

"Vonnie called you yesterday, didn't she?"  Amanda had given the nanny
a list of several routine calls.

"Oh, yes.  She rang me up," her mother said dismissively.  When she was
nervous, Shirley Fielding's voice assumed a fake, upper-crust British
accent, even though she was born and raised in the American Midwest.

"And she telephoned again today with the changed phone number.  But I
wanted to talk to you in person, darling."

"And here I am," Amanda said.  ;

"The news said you were in the hospital."

"I had a bump on the head.  A slight concussion.  It's nothing
serious."

"Shall I come out and help you?"  her mother offered.

"No," Amanda said quickly.  The last thing she needed was to be
burdened with the additional responsibility of caring for her
parents.

"I'm fine.  Don't pay any attention to the news reports.  I'm sure
they're exaggerated."

"And what should I tell the others?"

"The others?"

"A dozen people must have called me to inquire about you.  Really,
Amanda, I had no idea you were so popular."

Her mother had been a sought-after debutante.  Popularity was important
to her, and Shirley Fielding had always been disappointed that her only
daughter excelled in academics rather than cheerleading.  Only
grudgingly did she offer approval for Amanda's career achievements,
even though Amanda's financial success allowed Shirley and Jack
Fielding to maintain the life-style to which they'd become
accustomed.

According to Shirley, Amanda should have married well and gotten her
husband to contribute to the Fielding family coffers.  As if marriage
could be counted as an achievement.  As if Amanda would feel justified
in dumping all her family baggage onto a husband.  It took all her
willpower not to point out to her mother that her own dysfunctional
marriage was not exactly a portrait of heaven on earth.

Brusquely, Amanda said, "Tell the others whatever you want, Mother."

"There's no need to be snippy, young lady.  I'm merely expressing a
natural concern."

"Naturally."

She couldn't help but notice that Shirley hadn't yet inquired about
Laurel.  When Amanda had opted to be a single mother, it was the last
betrayal of her supposed position in society.  Shirley had been
devastated.  which was fine with Amanda.  She hadn't been having a baby
to please her parents, anyway.

"I say, Amanda..."  She sounded like the Queen Mother.

"This phone number is familiar.  You're staying with David Haines,
aren't you?  Is your engagement back on?"

"David is a friend."

"Then I suppose it's off with that handsome Stefan Phillips."

"It was never really on," she said.

"Don't be sly, darling.  I know you and Stefan are much, much closer
than you've ever admitted."

Whatever she wanted to believe was fine.  Amanda didn't have the will
to argue.  And there was the slight possibility that she could turn
this conversation into something useful.

"Mother, do you remember a man named Jax Schaffer?"

"Yes, I do.  Such an unusual first name.  He had an operation for
cancer of the larynx and always talked in a whispery voice.  Rather an
attractive man, if I remember correctly."

Her mother was possibly the only person in the country who hadn't heard
of Jax Schaffer's arrest and the trial at the federal courthouse in
Denver where the Oklahoma City bomber trial had taken place.  "Was he
ever a guest at our house?"

"I don't believe so.  He was more your father's friend."

That figured.

"Is Daddy home?"

"Yes, but he's indisposed."

"I'd like to talk to him, Mother."

"Hold on."

Holding the portable phone, Amanda left the kitchen and went into the
spacious front room.  Vonnie was nowhere in sight, and David had taken
over with Laurel, playing peekaboo.  He stretched out full length on
his stomach on the carpeted floor.  On a pink blanket with satin
edging', tiny Laurel lay facing him.

David covered his eyes with his hands, then popped out at her.  The
game was much to Laurel's delight.  She giggled hysterically at the
funny faces he made.

The fading light of dusk gave a softness to the warm picture of a
father and daughter at play.  David's attention was completely consumed
with their game.  He seemed content, even happy.

Amanda was certain that when she finally got up the courage to tell him
that he was the mystery dad, David would be a devoted father, the kind
of father that Laurel deserved.  Unfortunately, she feared he would
never be able to forgive her for deceiving him.  This time, she was
sure, David would dump her instead of the other way around.

Sadly, she could have avoided this tragedy if she'd been smart enough
to believe him when he told her he'd changed.  If only she'd trusted
him.

"Hello, princess."

Her father's voice came through the telephone, and Amanda returned to
the kitchen.

"Hi, Daddy.  I wanted to tell you not to worry."

"I knew my little girl could handle a couple of bank robbers.  No
problem."

Ironically, her irresponsible father had always believed in her.  He'd
dreamed big dreams for her future.

"You're right.  Daddy.  I can handle this."

"Just another game of cops and robbers.  Bang, bang and they're
dead."

He chuckled.

"You want me to come out there and give you a hand, kiddo?  I can catch
those bad guys for you."

Even after all these years, he was quick to make promises that he could
never fulfill.

He continued, "I'll come to Colorado and lasso those bastards with a
rope.  Yee-haw!  That's how you do things in the Old West.  Am I
right?"

"Sure, Daddy."

"How's my little Laurel?  I've got that picture you sent me in my
car."

Probably, the photograph was taped right above the Breathalyzer lock
her brother had installed so their father wouldn't drive while under
the influence.

"She's beautiful, Daddy."

"So were you when you were a baby.  It was the happiest time in my
life."  For a moment, he almost sounded sober.

"There's something very special about a father and daughter."

"I know."

Amanda choked back a sudden poignant pang.  She couldn't deprive Laurel
of that relationship with David.  It was too important.

"Your mother said you wanted to talk about Jax."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"He's a crook, Amanda.  But I'm sure you know that.  I saw on the cable
news that he just escaped from federal custody in Denver."

"That's right," she said.

"I hope you're not involved with the likes of Jax Schaffer."

"No, Daddy.  I saw his picture on the news, too.  When I recognized
him, I wondered if he was ever close to our family."

"Not to us," her father said.

"Jax had a hell of a lot more money than I've ever seen.  The bastard
used to think he was better than me because he owned the prettiest
little yacht you ever saw.  He was one of those outdoorsy types, always
had something to prove.  The bastard."

' She knew this conversation was about to head down a familiar path,
complaining about the unfairness of life and her father's business
misfortunes.

"Gotta go," she said.

"I love you, Daddy."

"That's my princess.  Love you, too."

She returned to the front room, where David and Laurel had progressed
to a game where he held her fingers and she practiced walking on her
tiptoes.

As Amanda sank into a chair, he glanced at her.

"There's nothing like a baby to make you feel that all's right with the
world."

Laurel shouted, demanding his full attention.

"That's right," he said to her.

"You're my favorite kind of person."

"I had no idea you were so fond of infants."

"Neither did I. It was sometime during my first years of internship
that I decided to specialize in pediatrics.  I got to spend a lot of
time with these little critters."

He directed Laurel's staggering walk across the carpet to her mother,
and Amanda lifted the baby onto her lap, giving her a tight squeeze.

David stood over them.

"Hungry?"

"Starved."

Right on cue, Vonnie came back into the room.  "About dinner," she
said.

"I did some shopping today.  We can have a salad.  Or pasta."

"Not to worry," David said.

"Tonight, we're having my specialty."

"What's that?"

"Pizza."

While he went to the kitchen to call pizza delivery, Vonnie sat on the
sofa opposite Amanda.  The red-haired nanny projected a very
businesslike attitude as she opened a spiral notebook in her lap.

"I

made all the phone calls you wanted," she said.

"And I have a lot of messages for you."

"Did you manage to contact Bill Chessman, the chairman of the board for
Empire Bank?"

"What a nice man!  He said you should take care of yourself and feel
better.  There's an emergency board meeting tomorrow morning at ten,
but he doesn't expect you to be there."

Still, it might be wise to attend.  With all the rampant accusations
and suspicion, Amanda should show herself and clear the air.

"What else?"

"I left a message on Tracy Meyer's phone machine.  I said you were
concerned about her.  And that you were feeling much better."  Vonnie
consulted her written list.

"I left pretty much the same message for everybody else you asked me to
call.  I returned calls to a couple of people who wanted to know if you
were coming to the Fourth of July party at the country club.  And Frank
Weathers.  God, he's called ten times.  I wrote it all down for you to
look at."

"Thank you, Vonnie.  I don't know what I'd do without you."

When Amanda reached over and patted her hand, Vonnie looked
surprised.

She tossed her red curls.

"I kind of enjoyed it.  Being a nanny is just my summer job, you know.
I was thinking that when I went back to school in the fall, I might
change my major to business."

"Excellent choice.  I'm sure you'll do very well, and the world needs
more female executives."

"Thanks, Amanda."  She beamed, then looked back at her notes.

"And I've talked to Agent Hess three times.  I think he likes me."

"Did he have any information?"

"He asked that David call when he got in."  , Interesting, she thought.
David had cultivated a contact with the FBI.

That might be extremely useful in their investigating.

"Be sure to tell him."

It was much later when David finally made contact with Agent Hess.

At ten o'clock, Laurel had settled down for the night, and a weariness
surrounded Amanda.  She stared at the moving images on the television
screen, not seeing what she was watching, not hearing the laugh
track.

She longed for a good, long, deep sleep.

The news came on with Elaine Montero reporting.  In spite of her
obnoxious attitude, she presented herself well on the television.  Her
black hair shone with highlights.  Her navy blazer looked serious and
efficient.  On the screen behind her was a picture of Empire Bank.

"Look," Vonnie said.

"She's talking about your robbery."

"It's not my robbery."

A particularly unflattering photo of Amanda took the place of the bank,
and Elaine Montero said, "Earlier today, I spoke with bank president
Amanda Fielding.  When asked about the alleged possibility that the
bank robbery was an inside job, Ms.  Fielding had this to say."

Amanda winced as she saw herself on tape.  And she heard her own voice
say, "I'm not afraid.  No one can touch me."

"What?"  She bounded out of her chair.  How could Elaine Montero do
that? With clever editing, she'd made it look as if Amanda were
boasting that she could get away with the robbing a bank.

"Did you really say that?"  Vonnie asked.

"It's out of context.  I was talking about fear and the hostage
situation."

David returned to the room.

"What's going on?"

"That Montero woman made me look like a criminal," she ranted.

"You were right, David.  I never should have spoken to her."

When she turned to him, she noticed a solemnity in his expression.

What else could possibly go wrong?

"Did you talk to Agent Hess?"

"That was him on the telephone."

"Did he say anything about me?"  Vonnie asked.

"No."  David focused on Amanda.

"The bank robber in l custody, the one named Sarge, has offered to
testify in's exchange for immunity."

"Good," she said.

"Now, maybe the FBI will get to the \softline bottom of this."  } "I'm
not so sure," David said.

"In his confession, Sarge I implicated you."

Chapter Ten

When Amanda wakened the next morning at seven, the first thing she
noticed was an absence of pain.  No more headache.  The air-cooled
temperature in the bedroom felt pleasant.  Bright morning light around
the window blinds promised another sunny day.  Refreshed by the night's
sleep, her sense of optimism lasted for nearly thirty seconds before
she remembered that her life was like the Titanic and she'd just hit an
iceberg.

She buried her face in the pillows and groaned.  Thanks to Elaine
Montero, everyone in the city of Denver suspected Amanda was bragging
about how she could get away with robbery.  Sarge the bank robber had
done his best to convince the FBI.

It was definitely time for damage control, because she couldn't abandon
ship.  Amanda had never been one to give up without a fight.

Given the circumstances, the ten-o'clock meeting of the Empire Bank
board of directors took on far greater importance.  She needed to
attend and convince the directors that she wasn't a crook and could
manage the Cherry Creek branch of the bank with renewed efficiency and
skill.  She had to save her job.

After the meeting, she would meet Agent Metcalf at the bank.  Though
her supposed reason was to search for her purse and shoes, Amanda
really wanted to find the secret camera that she and Harry Hoffman had
rigged to see if anyone was getting into her desk.

More than likely, the FBI had already found the camera.  If so, she
wanted the information.  She had to solve the crime.

That should do it.  Save her job and solve the crime.

Throwing off the sheets, Amanda went to the playpen and checked on her
sleeping baby before rushing through her shower and hair wash, being
careful near the stitches where her scalp was still tender.

Though her headache had not returned, she packed a vial of aspirin into
the white purse that matched her open-toed shoes.  The accessories
complemented the subtle white-and- peach pattern of her silk shirtwaist
dress.  She added a gold choker and matching earrings.  For the first
time since the robbery, she applied full makeup.

Then she tiptoed downstairs to sneak in a cup of coffee before Laurel
awakened.

David was already in the kitchen, hovering over his coffeemaker waiting
for the final brew.  Though his hazel eyes were sleepy and his dark
stubble was almost a beard, he looked sexy in pajama bottoms and a
lightweight robe that hung open, revealing his muscular chest and flat
torso.

From the many mornings they'd shared, she knew wha^ to expect from him.
David was slow to waken but not at all irritable.  Before his first cup
of coffee, he moved like a three-toed sloth.

"You look great," he murmured as he turned toward her.

His bathrobe flapped open, and her gaze rested on his dark, flat
nipples.  The pattern of black, springy hair arrowed down past his
belly button.

"You look pretty great yourself."

"Where are you going?"  he asked.

"Board meeting downtown."

The coffee was done.  David sloshed the dark liquid into his mug and
took a sip.

"Good," he grunted.

Amanda took down the daisy mug from the cabinet and prepared her coffee
with milk and sugar.  She'd always enjoyed mornings with David, when
his black hair fell artlessly across his forehead and his manner was
unguarded.  They had never argued in the morning.

"Know what I miss?"  he asked, staring into his mug.

"Amaretto in my coffee."

"For breakfast?"

"Anytime of day.  And Irish coffee."  A lazy half smile lifted the
corner of his mouth.

"It's better to be liquor free, but sometimes, I miss it.  A lot."

When she heard Laurel's morning chirp, she and David turned
simultaneously toward the baby sound.  Already he'd taken on the role
of caregiver.

"Should I get the baby?"  he asked.

"You're all dressed up.  Probably don't want to get messy."

"I can take care of Laurel without mussing myself."  Automatically, she
set down her coffee mug and prepared :a bottle.  Laurel was always
hungry when she woke up.

"This is usually the way I'm dressed before work."

"It must be hard to leave her every morning."

"Sometimes."  A familiar knot tightened in her stomach.

"On the other hand, I really appreciate my time with Laurel because I
can't always be with her."

"What made you decide to be a single mother?"

"When I found out I was pregnant, I was glad.  More than glad--I was
ecstatic.  From that moment on, the world was a brighter, more
wonderful place.  I could always hear birds singing."  She screwed the
nipple onto the bottle.

"I wanted a baby.  In my thirties and unmarried, being pregnant was a
precious gift."

"Did Laurel's father feel the same way?"

She'd never given him the opportunity to say how he felt.  Selfishly,
Amanda had been so wrapped up in herself, her own happiness, that she
never even told him.

She'd been so horribly wrong.  She had to tell him.

"About Laurel's father..."

"I already know," he said.

"Vonnie told me."

Her eyelids squeezed shut.  Tension spread through her, radiating from
the gnarl in her gut, setting her nerves on edge.  But how could Vonnie
have told him?  Vonnie didn't know the identity of Laurel's father.

"I was disappointed," he said.

So deeply, she regretted not telling him the truth.  She should have
believed in him, believed that he could change.  If she could turn back
the clock, she would do everything differently.  But it was too late.

"David, I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am."

"It's not your fault.  You can't blame biology."

"I guess not."

He came up behind her and lightly placed his hands on her shoulders.

The gentleness of his touch was a painful rebuke.

"It all turned out for the best.  Laurel is a wonderful kid."  Quietly,
he said, "I wish she was my daughter instead of Stefan's."  , Stefan's?
He thought Laurel was Stefan's child.  She had to explain to him.  Say
it!  Get it over with!  Even if it meant losing him forever, she had to
tell the truth.

She turned in the circle of his arms and looked up into his eyes.

Therein, she saw forgiveness.  He didn't hate her.  There was even a
hint of caring.  In his smile, she saw the possibility of a future for
them.

"Do you believe in second chances?"  she asked.

"Sure.  Even third chances," he said.

She'd made a mistake in not telling him, but it wasn't a fatal error.
There was still hope for a relationship between them.  She just had to
be sure to explain it all correctly.  From upstairs, Laurel gave a
demanding shout at the precise moment that the phone rang.  The moment
was broken, and Amanda knew she needed more time to figure out how to
explain it all to David.  She stepped away from him as both Laurel and
the phone shrieked again.

"You get the phone--I'll grab Laurel."

"The machine will pick it up.  I'm going to get dressed."

"I thought you had the day off."

David stretched his arms over his head and issued a huge, gaping
yawn.

"I'm coming with you."

"But David-" "Dangerous stuff is going on.  You need a bodyguard, and
I'm your man.

Whether you like it or not.  "

She liked it.

david took the porsche, which had been returned without dents or nicks
by the parking-lot attendant.  In case of another high-speed chase, he
wanted to be prepared.

But the drive to her board of directors' meeting in downtown Denver was
uneventful.  The streets were a little less crowded than usual, since
this was the Friday before a holiday weekend.  Because there were fewer
cars, he easily found a parking space near their destination.

David straightened the knot on his Jerry Garcia necktie.  It was the
first time this summer he'd worn anything but casual clothes or
hospital scrubs.  The navy sports jacket felt like too much clothing
for July.

As he and Amanda crossed the street from the parking lot to the
twenty-two-story Heiser Building, he realized that he hadn't been
downtown, except for Rockies baseball games, for most of the summer.

The trendy LoDo area had once been his favorite stomping ground, and he
hadn't even missed the constant parties.

"I'm getting old," he said as they entered the skyscraper.

"Are you referring to those few little gray hairs at your temples?"

"My hair?"  He hadn't even thought about his hair turning, though his
brother, Josh, who was only four years older, was almost completely
gray.

"At least, I'm not going bald."

"I like the gray," she said.

"You look distinguished."

"That's just another word for old."  He turned toward her.

"You're not aging.  If anything, you're prettier now than ever
before."

"Thank you."

Her smile was pure delight.  Her lipstick matched the peachy color of
her dress, and she looked cool and sweet as a butterscotch sundae.  But
he didn't make the mistake of assuming she was a fluffy bit of
confection.  Amanda was wearing her game face--the cool, poised mask of
a highly trained executive.

Outside the boardroom, they ran into the chairman, Bill Chessman.  He
was an average-sized man with a high forehead and a thick black
mustache.  David was acquainted with him from the country club, where
Chessman had the reputation of being one of the most consistent golfers
in town.  They shook hands.

"What are you doing here, David?"

"Keeping an eye on Amanda."

She said, "David was the doctor who treated me at Denver General."

"A doctor?"  He gave him a thumbs-up sign.

"Good for you, David."

Chessman focused his attention on Amanda.

"I'm glad you could make it.  Are you sure you've recovered enough from
your injuries to be here?"

"Mostly," she said.

"If you want a professional opinion, ask David."

Chessman turned to him expectantly.  His eyebrows, as thick as his
mustache, rose.

"Well?"

"Amanda sustained a concussion from a blow to the left temple.  When
the ambulance brought her in, she was also suffering from shock.  As
you can see, she's recovering nicely."

"That's a relief," he said.

"I'd heard you had amnesia and could barely remember your name."

"Who told you that?"  she asked.

"Must have been Frank Weathers.  He's been real helpful, keeping us
updated.  It's lucky that at least one of the branch executives wasn't
inside the bank during the robbery."

"How lucky," Amanda said coldly.

"But you're all right?  You don't have any of this amnesia?"

Again, she turned to David.

"I'll let the doctor explain."

"It's called short-term memory loss," he said, "and it's typical of a
concussion.  A few recent events are unclear.  She might never have
total recall of the incidents surrounding the traumatic injury."

"The robbery attempt itself?"  Chessman asked.

"Correct."

"Doesn't matter," he said.

"We have reports from several other employees, and I want to commend
you, Amanda, on the way you handled yourself."

"Thank you, sir."

"I have only one question," he continued, "before we go into the
meeting."

"Yes?"

"I talked to the president at Summit Security.  He told me the silent
alarms were disabled and the surveillance cameras shut down according
to all the proper computer codes.  A genius computer hacker could have
done almost all of it."

"Except for the one last code," she said.

"I spoke to Harry Hoffman, and he told me that before he was knocked
unconscious, the robber plugged in the final code to shut down the
system."

"Who had access?"  Chessman asked.

"As far as I know," she said, "only you and me.  I keep all my computer
information in a locked drawer in my desk."

"Someone could have broken into your office.  Or into mine."

"Yes, sir."

Chessman encompassed David in his rueful glance.

"It's a hell of a thing.  We have all this expensive high-tech security
equipment, and the police were alerted to the robbery by an anonymous
911 call.  A hell of a thing."

He ushered Amanda into the meeting, and David took a seat outside to
wait for her.

The last person bustling up to the door was Frank Weathers.  He glanced
at David, then did a double take.  His peri- feet grooming was
off-kilter this morning.  The silk handkerchief in his lapel pocket was
askew.

"Dr.  Haines," he said.

"Why are you here?  Of course, it's lovely to see you, but" -- "I
brought Amanda."

"Oh.  Is she well enough to attend?"

David recalled his first encounter with this ferret-faced man and said,
"She's marvelous."

The doors to the conference room closed behind Frank, and David settled
back to wait.  He was glad to be outside instead of sitting around the
table.  He'd gone through a couple of years of being bored by meetings
associated with the family construction business.  Bored by the
board.

He straightened his necktie.  Big business definitely wasn't his
thing.

Even at the hospital, he was always in trouble with the committees.

The restrictions of group decisions made him want to be outrageous.

After flipping through a magazine and pacing around the carpeted area
outside the conference room, David was beginning to feel stifled.  How
could Amanda function in this atmosphere?  She must always be holding
back, impersonating an ice princess.

At noon, the boardroom doors opened.  Frank Weathers was the first one
out.  His ferrety little face flushed bright red, a symptom of stress
and possible high blood pressure.  This time, he didn't bother with
being friendly to David.

"Give Amanda a message for me," he said.

"Tell her she has enemies on this board."

"Are you one of them?"

"I could be."  He tugged on his shirt collar as if to let out steam.

"God, I hate being on the hot seat."

As soon as Amanda emerged with her features paralyzed in her typical
ice-princess smile, David whisked her away from the others, claiming
they had another appointment.

"Thanks," she whispered in the elevator going down.

"The key to a good meeting is a fast exit."

David suggested lunch at a restaurant around the corner from the bank
on the Sixteenth Street Mall.  They were soon seated at a booth inside,
and the air-conditioning was pleasantly cool.  Still, Amanda looked
wilted.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"Elaine Montero must die," she said.

"Everybody saw the sound bite on the news.  No matter how I explained
it, I look like an idiot for talking to her."

"But that's just public relations.  Did they talk about anything
important?"

"I don't know where these people get their information," she said, "but
they knew about Sarge's testimony.  He said I was the inside contact at
the bank, and I made it possible for their computer expert, disguised
as a technician from Summit Security, to get inside our systems."  She
gave him an ironic smile.

"This guy must be really good.

I think he was the robber called Dallas.  He not only fooled me, but he
got past the people at Summit Security, the bank guards and even Frank
Weathers, who signed him in one time when I was out of the office.  "

"Frank, huh?  He's a little weasel."

"He had all kinds of information on Carrie.  The only way he could have
gotten this stuff was by sneaking it out of my office."

Their waitress came, and David was pleased when Amanda ordered more
than a salad.  Now wasn't the time to be eating like a waif.  She
needed protein for energy.

"Is there any way you can prove that Frank got into your office?"

"That's what I hope to find out when we meet Agent Metcalf at the bank.
Harry Hoffman and I put a secret camera in my office.  It activated
when anybody turned the key;

in my locked desk drawers.  "

"You did that before the robbery," he said.

"Why?"

"Once, when I came back from lunch, my desk drawers were unlocked.

It's possible I forgot to lock up.  Nothing was missing, but it worried
me.  "

"When was this?"

She hesitated, thinking.

"It was two weeks ago today.  I remember because I went out to lunch
with Stefan, and he was talking about his rock-climbing trip, which was
scheduled for the next day, Saturday."

Stefan.  David hated the sound of his name, but he wasn't going to
dwell on it.  This morning, they'd cleared the air, and he meant to
make a fresh start with Amanda.

The waitress returned with their beverages, nonalcoholic, and David
took a sip.  The aroma of food was enticing, and he was getting
hungrier by the minute.

"The good news," she said, "is that I looked at some photos of the
interior of the bank, and I remembered details about my meeting with
Tracy and Carrie.  Everything is coming back to me, David."

"Tell me about it."  "There was a gun.  Tracy had a gun that belonged
to her deceased husband in the safe-deposit box, and Carrie removed the
cartridges and dropped them on the table."

"You talked about this before," he said.

"You remembered the bullets making a plopping sound, like drops in a
bucket."

"I know," she said.

"Do you remember anything else about Tracy?"

She thought for a moment, then her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, my God!"

"What is it?"

"I just had a flash.  I was lying on the marble floor near the teller's
counter, and Tracy was holding me, taking care of me.  Even after I'd
been so coldhearted in our meeting, she was an angel."

"It's good that you're remembering," he said.  The recollections were
returning to her conscious mind more quickly.  Within a few days, he
expected her to have almost total recall.

"I really need to tell Tracy I'm sorry.  All she wanted was to use the
money from her stepdaughter's trust fund so she can stay home with the
child."  Amanda's gaze turned inward.

"I advised against touching the principal because of legal problems.
But I was wrong."

He raised his eyebrows.

"What did you say?"

"I was wrong?"

"That might be the first time I've ever heard you admit that you'd made
a mistake."

"Oh, please.  I'm not that rigid."

"Yeah, you are."  He regarded her curiously.

"And you even want to apologize to Tracy?"

"I want to make things right for her."

"Amanda, honey, I hate to say this, but maybe you got clunked on the
head for some big, fat cosmic reason.  You've changed."

"So have you," she said.

"You've gone back to medicine.  You're fulfilling your dream to be a
doctor."

"We're both different," he said, thinking of the fresh start.

"But we're still the same."

"What do you mean?"

He came around the table and sat next to her on the booth.  Holding her
face in his hands, he forced her to look into his eyes.

"You and I, we feel the same way now as we did five years ago when we
were engaged.

Do you remember the good times?  "

"Yes," she whispered.  , "Do you remember what we were like in bed?"

"David, we're in a public place.  We shouldn't be" -- "Let me remind
you."

He gently tasted her lips.  As his tongue penetrated the satin interior
of her mouth, he felt her responding to him.  Lightly, he caressed
her.

His hand rested on the edge of her firm breast.  His thumb flicked
toward her nipple.

When he was certain that she was aroused, he returned to the opposite
side of the booth.

"I'm right."

"You're insufferably arrogant."

The dreamy look in her blue eyes told him she liked it.  Tonight, he
decided, they would share his bed.

at two o'clock, they parked in the lot outside Empire Bank.  The
destruction to the premises made Amanda's stomach turn.  A lot of the
windows had been broken and were covered with ugly sheets of plywood.

As they approached, she cringed to see the trampled landscaping.  The
double doors at the entryway were draped with yellow crime-scene
tape.

The glass on one door was shattered, and shards of glass sparkled
underfoot.

"Looks like a war zone," she commented.

"How could I have forgotten what happened here?"

"Maybe it's better that you don't remember," David said.

An armed guard from Summit Security Services stood beside the doors.

Unlike Harry Hoffman, he was youthful and muscular as a commando.  He
asked, "Can I help you?"

"We're waiting for Metcalf and Hess," David said.

"Federal agents."

"Yeah, I know.  Metcalf is inside."

Amanda peered through the one glass door that was still intact.

"It's dark in there.  Is the electricity turned off?"

"That's right."

"And how many guards from Summit are on the premises?"

"Me and one other guy."

This morning at the board meeting, when they'd discussed beefing up
security until the building could be repaired, Amanda had voted to
increase the number of guards, especially at night.  Though the Wells
Fargo trucks had removed the cash from the vault on the first floor,
there were many other bank assets, including the safe-deposit boxes on
the lower level, that needed protecting from looters.

The guard unfastened the yellow plastic tape and pushed open the
door.

He called out, "Hey, Metcalf.  Somebody's here to see you."

The increasingly tense FBI man appeared at the door.  He'd taken off
his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt.  He was
sweating profusely.

"Hot enough for you?"

"Are you all right?"

"There's no air-conditioning inside," he explained.

"It's like an oven."

"I'm here to look for my purse and shoes," she said.

He held open the door and gestured with a large flashlight.

"Don't touch anything unless I give the okay.  We've completed our
search, but this is still a crime scene."

Amanda eyed him suspiciously.  He was being awfully cooperative.  Every
other time she'd met with Metcalf, it was a confrontation.  Why the
change in attitude?  Logically, he should be even more hostile since
Sarge had named her as a coconspirator.  Amanda had the feeling she
might be walking into a trap, and she stepped cautiously into the
bank.

The familiar lobby had been transformed from a clean," well-lit space
to a dark ruin with only enough diffused light from the few unbroken
windows to make it possible for them to avoid bumping into things.  And
it was hot, unbearably hot.

David pulled off his sports jacket and necktie.

"So this is where you work.  Empire Bank and Sauna."

"It's awful in here."  She looked toward Metcalf.

"When will we be allowed to repair this mess?"

"Soon," he said.  The beam of his flashlight darted up and focused on a
security camera that hung like a bat near the ceiling.

At the board meeting, Frank Weathers had offered to supervise the first
phase of cleanup involving the insurance adjusters, and she was
grateful for his offer.  It would be too painful to tally up these
losses.

She peered through the sweltering air.  Dingy shadows streaked the
teller counter.  On the floor, directly in front of her, was a
rust-colored smear.

Amanda blinked.  Behind her eyelids, she saw fresh, crimson blood
oozing across the pristine marble floor.  That man had been shot.  He'd
been dying.

Just as quickly as it had come on, the memory vanished.  But the sense
of shock and nausea remained.  A metallic stench stung her nostrils.

Her knees felt weak, and she grasped David's arm for support.

Stepping around the dried blood on the floor, she crossed the lobby
into the area where five personal bankers, including Frank Weathers,
worked.  Their desks had been trashed.  One of the computer monitors
was shattered.  Papers and files littered the floor.  It was going to
be hell sorting everything out.

She pointed toward the corner.

"My office is back there."

A brass plaque on the door read, Amanda Fielding, President.

She waited for Metcalf to open the door.  Compared to the outer area
where the SWAT team must have broken through, her office was in good
shape.  Natural light blazed through the corner window that faced
west.

The north window was covered in plywood.  One of the chairs rested
upside down opposite her desk.  A blank computer screen stared
darkly.

Her bookshelves and credenza appeared to be untouched, but paper from
her In box spilled across the desk.

She bent down and picked up an unbroken bud vase from the floor.

Beside it lay a single rose, dead and withered.

"I like flowers on my desk," she said quietly.

"It'll be okay," David assured her.

"After they clean up."

"It'll never be okay again," she declared.  The destruction.  The
violation.  The indelible blotch on her career.

"My God, did they have to destroy everything?"

"The SWAT team isn't real tidy," Metcalf'said without apology.

With one window boarded over, her office felt small and claustrophobic.
She wanted to escape from here as quickly as possible.

"I usually keep my purse in the corner closet.  Is it all right if I
look in there?"

"Don't bother."  He reached behind the desk and held up her purse.

"Is this it?"

"Yes."

He dropped it in the middle of the desk.

"Open it and see if anything's missing."

She unfastened the snap.  By the morning of the robbery, she'd been
carrying this large purse for a couple of days and had accumulated the
usual junk: a lipstick, a nail file, a receipt from the drugstore, a
napkin from a coffee shop.  In the front pocket was her cell phone and
pager.

"My wallet," she said.  A quick check showed her credit cards and cash
had not been stolen.  Her checkbook was also tucked inside.

She fished around on the bottom.

"Here they are.  My keys."

"Interesting," Metcalf said.

"Then we can assume that whoever used a key to break into your house
didn't steal it from your purse."

"I guess not."

"Who else has keys?"

"Only me and the nanny."  Amanda tried to concentrate, but she couldn't
think.  She'd been so certain about the keys being stolen.

"I keep an extra set at the condo, but they aren't missing."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."  She shook her head.

"I just don't understand.  How else could the intruder get a key to my
condo?"

"It's not hard to make a key," David said.

"Anybody who had access to your purse could make an impression then
take it to a locksmith."

"But that would have to be someone I knew.  Or someone who worked at
the bank."  The realization took solid form in her mind.  Someone she
knew had made a key to her apartment, and had given it to the
intruder.

"Agent Metcalf, do you know the identity of the man who broke into my
condo?"

"It's not your concern, Ms.  Fielding."

"Of course it is.  The man tried to kill me.  You can share this
information with me now, or I can go down to the police station and go
through arrest records.  I used to be an attorney, I know how to" "He's
a professional criminal with a record," Metcalf said.

"The lawyer who showed up to defend him doesn't come cheap."

"A hit man," David said.

"Do you mind if we get out of here?  I'm boiling."

Metcalf suggested that she look around before she left.

"Is there anything else you have in this office that might be useful to
our investigation."

"There was a camera," she admitted.

"I had thought someone was tampering with my desk, and Harry Hoffman
set it up for me."

"We found it," Metcalf said tersely.

"Did you play back the tape?  Was there anything on it?"

"Ms.  Fielding, let me explain something to you.  This is an FBI
investigation.  It's our job to collect the evidence and make the
arrests.  Your job is to cooperate."

"I understand," she said.

"I allowed you to come here for a reason," he said.

"Take a look around you.  I assume this used to be a nice bank, now
it's broken glass.  Smashed computers.  Chaos.  There's a man in the
hospital who's fighting for his life.  This isn't fun and games."

"I never thought it was," she said.

"You hid information about Carrie Lamb, alias Carrie Leigh.  You didn't
mention the secret camera in your office."  He mopped his forehead with
a handkerchief.

"I'm willing to believe you have short-term memory loss, but I want you
to tell me every detail as you remember it."

"I'll try."

"You'll do better than that," Metcalf said.

"You've been implicated in this robbery.  If I find one more incident
of noncooperation, I will arrest you.  Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

She knew he was right.  Somewhere in the back of her mind was a detail
she hadn't yet recalled--a detail so important that a hit man had come
after her to make sure she wouldn't talk.

But she would remember.  Until she did, she would remain a suspect--a
suspect in danger.

Chapter Eleven

In the parking lot outside Empire Bank, Amanda blinked owlishly in the
brilliant sunlight.  Though the July day was seasonably warm, the
temperature was nothing compared to the pressure cooker inside Empire
Bank.  Another dead end.

Did the secret camera in her office show the face of the criminal
mastermind who'd planned the bank robbery?  Or was the tape blank?  She
would never know.

Agent Metcalf would never share that privileged information with her.

Amanda supposed she should be glad that the FBI agent had, at least,
allowed her to take her purse.

Standing beside the Porsche, she transferred her cell phone and beeper
to her other bag.  And her keys.  Never again would she allow her keys
to be out of her sight.  She tossed the empty purse inside the car.

"Let's take a walk, David.  I need to figure a few things out."

He glanced down at her open-toed white pumps.

"Those don't look like walking shoes."

"Actually, they're quite comfortable.  That's one of the benefits of
expensive footwear."

Beautiful, costly shoes were a luxury she might be forced to forego in
the future.  If she lost her job, she wouldn't be able to afford to
shop at designer boutiques.

"Where to?"  he asked.

"The creek."

They crossed the south lanes of Speer Boulevard and descended a stone
stairway to a wide sidewalk and bike path that ran in the middle of the
boulevard, following the course of Cherry Creek.  The foliage on either
side was full and green.  At midsummer, the waters were low but still
enticing, sparkling like liquid fire in the afternoon sunlight.

Amanda often jogged along this urban trail after work.  Less than a
mile away was her condo, and she thought fondly of the view from the
fourteenth floor, the furnishings she'd selected so carefully, the
nursery she'd decorated for her baby daughter.

With all her heart, she wished she could truly go home again, lock the
door and be free from this ever-tightening web of uncertainty and
suspicion.  Seeing the devastation at the bank had affected her. 
Though the attempted robbery wasn't her fault, the result was her
responsibility.

She and David stepped to the right of the sidewalk, allowing joggers
and a bicyclist to pass.

"A plan," she said, "I need a plan."

"How about this--do what Metcalf said.  Settle down and wait until the
feds and the cops solve the case."

"What if they don't figure it out?"  ;

"Call me crazy, but it seems like a whole police force and the FBI will
do better at investigating than Amanda Fielding, girl sleuth."

Of course he was right.  The law-enforcement officers had manpower and
the authority.  Unfortunately, they seemed to be as stumped as Amanda
herself--and the FBI couldn't claim amnesia.

"I don't have much faith in their ability," she said.

"They still haven't managed to apprehend Jax Schaffer.  Or even Carrie
and the other robber fugitive.  They failed to protect Temple in the
hospital.  As far as we know, they haven't got a single clue or
witness."

"Except for you," he said.

"The attack at your condo proves you know something."

"A clue that I can't remember."  She paused beneath the shade of a
lilac bush that had lost its fragrant blooms.

"I can't stand this helplessness, this out-of-control feeling.  David,
what if I lose my job?"

"You'll find another."

She shook her head.

"I'll never find another position as good as this one.  How will I
support Laurel?  How can I send money home to my parents?  It feels
like my future is going up in flames.  It isn't fair."

"Life doesn't come with guarantees."

"Not unless you have money," she said.

"I grew up in a world where everybody had more cash than I did.  We
weren't starving, and we still had the advantages of a good family
name, but we were broke.  When my friends went looking for jobs, they
were interested in the prestige or the fun value of a particular
career.  I was looking at the net take-home pay.  I can't afford to
lose my job."

"It's not the end of the world," he said.

"But it is.  It's the end of my world."

When David spoke, his baritone was low and measured.

"Two weeks ago in the emergency room, I worked on a team trying to save
the life of a young girl.  She was seventeen, a good girl, a straight-A
student who was well loved by her family and friends.  Her only mistake
was being in the wrong lane when a drunk driver crossed the line and
hit her car head-on.  Her body was shattered.  After three days of
operations, we lost her."

His lips tightened in a thin line, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

He seemed to be fighting tears, but he had never seemed so manly and
strong to Amanda.  And wise.  How did he get to be so smart?  She was
astonished to realize that David Haines, practical joker and
man-about-town, had an unseen depth of real wisdom.

"If you lose your job," he said, "that's a setback.  But it's not a
tragedy."

Had she ever really known him?  Reaching up, she stroked his jaw.  With
her thumb, she felt the hard bone and muscle beneath his flesh.

"I've misjudged you."

His hand rested upon hers.  He turned his head and kissed the soft pad
beneath her fingers.  The touch of his lips caused an electric shock to
chase up her arm and spread, tingling, through her entire body.

Slowly, he lowered her hand, gliding her fingers along the outline of
her own torso and hips.  Though they were outdoors in a public place,
the daylight narrowed around them, micro scoping to a taut sexual
awareness as if they were enclosed in a glass bell jar.

Joggers bobbed past them.  On either side of the boulevard, the hectic
rush-hour traffic surged, but she felt as if they were alone in a
separate reality.  His gaze held her captive, and she had no desire to
escape from the tender, fierce energy that flowed between them.

Abruptly, he stepped away from her, breaking the spell.

"We'll figure this out, Amanda."

"Yes," she breathed.

His smile brightened her world--a place that had, only moments ago,
seemed bleak and angry.

"I'm always on your side," he said.

"The important thing is to let your memory work."

Lightly holding her hand, he faced forward on the path, and they
started walking again.  For a distance, they said nothing.  The
frustration inside her began to settle, and she felt strangely
refreshed, cognizant of the sunlight and the gentle afternoon breeze.

She felt alive.

"The way I see it," David said, "there are three pieces of evidence
working against you.  First, you hired Carrie when you knew she had
fake ID, and she's looking very suspicious.  Second, you had access to
inside information.  Third, you must know something important, because
the bad guys tried to kill you."

"Let's start with number three, the man who broke into my condo," she
said.

"From what Metcalf told us, he's obviously a slick, professional hit
man, and" -- "Not that slick," David interrupted.

"He got beat by a resident pediatrician."

"Super doc."  She grinned.

"With fists of iron."

"And buns of steel."

"I like your buns."

"Not as much as I like yours," he said.

When he reached over and patted her bottom, she didn't object.

"Are you trying to distract me from this investigation?"

"Is that possible?"

Most definitely!  Her sexual attraction to him was becoming a major
preoccupation.  With an effort, she dragged her thoughts back to the
hit man.

"Do we have any way of knowing who hired him?"

"Not unless he confesses," David said.

"Then we need to look at the problem of the keys.  I was disappointed
to find them inside my purse.  It seemed so obvious to me that the
crooks took advantage of the confusion at the bank and stole my
keys."

"Not likely," he said.

"Somebody made a copy of your keys long before the bank robbery.  Who
had access to your purse?"

"Anybody who was in my apartment.  Or an employee at the bank."

He guided her toward the edge of the sidewalk to allow another bike to
pass.

"You said it yourself, Amanda.  The robbery was an inside job."

She hated to think that one of her trusted bank employees had slipped
into her office, stolen the keys to her home and made copies.

"Why would they want my keys?"

"If they were planning to rob the bank, they needed the security phone
numbers and codes."

"But I don't carry such vital information around with me.  I keep that
data locked in a desk drawer at the bank."

"And where's the key to the drawer?"

"In my purse," she said.

"Oh, David.  You're right."

When she reasoned through the details with David's help, it all seemed
clear.

"Since the robbers had inside information, the robbery had to be an
inside job, perpetrated with the help of someone who worked at the
bank.  They stole my keys.  They broke into my desk.  Now we just need
to figure out who it was."

"My money's on Frank Weathers," David said.

"That little ferret wants your job, and he wants it bad."

But it was difficult to think of Frank as a daring coconspirator in a
bank robbery.  He was too conservative.  His greatest flaw as a
personal banker was a fear of risk taking.  In all the times he'd come
to her for authorization on a loan or credit line, she never remembered
an instance when he'd argued in favor of the client.  * He was an
office gossip, petty, sniping at other people behind their backs.

"He's a creep but not a bank robber.  Frank with a gun?  I think not.
He'd be trembling too hard to aim."

"He wasn't the triggerman.  It was his job to find out the security
codes and phone numbers."

"Information I had access to."

"Right," David said.

"The fact that you had the vital info logically made you a suspect
instead of him.  Framing you for the crime is a bonus for Frankie
boy."

"He'd be delighted to see me in trouble," she agreed.

"Let's make Frank Weathers our number-one suspect."

"Okay."

Now it felt as, though they were getting somewhere.

As they strolled in silence, her mind raced through a list of other
personal bankers and tellers who had been on duty.  Their faces
appeared like photos in a yearbook.  Beyond their personnel file, she
knew little about them.  These were people she saw five days a week.

They spoke to each other.  She would recognize them on the street.  But
they were strangers.

Few people were true friends.  Yesterday in Harry's hospital room,
she'd been closer to Jane Borelli than ever before in the years they'd
worked side by side.

"What about Harry Hoffman?"  David said.

"Harry?"  She liked and respected the bank guard.  She didn't want to
suspect him.

"But that doesn't make any sense.  If Harry was working with the
robbers, why would they knock him out?"

"So he wouldn't be suspected."

She frowned and walked a little faster, as if by speeding up she could
kick her brain into high gear.  Logically, Harry Hoffman made an
excellent suspect.  Not only was he familiar with the security system,
but he also had access to her office, the keys, the codes.

"Harry has to be suspect number two," David said.

"When the bank robber was killed at the hospital, Harry was there.  He
could have roamed the halls, and nobody would have paid attention to
him.  He could have even slipped into a disguise."

"Frank Weathers was also there.  For that matter, Stefan was in the
waiting room outside emergency.  And Carrie," she concluded
miserably.

"Carrie was there, too."

"I hate to say it, Amanda.  But it sounds like your friend is on the
lam with a bank robber."

"She couldn't have killed Temple in the hospital.  I'm sure she's not a
murderer."

"What about the guy she's with?  The third robber."

"I don't know."

As they walked in the shadows of overhanging tree limbs, a dark
apprehension rose within her.  Though Amanda clung to an unshakable
loyalty to her friend, she couldn't escape the cold, hard facts.

Carrie was willingly in contact with one of the bank robbers.  If not
an accomplice, she was his associate.

Unwittingly, she might give him information that would be useful for
him.

"Oh, my God," she whispered.

"Carrie knows about you."

"What do you mean?"

"About us, David.  She knows we were engaged.  What if she mentions
something to the robbers?  They might come to your house, looking for
me."

The thought chilled her to the bone.  Alone at David's house.  Laurel
and Vonnie were virtually defenseless.

"Call the house," he said.

"My security is state-of-the art but these guys managed to disarm the
silent alarm at a bank.  My system would be child's play.  Call now!"

Amanda plunged her hand into her purse and grabbed the cell phone.  She
tapped out David's number and waited impatiently through three rings
until the answering machine picked up.

"Vonnie," Amanda said.

"I know you're screening calls, but this is Amanda.  Pick up."

Static crackled through the line, and she listened with single-minded
attention, trying to hear a voice that wasn't there.  Why wasn't the
nanny answering?

"Vonnie, pick up.  It's Amanda."

When David grasped her shoulder, she flinched.  Her nerves were strung
taut.  Desperately, she repeated, "Oh, my God, Vonnie, pick up the
damned phone."

"She's not there," David said.

Amanda gripped the phone so tightly that her hand trembled.  They could
have sent another hit man to David's house.  Bank robbers.  Violent
professional criminals.  When they didn't find Amanda.  what would they
do to Vonnie and Laurel?

"Don't panic," he said.

"Maybe Vonnie went to the grocery store or something.  Did she tell you
your plans this morning?"

"The store."  Amanda grasped at that shred of hope.

"She had to get disposable diapers."

"Okay," he said.

"Let's go back to the car and head out there."

They struck out at a quick pace.  But soon, they were running along the
path, dodging the other pedestrians and bikers.  Though she knew they
were covering ground, Amanda had the dream sensation of sprinting as
fast as she could and not getting anywhere.

Side by side, they raced up the stone stairway.  Her pulse pounded in
her eardrums.  Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest.

At the street, David caught her arm before she could hurl herself
across three lanes of fast-moving traffic.  Her personal safety was
forgotten in her frantic need to reach her child.

Nothing else was important.  Her job.  FBI suspicions.  Threats. 
Nothing mattered except Laurel's safety.

They reached the Porsche, flung open the doors and dived inside.
Instantly, David revved the powerful engine.

"We should call the police," he said.

"No," she responded instinctively.

"During the bank robbery, everything was going smoothly until the SWAT
team showed up."

In a flash, she remembered.  The blue-and-red flash of police cars. 
The bank robbers were spooked, and the customer--a gray-haired man
named Nyland--had been shot.  In her mind, she heard the echo of
gunfire.  She saw the blood.  A terrible crimson.  The color of fear.

She snapped back to the present reality.

"How long does it take to get to your house from here?"

"Twenty-five minutes.  Twenty if the lights are with me."

She stared at her wristwatch--4:18.  By 4:38, they would be there.

"Try calling again," he said.

While he darted expertly from lane to lane, she punched in the number
and talked to the answering machine.  Vonnie still didn't pick up.

"No use," she said.

"Hang on, Amanda.  Everything is going to be all right."

If only she could believe him.  She stared straight ahead as if her
intense concentration would cause the traffic to part and speed their
progress.

She glanced at her watch.  They were ten minutes away from the house.

She pinched her eyelids closed, hoping that she was overreacting.

"Almost there," he said.

Amanda counted off the seconds as David swerved around the final street
corner and approached the house.  There seemed to be no visible sign of
a disturbance.  A minivan was parked in front, but it wasn't Amanda's.
She'd put her vehicle in the garage.

The white van in front of David's house had electronic equipment
mounted on top.  A television station logo marked the side.  Leaning
against the front fender was Elaine Montero.

Amanda felt her tension break.  No one would attempt an assault on the
house while the watchful eye of a television camera was poised to
record every detail.  Inadvertently, Elaine Montero had acted as a
bodyguard.

As soon as David parked, Amanda was out of the Porsche.  She charged
toward the reporter.

"Thank you," she said.

Startled, Elaine backed up a pace.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"You'll never ever know."

She and David bolted onto the porch.  He unlocked the door and hit the
disarm buttons on the security system.

Amanda heard a delighted giggling noise and ran into the front room
toward the sound.  There she found Vonnie sprawled on the sofa,
watching television.  Laurel was in front of her, bouncing along in her
baby walker.

Scooping the baby into her arms, Amanda showered Laurel with kisses.

"I love you, sweetie.  You're my life."

Laurel cooed in response.

"What's going on?"  Vonnie asked.

"You two are acting very weird."

"Why didn't you pick up when I called?"  Amanda asked.

"I had to turn off the ringer on the phone and turn down the sound on
the answering machine.  That Elaine Montero person kept calling and
calling.  I knew you wouldn't want me to talk to her."

"You did good," David told her.

"So did you," Amanda told him.

David had put everything into the proper perspective.

Solving the crime and saving her career were important goals, but the
biggest concern in her life was Laurel.  Her relationship with her
child was number one.

David stepped up beside her and gave both her and Laurel a hug.  It
almost felt as if they were a real family.

while amanda fed Laurel her smashed bananas and oatmeal in the kitchen,
David retired to the den and played back a day's worth of messages on
the answering machine.

In the morning, there were the usual sales contacts.  Then came another
whiny call from Amanda's mother, complaining about being contacted by
some Denver television reporter.  Amanda's mother had given out David's
phone number.

That explained how Elaine had gotten the address.  Though David's
telephone was unlisted, it wouldn't take a great deal of research to
find his address using his name and phone number.

Frank Weathers had called with a snotty bit of information about plans
for the cleanup work at the bank.  David didn't like that guy, didn't
trust him no matter how ineffectual Amanda thought he was.

There were three hang-up calls.

After their panic attack this afternoon, David concluded that it wasn't
safe for them to stay here.  Too many people knew how to find them.

After a half-dozen calls from Elaine Montero, he came to Amanda's
attempts to reach Vonnie on the cell phone.  The raw terror in her
voice resonated through him.

He turned off the answering machine and looked up as she slipped into
the room.  Gracefully, she came toward him and sat in a chair opposite
his desk.  Her blond hair fell in slight disarray, and he longed to
smooth the silken curtain away from her lovely face.

"Anything interesting on the answering machine?"  she asked.

"Frank Weathers wants you to know that the cleanup at the bank will
start tomorrow even though it's the Fourth of July.  And your mother
called to complain about Elaine Montero."

"She called my mother?"  Twin frown lines appeared between her arched
brows.

"I don't know which of them I should feel sorry for."

"Amanda, we can't stay here anymore.  It's not safe."

"I thought of that," she said wearily.

"I put in a call to Stefan to ask if his mountain cabin is available.
He wasn't home, but I left a message."

"He has my phone number?"

"Is that a problem?"

If Elaine Montero could find his address from a phone number, so could
Stefan.  And Frank Weathers.

David didn't trust either of them.  Stefan might be Laurel's father,
but that didn't exclude him from suspicion.  He'd visited Amanda's
condo.  He had access to her purse and her keys.

"Suspect number four," he said.

"What?"

"The first three are Frank, Harry and Carrie."  He hesitated before
naming another.

"Stefan is number four."

"But he doesn't work at the bank," she said.

"He has access to you," David said.

"You'd be able to tell him all the important stuff.  Plus, he could've
made off with the extra set of keys in your condo to make copies."

He watched for her reaction.  There had to be some residual loyalty to
the father of her child.  Her lips tightened, but she conceded.

"Stefan is suspect number four."

David felt strangely gratified.  Her willingness to believe that Stefan
was a criminal told him a lot.

"If he did this, Amanda, he used you."

"That doesn't surprise me."

"He might have hired a hit man to kill you."

"You once told me that the motivation for crime was usually sex or
money.  Well, there's no sex with Stefan.  And he's extremely fond of
money."  Her voice was calm, dispassionate.

"We've known each other for a very long time, but it wouldn't surprise
me to find out he'd traded on our friendship to line his pockets."

Her assessment traded purely on logic.  Obviously, any love Amanda
might have had for Stefan had died.

Expectantly, she looked at him.

"Where are we going to stay tonight, David?  I can't keep Laurel here
if we're in danger."

"I have a plan," he said.

"Okay, shoot."

"My brother.  Josh, lives in the mountains.  It's a big place with
plenty of room."

"I wouldn't feel right about imposing on Josh and Nancy."

"Manners are real important," he drawled, "when your life is in
danger."  "And what if the bad guys found out we were there?  I can't
ask your brother to put his family in danger for me," David hadn't
thought that far in advance.

"You're right.  Well, maybe there's some kind of FBI safe house."  1
"Absolutely not.  I'm still concerned about my job.  How would it look
if I went into hiding?"

He shrugged.

"Like you were intelligently guarding your own butt, as well as
Laurel's."

"I want to give the appearance that everything is business as usual."

She leaned forward and rested her hands on the desktop.

"I have an idea."

Warily, he listened.  Amanda was the most stubborn fe 7

male he'd ever known.  When she made a decision, she stuck to it
through hell and high water.

"The real issue here," she said, "is Laurel's safety.  Frankly, she's
not in danger unless she's with me.  We could send Laurel and Vonnie to
stay with your brother.  I would stay right, here.  Anybody who's
looking for me will come here first."

Though David liked the part of the plan that put him alone with Amanda
for the weekend, it bothered him that he couldn't necessarily guarantee
her safety.

"Last time I checked, this wasn't a fortress.  I don't have a secret
stockpile of automatic rifles in the basement."

She had already snatched the phone from his desk.

"I'll notify Agent Metcalf of our plans.  If there is, in fact, someone
after me, the FBI might want to do a stakeout on the house."

"You're talking about using yourself as bait."

"Bait is such an ugly word," she said.  Speaking into the telephone
receiver, she left a message for Metcalf, hung up and grinned at
David.

"I think this will work."

As it turned out, so did Metcalf.

Within a few hours, the setup had been arranged.  With FBI involvement,
the attention to detail became ridiculous.  When David and Amanda
kissed Laurel goodbye, they were assured that their transport to Josh's
mountain home was complex enough to avoid anyone following.

Other FBI agents would spend the night doing surveillance on David's
house.

At nine o'clock, David and Amanda were alone in the master bedroom.

They'd been here before, but not like this.

Chapter Twelve

In the midsummer night, the Iceman cruised slowly past the doctor's
house.  The gleam from the streetlight reflected against leaded glass
windows, but the curtains were drawn.  He couldn't see inside, but he
knew Amanda was there, hiding from him.

He turned left at the stop sign.  There were no other cars on the
street.  A quiet neighborhood.

Even if she got her memory back, it was possible that she would never
make the connection with him.  If he were a betting man, he might have
taken that chance.  But he valued precision.  Sloppiness offended
him.

Amanda had to die.

Earlier today, he considered killing her when she was on the bike path
next to Cherry Creek, but there were too many witnesses.  Tonight,
she'd made things complicated by contacting the FBI and attaching
herself to David Haines.

He needed to have her alone.  Just the two of them.  He ;

imagined her eyes, wide with fear, when she saw the .  38 J Special
with silencer attached.  She'd beg for her life.  She'd j weep and fall
to her knees.  | The dark fantasy filled his mind.  Her fingers would
lace j together in pleading supplication.  Her round breasts would I
heave with sobs.

Who's the cool one now, princess?

He'd pull the trigger.  And he'd walk away free.  A smile twitched at
the corners of his mouth.  It made sense that murder would be another
of his talents.  Killing Temple in the hospital was only the
beginning.

After Amanda, he might choose to develop this ability.  He could learn
about weapons, practice until he was an expert marksman.  He'd be an
international assassin, a killer who was known and feared around the
world.  Heads of state would call upon him.  The Iceman.

But first, he had to take care of Amanda.  He had to get her alone.

amanda sat on the window seat in the bedroom and stared at the blank
space on the carpet where Laurel's crib had been.  This would be her
first night away from her daughter, and she missed her already.

"Did I do the right thing?"  She looked to David, who leaned against
the wall beside the door with his arms folded over his chest.

"Do you think Laurel will be okay?"

He nodded.

"But she probably won't get any sleep tonight.  Josh and Nancy can't
wait to play with a baby girl after all their boys.  Nancy was excited
when I told her the plan over the phone.  She almost crawled through
the wire and hugged me."

"I had that impression, too."  Nancy had been kind to her when they'd
spoken.  She hadn't mentioned the bank robbery or the broken
engagement.

"She'll take good care of Laurel."

Reassured, Amanda allowed her maternal nervousness to ebb while a more
immediate concern rose up to take its place.  Namely, the fact that she
and David were alone.  She couldn't help noticing that both of them had
avoided the largest piece of furniture in the room.  The bed.

If history were any sort of guidepost, she wouldn't be able to resist
him.  No matter what other problems they'd had, they were sexually
compatible.  David knew exactly the way she liked to be kissed.  He
knew where to touch, when to move to the next level.

He sauntered across the room toward her.  A faint but unmistakable
light flickered in his hazel eyes.  He spoke not a word.  Instead, he
extended his hand.

Mesmerized, her gaze focused on his strong hand and muscular forearm,
reaching toward her in invitation.  If she joined her hand with his,
she knew what came next.

Fully intending to walk away from him, she rose to her feet.  She
didn't need to complicate matters further by making love to him before
she'd told him the truth about Laurel.  Her world was complex enough,
thank you very much.  In fact, as much as she hated to put a damper on
things, now seemed the appropriate time to break it to him.  Yet her
arm moved of its own volition, as if her physical body had a mind of
its own and didn't want to risk almost certain rejection.  Her fingers
fitted perfectly against his.  Contrasting his dark tan, her hand
appeared graceful and delicate.

His grasp closed.  Effortlessly, he whipped her into his arms.

She pressed hard against him.  Her head flung back.  The last vestige
of resistance vanished, and she welcomed his fierce, passionate kiss.

Desire surged through her, hot and demanding.

With hard caresses, he tamed her wayward body in a skillful tango, the
dance of love.  Every shiver became choreographed.  The pounding of
their hearts sychronized in a tantalizing beat, and they moved as one
toward the perfect, inevitable crescendo.

When his hands cupped her buttocks and he pulled her firmly against his
hard arousal, a tortured groan escaped her lips.

She shouldn't be doing this.

"David, stop!"

Once before, she'd allowed her passion to win the day, and the result
was her daughter.  Not again.  She couldn't allow this to happen
again.

"David!"

His head pulled back.  Breathing hard, he looked down at her with
smoldering eyes.

"You don't want me to stop.  Oh, baby, we're too good together."

It absolutely destroyed her when he called her "baby."  She was a bank
president, for heaven's sake.  Nobody called her "honey" or "baby" or
"sweetie."  Nobody except for David when they were making love.

"Yes.  I want you.  But it's not right."

"We're consenting adults."  He held her chin and tasted her mouth,
lightly tugging at the fullness of her lower lip with his teeth.  When
he pulled away and locked gazes with her, she felt herself melting.

"Remember the first time," he said.  Not shifting his gaze from her
face, he brushed the sides of her swollen breasts.  Her nipples
tightened against the lace of her Victoria's Secret bra.

"Do you remember the first time I touched you here?"

"Yes."

It had been a lifetime ago.  They'd attended a charity function
together.  A formal reception.  A formal date between a handsome
medical student and an aspiring lawyer.  Life had been so simple
then.

During the presentation, they'd stepped outside onto a stone balcony.

In the moonlight, they'd kissed for the first time, and something
amazing had transpired.  She'd been instantly transformed from an ice
princess to a wanton flame, burning white hot at the core.

"Always," he said.

"We've got the magic, baby."

They also had a child.  She had to explain things before they went any
further.  But how could she?  He'd hate her for the deception.

"I'm ... I'm a mother."

"Mommies are allowed to make love."

"That's not what I mean.  It's..."  Tell him!  Tell him!

He cocked his head and studied her.

"Are you afraid I'll be disappointed by changes in your body?  Stretch
marks?"

"I have something else to" -- "It's you I'm attracted to.  The essence
of Amanda Fielding.  Your body is great, and it pleases me to look at
you.  But it doesn't matter what shape you're in.  Young or old. Skinny
or fat."

What was he saying?

"Well, of course it matters."

"Not a bit.  I'll still be attracted to you when you're seventy and
your butt sags and you have wrinkles."

"Oh, that's a charming picture."

"You'll always be pretty to me.  No matter where we are or what we do,
you'll always be my baby."

A warm wave of affection overwhelmed her, and her objections washed
away.  His baby, she'd always be his baby.

When he kissed her again, she relinquished the struggle.  She gave
herself, mindlessly, to the uncontrollable bliss of their desire.  , He
swept her off her feet, carried her to the bed.  In moments, they were
naked, tangled together in the sheets.  Helplessly consumed by their
lovemaking, her mind went blank.

the next morning, David wakened slowly, luxuriously.  The scent of last
night's passion still clung to the air in a sultry miasma, and he
inhaled deeply before opening his eyes.  Amanda took possession of the
whole bed when she slept.  Beneath the navy-blue sheets, her toes
pointed to one corner and her body slanted diagonally.  She always had
to have control.

Except when they were making love.  Fondly, he gazed down on her
disheveled blond hair.  Her eyelashes made dark crescents on her
cheeks, and she had a contented look, breathing deeply through her
bruised lips.  When they made love, she was a tiger, voracious and
demanding until he tamed her with kisses, caresses and the final,
fierce possession.

David couldn't allow his mind to wander too far m that direction.  He'd
get hard again.  Then he'd have to take her again, and he wanted to let
her rest.  As a single mother, she probably didn't indulge herself too
often by sleeping in.  She'd want to be awake with Laurel, giving her
daughter as much time as possible.

Rolling out of the bed, he yanked on his jeans and slipped out of the
bedroom.  Last night came close to convincing him that he and Amanda
should be together on a permanent basis.  Maybe it was corny to think
that when they made love the earth moved, but that was how he felt.  No
other woman had ever excited him the way she did.

In the kitchen, he started his ritual brewing of coffee.  Should he
marry her?  It wasn't an easy decision.  Amanda had already rejected
him twice.

Would Stefan get in the way?  Someday, that blond jerk might come to
his senses, behave like a decent father and claim his rights as a
biological parent.

David didn't want that.  He wanted Amanda and Laurel all to himself.

Life would have been a hell of a lot easier if she'd conceived with him
instead of Stefan.  She didn't even treat him with respect.  She acted
as though he were just some guy she dated occasionally, not the father
of her child.

Maybe he wasn't.  A fresh hope cropped up in David's mind.  The timing
of their one-night stand had been really close to nine months before
Laurel's birth.

Even if Amanda thought Stefan was the father, she could be wrong.  They
could have DNA tests.

As the freshly ground coffee dripped slowly into the glass decanter,
David indulged his imagination.  If Laurel was his daughter, he'd give
her his heart and soul.  He'd surround her with warmth and beauty,
nurture her, watch her grow into a woman as remarkable as her mother.

Actually, the biology didn't matter.  From working with battered kids
at the hospital, David knew that the "real" parents weren't always the
best.  If Amanda would marry him, he'd adopt Laurel and raise her as
his own.

When he opened the blinds in the kitchen, he saw a beige sedan parked
across the street.  A man in a dark suit coat sat behind the wheel. 
The presence of the FBI grimly reminded him that they had other
problems more immediate than their possible future relationship. 
Amanda's life was in danger.

Coffee mug in hand, he went around the house opening curtains and
blinds.  It was almost ten o'clock when he went into the study and
checked phone messages.

There was already a call from Frank Weathers, impatiently demanding
that Amanda contact him as soon sSs possible about the repair work
being done at Empire Bank.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd come down here," he said on the message.

"I'm handling the situation, but I'd like your input on the new
carpeting in the office area.  Beige or rust?"

He sounded too prissy to be involved in a daring bank robbery, but that
might be an act.  Little Frankie had a lot to gain if Amanda were
ousted as bank president.  The sneaking around in her purse and making
copies of keys seemed like something he would do.

The next message was a gruff voice.

"This is Harry.  Amanda gave me this number when she visited me at the
hospital.  I just wanted to let her know that I'm home and feeling
fine.  I'll be ready to go back to work as soon as the bank opens."

Why had she given him the number?  If she expected to hide out at his
house, she couldn't be telling all her friends, family and the media
where she was staying.

David rewound the tape so she could play it back for herself.

Interesting that she'd had calls from the two men who might have
betrayed her.  Harry and Frank.

Either one of them could be the inside connection for the bank robbery.
Maybe they'd called here to check on Amanda.

He punched in the phone number for his brother's house and talked to
his sister-in-law, who raved about how cute and smart Laurel was.  Her
rambunctious boys were fascinated with the pretty baby girl.  Everyone
was safe.  All was well.

After he hung up, David drained his coffee mug and returned to the
kitchen.  Looking through the window, he noted that the FBI car hadn't
moved, but there was another vehicle that turned into his driveway and
parked.  A bronze BMW.

Stefan Phillips climbed out.  He flexed his shoulders and hiked up the
waistband of his khaki shorts.  The sunlight glinted off golden
highlights in his hair.  What the hell was he doing here?

David went to the security pad and punched in the number to deactivate
the system.  He hurried to open the front door before Stefan could ring
the bell and waken Amanda.

"What do you want?"  David asked.

"I want to talk to Amanda."

His cool blue eyes bored holes in David's bare chest.

"She's still asleep.  She needs her rest."

"Don't tell me what she needs, okay?  She called me last night.  She
wants me to take her to my cabin in the mountains."  He sneered.

"So back off, Doctor.  You're through."

Stepping outside onto the porch, David closed the door behind him so
Amanda wouldn't be disturbed by what promised to be a loud
discussion.

"Don't be an ass.  Hit the road before you embarrass yourself."

"Amanda and I made plans for today.  It's the Fourth of July."

"I'm aware of the month.  And the day."

"We're supposed to attend the celebration at the country club.  She's
excited about it.  She loves fireworks."

She certainly did.  Last night, there had been Roman candles and star
bursts But that wasn't information David intended to share.

"I'll tell her you stopped by.  She can telephone when she wakes up."

Stefan planted his feet firmly.

"I'm not leaving until I see her."

David took another sip of coffee and considered his next, move.  Though
he wasn't usually a man who resorted to violence, he was tempted to let
fly with a quick jab to the face, thereby breaking Stefan's aquiline
nose.  Or he might grab Stefan by the collar and seat of the pants to
throw him off the porch.

"Tell you what, Stefan--I'm going inside and closing the door.  You can
wait out here as long as you want."

"You tell her.  You tell Amanda I'm here."

"By the way, my security system will be on, and it's real sensitive.

If you create a disturbance, the cops will be here in five minutes. 
Not to mention the FBI guy across the street.  "

Stefan pivoted and glared at the beige sedan.

"Why are all these people protecting you?"

"They're protecting Amanda.  She was in a bank robbery, remember?"

"I don't like this.  I want to see her.  Now."  He threw back his head
and bellowed, "Amanda!  Amanda, come out here!"

David frowned.  He should have opted for the jab to the face.

"Amanda!"

The door behind him opened, and Amanda stepped out.

"Stop it, Stefan.

I'm right here.  "

She tied the sash of her white satin robe and scowled at both of
them.

Her hair was a mess, her feet were bare and she was wearing David's
T-shirt under her white satin bathrobe.  He thought she looked
adorable.

Stefan regarded her with less enthusiasm.

"That didn't take long."

"I was already awake," she grumbled.

"How did you know where to find me?  I didn't leave an address."

"David's phone is unlisted, but I got his address from the country
club."  He seemed real proud of his cleverness.

"I figured a doctor--even a doc who works at Denver General--would
belong to the club, and I was right."

Clearly unimpressed, Amanda yawned.

"Well, what's up?"

"Do you still want me to take you up to the cabin?  And Laurel, too."

Finally, David thought.  The jerk had finally gotten around to
mentioning his daughter.

"I've made other arrangements," Amanda said.

"What about tonight?  The fireworks display."

"I'm not going," she said.

"Suit yourself.  If I were you, I'd want to put the rumors to rest." 
He took a step backward.

"I want you to know that I still believe in you, Amanda.  In spite of
what everybody is saying."

His insinuation was a nasty ploy to grab her attention, but it
worked.

Amanda's poise slipped a few notches.

"What are they saying?  Who's talking about me?"

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not stand out here on the porch with an
FBI guard watching."

"Please come in."

When she held the door wide to let Stefan enter, David felt as if she
were inviting a rabies-infected rat into his home.  Amanda was an
intelligent woman, but she had a soft spot regarding public opinion.

During the wild periods in his life, David had developed a thick
hide.

He couldn't care less about other people and what they thought of
him.

But Amanda was different.

She pointed Stefan to the coffeepot in the kitchen and pulled David
aside.

"I can't believe I slept until ten.  Have you heard from Vonnie?

Is Laurel all right?  "

"Talked to my sister-in-law this morning.  Everything's great, and they
love Laurel."  He peered over her shoulder at Stefan in his kitchen.

"I'm going to have to sterilize that mug after he uses it."

"I

"Don't be rude."  She pushed her hair out of her eyes.

"I need to hear what people are saying."

"It's only gossip."

"In my business, reputation is important."

He tried to understand her concern.  But it didn't entirely make
sense.

"Yet, you chose to be a single mother rather than get married."

She glanced at the blond man who wandered around David kitchen as if
he belonged here.

"Do you blame me for not marrying Stefan?"

"What did you ever see in him?"

"He's a good friend of my family."

From what she'd told him about Jack and Shirley Fielding, David would
have considered their friends to be people who should be avoided like
the black plague.

"I still don't want him in my house."

"Nevertheless, I should take advantage of this opportunity to question
him.  He's suspect number four.  And there might be an interesting
connection or two."

She led Stefan to the kitchen table, and David decided that he couldn't
sit down with this guy and treat him like a guest.  But he didn't want
to leave him alone with Amanda, either.  Instead, he brewed another pot
of coffee and milled around in the kitchen.

"I talked to my parents yesterday," she said.

"They asked about you, and I told them you were fine."

He nodded.

"I like your parents."

"You went home recently for a visit, didn't you?"

"Maybe a year ago.  I try to stay in touch."

David admired her casual interrogation technique.  Her years as a
lawyer prepared her for this subtle gathering of information.

"Dad mentioned something interesting," she said.

"Do you know who Jax Schaffer is?"

"He's that criminal who escaped from federal custody," Stefan said.

"Why?"

"Did you know him?  He used to belong to the same country club as my
father.  And he had a yacht.  Didn't you belong to the Martin Bay Yacht
Club?"

"Jax Schaffer belonged to the yacht club?"  He appeared to be
disgusted.

"I can't believe it.  Of course, I didn't as'd sociate with him.  And
the yacht club definitely needs a better screening process for
members."

"It's a pretty thorough screen.  My parents always wanted to become
members, but they could never afford it."

"Oh, come on, Amanda.  Your family is very well off."

"They aren't as solvent as you might expect."  She made this admission
without apology.

"Now, tell me what everyone in Denver is saying about me."

Though he didn't want to leave Amanda alone with Stefan, David didn't
care to participate in a conversation that seemed to revolve around who
was saying what about whom.  David wandered as far as the first-floor
guest bedroom, where he slipped into an old work shirt he found hanging
in the closet.

When he returned to the kitchen, Amanda was showing Stefan to the
door.

"Thank you so much for stopping by," she said, opening the front
door.

"I'm sorry if I alarmed you.  As you can see, everything is just
fine.

I'm mostly recovered from my injuries.  "

He stood in the doorway, reluctant to depart.

"What about tonight, Amanda?  At the country club.  Should I pick you
up at seven?"  , "I can't make plans," she said.

"I simply don't know how well I'll be feeling.  If I can make it, I'll
see you there."

When he leaned close to kiss her, Amanda ducked.

"Goodbye, Stefan."

She closed and locked the door behind him.  With no break in her energy
level, she faced David and said, "We're going to that damned country
club tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to walk in there with my head held high.  I intend
to show all those gossips that I have nothing to be ashamed of.  I
haven't done anything wrong."

There was fire in her eyes, and her determination made him proud.  He
stroked her smooth cheek and grinned.

"Sounds like a fun time to me."

Chapter Thirteen

At dusk on the Fourth of July, the members of the country club, along
with their invited guests and children, were still arriving.  The
clubhouse, draped with red, white and blue bunting, bustled with an air
of all-American patriotism and festivity.  Not a single cloud marred
the fading blue of the Colorado skies.  It promised to be a perfect
night for fireworks.

Amanda squared her shoulders and inhaled a deep breath.  She was
dressed in a designer white sundress splashed with lavender flowers,
and her attire showed the correct degree of expensive but casual style
suitable for the country club.  She knew that her makeup was perfect.

Her summer tan was just right.  She looked as though she belonged here,
but she felt like an impostor.  , She would never truly be one of the
elite.  Her struggle toward success remained too much a part of her.
Right now, the dire possibility of losing her job was much too close.

"I changed my mind," she said to David.

"Don't you want to see the fireworks?"

"I don't want to see these people.  I don't want to hear them
whispering behind my back.  Looking the other way when I approach."

"You're scared."

"No," she protested.

"I just don't see any point in putting myself through this
humiliation."

He linked his arm through hers and veered away from the crowd, leading
her into the attractively landscaped grounds on the west side of the
main building.  The fireworks celebration would take place on the other
side, and there were only a few people strolling in this area.

"I don't mind leaving," he said.

"But I don't want to be chased away because you feel embarrassed."

It seemed like a perfectly valid reason to her.

"Why, then?"

"This kind of public exposure could be dangerous.  This is a big place
with a lot of open space, and it's going to be dark soon."  "Nobody
would attack me here.  There are too many witnesses."

He led her onto a wooden footbridge above a shimmering ribbon of creek.
In the twilight, surrounded by the summer green of the golf course, it
should have been romantic.

"Thick foliage and trees," he said.

"Good places for a sniper to hide.

And don't think there's safety in a crowd.  A stranger could come up to
you, bury a gun in your ribs and"-- " Stop it, David.  "

She couldn't allow herself to begin thinking of the potential danger.

Staying home all day today at his house when there were so many other
things she needed to accomplish had been difficult enough.  Amanda
simply didn't have the personality to go into hiding.

But David continued, "I think it's fairly certain that the attempted
bank robbery was tied in with the escape of this Jax Schaffer
character."

"I agree."

"He's a crime boss, a dangerous criminal--even if he is a personal
friend of your family and yacht mate of Stefan Phillips."

"Not quite," she said.

"Stefan said he didn't know Schaffer.  And Mother hasn't joined the
Friends of Arch- Criminals Society, though she probably would if the
right people signed up."

"My point," David said, "is that Schaffer would fit right in at this
country club."

"I know."

"Four officers were killed when he escaped, shot down in cold blood.

If he wants you dead, he'll keep sending hit men.  "

"I don't know what to do."  She looked toward David for the answer. 
His black knit shirt tucked into Levi's emphasized his narrow hips and
lean torso.  Sleek and wiry, he was ready for physical action.  The
fading sunlight shone in his thick black hair, and his hazel eyes were
smoky.

"I want to defend my reputation.  But I don't want to take foolish
chances."

"Come home with me, Amanda.  Instead of this mob scene, spend the night
in my bed."

It was a tempting proposition.  Spending the night with David offered
safety and another incredible bout of lovemaking, the mere thought of
which started a delectable' shivering through her body.  l If she
instead decided to confront her peers at the country club, the result
might be unpleasant or even dangerous, but she'd have the chance to
cleanse her reputation.  A show of bravado would prove that she wasn't
taking the FBI's suspicions seriously.

"A compromise," she said.

"We'll make an appearance, but just for a little while.  We'll leave
before all the jostling and the fireworks."

"Fair enough."  He leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips across
hers.

"Let's get this over with."

"Do I look all right?"

"Very pretty."

Still, she hesitated.

"Do I look like a bank president?"

"I don't know why you're worried about impressing these people.  You're
a good woman, Amanda.  Intelligent, hardworking and beautiful.  You
have nothing to be ashamed of."

"It shouldn't make any difference what they think," she said.

"I try not to care.  But somewhere deep inside, I'll always be the
hungry little girl with her nose pressed against the window of a pastry
shop full of treats she can't afford."

"The balance in your bank account doesn't matter to anybody who's worth
knowing."

He was so sure, so confident.  So absolutely correct.  Too often, as a
banker, she defined people by their net worth.  Don't you know who I
am? The imperious words echoed in her brain.  She stiffened as another
memory returned.  She'd spoken those words during the robbery.

"What's wrong, Amanda?"

"Remembering."  She concentrated, hoping for more.  In her mind, she
saw the dark gleam of automatic weapons and the black ski masks.  A
sense of panic churned inside her.  Out of control.  The situation was
out of control.  The heavyset man approached her.  His name was Sarge. 
He swung the butt of his gun at her head.

Then, her mind went blank again.  She blinked furiously, trying to
force herself to recall more.  But there was no hint of new evidence,
no new clues.

"It was nothing," she said.

"Tell me anyway.  It might help you remember more."

"During the hostage situation, I was trying to impress the robbers with
my status and my money."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want them to hurt Tracy or Carrie.  I wanted them to
use me as their only hostage.  They'd already shot that customer, and I
didn't want more bloodshed.  That's when the one named Sarge hit me.

Damn it, David.  Will I ever remember?  "

"It's possible."

Her recollections seemed to be important enough for the criminals to
send a hit man to assassinate her.  How could she have forgotten?

She smoothed her skirt and willed the tremble from her fingers.  In a
familiar exercise of discipline, Amanda dismissed the dark thoughts
from her mind.  She clothed herself in regal poise, donned the mantle
of an ice princess.

"Let's do it."

"You look like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine."

She waved her invisible scepter.

"Let them eat cake."

When they entered the clubhouse, Amanda became the focus.  Several
acquaintances and tennis partners swarmed around her, demanding gory
details of her ordeal.  Smoothly, she answered their questions, always
downplaying her role in the attempted robbery and hostage situation.

As soon as she managed to deflect the topic toward other matters, the
interest faded and people moved away.

Finally, she and David were alone.  Under her breath, she said, "So,
this is what it's like to be notorious."

"How do you like it?"

"It's a bit dehumanizing."  And she was glad not to be the center of
attention anymore.  She grinned up at him.

"Mostly, it makes me hungry."

As they proceeded to the buffet table, she was reminded why Fourth of
July at the country club was different from the revelry taking place in
the rest of the city.  Instead of beer, chips and hot dogs, the
country-club chef had prepared his famous low-fat barbeque, a culinary
treat accompanied by shrimp and crab legs.  It was a gourmet feast,
complete with pates, Brie and caviar.  The salads were fabulous.  The
ale was imported.  It was red, white and cordon bleu.

She noticed that David stuck to bottled water, and she did the same.

At the end of the food line, she encountered Frank Weathers.  Though
she'd spoken with him on the telephone several times during the day, he
greeted her as if shocked to see her alive and well.

"Amanda?  Should you be out?"

"It's the Fourth of July.  I need to celebrate my independence."

He reached toward his collar as if to straighten his necktie, but he
wasn't wearing one.  In a short-sleeved cotton shirt, he looked vaguely
uncomfortable.

"It's a mess over at the bank," he said.

"All the papers on the desks were scattered and trampled.  I don't know
who goes with what."

"I'll be over to help as soon as possible," she promised.

"I don't suppose this is the right place to discuss business," he said,
glancing around.

"Although I've seen nearly all the board members."

"What's the problem?"

"You had a meeting on the morning of the robbery.  With Tracy Meyer.

Was there any decision on whether or not she could access her trust
fund?  "

Here was a golden opportunity to finally set one thing right.  She
wanted to set the wheels in motion before she lost her job.

"Rather than use the fund, I want to arrange an unsecured signature
loan in the amount of ten thousand dollars.  Made out to Tracy
Meyer."

"No collateral?"

"None required," she said.  She would trust Tracy with her life.  What
was ten thousand bucks?

"Would you put the paperwork through on that as soon as possible?"

"Well, of course," he said.

"If you're really in a hurry, we could take care of it right now.  The
bank isn't far, and I have a key.  We could just run over there
together, you and I."

"By ourselves?  Sounds like a rendezvous, Frank."

"Rest assured," he said with a little sneer, "I have no romantic
designs."

Before she could respond, Bill Chessman approached and gave her an
enthusiastic hug.

"You look fine, Amanda.  Just fine."

"Thanks, Bill."  Her boss had obviously started celebrating earlier
than the rest of them.  Even his mustache looked slightly crooked.

He clapped David on the shoulder.

"It's good to see you two together again.  I always liked your family,
David.  Haines Construction are good people."

"And we pay off all our loans on time."

"So, my boy, when are we going to play golf?"

"When I'm done with my residency," David responded.

"Don't put it off too long.  Every M.D. is required to play eighteen
holes a week.  It's part of the job."  He turned to Frank.

"How about you, Weathers?  Are you a golfer?"

"No, sir.  Tennis is my game."

"Never much cared for tennis," Chessman said.  As the chairman turned
again toward David, Frank glared at his back.  He was unaware that
Amanda was observing, and his bony fingers gnarled into fists.  The
glint in his eye honed sharp as a slicing blade.  Was this prissy
little Frank Weathers?  He looked capable of murder.

Amanda felt a hand at her waist as Stefan engulfed her with his
presence.

"Amanda, I'm glad you could make it.  It's good for you to get out and
about."

He shook hands all around.  The forced camaraderie reminded Amanda of
so many other country-club events, both in Denver and Chicago.  Bill
Chessman was also from Illinois, and she asked, "Bill, were you ever a
member at the Martin Bay Yacht Club?"

"As a matter of fact, I was."

"So was Stefan," she said.

"I never actually was a member," Stefan explained.

"One of my aunts moored her yacht there."

"Being a member at that club isn't exactly a privilege," Chessman
said.

"Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"  Amanda asked.

"Jax Schaffer was a member."

"Did you know him?"  Amanda asked.

"We met.  He had a weird voice, but he was a hell of a golfer."

Well, that excused everything.  Jax Schaffer could pillage and murder
all across the land, but as long as he shot par, he was okay.

"I just heard the police expanded their search for him," Chessman
said.

"He's supposed to be in the Four Corners area."

That was good news for Amanda.  She glanced at David.

"Jax Schaffer isn't in Denver anymore?"

"That's what they're saying."  Chessman shook his head.

"Hell of a golfer."

With her boss taking the lead, the conversation turned predictably to
golf, a sport that bored Amanda to tears.  However, it wouldn't be
politically smart to walk away from a conversation with the chairman of
the board.  Stoically, she stayed in place, listening with disinterest.
Her gaze wandered to the wall behind them.  Amid trophy cases and
gleaming bronze plaques were row upon row of framed photographs showing
winning country-club teams of golfers, tennis players and swimmers. 
The net worth of those faces on the wall was in the billions.

The conversation swirled around her.  Stefan and Bill discussed the
merits of Chicago fairways versus those in Denver.  It seemed odd that
Stefan, an admitted outdoorsman, had never known Jax Schaffer.  If he
truly was suspect number four, she should explore that connection.

Amanda watched the ebb and flow of the crowd.  Because of the promised
fireworks, there were more children present than usual at a
country-club function.  Two little girls, dressed in red, white and
blue, sneaked truffles off the buffet table and ran away.  They
reminded her of Laurel.  Her daughter was really too young to
appreciate fireworks, but she would've loved making faces at the crowd.
 She heard her name being spoken.

"Pardon me?"

"Your memory," Chessman said.

"Have you gotten over your amnesia?"

"I'm still a bit hazy on what happened during the robbery attempt."

"A terrible thing."  His expression was fatherly, almost patronizing,
as he smoothed the edges of his mustache.

"I hope you never have to remember.  It must have been frightening."

"I can handle it," she said confidently.

"Sure, you can.  I didn't mean to imply"

"I intend to return to work full-time by Tuesday."  In spite of his
jovial social manner and his overindulgence in imported ale, Bill
Chessman still had enough intelligence to understand that she was, in
effect, issuing an ultimatum.  His eyes narrowed as if peering through
a jeweler's loupe, searching for flaws.

Other conversations flowed around them, but Amanda remained focused on
Chessman, waiting for his response.  Though she doubted that he'd tell
her she was fired at a country-club event, he could give a clue as to
her current status with Empire Bank of Colorado.  A firm handshake and
welcome back would be nice.

"Stay home next week," he said.

"I'm perfectly healthy.  I want to go back to work."

"Not yet."

Though she maintained her polite smile, Amanda felt hollow inside.

Bill Chessman's instructions to stay away from the bank confirmed her
darkest fears.  The FBI's suspicions had poisoned the confidence of the
board.  She was on the verge of losing her job.

From outside, she heard the sound of bugles playing "Taps."  Though the
bugling heralded the beginning of the fireworks display, Amanda thought
the music was especially appropriate to her situation.  The day was
done.  The sun was going down on her career.

"Time to go outside," Chessman announced.

"By the way, David, how's your brother, Josh?  Still living in
Evergreen?"  : "That's right."

"We'd better hurry," Amanda said in a rush.  The mention of Josh and
Nancy made her uncomfortable.  Laurel would only be safe if no one
suspected she was there.

"The first burst of fireworks is always the best."

As they filed through the doors, David managed to separate her from the
others.  Outside, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a stand of
aspen near the parking lot, far from where anyone else was standing.

Though it wasn't pitch black, night had settled, and Amanda stumbled
over an unseen rock on the path.  She almost fell but was saved when
David caught her arm and supported her.  The sudden jolt destroyed her
taut control.

and gleaming bronze plaques were row upon row of framed photographs
showing winning country-club teams of golfers, tennis players and
swimmers.  The net worth of those faces on the wall was in the
billions.

The conversation swirled around her.  Stefan and Bill discussed the
merits of Chicago fairways versus those in Denver.  It seemed odd that
Stefan, an admitted outdoorsman, had never known Jax Schaffer.  If he
truly was suspect number four, she should explore that connection.

Amanda watched the ebb and flow of the crowd.  Because of the promised
fireworks, there were more children present than usual at a
country-club function.  Two little girls, dressed in red, white and
blue, sneaked truffles off the buffet table and ran away.  They
reminded her of Laurel.  Her daughter was really too young to
appreciate fireworks, but she would've loved making faces at the crowd.
 She heard her name being spoken.

"Pardon me?"

"Your memory," Chessman said.

"Have you gotten over your amnesia?"

"I'm still a bit hazy on what happened during the robbery attempt."

"A terrible thing."  His expression was fatherly, almost patronizing,
as he smoothed the edges of his mustache.

"I hope you never have to remember.  It must have been frightening

"I can handle it," she said confidently.

"Sure, you can.  I didn't mean to imply"

"I intend to return to work full-time by Tuesday."  In spite of his
jovial social manner and his overindulgence in imported ale, Bill
Chessman still had enough intelligence to understand that she was, in
effect, issuing an ultimatum.  His eyes narrowed as if peering through
a jeweler's loupe, searching for flaws.

Other conversations flowed around them, but Amanda remained focused on
Chessman, waiting for his response.  Though she doubted that he'd tell
her she was fired at a country-club event, he could give a clue as to
her current status with Empire Bank of Colorado.  A firm handshake and
welcome back would be nice.

"Stay home next week," he said.

"I'm perfectly healthy.  I want to go back to work."

"Not yet."

Though she maintained her polite smile, Amanda felt hollow inside.

Bill Chessman's instructions to stay away from the bank confirmed her
darkest fears.  The FBI's suspicions had poisoned the confidence of the
board.  She was on the verge of losing her job.

From outside, she heard the sound of bugles playing "Taps."  Though the
bugling heralded the beginning of the fireworks display, Amanda thought
the music was especially appropriate to her situation.  The day was
done.  The sun was going down on her career.

"Time to go outside," Chessman announced.

"By the way, David, how's your brother, Josh?  Still living in
Evergreen?"

"That's right."

"We'd better hurry," Amanda said in a rush.  The mention of Josh and
Nancy made her uncomfortable.  Laurel would only be safe if no one
suspected she was there.

"The first burst of fireworks is always the best."

As they filed through the doors, David managed to separate her from the
others.  Outside, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward a stand of
aspen near the parking lot, far from where anyone else was standing.

Though it wasn't pitch black, night had settled, and Amanda stumbled
over an unseen rock on the path.  She almost fell but was saved when
David caught her arm and supported her.  The sudden jolt destroyed her
taut control.

She clung to him, too devastated to stand on her own.

"Did you hear, David?  Chessman said he didn't want me at the bank."

Maybe she was jumping to the wrong conclusion.  Her fear of losing her
job might have caused her to read too much into his statement.

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything.  He might just be concerned about my
health."

"Sure, it's possible."

"But not likely."

She was going to be fired.  Because of the mess with Carrie, the
accusations of Sarge and her knowledge of insider banking information,
she would lose everything.

A barrage of fireworks exploded, and she looked up.  The skies overhead
were alive with flame.  Starbursts of crimson and blue.  Yellow rockets
streaked even higher, as high as the stars.  Their colors were mirrored
in David's eyes, and she looked to him for renewed hope.

"There has to be something we can do."

The firecrackers clattered like machine-gun fire, followed by
awe-filled oohs and aahs.

"We could go to the hospital tomorrow," he said.

"Why?  I thought it was your day off."

"We could look for clues to Temple's murder.  See if anybody noticed
anything unusual."

"We could investigate," she said.  The dying embers of hope fanned
brighter.  There still might be something she could do to save her
reputation and her job.

"That's a great idea, David.  I know the police have already talked to
everybody, but we have something they didn't."

"What's that?"

"Our four suspects," she said.

"We could show their photographs to people in the hospital.  Somebody
might remember seeing one of them."

He nodded.

"And where are we going to get these mug shots?"

Lit by the glow from another burst of skyrockets, she pointed toward
the clubhouse.

"There's a wall of pictures showing country-club teams.

I'll bet we can find Stefan and Frank among them, And Bill Chessman,
too.  "

"Is he a suspect now?"

"Don't I wish!"  She despised the fact that he hadn't supported her.

"He should have backed me up instead of listening to FBI accusations
based on testimony from a thug like Sarge."

"I agree," David said.

"But it doesn't make him a criminal."

"One can only hope."

He grinned.

"You've got your fire back.  You're going to be okay, baby."

His arm encircled her waist, and she leaned her head against his
shoulder.  If he hadn't been here to support her, she would have given
up.  Her resilience seemed utterly depleted.  Only David's unfailing
support gave her the strength to carry on.

Heading back toward the clubhouse, they strolled through the parking
lot, passing David's Porsche in the farthest row.

A huge boom resounded from the fireworks area on the opposite end of
the clubhouse, and a shower of sparkles fell from the heavens.

"When I was a girl," she said, "I used to wish on shooting stars.  Do
you think this is the same?"

"Make your wish."

"There are three of those stars.  I get three wishes."

She pointed to the first.

"Number-one wish is for my baby.  I wish that Laurel will have a
spectacular life.  Next,

I wish that all of this would be resolved.  The crime will be solved
and I will be exonerated.  "

She stared at the third star winking in the sky.

"The third wish is for you, David."

She wished they could get together again, that they would have another
chance at happiness.

"I wish that you and I" A sharp blast interrupted her.  It came from
nearby.  Not from the area of the fireworks.  In her peripheral vision,
Amanda saw someone dodging between the cars.  There was another pop.  A
gunshot!

David shoved her down between two cars and crouched beside her.

"Go to the Porsche," he said.

"The doors are unlocked."

There was another blast, either from the fireworks or the gun.

"Stay low," he ordered.

Doubled over, she darted through the rows of cars.  David was right
behind her.  She could hear him breathing.  Her senses were on super
alert In the semidarkness, she heard the sound of footsteps running on
the asphalt.

Were they coming closer?

At the Porsche, she whipped open the door and dived inside.  The
interior light made her an easy target.  Amanda ducked down in the
leather seat as David leaped in on the driver's side and closed his
door.

There was another pop.  The windshield shattered.

He threw the car into gear and pealed out of the lot onto the street.

"Are you all right?"

"I think so."

"Damn it, I should have seen that coming.  Should have known."

"David, it's not your" -- "Take that cell phone out of your purse and
call 911.  Tell the cops we'll meet them at the country club."

"No."

"What the hell do you mean?  Call the police."

"Whoever the guy was, he's already gone," she said.

"I went to the country club to reestablish my reputation.  If we mess
up their party with a police investigation, it won't be good for me or
my career."

"How about your life?  If you don't survive, your career doesn't mean a
hell of a lot."

"They'll never catch him," she said.

"Maybe not, but a cop investigation would be a damned good dose of
reality for that bunch of phonies.  Make the call."

Reluctantly, she punched in the numbers for Agent Metcalf and left a
message with the FBI.

"This is an emergency.  I'm Amanda Fielding.

Someone shot at me.  "

She set up a meeting nearby, disconnected the call and turned to
David.

"I guess I'm going to be notorious again."

"It might look good to the FBI that somebody is still after you.  If
you're a victim, you can't really be a suspect."

"That's not true, David."  She shook her head.

"They killed Temple."

in contrast to amanda, David enjoyed the disruption at the country
club.  While the fireworks continued, Agents Metcalf and Hess
questioned potential witnesses.  A cadre of Denver police searched
outside in the parking lot.  Inside, they stormed the clubhouse and
sampled pate and Brie.

Standing beside the buffet table, David decided that he'd done the
country club a service by calling in the cops.  Half these people were
too drunk to drive home.

Agent Greg Hess joined him.

"You and Amanda are free to leave at any time.  Sorry about your
Porsche, David."

So was he.

"Did you find out anything interesting?"

"Nope, and I doubt we will.  This place is too big, and there are acres
of landscape to hide the weapon.  No good witnesses.

Everybody was standing outside in the dark, watching the fireworks. 
"

"Sorry we messed up your Fourth of July."

"I didn't have plans."

Hess straightened his conservative necktie.  Even though they were just
talking, he looked to be standing at attention.

"You're single, right?"  David asked.

"Divorced."

Being an FBI agent had to be hell on relationships.  Not only was Hess
on call twenty-four hours a day during investigations, but danger was
integral to the job.

"I appreciate the information you've been able to give me," David
said.

"Metcalf would kick my butt if he knew."

"You're not as uptight as he is," David said.

He nodded.

"I don't consider Amanda to be a real suspect, but I've got a gut
feeling she's the key to this whole case."

Maybe Hess was acting on his own sympathetic initiative.  Or maybe, as
David had originally suspected, they were still playing the old
good-cop-bad-cop routine.  David didn't really care why Hess dribbled
out these occasional facts.  He'd take any crumb he could if it meant
coming closer to a solution.

"Got anything else?"

"Two things," Hess said tersely.

"We traced the anonymous 911 phone call that alerted the police to the
robbery.  It was a cell phone.

Stolen.  "

"What do you think that means?"

"The stolen phone suggests that the call was placed by another
criminal."

David carried the logic a little further.

"If a criminal who was involved reported the robbery to the cops, the
point would be to occupy the SWAT teams at Empire Bank.  If that was
the case, the robbery attempt was a diversion so Jax Schaffer could
make his escape."

"Could be."

"What else?"  David said.

"We viewed the secret surveillance tape that Amanda had in her
office.

The camera was set to activate when someone unlocked her desk drawers.
"

"Someone was on the tape," David said.

"Outstanding!"

Whoever had broken into her desk would have access to the computer
codes.  Finally, there would be hard evidence that could put Amanda in
the clear.

"The problem," Hess said, "was that they never went near the drawer
where she kept the computer codes.  They were digging around in
personnel records."

"Who was it?"

"Frank Weathers."

Suspect number one.  Frankie the ferret had broken into her desk to
peek at confidential personnel information, probably thinking he could
further his career.

"Have you questioned him?"

"We hadn't been able to locate him.  Not until now."

"I thought he was at the bank today," David said.

"He's been in and out, but we'll get him tonight."  Stiffly, he rotated
his head to look directly at David.

"Have you heard anything from Vonnie?"

"She's fine."  Amanda had called the house in Evergreen several times
during the day.

"Are you going to ask her out?"

His sheepish grin was a contrast to his rigid posture.

"Do you think she wouldn't mind dating a fed?"

"Only one way to find out."

David left Hess and went in search of Amanda.

He found her sitting alone in a far corner of the club'd house, gazing
through the polished windows into the night.  Though her poise remained
unshaken, she showed signs of tension.  Her fingers knotted tightly in
her lap.  When he approached, she cast her gaze downward.  She appeared
contrite, apologetic for inviting these unwelcome guests to the
party.

"We can go now," he said.

"I'm more than ready."

She spoke not another word.  Cautiously, she avoided contact with
anyone else.  David felt bad for her.  Her good name was so vitally
important to her.

When they drove the Porsche from the country-club parking lot, he was
surprised to hear her giggle.  "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, and I really mean it this time."  Her voice was rich with
energy.

"I could learn to like this.  Being the center of attention?

It's kind of fun.  Flashy.  "

"I'm glad you think so."

"And guess what I stole off the wall in the trophy room?"  She dug into
her purse and pulled out two photographs.

"Here's a photo of the winners of a golf tournament with Stefan and
Bill Chessman.  And another of the tennis team that won some city-wide
tournament.  Look at Frank's skinny little legs."

"Suspect number one," he said, thinking of the hard evidence on the
secret surveillance camera.

"Do you think we're right about him?"

"He's a nerd, all right."  She touched his arm.

"But I was watching him tonight.  Bill Chessman snubbed him, and I saw
a look in Frank's eyes that gave me goose bumps.  I think he's capable
of murder."

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, with Amanda cuddled in the bed beside him, David lay
awake, staring at the long-barreled revolver on the bedside table.  The
piece had to be over twenty years old, and he didn't even know if it
worked.  His aunt, who had owned this house before willing it to David,
had bought the gun for protection.  Once upon a time, when he was a
kid, she'd shown him how to use it and told him that she always kept it
under the floorboards in the bedroom.

David had always known the gun was there, lurking like a coiled
rattler, in a secret cubbyhole under the floorboards in the bedroom.

Until now, he'd never thought of taking it out, cleaning it, preparing
to use it as a deadly weapon.  To kill.  What the hell was he doing? 
He was a doctor.  It was his business to save lives.

But he had to protect her.  He had to keep Amanda safe.

Her eyes remained closed, and her breathing was steady.  He cautiously
enfolded her in his arms, careful not to wake her, and he whispered, "I
love you, baby."

It felt good to say the words again.  Five years ago, they had been in
love.  This time, it would be better.  Perfect.

There was only the small matter of protecting her from professional
assassins and clearing her name in a bank- robbery attempt.

David licked his lips.  A straight shot of vodka would have been
nice.

He could use something to take the edge off his tension.  Instead, he
kissed the tip of her nose.

He threw off the sheets, grabbed a pair of shorts from the dresser
drawer and rambled down to the kitchen to make coffee.  After the first
sip, he went into the office.

The message machine was, of course, blinking.  But he ignored it.  His
first call was to Stella in the emergency room at the hospital.

She recognized his voice immediately.

"Glad you called," she said.

"I

have a message for Amanda.  "

"Give it to me."

"We found her Guccis," she said proudly.

"Those posters I put all over the hospital did the trick.  And you can
tell her that she was right.

It looks like somebody stole the shoes.  "

He couldn't believe these two women were still obsessing over a pair of
shoes in the middle of robbery attempts and shootings.

"How can you tell somebody stole them?"

"Because they're being so sneaky.  They left one of the posters on my
desk.  On the back was a note."  There was the rustling of paper.

"It says, " I have the shoes.  Bring reward.  The owner should meet me
at noon Sunday on the front lawn.  Come alone.  "" Sounded like a
ransom note.  For a pair of shoes?

"I'll tell Amanda."

"Why did you call?"

"I need to come in today."  His purpose was to investigate Temple's
murder, but he wasn't going to tell Stella about that.  "And I wanted
to know if Loretta Spangler was scheduled to work."

"Hiding from the big bad neurologist?"

"That would be correct," he said.

"Sorry, Doc.  She's already here."

Her presence was inconvenient.  He didn't need any more hassles, but he
could manage.

Before David could deal with the other phone messages, Amanda sauntered
into the den with her daisy coffee mug in her hand.  She looked great
in the morning.

"Good news," he said.

"Stella has a lead on your shoes."

"The Guccis?"

He told her about the note.

"Better bring the reward.  This shoe thief sounds like a fruitcake."

And he was going to accompany her.  This weird ransom note might also
be a ploy by an assassin to get her alone.  Somehow, he needed to
figure out a way to carry his oversize pistol around in the hospital
with him.

after they'd showered and dressed, Amanda stood in the driveway outside
David's house watching him circle the Porsche and listening to him
grumble.

"Bullet holes," he snarled.

"Two in the hood.  One in the fender.

Windshield ruined.  "

"We can take the minivan," she said.  "You don't understand, Amanda.
This car is a work of art."

"Really?"  she drawled.

"And you had the nerve to give me a hard time about my Gucci shoes."

Her purse rang, and she dug out the cell phone.  Standing outdoors with
the phone in her hand, she was on the verge of a memory, but it
wouldn't quite materialize.

"Hello?"

"Agent Metcalf here.  I wanted to let you know that our search last
night was fruitless."

"I'm sorry," she said.  Last night in bed, David had told her about the
video of Frank Weathers on her secret surveillance camera.

"Have you made any arrests?"

"No, ma'am.  Why would I?"

She didn't want to say anything that might get Agent Hess in trouble.

"No reason."

"Ms.  Fielding, I wanted to emphasize to you that it's important for
you to be careful today.  Don't leave the house.  Our investigation is
moving forward, and the people involved might take desperate
measures."

Like hiring a hit man?  Like shooting at her in a parking lot?

"That's good advice," she said.

But she didn't intend to follow it.  She and David would be cautious in
their investigation at the hospital, and she couldn't force herself to
sit on her hands all day.

"Who was that?"  David asked.

"Metcalf."

She didn't mention his warning as she climbed into the passenger's side
of her minivan.  David seemed tense enough already.  He stashed a huge,
antique-looking revolver in his black doctor's bag and placed it in the
back of the van.

"I'm taking Old Betsy with me."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Old Betsy?"

"I might not be enough of a marksman to hit the broad side of the
Goodyear blimp, but this gun looks like serious business."

"It looks like a relic from the Old West," she said.

"Perfect."  He checked his wristwatch.

"Because it's almost high noon, and I'm ready for the showdown with the
Gucci thief."

Before she buckled her seat belt, she leaned toward him, and he met her
halfway for a casual but lingering kiss.  She wanted to tell him that
she loved him, but last night's lovemaking spoke louder than words.

"I have a good feeling, David.  I'll get my shoes.  We'll use the
photos to investigate and find Temple's murderer.  And I'll remember.
This will all be over soon."

"I hope you're right."

David started up the engine of the minivan and headed toward Denver
General with the taste of Amanda lingering on his lips.  She was bright
and energetic today.  Her clear blue eyes held a touching optimism, and
he wanted to believe her when she said this was almost over.  After the
threats and the danger had passed, they might have a chance to build
something wonderful together.

Echoes of her prior rejections resonated in his head, but he ignored
the clamor.  He knew that she loved him, even if she wasn't ready to
admit it.

"When this is over, I want to talk about our future.  Yours, mine and
Laurel's.  I don't want you to leave me.  Not ever again."

A beautiful smile stretched across her face.  It was exactly the
response he'd hoped for.

"We'll talk," she promised.

At the hospital, they crossed the patio near the entrance and turned
west.  Cars and taxis were parked at a long circular driveway.  In a
grassy area beyond, people were seated at stone tables and benches,
innocently eating their lunches.

David was glad he'd taken the black doctor's bag containing his weapon.
There was a portent of danger in the air.  Something intense was about
to happen.

He scanned the crowd, looking for someone alone, someone- carrying a
shoe box.

Beside him, Amanda gasped.

"It's Carrie."

A petite woman with_ gray hair and eyeglasses strolled toward them. 
She wore a white lab coat with a stethoscope tucked in her pocket.  Her
pace was unhurried with hands stuck in her pockets.  Though David had
never met this woman before, he wouldn't have sworn she didn't work at
the hospital.

"A gray wig?"  Amanda said.

"I'm really getting into this disguise thing.  Lucky for me, I'm
nondescript and can blend into a crowd."

But she did have a pleasant, open face and honest eyes.  David's first
impression of the fugitive Carrie Lamb was positive.  She didn't look
like a bank robber.

Amanda asked, "Are you the one who wrote the note about the shoes?"

"Yup.  I thought this would be a good way to see you.  I wanted to say
goodbye, Amanda.  I'm going to leave town for a little while."

"No," Amanda said.

"I won't let you run off with a fugitive bank robber."

David remembered Amanda's panic when she thought the fugitive might
find his house and threaten Laurel.

"You've got to trust me," Carrie said.

"I have to do this my way.

Don't worry, okay?  I always land on my feet.  "

For a long moment, Amanda stared at her friend.  A series of emotions
played across her face.  Anger and fear, followed by acceptance.

"I'm warning you, Carrie.  If you get yourself killed, I'll never speak
to you again."

"Fair enough."

Amanda's eyes shone with unshed tears as she pulled him closer.

"I

want you to meet David Haines.  "

"You're David!"  She grabbed his hand and pumped.

"So, you two finally got back together again.  Good.  I'm so happy for
you both.  David, aren't you proud of Amanda and your daughter?"

His daughter?

"What did you say?"

"Laurel."  Carrie beamed up at him.

"You must have known the minute you saw her.  She looks just like
you."

Laurel Fielding, nine months old, was his daughter, his baby, his
own.

Why the hell hadn't Amanda told him?  Why had she allowed him to
believe Stefan was the father?

She'd lied to him about the most important event that occurred in any
man's life.  The birth of his child.  Cold fury clawed at his heart.

He was a father.  This should have been a moment of joy.  Not pain. 
Not rage.

Amanda and Carrie hugged and separated.  As Carrie walked away, he was
aware of Amanda beside him.  He couldn't look at her.  He might explode
if he confronted her directly.

"I'm sorry, David."

There was no amount of sympathy that could make up for her lies.

"I

don't want to hear it.  "

"Please, listen to me.  I made my decision--a very wrong
decision--based on when we were engaged.  I didn't think we could live
together."

"You stole the first nine months of my daughter's life."  He might have
assisted at the birth.  He might have been the first person to hold his
child in his arms.  Now the chance was gone.

"It was my right to know."

"If you'd known, you would have insisted that we get married.  And I
didn't believe it would work out.  I didn't know how much I... cared
about you."

"The only person you cared about was yourself.  Your damned career.

Your life.  "

The anguish in her eyes ripped into him, but he strode away from her,
fighting to control his all-consuming rage.  His pulse hammered.  Every
muscle in his body clenched.  His fingers, holding the handle on his
black bag, were white knuckled.

Then he remembered the danger.  The revolver.  He came to a stiff and
sudden halt.  No matter how he felt about what she'd done to him, he
couldn't leave her unprotected.  He couldn't abandon her now.

"Come with me, Amanda."

"David,!"  -- "I made a promise to protect you.  In spite of what you
think, I keep my word."

amanda seated herself beside Stella at the counter in emergency.

Though she was still able to walk and talk and function, she felt dead
inside.

He would never forgive her.  He would despise her for the rest of their
days.  And she couldn't blame him.  She should have listened to her
heart instead of logically deciding that he wasn't good husband and
father material.  How could she have been so very wrong?  No man would
be a better father for Laurel than David.

Stella slammed down the telephone, leaped to her feet behind the desk
and shouted, "David, we have a four-car collision and a driveby
shooting.  Three ambulances.  Six victims.  Get into your scrubs."

"I don't think so."  A tall woman with black hair pulled back in a bun
stalked to the desk.

"Dr.  Haines is under disciplinary review."

"We're shorthanded," Stella said.

"Dr.  Spangler, we need every available doctor who can" -The double
doors leading to the ambulance area crashed open.  Gumeys wheeled
inside.  Paramedics shouted for help.

And David responded.  He shoved the black bag under Amanda's chair.

"Don't go anywhere," he ordered.

She nodded.

For nearly half an hour, Amanda sat there.  Her knees pressed tightly
together.  Her shoulders were tense.  Her stomach rolled up and down
like a yo-yo, but her mind was numb.

Then she caught a glimpse of David.  He'd thrown a paper gown over his
clothes, and the front was covered in blood.  The look of determination
on his face wrenched her heart.  Her self-control shattered.  Tears
seeped between her eyelids.

The cell phone in her purse trilled loudly, and she took it out.  When
she flipped it open and held it to her ear, another memory slammed
across her consciousness.

She was inside the bank.  Carrie and Tracy were with her.  Fear and
confusion roiled in her gut.  And she looked through the windows. 
There she saw a man with a cell phone.  He stared at the bank, then
turned away.

Stefan!

She dropped the phone back into her purse without answering.

Stefan was the man behind the robbery.  Suspect number four.

It all made sense to her now.  The reason her bank, Empire Bank, had
been selected for the robbery was that Stefan had access; he'd used
their friendship to get information from her.

* He could have easily stolen her spare keys from the apartment and had
copies made.  Several times, she remembered, he visited her at work.
He'd been alone in her office.  He could have rifled the desk.

In a strange way, the FBI's suspicions had been correct.  Amanda was
the inside contact for the robbery attempt.  But she was only a conduit
for Stefan to gain all the codes and procedures the robbers would
need.

For another half hour she sat, absorbing this knowledge and trying to
decide on her next move.  She should have been pleased.  Finally, she
would be free from suspicion, her job no longer threatened.

More than anything, she wanted to tell David.  She wanted to feel his
arms around her.

Stella plopped down in the chair beside-her.

"I don't know why David came in this afternoon, but I'm glad he did."

"What's happened?"

"First, we had the car accident.  Then a six-year-old boy was shot in a
driveby.  Thanks to David, he's going to be all right."

Amanda felt a surge of pride.

"I'm glad."

"Your man is a hell of a good doc," Stella said.

The cell phone in Amanda's purse rang again.  This time, she connected
the call.  It was Stefan.

"I want to see you, Amanda.  Immediately."

"Sorry, Stefan."  The sound of his voice disgusted her.  She couldn't
wait to turn him in to the FBI.  Maybe they'd lock him up for a hundred
years.

"I'm busy."

"Too busy to see your little baby, Laurel?  She misses her mommy."

"What are you saying?"

"Josh and Nancy Haines in Evergreen.  I saw their name and address
written on a pad beside the phone when I visited you at David's
house.

But I didn't make the connection until we were all together at the
country club and Bill Chessman asked about them.  It only took a couple
phone calls to confirm.  Then I picked her up.  "

"No," she whispered.  Dread and panic choked her.

"Vonnie was only too happy to turn the baby over to me.  Did you
know?

She thinks I'm Laurel's father.  "

"Where are you?"

"I'm at your place, Amanda.  Your condo."

"How did you get in my condo?"

He laughed.

"I think we both know that I have a key.  Several keys, in fact.  Be
here in ten minutes, or I'll do to Laurel what I would have done to
you."

"If you hurt one hair on Laurel's head, I'll" -- "By the way, if you
tell anybody.  Laurel dies.  You know I'll do it, Amanda.  I hate
kids."

The phone went dead in her hand.  She had ten minutes.  She grabbed
David's black bag from under her chair and ran for the door.

stella poked her head into the emergency -room cubicle where David was
completing his examination of a teenage boy, "You're going to be all
right," he assured the kid.

"That's a nice clean break in your arm.

And we only had to shave a little place on the back of your head to
stitch up the wound.  Now, Dr.  Spangler is going to take over.  "

Loretta Spangler nodded to him.

"You've done good work today, Haines.

I'll consider withdrawing my request for disciplinary action.  "

"Thanks."  He glanced at Stella.

"I'm putting in for some serious overtime."

"I'm worried about Amanda," Stella said.

"She got a phone call from a guy named Stefan and he" -- "Whoa!  Did
she tell you this?"  "Well, I was sitting right next to her when she
got a call on her cell phone.  I couldn't help overhearing."

He wasn't surprised.  The only thing bigger than Stella's eyes were her
ears.  He stepped out of the cubicle.

"Okay.  So, Amanda got a phone call.  So what?"

"She looked really scared.  Like in shock.  And she said something
about Laurel getting hurt."

His blood froze.

"Where is she?"

"She ran out of here, really fast.  On the phone, she said that Stefan
was at her condo."

David took off running.  The black bag with his revolver was gone.

Amanda must have taken it.  She was going to face Stefan head-on.  And
Laurel was in danger.

In the past hour, he'd saved a child's life.  Now he was about to lose
his own Laurel, before he'd even had a chance to know her.

He charged out the door to a waiting ambulance and leaped in beside the
driver.

"Let's roll.  We've got an emergency."

in the hallway outside her condo, Amanda discarded the bag and held the
revolver in her hand.  It was huge and heavy, and she wasn't sure that
she even knew how to fire the thing.  But holding the grip gave her an
edge.

On the frantic drive over here, she'd tried calling Josh and Nancy in
the mountains, but no one answered.  She'd thought of contacting the
police, but she didn't dare take the chance.  They might overreact. 
And Laurel's life would hang in the balance.

The cell phone was in her pocket.  As soon as she made sure Laurel was
all right, she'd call 911.  She'd hold Stefan off with the gun and call
the police.  And Laurel would be safe.

Using her key, she unlocked the door.  With the gun behind her back,
she stepped inside.

"All right, Stefan.  I'm here."

Where was he?  She walked toward the front room.

An instant before he grabbed her from behind, she heard him.  But it
was too late to turn around.

He knocked the gun from her hand and crooked an elbow around her
throat.

"It's about time."

She gasped as he tightened his choke hold.  " Where's Laurel?"

"In the mountains where she belongs.  I didn't need to kidnap her, did
I?  The threat was enough.  You're such a good little mommy that you
came running."

"You were bluffing?"

"That's one thing you never figured out about me," he said.

"I'm cool.

The people who really know me call me the Iceman.  "

He released her with a shove, and she fell to the floor.  When she
looked up, she saw the automatic pistol in his hand.  More frightening
than the gun was the look on his face.  His eyes were wild,
unfocused.

"Don't try to run," he warned.

"I'm getting pretty good with this gun, and I could probably shoot off
your kneecap."

He was insane.  Why hadn't she seen it before?

Her only chance was to keep him calm.  Play for time.  Hope that she
could reach the gun on the floor.

"Okay, Stefan.  I'll do whatever you say."

"Iceman.  Call me Iceman."

"All right.  Iceman."

"You should always be nice to a man with a gun, Amanda.  You're going
to die, either way.  But I can make it fast and painless.  Or real
slow."  He strolled over to the sofa and sat.

"Slow would be more fun for me."

Her gaze flicked to the revolver.  Gauging the distance, she knew it
lay just beyond her reach.  She needed to move closer.

"Were you behind the robbery?"

"I organized the whole thing."

"Pretty smart."  If she kept him talking, he might get careless.

"Have you done this before?"  "A couple of years ago, I depleted my
trust fund, and I started doing little jobs for Jax Schaffer."

"You met him in Chicago."

"That's right.  We ran in the same circles.  Like the yacht club.  He
always paid very well.  But the Empire Bank rob'd bery?  That was
going to be my big score.  Half a million bucks, plus a payoff from Jax
if his escape succeeded."

"But the robbery failed," she said.

"Bad luck," he countered.

"My men were supposed to be in the process of escaping with the money
when the cops showed up, but Temple got shot in the leg, which meant he
couldn't be the getaway driver."

"If they escaped, they wouldn't be a diversion for Jax Schaffer's
escape."

"Don't be stupid, Amanda.  The cops would have been tied up chasing the
getaway car.  They're really the ones who made a mess of things.  They
responded too fast."

"Maybe you made your anonymous 911 call too early."

His eyebrows raised.

"You knew about the call?"

"I saw you outside the bank with a cell phone in your hand."  Subtly,
she inched toward the gun.

"You really were clever, Stefan.  How did you override the computer
system?"

"I contracted with specialists.  Temple was the driver, and Dallas was
the computer genius.  He set everything up in advance using the codes I
lifted from your desk."  He gave her a look of pure disgust.

"Sarge was the hit man.  He was supposed to kill you during the
robbery."

"Why?"

"Because you, Amanda, could point the finger at me.  Sooner or later,
you'd figure out my connection to Jax.  And you'd wonder about my
interest in your boring job.  Without you, there was nothing at all to
connect me to Empire Bank."

"Well, that's not true anymore," she said.  She might be able to work a
bluff of her own.

"I told Agent Metcalf everything.  And I called him on the way over
here.  On my cell phone."

"You're lying."

She forced the tremble from her voice.  Slowly, she rose to her feet.

In a few steps, she might be able to reach the gun.

"It's over.  The FBI will be here at any moment.  Don't add murder to
the list of charges against you."

"You don't fool me, Amanda."

Now!  She dived toward the gun.  Her hands outstretched.  Almost in her
grasp.

But he was quicker.  An athlete, Stefan beat her to the gun.  He lifted
it by one finger.

"Looking for this?"

Her hopes crashed around her.  Escape was impossible.  She was going to
die.

With his toe, he nudged her hard in the ribs, but she barely felt the
pain.  She was going to die before she had a chance to make things
right with David.  She would never see Laurel grown to adulthood.

"Just in case you're telling the truth," he said.

"I better not kill you here.  I'm not taking any more chances.  Let's
go."

He grabbed her arm and propelled her through the door of the condo
toward the elevator.  When the doors snapped open, he threw her inside
ahead of him.

Then the doors closed.  Though Amanda had ridden up and down in this
conveyance a thousand times, this time was different.  Panic surrounded
her.  Her eyes darted frantically as she felt the walls collapsing in
upon her.  Claustrophobia.  Her heart beat faster.  A frightened moan
escaped her lips.

A cruel grin twisted Stefan's lips.

"Poor little Amanda.  You don't like enclosed spaces, do you?"

The elevator walls tightened.  There wasn't enough air to breathe.  She
was suffocating.

He pressed the door-closed button and held it.

"Did you really tell the FBI?"

"Yes."  She clawed at the collar of her shirt, trying to get air.

"Yes!"

"And what did you say to them?"

"Don't know."  She had to get out of here.  She'd go mad if she was
trapped here for one more second.

"I'll open the door if you tell me the truth."

Strangled by her own terror, she couldn't speak.  Her lungs burned.

Frantically, she threw herself against the elevator door.  The
buttons.

She had to press the buttons.

"Tell me!"  he demanded.

"I didn't call anybody.  Nobody knows!"  She hit the button for the
first floor and felt the elevator begin to move.

"Let me out of here."

She was on fire, unable to breathe.  Her head was spinning.  She felt
herself losing consciousness.  Her knees gave way, and she slumped to
the floor.

"I think we'll go right back upstairs, Amanda.  And then, you're going
to die."

On the first floor, the doors opened.  She was vaguely aware of David
and two policemen who stood waiting.

The small enclosed space exploded with the sound of gunfire.  Amanda
heard herself scream as Stefan fell to the floor beside her.

"Bitch," he whispered as he aimed the gun at her face.

David grabbed Stefan's hand and threw the automatic pistol away.

"Lucky for you, Stefan.  The ambulance is already here."

He lifted Amanda to her feet and helped her from the elevator.

"It's okay now."

"Air," she gasped.

"Outside."

The breeze hit her full in the face, and she inhaled in huge gulps as
David helped her to a wrought-iron bench beside the doorway.  Sitting,
she leaned against him, drawing on his strength.  Her heartbeat
returned to a more normal level.  The terror began to subside, leaving
behind an emptiness.

His voice was low and soothing.

"It's all over, Amanda.  Everything is going to be all right."

She looked up at him.

"If everything will be all right, why do I feel so miserable?"

The ambulance driver and one of the cops came past them with Stefan
stretched out on a gurney.  Another police sedan pulled up in front of
the condo.

"David," she whispered, "can you ever forgive me?"

Gently, he lifted her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.

"I spent the last hour fighting to save a kid's life.  And I realized
something.

Any minute, any precious minute with a child is a gift.  I'd be a fool
to throw away one second with Laurel.  "

"And me?  Can you be with me?"

"I don't want to be an absentee father."  He kissed her forehead.

"You're part of the package."

The blood had begun to circulate in her body again.  She felt
stronger.

Inhaling a deep breath, she said, "I made a terrible mistake.  I
misjudged you.  But know this, David.  In all the time we've
shared--when we were together and apart--I never stopped loving you."

His lips pressed against hers, and it was the sweetest kiss she'd ever
experienced.  The taste of forgiveness.

The scene around them had become increasingly crowded with cops and
condo dwellers.  The concierge argued loudly with one of the uniformed
officers.

But Amanda saw only David.  His presence filled her.

Two days later, Amanda sat behind her desk at Empire Bank.  The broken
windows had been replaced, and the air-conditioning system cooled the
temperature to a comfort able level.  The hammering from an army of
workmen sounded like a joyous symphony, promising that the bank would
be reopened by next week.  She was back in business.

With a final flourish, she completed the loan document that would make
ten thousand dollars immediately avail able to Tracy Meyer.

"Ma'am?"  A workman stood in her doorway.

"Will it disturb you if I put this new nameplate on your door?"

"It will delight me."

She came out from behind her desk to watch as he affixed a bronze
plaque at eye level.  It read Amanda Fielding- Haines, President.  "

What a beautiful hyphenated name!  A flight to Vegas and a visit to a
justice of the peace, and it was done.

When she saw her handsome new husband coming through the front entrance
with Laurel tucked under his arm, pure happiness glowed within her. 
She wasn't sure how long this perfect joy would last.

Forever was a long time, but she expected to come close.

Amanda passed the loan papers to Jane Borelli, former head teller whom
she had promoted to a position as executive personal banker.

"Jane, would you expedite this loan, please?  Take the papers
downtown."

"I'm kind of busy."  Her grin was tentative.

"But I'll give it to Frank."

"You're picking on me," he growled from his desk.

"Good old Frank.  The errand boy."

"Nonsense," Jane said.

"I give you extra work because I like you."

Amanda couldn't believe it.  Jane actually liked the overambitious
little ferret.  Frank had caused so much trouble for Amanda, had cast
suspicion on her, had seriously breached ethical behavior by going
through her desk.  She really ought to fire him.

But not today, when her mood was rosy and forgiving.  As David
approached, she happily yielded to the magnetic pull she felt whenever
he was near.  Gliding into his arms, she thought that perhaps hugging
should be official bank policy.

He whispered in her ear.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you, too."  She shivered with happiness and grinned at Laurel.

"And how's this baby?"

Laurel waved her arms and babbled.

"Dabbadabba."

"Hear that?"  His face lit up with pleasure.

"She said Daddy."

"Obviously a gifted child," she said.

"Laurel was supervising the movers at your condo.  Obviously a bossy
child.  She takes after you."

Distracted by a disturbance at the front entrance, Amanda looked up as
Bill Chessman charged through the doors and barked an order to Harry
Hoffman, who was back at work as a security guard, "Keep that woman
out!"

Fuming, Chessman stormed across the lobby toward them.

"Elaine Montero has been on my tail since Monday,

demanding information about my alleged connection to Jax Schaffer.  She
never gives up.  "

"Annoying, isn't it?"  Amanda said.

"It's horrid to be suspected of complicity in a crime you had nothing
to do with."

She blinked away an unhappy memory.  Chessman's comment had reminded
her that Schaffer was still at large.  More importantly, Carrie hadn't
yet been heard from.  Amanda could only pray that her best friend would
be all right.

Chessman's voice held a resigned tone.

"Suspicion is a terrible thing.

Insidious.  I'm sorry, Amanda, for doubting you.  "

"You're forgiven."  She glanced toward David.  Together they'd learned
that forgiveness was a precious gift for both the giver and the
receiver.

David grinned back at her and turned to Chessman.

"I know how you can make it right.  Give Amanda two weeks off, paid
vacation."

"Done.  Why?"

"Honeymoon," he said.

"I'm thinking of Paris."

"France?"  Amanda questioned.

"Oh, David, I don't know anything about the day-care situation in
Europe."

"We'll take Vonnie."

She shook her head.

"I don't think she'll want to leave her new FBI boyfriend."

"We'll take him, too.  I can afford it."

"But, David, this is too" -- "It's spontaneous," he said, leaning
forward to kiss her forehead.

"And it's fun.  Get used to it."

"Guess I can't complain about fun, can I?"

"Guess not."

She passed Laurel to Jane and pulled David into her of 9

fice for a real kiss.  They had a lot of loving to do, making up for
the five years they'd been apart, and she passionately anticipated
every single moment of responsibility and laughter.

Look out for Tracy's story in His To Protect, available in June 2000