mysterious vows
by
cassie miles


To Rick, the love I will never regret

Prologue

Helpless.

Unable to move.

Her body felt limp.

Arms and legs, heavy as sandbags.

Her eyelids opened, barely a slit.

Beneath her cheek she felt the smooth tile that lined the edge of the
swimming pool.

The men were still here.

Though she was unable to distinguish words or sentences, she heard
their voices.

Their harsh whispers echoed in the silent summer night.

The gaunt man stood over her.

The pointed toe of his boot dug into her rib cage and pain radiated
through her body in dull waves.

She couldn't escape from him .

could not move.

He nudged her again with his toe.

Stop it, she wanted to cry.

Leave me alone!

But her voice was paralyzed.

He shoved at her body.

Did he still have the knife?

Did his dirty fingers still hold the syringe?

His hands were on her shoulder.

The stench of him disgusted her.

He rolled her onto her back and her long black hair tangled across her
face.

She was on her back at the very edge of the pool.

If he pushed her into the water, what could she do?

She was too weak to swim.

She struggled to move, to fight back, but her muscles would not
respond.

Unable to speak, unable to move.

Her vision blurred.

She saw her own right Mysterious Vows 8

hand, weighted by an unfamiliar gold ring, reaching toward safety,
trying to grasp.

Then she was falling.

Down through the cold, she plummeted.

Dead weight.

The water consumed her as she fell, soaked her Levi's and her
T-shirt.

She lost all sense of direction.

eh was up, which way was down?

The pool was dark, so dark.

And cold.

Shock trembled through her.

Can't breathe.

Frantically she flung out with her arms.

Had they even moved?

My God, was she going to die?

A scream boiled up in her throat.

No!

If she opened her mouth, the water would pour down her throat to her
lungs.

Suffocating.

The cold roused panic, and she kicked.

Her toe scraped the concrete bottom of the pool.

Push, dammit, push off.

Her legs curled beneath her, and she thrust with all her might.

She ascended, but so slowly.

Her lungs ached.

Her heart pulsed affhythmically.

In a gush of relief, she broke the surface.

Blessed oxygen flowed into her mouth.

A breath, she gasped just one breath, before she was again exhausted
One breath would be-- enough.

One breath at a time, she would survive.

The liquid cold splashed around her in weak ripples, freezing her arms
and legs until she floated motionless in the gelid darkness.

With great effort, she turned her head to the side and sucked down a
mouthful of air.

Then another.

Each breath was a desperate struggle.

Though she fought the exhausting paralysis, the cold penetrated to the
marrow of her bones.

And she felt death approaching.

Muerte.

Softly, gently, the angel of death glided toward her, dancing on the
shimmering blue water, coming for her.

it would be easy to give up.

To accept death.

No!

Her body felt heavy as stone, yet she did not sink to the bottom of the
pool.

Though weak, she was still breathing.

It was not her time to die.

There were important tasks.

Clinging to that hope, she kicked and her legs responded.

Her head jerked back, and she began a slow and clumsy dog paddle.

The night was utterly silent.

The men were gone.

In dim moonlight she saw the edge of the pool and the metal ladder,
less than five feet away.

Beyond that was the chain-link fence and the locked gate that the men
had broken.

Only five feet to the ladder.

She forced her arms and legs, weighted by clothing, to stroke through
the thick, dark liquid.

Farther than a marathon.

Impossibly far.

but her hand rasped the ladder.

Her fingers were weak, unable to hold.

If she sank again, she would never find the strength to hold on.

A sob racked her body.

She couldn't give up.

Not yet.

She pulled herself up.

Every muscle in her body strained.

Night air blasted her face.

Shivering, she lurched toward safety, dragging her body halfway out of
the pool.

Her legs were leaden.

She could not feel her feet.

Fighting desperately, she clawed her way to safety.

Her teeth chattered, and she tasted blood in her mouth.

But she'd made it.

She was alive.

Still breathing.

She looked back at the mirrored surface that should have been her
tomb.

And she saw.

herself.

Her body was still in the water.

She was floating facedown with her long black hair spread around her
head like inky tentacles weighing her down.

How could that be?

She looked down at her legs, encased in wet Levi's.

Her numb fingers plucked at her clammy T-shirt and twined in the red
scarf that encircled her neck like seaweed.

Her hand rose in front of her eyes and she pointed toward the center of
the swimming pool.

She was there.

Was she dead?

Her mind went blank.

Darkness overwhelmed her.

Chapter One The June sunlight sparkled on the waters of the marina

near Boothbay Harbor.

The weather was idyllic, as temperate as it gets on the coast of Maine,
and Jason Wakefield Walker turned his face upward to catch the
warmth.

The sun hovered directly overhead, above the masthead of his
twenty-five-foot yacht, Elena.

The masthead weather vane indicated a light wind from the north.

It was noon.

He had been waiting since seven o'clock this morning.

His source had left no communications since yesterday.

Therefore he assumed there had been no change in plan.

His assignment was to wait, however impatiently, for the arrival of
Maria Ramos Hernandez.

He sat in the cockpit of the Elena and stretched his long legs in front
of him.

The sun's heat penetrated his khaki slacks and eased the constant ache
in his injured left leg.

It felt good, but Jason was not yet ready to gracefully accept small
pleasures.

He'd lost too much.

Silently he cursed the fate that had broken his body and reduced him to
this position.

He was nothing more than a messenger boy.

Waiting and sitting when there was so much more to be done.

"Jason!  " His older sister, Alice, called to him as she marched
surefooted along the marina walkway and stopped at the Elena's slip.

Hands on hips, she glared at him.

"What are you doing?  Just sitting here?"

"Thinking."

"Wasting your time away," she accused.

"Not at all," he said, glancing at his cane.

"Moments of quiet contemplation befit a man in my position."

"Well, excuse me, Mr.  Socrates,.but there are some of us who still try
to get things done."

Alice was a human whirlwind who was always busy giving orders,
organizing, cleaning and planning.

Long ago, Jason had learned that the best method for dealing with this
human cyclone was to take cover and wait until she passed.

Rapid-fire, she rattled off a list of very important tasks.

"Have you done all that?"

He nodded.

"Oh?  Then, I guess the rest is up to me."

Her forehead puckered in a frown.

"She's not here yet, is she?"

"No," he said simply.

"Where is she?"

"Maria will be here."

"I simply cannot believe that you gave her such ridiculous
directions."

Teasing, she impersonated his low baritone, "" Meet me at the Boothbay
Marina, slip eighty-six.  "

' He shrugged.

"Why didn't you meet her at the plane?  Or her bus?

It's the least you could do, Jason.

After all, she's coming here all the way from Central America.

"She didn't want it that way," he lied.

He had never spoken to Maria.

Only to his source.

"I wonder why.  Proving her independence?"

Alice theorized.

"Maybe she needs to show you that she's capable of getting around by
herself.  That's good.

That's the sort of woman you need.

"Maybe."  I A windy sigh gusted through her lips.  " Oh, Jason.

I'm still not comfortable with this.

I wish you at least loved this woman.

II We'll learn to care about each other and take care of each other,"
he said.  " Isn't that what marriage is about?

II But this?

A mail-order bride?

Jason repeated the cover story that he'd told so many times.

"I need a woman on Passaquoit Island.  Especially now.  With my
injuries, I need someone around.  I don't have the time or inclination
to shop for a wife.

That was why I placed all those advertisements in Spanish newspapers.

I'm delighted that a suitable woman has responded.

"You could hire a nurse-"

"I don't need a nurse."

"A housekeeper, then.  Why marry the woman?  II She frowned.  " You're
so eligible, Jason.

Thirty-five, single, and fairly well-off.

You could still be a doctor, you know, if you went back to medical
school and finished your internship.

It wouldn't take' Alice stop.  "

CtItps just that I know so many nice ladies that would make marvelous
wives.

"I'll be fine."

"A mail-order bride," she muttered.

"I,ve never heard of such a ridiculous, antiquated concept.

And where is she?

It would serve you right if she didn't show up.

Tomorrow is the wedding, you know.

', "She'll be here," he said.

Of that, he was confident.

Maria's life depended upon fulfilling this complex plan.

Alice checked her wristwatch.

II I'll be with the caterers.

I hope you're doing the right thing, Jason.

"So do I."

The afternoon dragged.

Slowly, the sun rode the clear blue skies.

Wavelets monotonously lapped against the bull, washing away the
minutes.

He'd already done the chores and cleaning that maintained the Elena in
shipshape condition.

And, contrary to what he'd told his sister, there was only so much
quiet contemplation he could stand.

Using high-powered binoculars, Jason spied on the woodpeckers in the
pines and the gulls overhead.

He watched the fishing boats retrieve the day's catch from lobster
traps.

And he surveyed the shoreline, again and again, looking for Maria.

If something had gone wrong, how would the .

source contact him?

Jason had never met- this person.

His only source was a voice on the phone alnd an occasional letter.

They had not discussed the possibility of Maria not showing up.

Late in the afternoon, a Friday afternoon, activity picked up at the
marina.

The graceful sailboats, the sleek motor craft the festive party barges
received their inhabitants.

Jason far preferred the solitude.

The fewer witnesses, the better.

From his pocket he took out a one page letter, the only message he'd
received directly from Maria.

Though she was an accomplished journalist, English was her second
language and the sentences, written in neat script, seemed halting.

Dtar Mr.

Walker, My intense gratitude belongs to you.

For your Proposal and protection, I thank you so much.

We shall succeed in our j oumey.

We must.

@tween the fines he saw bravery and strength of character.

Maria was willing to sacrifice everything for patriotism, for the love
of her small Central American country and hatred of injustice.

He hoped the privacy and protection he could offer would be
sufficient.

At dusk he scanned with his binoculars and saw a WOMan standing
immobile on the shore, staring through the forest of sailboat masts.

A family, toting picnic baskets, separated to walk around her.

She took no notice.

Maria?

She wore @i's and a T-shirt.

Her long black hair was yanked back in a ponytail.

Though she carried no Iliggage, she wore a red scarf around her
throat.

J@son's heart took a leap.

The red scarf was the first sign ll of recognition.

She stumbled as she walked along the planks of the pier.

Even at this distance, he discerned the slump of her shOulders and a
drag in her step.

The woman appeared to bt exhausted, which was not surprising.

If this was Maria, she'd just completed a journey of more than two
thOusand miles.

A3 he observed her progress through his binoculars, JasGn found himself
hoping that this was the woman he had been waiting for, the woman he
would wed.

DeS pitt her exhaustion, she seemed to be reasonably attractive, and
his pride was appeased that he would not be stuck marrying an ugly
woman.

Even if the mailOrdtr marriage was nothing but a cover story, he would
be @quired to introduce her as his bride.

She entered the marina, passed the boathouse.

Using his cane, he climbed out of the cockpit and stood beside the
slip.

After waiting so long, he felt like running toward her-as if he could
run.

But the instructions were clear.

She was to come to him.

She stood beside the marker for slip number eighty six turned her head
and looked up at him.

Her eyes were an odd shade of hazel, almost green.

Their pale color stood out dramatically against her dusky complexion.

V,rithout saying a word, she held up her left hand and he saw the heavy
gold ring inscribed with branches of thorns and a golden rose.

"Maria?"

She looked puzzled but nodded.

He held out his hand to help her into the boat.

Her touch was cold, trembling.

He asked, in Spanish, if she was all right, if she needed anything.

In Spanish, she replied, "Sleep.  I must sleep..."

He guided her into the cabin, and she crawled onto the V-berth in the
forward huH and thanked him.

Before he could question, her to find out why she was so late, she was
unconscious, curled up on the bed, sound asleep.

In repose, her features were delicate.

Thick lashes formed dark crescents on her high cheekbones.

Her lips parted as she breathed shallowly.

Her journey had been difficult, he thought.

But she was here now, and he would make certain no one harmed her.

While she slept, he motored back to the island.

There was a need for haste, and no time for sailing, so he did not
hoist the dolphin sail on the Elena's mast.

They crossed the twenty-two miles of open sea to Passaquoit Island at a
smooth, even clip.

TIM HEAVY MIST that blanketed her mind parted, showing light, but her
eyelids were closed.

Was she dead?

She was falling again, struggling up from liquid darkness.

She must be dreaming, but her sensation was utterly real.

She struggled against the paralyzing weakness, fought to shake off the
cloying miasma that suffocated her.

Falling.

She felt an arm at her waist.

On her shoulder.

She was not alone.

The hands tightened their grasp.

Her eyelids snapped open.

The profusion of light and color startled her.

There was sunlight pouring through tall windows.

Not darkness.

She gulped air, filling her lungs.

Her heart throbbed painfully beneath her rib cage.

And her head- Oh, God, her head and shoulders ached.

"imaria, c6mo esti us ted

She looked into the eyes of a stranger.

In Spanish he repeated, "Maria, are you all right?"

"Muerte, " she murmured.

The angel of death had been so near she could feel its chilling
embrace.

"Where am I?

"On the island."

An island?

She had no recollection of how she'd come to be here.

Her mind was blank.

Something terrible must have happened, something that had spun her life
out of control.

"Who are you?"

she asked.

"I am your husband-to-be.  You am my bride."

Her husband?

Surely that could not be possible.

The man was lying to her.

She had a vague sense of other men, dangerous men who wanted to kill
her.

Was he one of them?

She sat bolt upright on the sofa where she had been reclining.

Her head rang with fierce pain.

Thunderbolts crashed inside her skull.

She groaned.

"My head."

"Don't you remember?"

he asked.

Her instincts warned her to play along with him, to tell him what he
wanted to hear.

"St, I remember."

Her fingers coursed down the length of white, fabric of the dress she
was wearing.

Simple lace at the neck, polished cotton, long sleeves and a full
skirt.

A wedding gown.

Without knowing how or why, she'd dropped into a strange reality.

And she was about to be a bride.

"Maria.  We need to do this now."

He spoke Spanish with the fluency of a native, but she detected an
American accent in his inflection and tone.

His words were slower than a native speaker's.

"We need to get started," he said, "We need to get this ceremony under
way @ soon as possible."

"What ceremony?"

She saw impatience in his dark gray eyes' The wedding.  "

Her head was pounding.

She raised her fingertips to her temples and massaged lightly.

Her forehead felt like it might explode.

"Are you ill?"

he asked.

Dying, she thought.

The misery spread to her neck and shoulders.

Yet she said to him, "I will survive."

"I don't understand why your head hurts.  I've examined you
thoroughly.

You have some bruises and a cracked rib.

But I don't see evidence of a head injury.

Do you have a history of migraines?

"No, but I need an aspirin.  Please.  Por favor.

He took her hand.

From a small vial, he tapped a blue-and-white capsule into her open
pah-n and passed her a glass of water that had been standing on a table
beside the sofa.

Though the pounding in her head threatened to consume her, she
hesitated.

What had he given her?

A drug that would destroy the remnants of her brain?

Suspiciously she demanded, "What kind of pill is this?  What will it do
to me?"

"I told you before," he said.

"I gave you some of this pain medication last night.  I use it for my
leg, but it seems to work on your headaches."

If she'd taken one of these capsules before, she should have
remembered.

But her memory was gone, erased.

"Take it," he ordered sharply.

"There isn't time for you to have a headache."

She didn't know this man.

But the pain behind her eyes was so intense that she would have to risk
the medication.

She couldn't begin to think until this agony subsided.

She tossed back the capsule and washed it down.

"Listen carefully, Maria.  No one must suspect there is anything
wrong.

icomprende?

Do you understand?

She lay back on the sofa, concentrated on breathing evenly while she
waited for the pain to lessen.

Why was he calling her Maria?

That wasn't her name.

It was .

An involuntary sob shuddered her body.

Her name was.

Oh, God, why couldn't she remember this basic, essential piece of
herself?

Calm down.

Try to think.

She heard someone else enter the room.

A woman.

In English the woman asked, "Is she all right?"

"She'll be okay, Alice.  Don't worry."

"I don't think she's well.  Last night and this morning, she had a
weird, blank look.  Like she was awake, but not conscious.  You should
call off the wedding."

"Maria will be fine.  She's tough.  Comes from a tough country."

"Well, it looks to me like something more serious than a case of
prenuptial jitters."

"Leave this to me."

His voice was harsh.

"I know what I'm doing."

The woman hovered above her.

"Maria)" She opened her eyes.

Though it wasn't her name, she would be Maria.

"Maria, do you need a doctor?"

"I'll make that decision," the man said.

"P.@lease leave us, Alice.  We'll be ready soon.

When the woman backed away, Maria wanted to call out to her, to tell
her that she needed a doctor, needed to talk to someone in authority.

But what would this man-this stranger-do if she caused a problem?

"You'll be all right," the man said.

"Close your eyes and let the medication work."

Gradually the aching began to fade.

Her mind felt more clear.

She sat up, turning her head slowly so she wouldn't jar the fragile
relief.

The man sat in a wingback chair next to the sofa.

In spite of his obvious impatience, he was very handsome.

There was an aristocratic sculpting to his features.

Near his hairline, where his thick, dark hair swept back off a high
forehead, she saw the start of a faded scar that extended to the brow
above his left eye.

She sensed that she ought to know him, but her memory didn't seem
willing to function.

"IC6mo se llama?"

"My name?  You want to know my name?"

He regarded her with a mixture of astonishment and irritation.

Too angry, she thought, to be a caring husband.

Why had he brought her here?

Who was he?

Her eyes squeezed shut, then she opened them again.

She needed to think, to create logic from the crippling confusion that
churned inside her brain, making her stupid, foolish, ridiculous.

She had to proceed intelligently if she hoped to survive.

Of that much, she was certain.

More information.

She needed to gather facts.

The small room where they sat was furnished with dark wood antiques,
but the wallpaper was light, patterned in gray fieur-delis

Sunlight poured through the lace curtains at the windows.

They were alone, but she heard the mumblings of other people outside
the closed oak door.

"I can't call off the wedding," he said.

"I promise that the ceremony will be brief.  You can get through it,
then go upstairs to your room and sleep."

"What will I be called," she asked, rephrasing her earlier question,
"when we are man and wife?"

"You will be Mrs.  Jason Wakefield Walker the Third."

An impressive name.

But she had never heard it before.

"And this will be my home.  This... island."

Outside the windows she saw scrub oak and pine.

There were only a few wildflowers in splashes of yellow and red.

The foliage was not typical of a tropical island She was about to be
married.

But did he love her?

Did she love him?

That seemed impossible.

Even if her conscious mind had been erased, the emotion of love could
not vanish.

Her soul would remember being in love.

When she looked at this man, her heart trembled.

Not with love, but with fear.

How could she allow herself to be married to a man she couldn't
remember seeing before?

She gestured hopelessly.

"We cannot do this."

"We can't back out now.  Your life depends upon it."

A chill raced down her spine, and she knew he was telling the truth.

Her very survival depended upon going through with this ceremony.

She must not flinch.

In a low, determined voice, she said, "Si, Mr.  Walker.  I will marry
you."

"Thank you."

He nodded.

"By the way, you look very pretty in your gown.  Maria, you make a
beautiful bride."

Jasonhobbledfromthesmallparlor,closedtbe-door behind him and forced
himself to smile at the guests in the front room.

I-Es sister, Alice, bustled up to him.

Her china blue eyes were wide with concern.

"Is everything okay?"

"Fine.  Maria needs a moment alone."

"And you, Jason?  How are you?"

"Couldn't be better."

With Alice beside him, he edged across the rear of the room and went
into his office.

"I'll be out in just a moment."

"Should I check on Maria?"

"You'd know better than I would."

"Oh, Jason!"

She gave a short, exasperated sigh.

"You never did understand women, did you?"

"Apparently not."

He closed the door to his study.

Maria Ramos Hernandez was not what he'd expected.

He'd been told that she was strong and brave, a ferocious fighter when
threatened.

But no one had mentioned her beauty.

And the woman who waited in the parlor to become his bride was a
creature of surpassing loveliness.

Her thick, wavy black hair tumbled past her shoulders in a riot of
curls.

Her eyes shone like green emeralds in her dusky complexion.

Jason was sorry that this would be a marriage in name only.

When she looked at him with that beguiling innocence, he wanted to
touch her, to kiss her ripe, full lips, to soothe her fears.

She had refused to speak of the journey.

Since he'd picked her up in his boat, she had done nothing more than
sleep, bathe, and take in barely enough food to satisfy a
hummingbird.

No doubt, there had been difficulties along her route.

Maria had arrived ten hours late with several fresh bruises.

Most disturbing, however, was her apparent memory loss.

Her short-term memory was gone.

She forgot everything he told her from one minute to the next, and must
have asked his name half a dozen times.

Alice had been correct when she'd suggested that Maria see a doctor.

Though her injuries weren't immediately life-threatening and her vital
sips were good, he was worried about her.

He wasn't sure of her medical history, wasn't sure exactly how
treat3nent should be handled.

It was dangerous to make any unplanned moves.

At his desk, he picked up the telephone and punched out the number he
had tried at least a dozen times since Maria had arrived.

He allowed the phone to ring and ring.

There was still no answer.

He replaced the receiver on the hook.

"Damn."

It was a hell of a time for his source to be missing.

He limped gingerly through the door and skirted the edge of the small
gathering of guests and witnesses, greeting some and accepting
congratulations from others.

Jason took his place beside the reverend, positioning his weight
carefully and trying to ignore the constant ache from his shattered
leg.

The doctors assured him that someday he would be able to move around
freely, and he was doing so well now that he barely needed the cane.

But there would always be pain.

Jason nodded to his sister and she opened the door to the parlor
adjoining the larger room.

Everyone turned to catch their first glimpse of the bride.

There were gasps when they recognized, as he had, that Maria made a
beautiful bride, clad in white, holding her rose bouquet.

Her black hair shone with a magnificent luster.

Reverend Blaylock whispered to him, "Very attractive."

"Yes," Jason answered.

"I know."

Maria stood frozen in the doorway, her shoulders straight and her small
chin lifted defiantly.

The woman who played the piano paused with her fingers lifted above the
keys, then she started again to play "The Wedding March."

Maria!

s remarkable green-eyed gaze darted left, then right, before fixing
upon Jason.

Though she stood perfectly still, he could feel the fluttering of her
heart, delicate as a captive butterfly.

The pleading in her eyes touched him, and he knew she was too
frightened to move.

Though Jason hated to be seen walking with his infirmity, he went down
the short aisle toward her.

When he stood beside her and offered his arm for support, she held on
tightly.

Slowly they walked the twenty paces to the front of the room where
Reverend Wally Blaylock waited, prayer book in hand.

"Dearly Beloved," the reverend said.

"We are gathered here today to..

Jason stood, firm and somber.

Soon this charade would be over.

The traditional words rolled past @ the credits at the beginning of a
motion picture.

He listened with disinterest.

This wasn't a real marriage, unlike the first time when he'd been wed
to Elena, a woman he'd adored.

She had been his dearest love, more wondrous than the sun and moon and
stars, until death parted them four years ago.

He never thought he would love again.

The reverend asked for objections to this marriage.

"Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Jason held his breath.

He halfway expected a crew of terrorists or agents from the immigration
services to storm his isolated home.

But that was absurd.

There would be no objections, no specific reasons why he and Maria
could not become man and wife .

other than the obvious fact that they hardly knew each other.

As he glanced down at her lustrous black hair, a strange sense of
possessiveness came over him.

He wanted to ease her fears.  Softly he asked, "Are you all right?  I

costly

She tightened her grasp on Jason's arm, clinging to him for physical
support as a tidal wave of nausea crashed over her.

Her mind reeled d@y.

Her knees felt weak.

She needed to lie down, to sleep, to end this horrid sense of
disorientation.

Jason rested his hand atop hers and squeezed.

He was staring at her.

His storm-gray eyes were expectant, as if he were waiting for an
answer.

But she did not know the question.

The reverend cleared his throat and said, "Do you, Maria Ramos
Hernandez, take this man, Jason Wakefield Walker the Third, to be your
lawfully married husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in
health, until death do you part.

How could she agree?

I don't know this man.

I don't know why I'm here.

"Say it," Jason whispered.

Her lips parted, but she did not speak.

She couldn't lie, couldn't pledge her hand in marriage to a man she did
not love.

He leaned close and whispered in Spanish.

"Maria, this is dangerous.  You must go through with this.

Now.

' She glanced at the people watching, a well'-dressed assemblage of ten
or fifteen men and women.

Their eyes were polite but cold.

Every one of them was a stranger to her.

"I, Maria..."

She couldn't remember her, narhet Frantically she looked to Jason for
help.

"Maria Ramos Hernandez," he whispered.

"I, Maria Ramos Hernandez, take this man..."

His name?

"Jason," she said triumphantly.

"Jason Wakefield Walker the Third, until death do us part."

The reverend concluded the ceremony quickly and said, "You may kiss the
bride."

Chapter Two

Reverend Blaylock repeated, "You may kiss the bride."

Jason had thought to give her a small, respectftd peck on the cheek,
but when he rested his hands on her delicate shoulders and saw her
trembling smile, he clasped her more tightly than he had intended.

Her gaze was troubled, like a wavering green sea of doubt, but she
embraced him as if she meant it, fitting her supple body against his.

She was beautiful.

It had been a long time since he'd held a beautiful woman.

His mouth claimed hers.

Their kiss was like sweet fire, tasting of honey and desire.

And Jason craved more.

Her lips parted, inviting him.

Before he could stop himself, he thrust his tongue between her teeth.

She startled in his arms.

Her body tensed.

Then she returned his passion one hundredfold.

Her tongue slipped into his mouth.

Her hands against his back grasped urgently.

The friction of her body rubbing against him drove him wild.

My God!

His senses reeled.

The intensity of the unexpected passion transported him and he forgot
his pain, his bitterness.

For the first time in months he felt like a whole, strong man again.

Then they separated.

The moment passed.

They turned and faced the small group of family and friends who
applauded enthusiastically.

Except for one, Jason noticed.

Edward Elliot, a state senator, clapped twice and allowed his hands to
fall loosely to his sides.

The usual politician's smile was absent from his ruddy face.

Jason escorted Maria down the aisle between his guests, and they took a
position in the archway leading to the d@g room where the long table
had been set for the catered buffet.

He walked slowly, without stumbling, and used his cane so he wouldn't
have to lean on her for support.

"Congratulations!"

his friends and family cried, as if this were a real wedding, a
celebration of love and t eternal happiness.

He forced himself to return their smiles.

With his shattered leg and broken dreams, he was unfit to be any
woman's husband.

Maria deserved better.

In her pristine white gown she was as lovely and traditional as the
miniature figurine that -decorated the wedding @@ She stood beside
him.

Her thick lashes lifted and she gazed up at him with flashing green
eyes.

She was his wife.

This incredible woman was his bride.

Jason would be hard put to remember that their marriage was born of
political necessity.

The guests had formed a casual line, and Jason translated their words
into Spanish so that she would understand.

"Maria, you know my sister, Alice."

Alice dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a lace hanky.

"Oh, Maria, you make a lovely bride.  Muy bonita.  " She glanced at
Jason.

"That's right, isn't it?

Bonita?

"Excellent, sis.  You're.  practically bilingual."

She grasped Mari;Ys hands in her own.

Abandoning her attempt to communicate in Spanish, Alice rattled off the
afternoon's agenda.

"Well, Maria.  Here's what I have planned.  A light buffet and, of
course, the cake.

Hope you like chocolate with white chocolate frosting.

Now, the custom in our country is to save the top layer, freeze it, and
eat it on the first anniversary.

Shall I take care of the freezing for you?

Maria nodded.

Alice frowned at Jason.

"Does she have any idea what I'm talking about?"

"You'd be surprised," he said.

"Anyway," Alice continued, "I know you're exhausted.  So, I'll try to
move things along.  We can probably ferry almost everyone back to the
mainland on Reverend Blaylock's big powerboat by five o'clock.

Then you can relax.

"Relax?"

Reverend Blaylock popped up beside Alice.

"That's no' , much of a honeymoon, eh?"

"We'll manage," Jason said.

Though he wasn't a regular churchgoer, he liked Wally Blaylock.

"Any pointers?"

"I think you know the right thing to do."

Jason gave a perfunctory grin.

Unfortunately, he doubted that the right thing would include the
traditional honeymoon lovemaking.

He swallowed his disappointment and continued to behave in the expected
manner of a groom.

Beneath his social facade, a strong desire raged within him.

Their kiss had sparked emotions he'd thought were dead in his heart.

"My sincerest congratulations," the reverend said.

He addressed Maria in excellent Spanish.

"Excuse me for asking, Maria, but are you Catholic?  Coming from a
Central American country, I expected that you would be."

"Is the marriage legal?"

Jason questioned.

"To be sure."

"Then, what does it matter?"

"What, indeed?"

The reverend grasped Maria!

s hand and pumped vigorously.

His friendliness seemed sincere.

"Don't be a stranger.  I'll see you in church.  Both of you.  Right,
Maria?"

"I will be there."

She hesitated slightly.

"With my husband."

The reverend stepped aside, and the informal reception line filed past
them.

Jason introduced an aged aunt and her companion, and a couple he
referred to as neighbors.

"Here?"

Maria asked him.

"D o we have neighbors here on the island?"

'the is the only house on the island," he said.  Last night when they
had arrived, it, had been too dark for her to explore.  This morning,
she'd been sleeping and dressing.  He was looking forward to showing
her around.  " I hope you will like it here.

Politely she responded, "I am sure I will."

As she greeted his guests, it was obvious to Jason that, despite
Maria's nervousness, she'd done this before.

She had experience in reception lines and was fully cognizant of the
proper social expressions and manners.

Tbough she spoke no English to any of them, she managed to charm each
and every one of their guests, men and women alike.

Another surprise, he thought.

According to his information, Maria had grown up in a rural village.

Tbough weft-educated, she was described as being a person who put her
journalism career first and placed little value in social contacts.

But the woman who stood beside him had an unmistakable aura of poise
and sophistication.

"You're doing very well," he complimented.

"Thank you," she said with a smile.

She wanted to please him.

The passionate force of his kiss-and her own instinctive response to
him-had made her think that perhaps she truly was in love with this
man.

Being in his arms had felt so exquisitely right.

Perhaps she had agreed to this marriage for all the right reasons.

Though she could not remember their relationship, it would be truly
wonderful if such reasons existed.

If there were love between them .

She would try, with all her will, to recall.

Another guest stood in front of them.

"Maria, this is Edward Elliot.  He's a senator in the Maine state
legislature."

Edward clasped her hand firmly.

"Delighted to meet you.  Jason is a lucky man to have found a beauty
like you, Maria."

Jason translated into Spanish, and she murmured, "Gracias.

"No English?"

he questioned.

"A little," she said.

This well-dressed, blustery, redfaced man seemed excessively interested
in her.

Most of Jasoifs guests were content to shake her hand, wish her well
and move into the dining area where the buffet was set, but Edward
still held Maria's hand in a tight, sweaty grip.

"I think you know more than a little English," he guessed.

"When you spoke your wedding vows, you had almost no trace of an
accent."

Jason had turned to another guest, and so did not translate.

Though Maria understood every word Edward had spoken, she did not
acknowledge the truth in his statement.

She sensed danger.

It was better not to reveal too much, to hide behind the shield of
Spanish.

"No comprendo.  Sorry."

He leaned close, speaking for her ears only.

"You'll never get away with this."

What had he said?

"I can help you.  If Jason tries to-" Another guest jostled them.

"Move along, Eddy."

Edward reached inside his jacket pocket, and his manner became falsely
jocular.

"If old Jason gives you a hard time, Maria, here's where to reach
me."

He passed her a business card.

"If you need anything, anything at all-"

"What are you saying?"

Jason interrupted.

"Inviting your bride into town.  " Or up.  to the capital in Augusta.

It isn't all that far a@ay, and she might Want to see the sights.

"Maria doesn't know how to drive," Jason informed him.

A protest rose to her lips.

Of course she knew how to drive!

She'd been driving since she was sixteen.

In a flash, a vivid mental image came into her mind.

It was more of an impression, a soundless photograph.

She saw a forest green Volvo station wagon parked in the dusk.

There were trees.

She knew the street, the neighborhood, but she could not put a name to
it.

Two men sat in the car, watching and waiting.

Her heartbeat quickened and fear took root in her mind, throbbing as
steadily as her returning headache.

"If Maria wants to go anywhere," Jason said, "I'll take her."  I " Not
if she's going to be a true American woman," Edward responded
huffily.

Huffing and puffing, she thought.

He was like an ill wind that blew no one any good.

He continued.

"The first thing she'll want is independence.  Right, Maria?"

She forced herself to look directly at this man, tried to understand
what he meant when he said Jason might give her a hard time.

Would Jason hurt her?

Despite the celebratory buffet and the chattering guests and her
pristine white bridal gown, there seemed to be dark, discordant threats
all around her.

She didn't know who to trust.

This senator?

Or Jason?

Alice had returned to stand beside Maria.

In her clumsy Spanish, she indicated that it was time to cut the
cake.

She held up the silver knife and pointed to it, trying to explain,
using sign language.

Sunlight from tall windows glinted on the dull blade, and Maria
recoiled slightly.

There had been a knife.

One of the men held a knife.

Maria's breath caught in her throat.

She needed to run, to escape from this island before it was too late.

"Smile!"

came a command from a short, wiry man with a Nikon aimed and ready to
shoot.

"Come on, Jason.  Stand a little closer to the lady."

"No photos," Jason said firmly.

"But this is for the Gazette.  " He lowered the camera and nervously
raked his fingers through his long, graying hair, tightening his
ponytail.

"You're front-page news, Jason.  It's not every day that the most
eligible bachelor in the county gets hitched.  Now, say cheese."

Despite his crippled leg, Jason stepped quickly toward him, snatched
his camera from his hands and whipped the embroidered strap up and off
his neck.

"Hey!  Give that back!"

"First, I'd like for you to meet my bride.  Even journalists can be ci
He forcibly propelled the small man toward her.  " Maria, this is Chip
Harrington.

Ho, is the chief reporter-photographer-editor for the local
newspaper.

' "Delighted," he said, quickly shaking her hand and turning back to
Jason.

"Now, can I shoot you?"

"It's like this," Jason explained in a low voice.

"Maria is very tired after her long trip, and she'd rather not pose for
pictures right now.  She doesn't feel like she's looking her best."

"Man, if this isn't her best, I'd like to see-" "Thanks, Chip, for
being so sensitive to her concerns."

Jason waved to his sister and gave her the camera.

"Make sure Chip gets this back when he leaves."

" I'll let you get away with this -on one condition," Chip said.

"If I can't have a picture, -I want an ifit6rview with Maria.  One on
one."

"But she only speaks Spanish," Alice observed.

"No problemo."

When Chip grinned, his face became a road map of deep creases that
radiated from his mouth to around his eyes, crisscrossing on his high
forehead.

"Sometimes you people forget that I haven't always lived here in
Maine.

I covered a world beat, including El Salvador.

"I haven't forgotten," Jason said.

Chip's elfish appearance masked a sharp intellect.

He was, by trade, a gatherer of intelligence in this country and in
Central America.

In addition to his weekly newspaper, he regularly contributed to
several national publications.

"With your permission, Maria."

Chip spoke in flawless Spanish.

"We will talk for five minutes."

Jason disliked the idea.

He felt possessive about his bride.

She wasn't well, and he didn't want her to face someone as sly as Chip
Harrington until she was ready.

"I'll come with you."

"Give me a break," Chip said.

"She can't tell the secret of how she landed a prize catch while you're
standing there.  Don't worry, man.  I'm not going to quiz her on the
prenuptial agreement or anything.  " Mis is strictly a fluff piece.

Maria?

How about it?

"I will be happy to speak with you.  no ugh I have little to say."

She separated from Jason and went toward Chip.

A newspaperman, she reasoned, ought to be able to give her information
about the island and about Jason.

She needed to know more about her new husband.

Chip Harrington was approximately her own height, and his easy grin
made her feel safe.

She gestured toward a love seat beside the fireplace, and they sat.

Before he could begin his interview, she asked a question of her own.

"This island," she said.

"It is so beautiful.  Has Jason lived here long?"

"All his life.  The Walker family is descended from whaling captains.

But I don't want to talk about history.

Tell me about yourself.

"I am what you see," she said in a manner that she hoped was
disarming.

"Is Jason involved in a seafaring trade?"

"No way.  He was almost a doctor.  From what I hear, he had only a
residency to complete his training.  But YOU know that, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, certainly."

Even with Chip, she needed to be careful not to betray the truth .

if she could ever remember what the truth was.

"I am so very tired.  I forgot."

"I'll be brief," he promised.

"So, you're from Central America.  What country?"

"Guermina."

Maria had no idea why shed eh owu that country, but the location
sounded right.

It seemed equally correct to say, "I look forward to becoming an
American citizen."

"Tell me of your homeland."

Sharp pictures exploded in her mind.

Rapid-fire impressions, as if she were flipping the pages of a book.

"So beautiful, lush and green.  But so much suffering.

Constant warring.

Poverty in the cities.

There is rain, much rain.

Coffee plantations.

Volcanoes rise like pyramids to the skies of the Mayan gods.

T'hough she knew a great deal about the country, Guermina seemed exotic
to her, not familiar.

' as a homeland should be.

Just as Spanish was a language she could speak fluently, but it was
not.

her native tongue.

"Maria," he said, summoning her attention.

'@o you know the woman they call Truth?

Her name is Juana Sabbatta.

She is "

" I know of her," Maria said.  Her senses prickled.

This interview had made a foray into dangerous territory.

"A journalist like yourself.  A troublemaker."

"A heroine," he concluded.

"Many people believe she is courageous."

Her heart beat in double time.

A twinge of pain in her forehead warned her that the headache might
return.

"What could Juana Sabbatta possibly have to do with Jason and me?"

Ms scrutiny was so thorough that she felt as if she were under a
microscope.

Then his gaze lifted.

She detected a hint of surprise in his voice.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"I know very little."

That much was true.

She couldn't even remember her real name.

Maria?

Even her name was an alias.

Maria was a he.

Chip asked, "What makes a woman agree to be a mail-order bride?"

She shrugged.

How would she know such a thing?

Maria wasn't even sure what a mail-order bride was.

"Come on, Maria.  Help me out here.  This is romantic stuff.  When
Jason placed ads in those Spanish newspapers, what caused you to
respond?"

"I don't know."

Had she responded to an ad?

She couldn't remember.

"Why do you suppose he selected you from all the women who wrote
back?"

"I cannot say."

The reporter's face pulled into a frown.

"At least, tell me the logistics.  I assume that once you and Jason had
decided to be married, he sent money-" "Money?"

she interrupted.

"Pesos.  Dinero.  For your trip to Maine.  Tell me about the
arrangements.

How does a mail-order bride, like yourself, come into this country?

Is there a broker?

' p A sour taste invaded her mouth.

A broker?

From what Chip was saying, she had been imported to be a bride.

Jason had advertised and she had answered.

The idea disgusted her, and confusion flooded her mind.

A mail-order bride?

Though she remembered nothing, she knew that was false.

Her sense of pride and self-respect would never allow her to sell
herself in marriage .

no matter how terrible the circumstance.

Why couldn't she remember?

Why hadn't Jason told her?

She glanced across the room at him, sought the truth in his deep gray
eyes.

-He was watching her carefully.

But, of course, he would be.

If what Chip said was correct, she was his possession, something he'd
bought.

it was no wonder that he had kissed her so passionately.

She belonged to him.

A mail-order bride.

Bought and paid for.

What sort of man could do such a thing?

What sort of woman would agree to a forced marriage?

An ton] Wien t guests had left, Jason would demand that she perform her
wifely duty in bed.

The spontaneous wonderment of their kiss became suddenly tawdry and
cheap.

Chip was still asking his questions.

His voice droned.

He touched her forearm.

"Maria?"

She jerked away from him.

"I am not well," she said.

"I must lie down."

"But I have a few more questions."

"Not now."

Quietly she rose And slipped away, finding the small room where she had
awakened before the ceremony.

She closed the door and went to the window.

Beyond a stand of coastal pines, she saw the shimmer of sunlight on
water.

The Atlantic Ocean was her horizon and her boundary.

After everyone else left, she would be isolated on this island.

With Jason.

"Maria?"

Alice opened the door.

"Are you all right?

Um, ic6mo estd us ted

Maria shook her head.

The dull aching was back.

She sank to the floor beside the window.

One hand reached up, rested on the sill, grasping toward freedom.

How could she have sold herself?

She was so ashamed.

No wonder her mind had blanked out the past.

Alice sat on the wingback chair near her.

"You're homesick, aren't you?  Oh, Maria, I wish I could help you."  )
But would she?  Would Alice help her escape?  it semned doubtful.

Alice was Jason's sister.

Her first loyalty would be to him.

"You're very brave," Alice said.

"I don't think I could do what you've done.  Leaving my home and all.

You must have been desperate to escape your country.

Desperate to escape?

Yes, Maria thought, I am desperate.

"But you're very lucky," Alice said.

"Sometimes Jason behaves like a gruff old pelican, but he has a kind
heart.  And I do believe you will be good for him.  After his first
wife Elena died well, he was devastated.  I never thought he would
marry again.  He nursed her all by himself, you know.  After the
doctors had diagnosed her cancer and said it was hopeless, Jason took
care of her-all alone-for months on this island."

Maria imagined the horror of being trapped here.

Dying and imprisoned on a cold island in Maine.

Had his first wife been a mail-order bride?

"Elena?"

"She looked a little like you.  The long, black hair.

She was Spanish, too.

" Alice gave a little frown.  " Well, I'm sure you don't understand a
word of what I'm saying here.

I wish I could reassure you, but I guess that's up to Jason.

Now, do you want to lie down for a moment?

Or should we cut the cake?

The door swung wide and Jason maneuvered his way inside.

Maria looked at him with new eyes.

The tension around his mouth indicated to her that he was holding back
his pain.

His leg must be bothering him.

He didn't seem like a cruel man, but he was angry.

It was strange, she thought, that she could read his emotions more
easily than she could understand what was going on inside her own
head.

"Leave us, Alice."

I "All righty.

But I insist that the both of you come out here and cut the cake.

Then the basic ceremonial duties are over, and Maria can rest.

"We'll be there shortly," he said.

Alice left, and he crossed the room.

His strides were labored.

"Maria, you've got to be careful.  These people may seem harmless, but
we can't tell.  We can't trust anyone.  Not even the reverend."

She stood, but kept close to the window, as far away from him as
possible.

Was the danger from other people?

Or from him?

He was the man who had bought her.

Pure rage burned within her, hotter than a forge, but she tempered her
emotions.

Whatever Jason had done, she'd allowed it.

My God, what had happened to her?

What insane reasoning had led her to this point?

"How could I have gone through with this?"

"What are you talking about?"

He reached for her, and she pulled away.

Lithely she darted beyond his arm's reach.

"Leave me alone," she said.

Her words were English.

"Don't touch me."

"I won't hurt you.

But he already had.

He had taken her name and her freedom.

Tbough she'd agreed, though she had voluntarily repeated her vows
before witnesses, the wedding was a sham.

She glared defiantly.

"You may have bought a mail-order bride, but I'll never be your
wife."

"What the hell are you-" He took a step toward her, then stopped.

"Never mind.  Just come out here, cut the damned cake and let's be done
with this charade."

"This charade, as you call it, is what you want," she snapped.

"This was your idea."

"The hell it was.  If I had my choice, I wouldn't be here.

Pretending.

He tapped his cane impatiently.

"I'm not good at espionage."

"Espionage?"

She switched to Spanish again.

This was dangerous.

She needed to keep her guard up.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid with me.  You convinced Chip Harrington with that
wide-eyed innocent act of yours.

But you don't have to trick me.

I know the truth.

"How dare you speak of truth!"

It was all a lie.

Every word, every gesture.

He had contrived to bring her here, to keep her isolated on the
island.

"Will you force me to stay here?"

I "Yes," he said.  " Until -I receive different orders, you will stay
with me.

He went to the door and rested his hand on the knob.

"We'll cut the cake, then send everyone home.  Pretend that you're
happy, my dear little bride."

"Never.  I will ask the reverend to take me back to " To where?

Where was home?

"To a safe place."

"I don't know what Chip told you, but you've got it wrong, Maria.

This island is your safety.

The hard expression in his eyes precluded further discussion.

"You will do as I say."

She could stand and fight, here and now, with little chance of
winning.

The wedding guests were all Jason's friends.

They would think she had a case of nerves.

"Poor thing," they would say, "she's homesick."

And she did feel ill.

She was weak.

Her headache drummed in the back of her head.

The muscles in her shoulders and back were taut.

"Maria," he said.

"I'm waiting."

later, she promised herself.

Later, she would find a way off this cold island.

She would regain her freedom.

With her head held high, she went toward him.

He offered his arm, and she lightly rested her fingertips on his
forearm.

His nearness should have repulsed her.

instead she shivered with a purely sensual pleasure.

His touch aroused her.

Why did she find him so attractive?

She should have seen cruelty in his arrogant profile, but instead she
saw handsome, chiseled features.

The very scent of him excited her.

Perhaps she had lost her sense of reasoning along with her memory.

When they left the parlor and went toward the large dining room, the
other people seemed dangerous to her.

How could she tell what was right, what was safe!

Their eyes, as they looked at her, seemed intrusive.

-Their voices grated on her ears.

"Smile, Maria," Jason whispered.

Automatically her lips responded.

He led her to a table, to the three-tier wedding cake, and he lifted
the knife.

He prepared to make the first slice, but Alice stopped him.

"You're doing it wrong," she said.

"Both of you are supposed to hold the knife."

He took her hand and placed it atop his.

His flesh was warm, she thought, and hers was cold.

Muerte.

Cold as death.

She must get away from this island where there was danger all around
her, stealing her memories.

But where would she go?

Who could she turn to when she couldn't remember her name or what had
happened to her?

Her gaze focused on the miniature couple that stood atop the cake.

Maria never thought her wedding day would be frightening and joyless.

They sliced the cake.

She tasted the sugary chocolate on her tongue as Jason held a piece of
cake to her mouth, and she wanted to spit it out, to spit in his face,
in the faces of all these false smiles.

"Now, champagne!"

Alice said, directing the ceremonies again.

She handed Jason and Maria their fluted glasses.

"A toast, Jason."

He lifted his glass and sunlight from the windows reflected on the
rising bubbles.

"On this wedding day, I welcome my guests to share in these ceremonies,
to eat, to drink, to celebrate.  I toast my bride, an admirable and
beautiful woman who is far from her homeland, testing her wings,
seeking a new life.  I hope my home will be a comfort for her.

My wish,.

for you, Maria, is everlasting peace and satisfaction.

He held his glass toward her, and she tapped the crystal rim lightly
before she took a sip.

The guests applauded.

"Maria?"

It was Alice, again.

Didn't the woman give up?

Mana couldn't imagine that there was yet another ritual.

"Maria, you must tell us what you wish for.  Jason will translate."

"No need."

Maria tilted her glass toward them, saluting them.

In English she said, "I hope for memories..."

Any memory, any chance of regaining her own past.

"For fulfillment, for happiness, for freedom ... and for truth.

"For truth."

She heard the voice of Chip Harrington as he pea ted her words.

In his eyes she saw a glimmer of recognition.

Chapter Three

The bedroom on the second floor was familiar.

She'd been there last night.

She'd slept in the bed.

Maria stood in the middle of the room and tried to remember the details
of the layout.

The closet was to the right, and it was a walk-in closet with the racks
cleaned and empty, waiting for clothing she did not own.

She went to the closet door and opened it.

Bare floors, barren racks with hangers.

It smelled of cedar.

There was a window that cast slanting light on the wood floors.

It was exactly as she had remembered.

Relief flooded her mind.

She had remembered!

She clenched her fists, smiled in triumph.

Though only slightly, her memory had begun to function again.

A full bathroom adjoined this room, and the tile around the sink was
blue to match the flowered wallpaper.

She hurried across the room and flung open the door.

Right again!

But she had to remember more.

These were only details Yet details would lead to full thoughts, then
scenes, then a lifetime.

Returning to the bedroom, she stroked the quilted cotton of the
green-and-white spread on the queen-size four-poster, then glanced
toward the doorway where Jason was standing.

Would he demand to sleep here tonight?

To consummate their marriage?

Jason closed the door.

With slow, tortured steps, he made his way to the green-curtained
windows and lowered himself into a rocking chair.

His injured leg stuck out straight in front of him.

"Eddy Elliot was right," he said.

"You have no accent.  You speak English fluently."

"Eddy Elliot?"

Had she met him?

"The senator."

"Oh, yes.  The man with the red face."

The man who had warned her.

She remembered him very well.

Her mind was like a vast white canvas with one small corner filled
in.

She remembered last night and today.

Other memories, from other times, appeared like dots in the distance.

They would draw closer, she hoped, until the whole canvas was filled
with the tapestry of her past.

"Maria!

She turned toward him.

What else would she recall about Jason?

How much did she know about him?

He echoed her thoughts.

"I don't know much about you."  ) " That's the problem with a
mail-order bride," she said, masking her fear with flippancy.  " You
don't have that nice, long courtship period to discover each other's
secrets.

)) The returning memories had given her a sense of power.

Ultimately she would recall everything and regain herself.

Maria was sure of that.

Maria?

It wasn't her name, but it would have to suffice until she heard the
clear voice in her head telling her whether she was Danielle or Carolyn
or Marta or Heather.

No, not Heather.

She wasn't a Heather or a Tiffany or a Mandy.

Not perky.

She'd never been bubbly and bouncy like a cheerleader.

She had been studious, loved learning, got straight-A grades.

She was an intelligent woman.

An educated woman.

The thought pleased her.

But if she'd been happy in her life, how had she come here?

"Maria, you must pay attention to what I am saying."  " Why?

" She sank down onto the edge of the bed.

Her headache had faded, replaced by a dull pain in her upper back.

She touched a tender area near her rib cage and winced.

"It's dangerous," he said.

"You must know that.

Just because you've left Guermina, you aren't safe.

There are people who don't want you here in this country.

There are people who want you dead.

Why did he think she was from Guermina?

That didn't feel right, and yet she sensed that the rest of his
statement was true.

She was in danger.

My God, what had she done?

She studied the chiseled planes of his handsome face.

Her gaze lingered on the scar near his hairline.

He had been injured, too.

Instinctively she wanted to trust him, to believe that they were on the
same side.

Why else would he be warning her?

Her agile mind supplied a reason.

It was possible that he was trying to frighten her to strengthen his
hold on her, to make her dependent upon him.

"Tell me what you know about me, Jason.  Perhaps I can fill in the
blanks."

"Howmuch do you know about yourself?"

he asked sharply.

Did he know?

Did he know how helpless she was?

She tossed her head, masking her ignorance.

"What do you mean?"

"Maria, I'm not a fool.  It's obvious that you have sustained some
short-term memory loss.  I don'tknow how much or why.  When I examined
you yesterday, I found no physical evidence of head injury and-" "You
examined me?"

94of course, I am trained as a physician and-"

" How much?

" she interrupted him again.  " How thorough was your examination?

"Give me a break."

Abruptly he rose from the chair.

"I might be crippled, but I haven't stooped to the level of manhandling
an unconscious woman.  You were exhausted.  You could barely make it
from Elena to the house.  There was no one else here.  I wasn't sure
whether I should contact a doctor or not.  I know nothing of your
medical history."

"What would you need to know?"

"Drugs," he said.

"Are you on any special medication?"

"No."

At least, she didn't think so.

"Are you diabetic?"

"No."

"This memory loss," he said.

"How far back does it extend?  " To birth, she thought.

But she would not confide in him.

He was clever and appealing, but she'd be crazy to trust him.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

He matched her cold bravado with his own diffident arrogance.

"Then tell me about yourself."

"I do not wish to recite my life story.  Tell me what you know," she
reiterated, "and I will fill in the blanks."

"I don't know much beyond your book.  Truth.  I have a photocopy of it.
In Spanish.  Not the translation."

She had written a book titled Truth.

Her recollection came into dim focus.

The book was about Guermina, the corruption of power, the exploitation
of her people, deals with American immigration officials, political
scandal on a multitude of levels.

This book, she knew, was the key to everything.

"Give me the copy," she demanded.

"That would be unwise," he said.

tcfty?

$P "You know the answer to that question.  I have the book locked away
in a safe place.  The location is indicated on a paper that will be
opened in the event of my death.  Even if you and I are assassinated
the book will survive."

Assassinated?

"I must have this book.  Where is it?"

"How did you learn English?"

he countered.

"You speak like an American."

"Then I must have learned from an American."

She had no idea of how she'd gained her knowledge of language.

Spanish or English.

But it seemed right to add, "I have an ear for languages."

"What others do you know?"

In flawless French, she said, "I am well acquainted with French though
I have only visited that nation briefly.  And, of course, Portuguese,
because I spent some time in Brazil."

Images flooded her mind.

In memory, she observed herself laughing in an outdoor cafe.

Utterly carefree, she tossed her hair and sipped at strong, rich
espresso.

Then she was joined by a woman whose dark eyes bespoke a depth of
suffering.

The woman didn't belong there.

The memory was painful!

A physical ache tightened Maria's chest.

She felt as though she were choking, drowning.

When she spoke again, she used English.

"Tired," she murmured.

"I'm so tired."

She lay back on the pillows, knowing that she must not allow her memory
of that woman to become completed in detail.

She had to fight it.

If she remembered, she would sink back into the pain, the dire sense of
helplessness.

But she heard the woman's voice echoing in her mind, repeating a name:
Jason Wakefield Walker.

And there were directions: the marina near Boothbay Harbor.

The Elena, a sailboat.

Slip number eighty-six.

Her gaze snapped back to the present and she turned her head to stare
at him.

Had the dark-eyed Wojnan been warning her against this handsome man?

Beneath the pillow, covered in fabric that matched the bedspread, she
heard a crumpling sound.

-She reached underneath the pillow and touched a balled-up scrap of
paper.

A note.

Her fingers closed around it.

"Are you all right?"

he asked.

Slowly he came toward her.

"Maria?  What's wrong?"

"Keep away from me."

"I won't hurt you."

He braced himself on his cane and gestured with his free hand.

"I married you, didn't I?ll " Yes.

" She sat up on the bed to face him.  " Yes.

We are husband and wife.

"And tonight is our honeymoon."

Sardonically he added, "I guess that makes me the luckiest man in the
world."

"Does my bedroom door have a lock?"

"Do you think that would stop me?"

"I would think that-if you're a gentleman-youR respect my wish to be
left alone."

"I don't believe you, Maria.  You're afraid of your real wishes.

When you kissed me at the altar, your body responded to mine.

"That meant nothing.  It was a show."

"Prove your words."

He caught hold of her arm.

His grip was fierce and overpowering.

"Kiss me now, Maria.  Without passion.  Without arousal."

She stared into his storm-gray eyes.

Part of her accepted his challenge.

To kiss without excitement?

Certainly she could do so.

She had reason to believe that Jason was her enemy.

Hadn't he taken advantage of her already?

Hadn't he made her his mail-order bride?

The very idea infuriated her.

There was no sensible rationale for why a modern woman should have to
barter with her heart.

Not ever to obtain freedom from an oppressed country.

Her lips curled in a sneer.

"You don't excite me."

"We'll see."

A part of her conscious mind wanted to kiss him because she remembered
the pleasure of the first time.

Of all her scant memories to be etched in vivid detail, that was the
strongest.

A kiss.

"Show me," he said.

Standing close to him, she lowered her eyelids and lifted her chin.

The light pressure of his mouth on hers was pleasant, but not
overwhelming.

She gritted her teeth, unwilling to show him that she enjoyed the
contact.

His hand glided down her arm, leaving a trail of shivering sensation.

He took her hand and placed it against his chest.

Through the soft, white cotton of his shirt, she could feel warm flesh
and the drumminiof his heart.

His tongue flicked lightly across the surface of her lips.

He kissed her cheekbone, her closed eyelids.

He found her earlobe and nibbled.

She groaned with pleasure.

This felt so indescribably right.

His touch aroused her in ways that were uncontrollable.

In the midst of her confusion she needed to cling to him.

Her arms encircled him and she fitted her body against his.

Her back arched as he nuzzled her throat.

Again he kissed her full on the mouth, and she surrendered to an
explosion of desire that blanked her mind and erased any thought,
except of him.

i@, tingling delight flamed within her.

"When he separated from her, she felt dazed.

"Are you all right, Maria?"

, She fanned herself with her hand; struggled to regain her
self-control.

"I'm a little hot."

"Don't play with fire, lady.  Or else you'll be burned."

As he moved slowly away from her, she felt annoyed with herself.

And with him.

He had no right to test these boundaries, wedding or not.

And she had no business responding.

Was this attraction the danger she feared so deeply?

Despite her brave thoughts, her voice stammered as she said, "I-I'm
still locking my room."

"Fine.  All I promised was that you'd have a room to work and that you
would be cared for.  I'll bring you a late dinner after the guests have
left."

"I'm not hungry."

"Later tonight, you will be."

Before he closed the door he shot her a smoldering glance that, indeed,
fueled her hunger.

She was like a starving person, ravenous for his embrace, for the feel
of his body against hers.

The taste of him lingered on her lips.

She craved his touch, the flames he kindled within her.

Though she looked away, his gaze was branded in the forefront of her
mind.

The door closed with a click.

She could not stay here.

If she allowed herself to be consumed by this inappropriate desire for
a stranger, she would never escape, would never learn of her own
life.

She needed to concentrate, to remove her mind from thoughts of Jason
and imagffiffigs of how it would be to make love with him.

Love?

What could she know about love?

She was a mail-order bride.

Love was not a requirement for this position.

In her closed fist she still clutched the balled-up scrap of paper.

Was it a clue?

She unfolded the edges and read the words scrawled in Spanish.

"You are in danger.

Look in the bedside table.

She pulled open the drawer of the small oak table.

Inside was a package of tissues, a sachet of fragrant potpourri, and a
gun.

JAsoN AvoiDED the wedding revelries that had taken over the lower floor
of his house and went to his office where he tried once again to reach
his source by telephone.

Fifteen rings.

No answer.

"Damn."

He'd been told that Maria would stay with him, assume his name and
slide unnoticed into the bureaucracy.

He had all the necessary documentations and certifications, including a
couple of fake identity papers in case they needed them immediately.

None of the papers had a photograph.

As far as he knew, there were no pictures of this woman.

With any luck, according to plan, she would attain US.

citizenship before anyone was wise to the fact that Maria Ramos
Hernandez was the real name of the fiery joumahst, Juana Sabbatta.

Jason had promised that he would marry her.

He would give her his name as protection and would keep her safely
hidden away on remote Passaquoit Island.

The plan had seemed fairly simple, but he needed contact with his
source.

Maria was a handful.

Not at all what he had expected.

Her beauty surprised him less than her diffident attitude.

Not that he wanted her to fawn on him and lavish him with praise, but a
simple "thank you" would have been nice.

"Damn the difficult woman!"  0 Rising from the chair behind his desk,
he noticed that his right desk drawer was slightly ajar.  Though-this
room had not been locked, the door was closed.  H@d someone been in
here?  One of the wedding guests?

The desk drawer glided open when he pulled.

Inside, all his papers were in order.

Nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

He closed the drawer with a snap.

His instincts warned him that something was wrong.

Though he might have left the drawer open himself or Alice might have
been in here, he didn't trust simple explanations.

He reached beneath the middle drawer of his desk.

On the right side, far enough back to be hidden from view, was the
compartment he had built himself.

The wood felt smooth and cold to the touch.

The compartment was empty.

His Beretta was missing.

A dark tension clenched his gut.

Trust no one.

Danger was everywhere.

Though his instructions had been to arrange a typical wedding ceremony,
it might have been a mistake to allow all these people onto the
island.

Quickly he went to tie oc.

ecCa )j at the rear of his office.

He had other guns, mostly rifles.

He took out a flat automatic pistol, checked the clip, then slipped it
into the pocket of his jacket

Maria!

He had to get back to her!

Surely no one would be fool enough to harm her while all these
witnesses were present in the house.

But he couldn't be sure.

He had to protect her, against her will, if necessary.

Jason took a key chain from his desk drawer.

There was scant safety in locked doors, but the locks would, at least,
be an obstacle,.

Armed and alert to danger, he paused outside his office to lock the
door.

His first goal was to get everyone off the island as soon as
possible.

Once he and Maria were here alone, he could protect her more
thoroughly.

This house was a fortress, built to withstand the battering winds off
the northern Atlantic.

He hobbled up the staircase again to the second floor.

Looking down the length of the wide hallway lined with oil paintings of
Wentworths and Walkers, he saw that the door to her bedroom was
standing open.

Was he already too late?

If anything had happened to her.

His fingers closed around the handle of the pistol.

Moving stealthily, masking the tap of his cane against the hardwood
floor, he approached her room.

He heard the murmur of voices.

Then there was a lilting sound, delicate as wind chimes.

Maria's laughter.

He had never heard her laugh before.

With his hand still on his pistol, Jason stepped around the
doorframe.

The scene that confronted him appeared innocent enough.

Maria, radiantly beautiful ,in her wedding gown, sat in a chair by the
window.

In the opposite chair was Reverend Wally Blaylock, chattering away in
Spanish.

He waved to Jason.

"Come on in.  I was just warning Maria about shopping in the local
market where the citrus fruit is never quite perfect but the berries
are marvelous.  And never buy frozen lobster in Maine.  They need to be
fresh and live, even if they are difficult to control."

He glanced at Maria.

"I had the creatures all over the back of my van."

She smiled brightly, and Jason thought her happiness was a wonderful
sight.

The sparkle in her eyes captured the essence of sunlight shimmering on
clear waters.

He wished, someday, that she might look upon him with a smile in her
eyes.

But for now.

"i-m surprised, Wally," Jason said.

"I didn't know you-Were so fluent in Spanish."

"I'd hardly call myself fluent.  But I did spend several years as a
missionary in Utin American countries.

I was even in Guermina for a while.

" He reached o@er and patted Maria's knee.  " Your homeland is very
wonderful.

Jason felt an irrational surge of jealousy.

Wally Blaylock was a reverend, not a priest.

He was umnarried, and he was flirting with Maria.

"Wally, what are you doing here?"

"I came to say goodbye to the bride.  I'm heading back to the mainland
and taking the majority of your guests with me on the big boat."

He rose to his feet and beamed down at Maria.

"It's been a real pleasure."

"Yes," she agreed.

"Gracias.  " Jason stepped aside so the reverend could leave the
room.

"And you," the reverend said to Jason.

"You be sure to bring this young woman into town.  Stuck out here on
the island, Maria could die of boredom."

Alone again, Jason closed the door.

"I thought you were ill?"

The laughter fled from her face.

She averted her gaze, stared through the window.

"I couldn't be rude to the reverend.  He's very nice."

"Maria, you don't know that.  Your enemies are everywhere.  Don't you
understand?  You've got to be careful."

She said nothing, but her chin lifted stubbornly, daring him to tell
her what to do.

This expression of suppressed anger was one he'd become accustomed
to.

What was the use of talking to her?

She didn't understand!

"All right," he said.

"You wanted the bedroom door locked?  Fine.  I'm locking you in."

"What?  You can't do that.  You can't keep me prisoner."  " Watch me!

He left the room, fitted his master key in the lock.

It fastened with a neat click.

ThereI

She ought to be safe until he saw that everyone was off the island.

SHE Listened to the tap of Jason's cane as he went back down the
hallway.

Had he really locked the door?

She gripped the doorknob and tried to twist it.

Locked tight!

How dare he lock her in her bedroom!

His behavior was ridiculous and archaic, locking her up as if she were
a medieval princess.

What was next?

A chastity belt?

This was more than an affront to her pride.

His behavior bordered on cruelty.

"Bastard!

How could he treat her like this?

Through the slightly open window she heard the distant sounds of people
preparing to depart.

She turned to the window of her bedroom prison and stood there, peering
out.

At the far end of the house the wedding guests were making their way
outside into the sunlight.

Maria tried to push the window higher, to open it.

If she leaned out, waving and screaming like Rapunzel in her tower,
Reverend Blaylock would return.

He was a kind man.

He would help her.

Or would he?

She knew there was danger.

The note had warned her.

Eddy Elliot had warned her.

Jason had repeatedly insisted that she was not safe.

"Jason."

She gritted his name through clenched teeth.

She couldn't trust him.

He was the danger.

And the others?

Without more information, she couldn't be sure.

It was safer to trust no one, to keep a low' profile

She would escape from this room, this damned-island, by herself.

Then she would be free to disappear onto the mainland.

But where?

How?

She paced the room.

She had no money.

No clothing except for the wedding gown she was wearing.

If she went to the police, what could they do?

She had no name, no identity except for Maria Ramos Hernandez.

She paused and corrected herself.

She was Mrs.

Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

And from what she'd ascertained, Jason was an important man in this
part of the world.

The police would contact him to pick up his hysterical bride who was
spouting a fantastic story about not knowing who she was or where she
came from.

She couldn't go to the police.

Back at the window, she watched the guests following a footpath to the
edge of a bluff.

Their brightly colored wedding clothing contrasted with the bleak
landscape that was only occasionally marked with patches of wildflowers
and shrubs.

Beyond was the cold, gray sea, another barrier to her freedom.

But Jason had a sailboat.

She could steal it, aim toward the shoreline, which was not even
visible from here.

How far was it, how many miles, to freedom?

It didn't matter.

She would escape, take the boat.

The Elena.

It was named for his first wife who had suffered and died on this
island.

A cold shudder went through her.

Was this Elena's bedroom?

Had she passed away upon that bed?

Confusion whirled in her brain.

The aching had returned.

Not a devastating pain, but a monotonous, unending throb.

Threats were all around her.

She was surrounded by danger.

Muerte.

The overwhelming darkness that she had evaded crept closer.

"No," she whispered.

She would not succumb, would not quit.

First, she needed to get out of this room.

If she forced herself through the small opening in the second-story
window and dangled from the sill the drop would still be more than ten
feet.

Too far.

She couldn't risk injuring herself, making herself even more
helpless.

She peered outside.

Unfortunately there were no handy trellises or sturdy trees that she
could climb down.

The vegetation on this windswept, rocky island was sparse.

Nowhere to hide.

She tried the door handle again.

Could she break the lock?

These doors were old, but heavy.

Pick the lock?

Maria didn't recall a background that included that type of talent.

She had to think, to use her wits.

The bathroom attached to this bedroom had no separate door into the
hallway.

And the closet?

She pulled open the door and checked that window in case there would be
a way to climb down.

But there was nothing.

Only the wavering sunlight of late afternoon.

Soon it would be dusk, then nightfall.

Then Jason would come to her room.

He had promised dinner.

And what else?

The thought of his kisses wakened a new fear within her.

He was masterful.

He was strong.

How could she resist him?

And yet, how could she allow herself to be overwhelmed?

If she made love to him, she would be more of a captive than before.

Her gaze lifted upward.

From the ceiling of the closet a cord dangled from an overhead hatch.

She tugged hard on the cord and a ladder descended.

There must be additional storage in the attic.

And possible escape.

Before climbing up and out of her bedroom prison, she raced to the
bedside table and grabbed the pistol.

Chapter Four "I want to see her," Alice said, "before I leave."

"Maria is sleeping," Jason replied.

"She's exhausted."

Alice closed the door to his office and confronted him angrily.

"I'm going to give you some free advice, dear brother."

He knew very well that it would do absolutely no good to protest.

Jason settled back in the chair behind his desk and braced himself.

When Alice had an opinion, it would be stated come hell or high
water.

"Yes, Alice?"

"Don't be overprotective of Maria.  She's not an invalid like Elena
was.

Please, Jason, you must listen to me.

I know you adored Elena, but she was a very sick woman.

Taking care of her turned you into a recluse.

Though he didn't like to hear it, he knew she was right.

Elena's drawn-out death had changed him.

Watching her die slowly, unable to help her, had stolen his spirit.

After she'd passed away, he had flung himself headlong into his work
with the rebels of Guermina.

The people of that country had called him courageous.

They had not guessed at the truth: he didn't care if he lived or
died.

Without Elena, his life was over.

"Don't make the same mistake with Maria," Alice said.

"What mistake?  I did everything I could for Elena."

"I know, Jason."

Her voice softened.

"And I am truly sorry for her death."

"What mistake?"

he repeated.

"You can't control another human being.  You can't control forces that
are beyond you.  Elena was ill.  You couldn't force her to live, no
matter how fiercely you tried."

"What are you saying, Alice?"

"I-et Maria make her own decisions.  During the reception, you
surrounded her, wouldn't allow her to chat with anyone.  And we were
all trying to be so friendly."

He had protected Maria for her own good.

Her behavior was too erratic to be trusted, even in casual banter.

She could have inadvertently said the wrong thing to the wrong person,
could have raised suspicions'.

To Alice, he offered the excuse, "She was weak, tired."

"You're overprotective," she accused, "My goodness!  She managed to
cross the entire country all by herself.  She's a grown woman.  Quite
self-sufficient from what I can see.  You mustn't treat her like a
child."

"I'm not," he protested.

But, of course, he had just locked her in her bedroom against her
will.

Jason couldn't think about the consequences.

He had to keep her safe.

"Alice, there are things about this situation that you don't
understand."

"Is that so?  As if you two have come to some brilliant understanding
during your brief time together."

She stiffened her shoulders and marched toward the door of his
office.

"All right, Jason.  This is all I have to say on the subject.  Now,
I'll deal with the caterers and catch a ride back to the mainland with
them."

"By the way," he said, pretending nonchalance.

"During the reception, did you happen to notice if anyone came into
this room?"

"I don't think so.  The door was closed.  Why?"

"No reason."

Except that his gun had been stolen.

"Thank you for arranging everything."

"I enjoy parties.  And weddings.  You two make a very handsome couple,
you know.  I'm still not sure that I approve of this mail-order bride
business, but I do like Maria.  I think she's got enough spunk to stand
up to you."  Briskly she bustled through the door, leaving him to
ponder her advice.

Of course, Alice didn't know that his relationship with Maria bore very
little resemblance to a real marriage.

She didn't know that his protectiveness arose from the real threat of
danger.

Yet he sensed an uncomfortable granule of truth in her analysis.

He had not consulted with Maria.

Instead he'd locked her in the bedroom without explanation.

I should have told her about the missing Beretta.

Should have pointed out the dangers in specific ternu.

Eddy Elliot was dangerous.

Though he was only a state senator in Maine, he had powerful ties to
Washington, D.

C.

, and ambitions to rise higher.

He could be used by someone in higher authority who would want Maria's
book suppressed.

Chip Harrington?

Tbough Jason hadn't considered Chip an enemy, the reporter's ties to
Latin America worried him.

Who else?

The reverend?

Jason rubbed his forehead, tracing the ridge of the scar near his
hairline.

Espionage and second-guessing were not his greatest skills.

He much preferred direct frontal assault.

No subtleties.

No nonsense.

If he wanted things straightened out, he ought to climb the stairs to
Maria's bedroom and explain.

He should discuss arrangements with her for the very near future when
they would be alone on the island.

A simple negotiation, he thought.

So why did he feel tongue-tied?

Why did he have so much trouble explaining his intentions when he was
around her?

Dammit, the woman made him crazy.

His eyelids closed.

Tired, very tired.

Though he worked out for two hours every day in a physical therapy
program, the unaccustomed exertion of standing for hours had taken its
toll.

the muscles in his leg throbbed.

Two days ago he'd thrown away the brace he'd worn for extra support.

That might, have-been a mistake.

He wasn't completely healed.

From the direction of the kitchen he heard a loud crash and jolted
upright in his desk-chair, instantly alert.

There were giggles and-reprimdnds.

Only a tray dropping.

But his response reminded him that this was not the time to leave Maria
alone and unguarded.

The guests and the caterers were leaving.

In the confusion, someone could sneak back to the house.

Bearing his weight on his arms, he pushed himself out of the chair and
headed, once again, toward her bedroom.

Up the stairs, down the hall, past the family portraits, he came to her
door.

Fitting the key in the lock, he announced his presence.

"Maria, it's me.  We need to talk."

Silence greeted him.

He pushed open the door.

"Maria?  Are you sleeping?"  ) The bedspread was not pulled back.  The
bathroom door stood open.  Apprehension shot through him.  His hand
went to the gun in his pocket.  Where was she?

The door had still been locked, he reasoned against the rising panic
that tightened his chest.

No one could have gotten in here.

There was no sign of a struggle.

He went toward the closed closet door.

Was she hiding in there?

Was someone else with her?

He yanked the door open.

With an agility that was more reflex than plan, he dodged to avoid
possible assault.

Nothing.

No one.

What the hell was she doing?

Where the hell had she gone?

sLiPPED from the shadows of the pine trees and ran toward the gray
rocky shoreline.

Though it was early summer, a chill breeze from the northern Atlantic
sliced through her and she shivered so violently that she almost lost
her grip on the automatic weapon she carried clumsily.

What was she doing with a gun?

Had she ever held one before?

Her long skirt tangled around her legs and she hiked up the hem.

Her wedding gown was streaked with grime from climbing through the
attic and emerging from another staircase into an unlocked room.

Escape had seemed easier when she was inside the house, but now she
faced the stark desolation of Jason's island.

Clouds had gathered, gray and ominous, threatening rain, and she saw
danger in every shadow.

She halted at the brink of a small cliff, aware of how visible she must
be in the white dress that shone like a lighthouse beacon in the
descending dusk.

Below her, down a rugged path, was a long cove carved from the
shoreline like a gigantic scallop.

Cold, dark waves splashed against the jagged thrust of rocks at either
end of the cove and boiled across the narrow, pebble covered beach.

Though it seemed that she had reached the end of her flight, this was
only the beginning.

She had to climb down and hide until dark.

And then.

Maria had no plan for what would happen next.

Would she steal Jason's boat?

Swim through the cold, dark sea until she could go no farther, until
death flnaffy caught up with her?

Don't be stupid.

She clutched the gun against her breasts, struggling to breathe
evenly.

What was wrong with her?

She felt hot, then cold at the same time.

The constant throbbing in her head was mind-numbing torture.

She wanted only to sleep, to close her eyes and .

No!

She couldn't give up.

If she quit running now, she would never escape.

Climbing down the rough path -from the cliff her delicate white
slippers provided no traction and she had to plot every step, testing
the surface, centering her weight, then moving forward, further from
the h6u'se that was her prison.

She stumbled, lost her balance, caught herself with her arms.

The gun!

She'd dropped it among the rocks.

Frantically her gaze searched until she spied the dark metal pistol, a
dull gleam against the rock.

She clutched it in hands that were scraped and bruised from her fall.

Though she couldn't remember her former existence, Maria was certain
that she had never before been so abjectly miserable, so frightened and
alone.

Her will to continue ebbed like the receding tide.

But she had to go on.

When her feet touched the level edge of the beachfront she tried to
run, but exhaustion slowed her pace.

The rising wind billowed the skirts of her wedding dress and she
imagined, for a moment, that she might blow away like dandelion fluff
carried on the wind.

If only that were true.

She was heavy, stuck to the ground.

Stumbling, she crossed the beach, heading toward the outcropping at the
far edge of the cove.

Jagged spires of cold dark rock surrounded her, and she found a place
to hide, shielded on three sides but still offering a view of the
beachfront if someone should approach.

Breathing hard, she wedged herself into the crevice.

Every muscle in her body strained at the very edge of exhaustion.

A frightened whimper escaped her lips and she gritted her teeth.

Crying would not help.

No amount of sorrow would compensate for the desperate mistakes she'd
made in the last few hours.

She was married to a man she didn't even know.

There was danger all around her, but she didn't know why.

She was trapped on this godforsaken island.

Why?

Get a grip, she told herself.

Whining never solved any problem.

She needed to be self-sufficient and strong, and she had the sense that
those traits were within her grasp.

Night would come.

The darkness would hide her.

Then she would make good her escape.

D to find her, Jason limped along the pathway to the pier.

If Maria had stowed away on the reverend's large motor launch that had
carried the majority of guests back to the mainland, she was long
gone.

There were only four boats left.

The caterers and Alice had almost finished loading the flat-bottomed
party boat.

Moored at his pier were the Elena, his own small motorboat, and one
other craft, unfamiliar to him.

Chip Harrington swaggered down the path from the house.

"Hello, Jason."

"Chip," he acknowledged.

"Why are you still here?"

"Waiting to get you alone."

The small, wizened man made no pretense of social amenity.

He did not flash his homey, face-crinkling grin.

His voice was hard.

"Your bride is not what she seems to be."

Sensing danger, Jason felt a tension behind his eyes, a narrowing of
his sight.

His hand in his jacket pocket tightened on the handle of the gun.

"Look, Chip, I'm too damn tired to play guessing games with you.  If
you have something to say, spit it out."

"She's from Guermina, all right.  But she's not a simple girl who
answered an advertisement for a mail order bride.  She's educated,
highly intelligent.  Smart enough to have written a book.  What do you
say to that, Jason?"

"Do you expect me to apologize because Maria is intelligent?"

"She's more than-"

"You'rejealous," Jason accused.

There was a flash in the reporter's eyes and Jason knew he'd,guessed
right.

The hardened reporter, Chip Harrington, had a crush on Maria.

"J-Jealous?  " Chip sputtered.

"You don't know what you're talking about, man."

"The hell I don't.  I was fortunate enough to-have a beautiful, bright
woman answer my ad.  You might do the same, Chip.  Find yourself a
wife."

"Buy a wife?"

He scoffed.

"I'm not rich enough for that.  Or desperate enough."

Jason took a step toward him, wishing he could indulge himself and
knock the sneer off the reporter's face.

"I paid for Maria's journey, but the decision to become my wife, in
more than name only, will be up to her."

" How noble you are, Jason.

Not going to force her?

I mean, other than trapping her here on a desolate island.

Jason had never had to coerce a woman into his arms or into his bed.

There were always willing ladies.

But now was not the time to discuss his virility.

There was a cover story to maintain.

"Do you have anything else to say?  Any other problems, Chip?"

"Do you love her?  Do you care about her at all?"

"I need a companion," Jason said.

He could not begin to contemplate love.

"A wife is more than that."

"I'm not inclined to debate this with you."

He couldn resist a dig.

"I'll tell you this, Chip.  She's a hell of a kisser."

"I want to talk to her.  Alone.  Tomorrow."

"Call in the morning."

Jason shrugged.

"If Maria wishes to speak with you, she can tell you then."

"And you'll let her talk to me?"

the reporter questioned.

"If she's awake, if she's well, if she wants to..."

If he could find her on the island and she had not already stowed away
on one of the boats.

"Okay."

Chip gave a thumbs-up sign.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

While the reporter hiked down the path toward his motorboat, Jason
watched.

He hobbled over to a carved stone bench at the top of the hill that led
down to his pier.

Below him, the last of the caterers loaded their trays.

Alice stood at the rear of their boat, waving as they motored back
toward the mainland.

Likewise, Chip launched his sharp-nosed little motorboat.

Jason waited until the crafts had disappeared on the horizon and the
sounds of their motors faded in the windswept silence of Passaquoit
Island.

He was well aware, despite the absence of boats, that he was not
necessarily safe and alone.

There were dozens of places along this serrated shoreline where a small
boat could land.

Why had Maria run from her room?

Where was she?

He stood, resting his weight on his good leg.

Using his cane for support, Jason made his way along the edge of the
cliff.

He was fatigued, but he couldn't stop and worry about it.

His leg would have to hold out.

But how the hell had she escaped from the locked room?

Near the first cove to the north, almost directly opposite the house,
he spied a flash of white among the rocks.

And he stared until he was -sure of what he was seeing.

An edge of her wedding' gown peeked out from a crevice.

Was she all right?

Was she hurt?

He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "Maria!  It's me,
Jason."

The rising whistle of wind and the crash of waves against rock were his
only answer.

"Maria!  Are you all right?"

She still did not reply.

He stared down the sloping, rocky descent to the shore.

The path would be treacherous for him.

Yet he had no choice.

If she were injured, he would never forgive himself.

If he had failed her.

He climbed down.

When he finally reached the relative evenness of the narrow stretch of
rocky beach, his ankle turned and intense pain knifed through his
leg.

Despite the cooling of dusk, his forehead broke into a sweat.

"Damn."

Suddenly she appeared before him on the beach.

The moist winds swirled around her, pressing her gown tight against her
firm body.

Her black hair tossed wildly.

"Don't come near me," she shouted.

"Dammit, woman.  I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm warning you, Jason.  Not one more step."

She raised the dark steel weapon.

His Beretta.

A bitter laugh echoed in his throat.

If this were the way he would die, shot dead at the hand of a beautiful
woman, so be it.

He walked toward her.

Slowly and painfully, he crossed the beachfront toward the jagged rocks
where she'd hidden.

"I mean it," she shouted.

He continued toward her, trying not to limp.

The mere fact that he could walk was encouragement enough.

He hadn't sprained his leg, only stressed the muscles.

He was rlose enough to see her lovely face.

Though her lips trembled, her eyes flared with determination.

-Her grip on the Beretta was steady.

"Maria, " he said, "I won't hurt you."

"You bought me to be your bride," she accused bitterly.

"You locked me in my bedroom, like a child, like a ... a thing, a
possession.  How can I believe anything you say?"

He did not respond.

Instead he came closer.

He could see the breath heaving her lungs.

He was at point-blank range.

If she intended to kill him, she could do it now.

"Give me the gun.  We're both cold and damp.  We have to go back to the
house."

"I'll keep my gun."

She held the weapon against her body.

She needed the reassurance of its protection.

"Don't play games."

He held out his hand.

"Give me the gun, now."

She stared through the drizzle at his outstretched hand, and all she
could think was that he wanted to capture her, to drag her back to the
house.

She couldn't trust him.

Hadn't the note warned that there was danger?

"Come on, Maria, cooperate with me."

"No."

"Do you really believe I'm going to hurt you?  Hell, woman, if you're
so sure you need a gun to protect yourself, then use it.  Here's your
chance."

He spread his arms wide.

"Shoot me now.  Either give me the damn gun or kill me."

A roiling confusion, more murky than the storm clouds overhead,
threatened to overwhelm her.

Of course, she couldn't kill him, couldn't shoot anyone in cold
blood.

But she didn't trust him, either.

Her baffled mind lurched toward a decision, and she reverted to her
original plan.

Es@ape!

She had to escape from this place.

She tossed the Beretta toward his feet.

"Thank you," he said.

He was unbelievably calm for a man who could have been dead.

"Now, shall we go back to the house?"

When he bent to retrieve the Beretta, she took advantage of his
distraction.

She pivoted on her heel and ran from him.

"Maria!  " His voice caught on the wind and pursued her.

She had to be faster, had to escape.

The pier was somewhere close.

If she could reach it first, she might still escape on his boat.

She climbed onto the spit of jagged rock that thrust into the sea.

A splash caught her, and the icy white spray soaked her gown.

Clinging to the edge of the slick rock surfaces, she edged her way
around them.

She had to reach the other side, and she knew Jason would not dare to
follow her out here, not with his crippled leg.

Her foot slipped and she almost fell into the churning ocean waves that
beat against the rocks.

Gasping with shock, she pressed forward toward freedom.

At the farthest thrust of rocks, she could see the land on the other
side.

There was the pier!

Through the ghostly mist, she saw Jason's sailboat rise and fall on the
waves.

The straight white mast beckoned through the rain that had begun to
fall.

She felt dizzy and weak.

Though her will to continue was strong, her body was exhausted.

Paralyzed, she thought, and a memory materialized in her brain.

She relived the horror of being unable to move.

The throb of her headache welded her to consciousness.

The only escape from pain would be sleep.

But she couldn't give up, not until she was safely gone from this
island.

Keep going.

But she could barely force herself to take one more step, to gain one
more inch along the slick, wet surface.

"Maria."

His voice was right beside her, and she cried Out.

"No.  Get away from me."

Despite his injured leg, Jason had climbed onto the rocks beside her.

She couldn't believe it.

She was so close to escape, and yet so far away.

When she turned her head, pressed her check against the wet rocks and
stared at him, she saw the rage in his eyes.

His gray eyes were as dark and dangerous as the pressing rain clouds.

A frantic sob wrenched through her throat.

"It's all right," he said gently.

"You're going to be all right."

"No.  Get away from me."

"I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not."

With his last reserve of strength, Jason grasped Maria's hand,
anchoring her against the rocks.

Instead of fighting him, she felt limp and cold.

"What are you doing?"

she demanded weakly.

"Saving your life."

He had no time to reason with her.

"You've got to trust me.  I'm your only chance, dammit."

"No."

She protested, but she did not move.

Her fingers clung to the rock surface so tightly that her knuckles were
white.

He saw blood on the edge of her palm.

"The water is ice-cold, Maria.  You'd never make it swimming.  The
undertow is deadly."

He kept his tone steady and calm, soothing her, fears.

Her green eyes appeared to be unfocused.

My God, he thought, she was going to faint.

He could see her consciousness slipping away.

"Stay with me, Maria-.  You can do it.  Come with me."

When she reached toward him, it seemed that she had joined her fate
with his.

He could feel the difference in her grasp as she allowed him to help
her climb back to the shoreline at the rocky edge of the cove.

He held her against his body, supporting her weight.

She was as limp as a rag doll, her arms hanging by her sides.

Her knees began to buckle.

"Maria," he snapped.

"You can't pass out.  It's raining and cold.  And I can't carry you up
that cliff.

Maria!

Her eyelids drooped and her head bobbed.

"Look at me!"

he commanded.

She stared.

Through slack lips, she n hurt me.

Please, don't hurt me.

"Never."

He propped her up on her the rain that had drenched her gown, frills to
a misshapen mess.

"Come on now.  'i it."  She straightened.  Visibly, she gathered her
Blinking, her eyes showed a sign of life.  And.  " up, beyond his left
shoulder.

Maria screamed.

A shot rang out.

were as dark and dangerous as the pressing rain clouds.

A frantic sob wrenched through her throat.

"It's all right," he said gently.

"You're going to be all right."

"No.  Get away from me."

"I'm going to help you, whether you like it or not."

With his last reserve of strength, Jason grasped Maria's hand,
anchoring her against the rocks.

Instead of fighting him, she felt limp and cold.

"What are you doing?"

she demanded weakly.

"Saving your life."

He had no time to reason with her.

"You've got to trust me.  I'm your only chance, dammit."

"No."

She protested, but she did not move.

Her fingers clung to the rock surface so tightly that her knuckles were
white.

He saw blood on the edge of her palm.

"The water is ice-cold, Maria.  You'd never make it swimming.  The
undertow is deadly."

He kept his tone steady and calm, soothing her, fears.

Her green eyes appeared to be unfocused.

My God, he thought, she was going to faint.

He could see her consciousness slipping away.

"Stay with me, Mari2e You can do it.  Come with me."

When she reached toward him, it seemed that she had joined her fate
with his.

He could feel the difference in her grasp as she allowed him to help
her climb back to the shoreline at the rocky edge of the cove.

He held her against his body, supporting her weight.

She was as limp as a rag doll, her arms hanging by her sides.

Her knees began to buckle.

"Maria," he snapped.

"You can't pass out.  It's raining and cold.  And I can't carry you up
that cliff.

Maria!

Her eyelids drooped and her head bobbed.

"Look at me!"

he commanded.

She stared.

Through slack lips, she mumbled, "Don't hurt me.  Please, don't hurt
me."

"Never."

He propped her up on her feet, brushed at the rain that had drenched
her gown, turning the pretty frills to a misshapen mess.

"Come on now.  You can do it."  She straightened.  Visibly, she
gathered her strength.

Blinking, her eyes showed a sign of LIFE.

And she looked up, beyond his left shoulder.

Maria screamed.

A shot rang out.

Chapter Five

Maria screamed again .

Her arm raised and she pointed to the cliff above them "Up there!"

lightning fast, Jason whirled, inflicting greater stress on his injured
leg.

The Beretta was in his hand.

He returned the gunfire.

Blindly, he unleashed three shots.

He'd seen nothing.

No one.

But the earlier crack of a pistol shot was all the evidence he
needed.

The danger that had threatened was reality.

The danger was here.

Moving fast, he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her toward the
rocks, finding cover.

He pulled her down flat behind a rock shaped like a huge-bread loal
Stretched on top -of her, he guarded Man' sbody with his own.

"What was it?"

he demanded.

"at did you see?"

"Aman..."

"Only one?"

"I only saw one."

She'd spied the dark silhouette outlined against the rainy skies.

A shadow, she'd thought.

A wraithlike emanation, so terrifying that she must have conjured the
vision from her own arsenal of constant, unnatural fear.

And yet this vision had taken aim and fired at them.

Muerte.

The word echoed endlessly in her head.

She could not escape.

Unable to fight any longer, she closed her eyes, seeking peace, seeking
silence, seeking an end to this confusion and terror.

In her mind a memory awakened-a memory or a dream.

She saw a dark woman striding through the mist of a deep unconscious
haze.

"I am Maria," the woman said.

She stepped into the warm glow of a porch light, leaving night's
darkness behind.

Her height was slightly above average.

She was not particularly slender, but her face was narrow with
prominent cheekbones and a high forehead.

Her straight black hair fell past her shoulders.

Her blue work shirt was unbuttoned low enough to show cleavage.

Though she nervously glanced over her shoulder, her manner showed an
admirable confidence.

She untied the red scarf at her throat and held it out.

"Wear this."

She plucked the gold ring with its engraved pattern of thorns and rose
from her finger.

"And this.  You must wear t his.  You must find the man called Jason
Walker.

He will help us.

He will help you.

And then there was the sound of heavy boots, running, pursuing.

The flash of a knife.

No time to scream.

No chance to flee.

Her eyelids snapped open.

Jason was shaking her.

"Maria, are you all right?"

"Not Maria.  I'm not Maria."

"Were you hit?"

"What?"

She was aware of the rain, the chill, the dusk.

"Hit by what?"

"The bullet.  We were fired upon."

With a mental jolt, she remembered.

They were on the shore.

On an island in Maine.

Jason was leaning over her, holding her.

In his hand, he held a gun.

She looked up into his eyes.

A predator's eyes, fierce and strong, lethal in their determination.

Their color was gray, like flint, and their gaze penetrated straight to
her soul.

But she wasn't afraid.

She saw beyond his pain and anger.

Jason did not intend to hurt her.

He would protect her.

He would help her.

Just as the woman had said.

Find him.

He will help you.

Like a fool, she'd been trying to escape from the wrong person.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Are you all right?"

"I wasn't hit.  I'm only tired, deeply tired."

"Your hand is bleeding, Maria.  Did I hurt you?"

III stumbled on the way down here.

" She tried to get up, but he gently restrained her.

"Stay down," he cautioned.

" is he gone?  " she asked.

" The -man on the hill?

"I don't know."

He rose up on one knee and peeked cautiously over the rock where tfiey
were hiding.

His gaze scanned the rugged landscape where he'd lived all his life.

He knew every inch of this island, every vantage point.

He saw nothing.

But that was small consolation.

Their chances for eluding the armed man on the cliff were slim.

A sniper with a long-range weapon had all the advantage.

Jason could only hope that the gunman was as poorly equipped as they
were.

Looking for a sign, Jason peered into the graying skies.

The rain came heavier.

There would be no sunset tonight, only a settling of gloom.

These were skies that presaged death.

"Maria, what kind of gun did he have?"

"I don't know."

4 "A rifle?

') "No.  Just a handgun.  Like yours."

"Good."

Perhaps they had a chance, after all.

If his leg were better, Jason could have climbed the rock face.

Unfortunately that was not a possibility.

An alternate plan might be to step into the open and draw the man's
gunfire.

But Jason figured that course of action would probably accomplish
nothing more than to get himself killed and leave her here,
vulnerable.

"Stay here," he whispered to Maria.

"But-"

"Quiet, Maria.  Do as I say.  Don't try to run."

He inched away from her, then made a dash toward the jagged rocks at
the base of the cliff.

Another shot rang out, shattering the natural resonance of wind and sun
Jason imagined the bullet whizzing past his head, ricochetting.

He leaned against the rocks, breathing hard.

He stepped back, gauging his position.

This wasn't a high cliff, only thirty feet at most, and Jason kept
scanning while he stepped carefully among the rocks, putting enough
distance between himself and the ledge so that he could see as soon as
someone peeked over.

The best position he could find was crouched behind a rounded shard
that resembled a gravestone marker.

Bury me here, he thought, at Passaquoit, home of my ancestors.

His hiding place was at the tide's edge.

Icecold water surged around his ankles and lower legs.

After the first shock, Jason welcomed the deadening chill that
suppressed the fire of pain in his injured leg.

Oh, God, it hurt.

The ache centered in his calf, but didn't feel like a sprain.

Just a pulled muscle' Just enough to cause every step to hurt like the
burning brand of hell.

He saw the gun before the face.

At the top of the cliff, closest to the sea, almost directly above
Jason, he noticed the first hint of cautious movement.

A hand, silcic with rain, appeared.

Jason braced himself, prepared.

He saw the man's face, looking down.

Jason aimed and fired three times.

One shot was returned, then the man lurched backward.

Had he been hit?

Jason took the silver automatic pistol from his pocket and transferred
it to his right hand.

Fresh ammunition.

The face appeared again, and Jason fired.

But his bullets were unnecessary.

The man was falling.

Silent and hard, he plummeted from the ledge and crashed onto the rocks
below with a dull thud.

Hobbling, Jason went toward him.

The body of a scrawny man had fallen against a spire of rock and hung
precariously above a swirling eddy.

His long legs sprawled.

Jason noticed that he wore pointed-toe t6wboy boots.

The man's left arm bent at an unnatural angle, but he was beyond
pain.

One of Jason's bullets had torn away his left eye and half his
forehead.

While Jason watched, the body slipped from its rocky perch and slid
into the dark edge of the sea.

Jason turned and saw Maria running clumsily toward him.

Hadn't he told her to stay in one place?

Didn't this woman have the sense of a sand crab?

The shooter might not have been alone.

Someone else might be up on that cliff right now, taking aim.

She sloshed into the water beside him.

"Is he dead?"

"What are you doing here?  I told you-"

"Jason, is he dead?"

"Yes."

He waited for her reaction.

Hysteria was what he expected.

Sobbing.

That was what most women would have done: ignored the fact that he
might have saved their lives and called him a murderer.

Instead she stiffened her spine.

Though her eyes were moist, it could have been the rain.

"Thank God," she whispered.

"We're not safe yet."

He stepped out from behind the rocks, one pistol in each hand, and
scanned the cliff.

There was no movement.

No one.

Nothing.

Jason waved to Maria.

"I-et's go.  Up the path."

Guarding her back, he kept watch as they stepped into the open and
crossed the flat beachfront.

"Grab my cane," he ordered.

She did so.

There was still no movement from the cliff.

If the dead man had a companion, he was clever enough to stay hidden.

But Jason didn't breathe easy until they'd reached the top of the cliff
and had found shelter among the pines near the house.

The fresh scent of the trees in the rain mingled with the salty air.

Maria, still walking in front of him, stumbled.

She grasped the roughened bark of a tree trunk and held on.

"Just a little farther," he urged.

Thus far, she'd been terrific.

Though her movements were not lithe and graceful, she'd progressed
steadily, fighting off the weakness he'd seen when she'd been clinging
to the rocks by the shore.

Her exhaustion was even more apparent now.

Though she struggled gamely, though her spirit was willing, her body
was unable to go forward.

Every step was an effort.

She leaned more heavily on his cane than he ever had.

When he came up beside her and hooked his hand under her arm for
support, she leaned against him, unmoving, almost unconscious.

"Come on, Maria.  You can make it."

"Sleep," she murmured.

"My head hurts so terribly.

I'm tired .

I need sleep.

When he looked into her green eyes he saw a frightening blankness, and
he realized that- throughout these tense moments on the shore-they had
been speaking English.

But that was all wrong, he thought.

If English was her second language, she would not revert to it in a
moment of duress.

He studied her face.

Her eyelids were heavy.

Her head seemed too heavy for her slender neck.

In a whisper he asked, "Who are you?"

In English she responded, "I don't know."

you're not-"

" I don't know," she said more loudly.  " I can't remember.

I don't know.

Jason didn't press her for an answer.

There were physical difficulties to be overcome before they could
concentrate on the problem of her identity.

"Hush," he said softly.

"I-et's get You inside."

They made their way through the pines to the house, and Jason was glad
to find that Alice and the caterers had locked the rear door.

He used his key, thrust it open and locked up again before helping her
up the stairs and into the bedroom where she collapsed across the
bedspread.

There was no point in asking questions.

The truth would have to wait until morning.

This woman, whoever she was, had not been faking her exhaustion.

Her arms and legs were as Iiinp and boneless as cooked spaghetti.

Her breathing came deep and sonorous.

Almost like a coma, he thought.

"Maria!

She stirred.

"Maria, you can't sleep in those wet clothes."

"Uave me alone."

"I don't have time for this," he muttered.

"I'm not a damn baby-sitter."

He needed to secure the house, to be sure they would be safe here for
the night.

But he couldn't let her fall asleep wearing her brine-soaked wedding
gown.

She was physically weak.

If she caught pneumonia or even a bad cold, the illness might prove
fatal.

There was only one solution.

If she couldn't move, he would have to undress her.

With uncharacteristic reluctance, he stared down at the slender female
form sprawled facedown across the bed.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen her nearly naked.

Last night, when they'd arrived at the house, he had examined her.

But she'd been awake enough to clutch the sheet across her breasts.

Last night, he'd noticed her undeniable beauty, but in an abstract and
detached manner.

He had not known her then.

Had not k@ her.

Had not felt the stimulating warmth of her body pressed against his.

He had not killed a man to protect her.

Now, it was different.

Without one coherent conversation, they had shared life and death.

They had married.

She had fled from him.

He had saved her life.

"Hell of a way to start a relationship."

In spite of his own physical pain and his suspicions about her
identity, he felt a spark of desire as he glided the long zipper down
the back of her gown and pushed the sodden fabric aside.

Her back was smoothly tanned.

He unfastened her brassiere, revealing the tan line of a bikini.

Last night, he had not noticed the mark of a cultivated tan.

This was another proof that she was not Maria Ramos Hernandez.

The fiery author of the fierce indictment, Truth, would not have spent
her days at poolside.

The woman who lay before him- on the bed had to be an impostor.

But she'd had the gold ring with thorns and rose.

And she had been wearing the red scarf.

And she knew the slip number to find his sailboat.

Tlese were too many coincidences to be ignored.

She had to be the woman he'd been waiting for.

Perhaps Jason had a mistaken impression of the authoress.

Carefully he slipped his hands beneath her body and rolled her onto her
back.

She wakened enough to protest.

"Go 'way."

"Believe me, I'd like nothing better."

The feet-of her smooth flesh beneath the damp gown tortured his
senses.

"But I have to get you undressed."  "

" I'll do it myself.

" Her eyelids were half-opener hands slapped ineffectually at his.

Her words, in English, were an almost unintelligible slur.

" Leave me alone.

"Who are you?"

She moaned and he immediately felt guilty for pressuring her.

But why should he?

If she was, in fact, Maria Ramos Hernandez, her attempt to escape from
him was absurd.

If she was someone else, the cover was blown all to hell.

Jason knew that he was not the only person Maria had been scheduled to
contact on her way EC from Guermina.

There were several others sympathetic to the causes of freedom and to
her book.

Had this network been betrayed?

He needed to contact his source.

"Can you undress yourself?"

he demanded.

"Yes."

"I'll leave you alone for a few minutes.  I expect you to be undressed,
under the covers and sleeping when I return."

Her chin moved slightly, as if she were nodding assent.

Jason went down the staircase, turning on fights as he moved and
holding his Beretta ready.

The old house seemed different tonight.

There was a new fragrance in the air-sweet and tantalizing.

It was the scent of Maria.

Jason inhaled deeply.

He was not alone anymore.

Securing the house was not difficult, but tiresome.

Because of the extreme weather conditions that sometimes battered
Passaquoit Island, every window was double-paned, nearly unbreakable
glass.

He pulled all the curtains closed.

The doors were equipped with heavy braces to withstand high winds.

He fastened and locked as if they were settling in for a cyclone.

In his office he jammed a fresh clip in his Beretta and punched the
phone number of his source.

He was surprised when he heard the strange but familiar voice,
obviously disguised with one of those devices that attached to the
phone and made everybody, men and women alike, sound exactly like the
same monotone machine.

"Yes," said the voice.

" Vv%o is this?"

4&ia son

Where the hell have you been?

"On business."

There was a pause.

"I assume, by now, you have Maria."

"I have a woman who claims to be Maria, but I don't know.  There's
something not right.  There was someone here.  A man with a gun."

"He's dead," Jason said.

"His body washed out to sea.  The police will have to be notified."

"Not yet."

Jason couldn't handle the death that way.

Maybe that worked in war ton Guermina, but not here.

He lived here on Passaquoit.

His family had been here for generations.

He'd killed a man, and the body would wash up on some shore-maybe not
tomorrow, but eventually.

Explanations were required.

"I need to talk with the police, to explain."

"Not yet," the voice repeated.

"When?"

"When Maria is safe.  She is Maria.  She must be."

"And, if not?

" Jason kept his sentences brief."  His communications with the source
were always terse.  ,.

"You have an appointment on the day after tomorrow.  At noon in New
York City.  Her editor at Ehnont House wants verification before they
print Truth.  " The source gave the address of a publishing house in
Manhattan.

"Take her there, but don't allow yourself to be seen with her.  When
she meets with the editor, she is Juana Sabbatta.  Not Maria.  Not your
wife.

For her own safety, we need to maintain the secrecy of her cover
story.

' " What if she's not the right woman?

"She is."

The voice paused.

"She has to be.  Truth must be published."

"But if she's not-" "The pen, as you know, is mightier than the sword."
The phone line went dead, and Jason slammed the receiver back on the
hook.  He hated being told what to do, being instructed to escort her,
being ordered to hide.

When he'd worked with the rebel forces in Guermina, tending to the sick
and wounded, Jason had made a real contribution.

His actions showed tangible results.

He'd saved many lives, eased the suffering of men, women and frightened
children who were old beyond their years.

He'd fought for them, too.

Nearly died while fighting.

And now he was nothing more than a pawn, escorting the woman who might
make the plight of Guermina a world concern.

He felt like a consort, and he was not proud

He cursed the pain in his leg, the disability that made him less than a
man.

Slowly he made his way back up the staircase to the second floor and
opened the door to Maria's bedroom.

The wedding dress lay in a crumpled heap on the floor and she was under
the covers.

Lzaning over the bed, he tucked her in securely.

Her long, black hair fell in wild tangles across the pillowcase.

The paleness of her complexion was as fragile as a porcelain doll's.

Her breath came in deep waves, then she gasped suddenly.

Her eyes opened and she looked directly at him.

"Who are you?"

he asked.

"Your bride."

' She smiled with such lovely serenity that he could almost believe
that they were married.

Then her eyes closed again and she slept.

Jason backed away from her bed, unable to comprehend the emotions that
she wakened within him.

He wanted her, and his desire ran deeper than physical lust.

No matter who she was, no matter what she had done, he longed to make
her his own.

He went to his own bedroom down the hall and changed into warm, dry
clothing.

On the chance that the shooter on the cliff had not been alone, he
decided that it was not safe to leave her alone in the night.

Returning to her room, he locked the door from the inside and made
himself as comfortable as possible in the chair beside the window.

Both of his handguns and extra clips of ammunition lay beside him on
the table.

This was one hell of a honeymoon.

He glanced back at the bed where her lithe body barely made a ripple
beneath the comforter.

The glow from the bedside lamp shone on her high cheekbones.

Beautiful, he thought.

She was beautiful.

And she was his bride.

He was either the luckiest man in the world.

Or the most unfortunate.

Chapter Six Maria awakened to the fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee

and the sight of crystal-clear sunlight pouring through the windows in
her bedroom.

Her bedroom!

She knew where she was!

Blinking, she closed her eyes again and allowed her mind to dissipate
the cobwebs of sleep.

No nightmares, she thought.

That was an excellent sign, almost as encouraging as the fact that she
had memories.

Yesterday's events were quite clear.

She'd been married by a reverend named Blaylock.

She'd worn a gown and sliced a cake and wedded herself to a man who was
a stranger but kissed with the amazing, brilliant passion of a lover
she had known for all eternity.

Of all that had happened on the day before, she remembered those kisses
the best.

A shiver of pure delight skimmed the surface of her skin as she
indulged in the delicious recollection.

His name was Jason, she thought.

Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

And he had saved her life.

She opened her eyes, turned her head and saw him sitting in the chair
by the window.

He was already showered, his dark brown hair still damp, and he'd
dressed in black trousers and a gray-blue shirt, open at the throat.

The long sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing his muscular
forearms covered with masculine black hair.

Yesterday, she remembered, he had killed a man.

She'd witnessed the shooting, had seen the body fall from the cliff and
crash onto the rocks below.

After such experiences she'd assumed that there would be a change in
manner, a gravity that hadn't been there before.

But Jason didn't look different.

Perhaps this was not the first man he'd killed.

"Good morning," she said, attempting to be casual.

She was unsure of how to behave around him.

Technically, she was his wife.

But in reality, she didn't know what their relationship was.

Jailer and prisoner?

Cohorts?

Accomplices?

In any case, she would betray no hesitation, would not acknowledge her
own shy awareness that she was naked beneath the
white-and-green-sprigged comforter.

He nodded.

Though he had shaved and dressed, Jason had a strained look about
him.

His bad leg rested on another chair opposite the one where he sat.

Keeping it elevated, she thought.

Holding the comforter modestl@ over her breasts, she reached for the
coffee cup that rested on a silver tray on the bedside table.

There was a full carafe, a silver cup of sugar and a creamer.

"I take it black," she said, pleased that she could remember this
simple detail about herself.

"And caffeinated in the morning."

Again he nodded.

"Who are you?"

She sipped her coffee and tried to think.

Her mind was so much clearer today.

The pounding headache had faded.

Though she was stiff and sore, she felt alive.

"Tell me," he said.

"What's your name?"

"Call me Maria."

"But that's not your real name, is it?"

"I don't know."

This was the first glimmer of truth she'd willingly admitted.

Gazing into the steaming coffee, she sought the rich fragrant depths
for answers, trying to decide whether or not she could trust him.

Yesterday, climbing on the rocks, he had risked his life to help her.

He had killed to protect her.

"About the dead man," she said as conversationally as possible.

"Did you call the police?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"First I need to be sure you're safe."

"Of course.  I see."

But she didn't see, didn't understand at all.

Without a knowledge of her own past, she couldn't think of a single
reason why anyone would want to kill her.

What had she done?

And why was Jason willing to help her?

Possibly, that was even more baffling.

He was treating her like she was someone important.

Not a mail-order bride.

She decided to start by clearing up the small confusions.

"Why did you lock me in my bedroom?"

"To protect you," he said.

"I had discovered my Beretta missing from the desk drawer, and I didn't
know that you had taken it."

She hadn't taken the gun.

But that was another story, and she did not interrupt him.

"I assumed," he said, "that there might be danger to you.  A locked
door was some protection."

He sipped his coffee.

"How did you get out?"

"Through the attic," she said.

""There's a hatch with a ladder in the-"

"In the closet," he concluded.

"Of course.  I hadn't thought of that.  Haven't been in the attic in
years."

"I could tell.  It's filthy up there."

A silence descended between them.

Her gaze flicked toward him, then she looked away.

He seemed to be watching her steadily, waiting for .

what?

An explanation?

It would be a long wait, she thought, because she didn't know herself
what was going on.

"May I ask you something else, Jason?"

"Go ahead."

"You don't seem like the sort of man who would advertise for a
mail-order bride."

"Really?"

He seemed amused.

"And what do you think that sort of man is like?"

"ICind of creepy.  I think of someone with hair on his palms."

She frowned.

"So, why did you advertise?"

"I can't tell you that right now.  I will, though.  We need to be
honest with each other, don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

"How did you come to find me??"  he asked.  " How did you know to come
to the marina near Boothbay Harbor and to look for slip number'
eighty-six?

"I had instructions..."

But she didn't remember who had given her the orders or how she'd
found the place.

As she lifted her coffee cup, she noticed the heavy gold ring on her
right hand.

Who had given it to her?

Not Jason, she thought.

His ring, the wedding ring, was a simple, brushed gold band that
encircled her fourth finger, left hand.

Maria, she thought.

The ring came from a woman named Maria.

"How did you get here?"

he asked.

"A bus?  A plane?"

"I don't remember."

ME

"Try.  Okay?  Just concentrate."

"Don't be impatient with me.  I'm doing the best I can to remember.

Everything's a blur.

She drained the liquid from her coffee cup and set it on the tray
before her hand began to tremble.

There were things she did not wish to remember, terrible events that
had been mercifully erased from her mind.

When she reached up to touch her temple, her fingers encountered the
matted tresses of black hair.

She pulled a handful around so she could look at it.

"Yuck!

Sea salt.

I need to take a shower and get dressed.

Will you excuse me, Jason?

"I don't think so."

He raised one eyebrow, challenging her.

"I'm staying right here until I find out what I need to know."

"But this isn't fair.  You're all dressed while I'm, well, I'm a
mess."

"I need every advantage I can get," he said.

"I want you to talk to me, M He hesitated at her name and she told him,
" Call me Maria.

It's better than "Hey, you.

"' He lowered his injured leg and leaned forward in his chair.  "
Maria," he said, " you've had some memory loss.

Correct?

"You sound like a doctor."

"I am a doctor.  I don't have my M.D."  but I have practical knowledge,
including experience with head injuries.  The problem I'm having is
this .  I examined you.  You've got a lot of bumps and bruises on your
torso.

But I couldn't find any indication that you'd hurt your head.

"Well, of course not.  They used a syringe-?"

Her words halted.

Unbidden, a dark memory filled her mind.

She remembered fighting.

There were two of them.

Two men.

It was dark.

She'd struggled with all her strength, but one of them had had a
knife.

He'd held the blade to her throat, warned her not to move or he would
kill her.

And she had believed him.

"Muerte, " he had said.

His voice was hoarse, cruel.

"You will know death, little one."

She hadn't begged or pleaded with him.

Not that she was particularly brave, but her fear had robbed her of the
ability to think or to verbalize.

They were speaking Spanish.

She remembered that much.

And she'd promised to cooperate.

The gruff man, a bearlike person with thick features, held her arm
still.

His partner gave her a shot.

She could see the needle posed above her flesh.

She felt the bite as the sharp tip pierced her skin.

She held up her arm, looked for the mark, for a bruise.

There was nothing.

"You were drugged," Jason said.

"I guess I was.  There were two men.  I remember, their faces.  One of
them had heavy features, a thick brow.  He was huge.  The other was
very gaunt, almost emaciated.  He wore sharp-toed cowboy boots."

Jason let out a sigh and frowned.

"He won't be bothering you anymore."

"Oh, my God, was he the man on the cliff?"

"Skinny guy.  Cowboy boots.  It could have been."

The memory faded to darkness, and she sat up straighter on the bed,
clutching the comforter around her.

"Why would they do this to me?  What have I done?"

"You don't know?  Don't have any idea?"  ) " No.

"Oh, Maria," he said.

"This is difficult."  ) He studied her carefully, looking for a crack
in her facade that would show him that she was a lying impostor.

But he saw nothing but confusion, a heart wrenching panic' "at's
happened to me?"

Her small hands drew into fists.

"Why can't I remember?"

She stared at him.

"You're a doctor.  Can't you tell me?  Will I ever remember?"

"Without knowing what drug was used, I can't say."

"Why?"

She gritted her teeth, trying to force her memory to work.

But reality was beyond her grasp.

Her mind was blank.

"If someone is trying to kill me, I need to know why."

Jason wanted to believe her.

He wanted to confide everything he knew.

But there was the chance she'd been sent here by their enemies.

He couldn't take that risk until he was certain.

He crossed the room and sat on the bed beside her.

"You're feeling better today, aren't you?  Stronger."

"I suppose so."

"It's possible that the drug has worked through your system."  ) Cg
Will I regain my memory?  "

A smile touched the corners of his mouth and he nodded, but his slight
reassurance did not comfort her.

She sensed that he was hiding something.

"Tell me the truth, Jason."

"I don't have an answer for you."

"Oh, God."

She twined her fingers and held on tight.

"It's brain damage, isn't it?  How much have I lost?"

"Yesterda your short-term memory was almost Y, nonexistent.  You
couldn't remember what was said to you from one moment to the next.

Usually, with traumatic amnesia like this, your long-term memory is
more clear.

"What do you mean?71

"For example, your knowledge of languages is perfect.  Spanish,
English, French."

4 "So?

'2

"Those can't all be your native tongue.  You learned them, and you can
remember how to use them.  Other long-term memory things include events
that happened several years ago."

"I can't remember any of that," she said.

"You'll probably remember those things first.  Then you'll gradually
recollect what happened to you before yesterday.  There's a chance that
you'll never remember parts of it."

"But my name," she said.

"When will I remember my name?"

"Maria Ramos Hernandez."

His dark gray eyes stared deeply into her, seeking a recognition she
did not feel.

"Is that your name?"

"I know the name.  But it's not me."

"Juana Sabbatta."

She searched her mind for the familiar resonance.

Truth.

The book was written by Juana Sabbatta.

"Do you remember the book?"

Whole passages of text cropped up in her mind.

There were typed paragraphs and pen scratchings for revisions.

She quoted, "" In the soulless eyes of corruption, there is no truth.

Seek truth in the innocent whisper of a child at prayer beside an open
grave, for truth is the companion of tragedy.

My story is tragic.

"Exactly," be said.

"Did you write those words?"

"I don't know."

She couldn't remember typing that passage, couldn't recall her own pen
scribbling corrections.

But she knew the story well, and could see whole pages in her mind.

The text was Spanish, then English.

A translation.

"How do you feel about the story?"

he asked.

"It's very important.  If I had written it, I'd feel like I'd made a
contribution.  To all the right causes."

"All right, Maria.  I'm going to trust you with the truth that you seem
fond of.  I have to.  We don't have much time.  If you betray me..."

He left the threat hanging, but she understood his meaning very well.

"I understand."

He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair.

"I'll start at the beginning.  I never advertised for a mail order
bride."

"But how did I come here?  Why were we married?"

"As a cover story for Juana Sabbatta, whose real name is Maria Ramos
Hernandez.  Because of the accusations in her book, she needed to leave
her country.

She was in danger.

"Yes."

She clung to his words intently.

"I know this."

"Are you Maria?  Are you Juana?"

"I don't know."

"She was supposed to come to me," Jason said, "on the day you
arrived.

She would come to my boat.

Around her neck she would wear a red scarf.

Her final identification would be the gold ring you are wearing right
now.

And yet, you say that you are not Maria.

"I don't know."

"But you know of her?  You believe in her work?"

"Yes," she said firmly' Then perhaps, this will work," Jason said.

"Tomorrow we have an appointment to meet with an editor who wants some
verification before Truth is published.

Whether or not you are Juana Sabbatta, I'd like for you to meet with
him and give him the assurances he needs.

"I will," she agreed immediately.

"It's dangerous," he said.

"Juana Sabbatta has a lot of powerful enemies, people who don't want to
see this book reach publication.  They might try to stop us."

" I understand.

"Do you, Maria?"

He frowned.

"This isn't a game.

"I've already been attacked.  I saw that man die.  I know what danger
feels like, Jason.  I don't like it.  But some risks have to be
taken."

Her instincts assured her that she and Jason were on the same side of
this particular issue.

She would be proud to do as he said, to make whatever contribution she
could to the cause of freedom.

"Good."

When be touched her clasped hands' she felt very close to him.

"Thank you, Maria."

"I remember something else from yesterday," she said.

"I remember this."

With one hand, she held the comforter to cover-her nakedness.

With the other, she stroked his smooth shaven cheek and pulled him
toward her.

His arm circled her shoulders, glided down her naked back and pulled
her close to him.

His kiss was hard, passionate.

She'd never felt like this before, transported by desire.

The covers slipped away and she was nude in his arms, reveling in the
sheer pleasure of his caresses.

For a moment she forgot propriety's restraints.

She was his wife, and she wanted more than anything to be his
beloved.

Then common sense intervened.

Jason was nearly a stranger, and she didn't even know her name.

This wasn't the time to undertake an affair.

not even with her own legally wedded husband.

"No," she whispered.

Her hands were busy, gathering the comforter.

"No, Jason.  I need to take a shower.

To get dressed.

Surely there are dozens of things we need to do today.

"Nothing."

He leaned back on the bed, propped up by his elbows, and watched her
with indulgent fascination.

"There's no schedule today.  It's our honeymoon."

"Yes, of course."

A honeymoon!

Endless lovemaking.

The idea pealed in her heart like a million church bells.

"I have to get dressed, Jason."

"You're right," he said.

"I want to get off the island as soon as possible.  I'm sure the guy
last night wasn't alone.  It's become clear that this place is too big
to protect you."

at can I wear?

"The wedding gown?"

She shuddered.

Definitely not the wedding gown.

"Yesterday, when I was up in the attic, I noticed boxes of clothes.

Maybe something up there would fit me.

"There's no need for that."

He pushed himself off the bed, and she noticed a definite cooling in
his manner.

The crackling intensity that surrounded him had not lessened, but there
was a change, subtle as a shift in the wind.

"I had the clothes that you wore here cleaned."

"They're fine for now.  But I'll need something else, especially if I'm
going to meet with an editor in New York tomorrow."

"We'll buy new.  You can't wear the clothes from the attic."

His jaw tightened.

"They belonged to Elena."

Using his cane, he moved toward the door.

He turned and smiled before leaving her alone.

Elena had been his wife.

His first wife.

She remembered Alice telling her about the tragic death of Jason's
wife, dying here on the island.

It must be difficult for him to stay here, haunted by her memory.

Ironic, Maria thought as she headed for the shower in the adjoining
bathroom.

Jason's memories were too strong.

And her own were practically nonexistent.

When she'd finished cleaning up and washing her hair, Maria felt like
her old self -if only she could have remembered an old self and what it
had felt like.

Her physical pains had quieted, and she felt opthnistic about her
future in spite of the threats and the danger.

Now, at least, she had a purpose.

In the bedroom she found her T-shirt and Levi's neatly folded on the
dresser.

The shirt was clean but ragged and stained.

The I-evi's weren't in much- better shape.

She tugged them over her hips and zipped the fly.

She felt something in the deep front pocket, a small, sharp object.

She stuck her hand inside.

Two keys bn' a circular wire.

They appeared to be car keys.

Her fingers closed around them, hoping for a memory to arise and
explain where the keys belonged.

Instead, ice-cold fear splashed through her conscious.

Nowhere was safe.

Chapter Seven "I had a wristwatch," she said as she came down the
stairs to the living room where Jason sat in a wingback chair with his
leg raised on an ottoman.

Maria paused for a moment, assessing the scene.

Without all the guests, she could appreciate the size of the gracious
room where, yesterday, she had been married.

The antique furnishings suited the atmosphere.

And Jason looked like he belonged here.

With his hand resting on his silver-headed cane, he was very much the
lord of the manor.

She repeated, "When I came here, I had a watch."

His eyebrow lifted.

"Did you think I stole it?"

She shook her head.

"Certainly not.  But I wanted to take a look at it.  There might be a
clue.  Something I can remember from my past."

"It's in my desk," he said.

Maria charged into the dining area where the wedding buffet had been
spread, and she stopped dead in her tracks.

This room was fabulous.

Beneath the brass chandelier, the long antique oak table, highly
polished and gleaming, had been restored to its usual place in the
center of the room.

Six large, upholstered chairs sat on either side.

The floral centerpiece was red roses and baby's breath, like her bridal
bouquet.

"This is so formal," she said.

"When we dine, do we sit on either end?"

"Sure," he teased.

"Then Jeeves the Butler serves us."  ) " You are joking, aren't you?

usually eat in the kitchen.

A woman comes over from the mainland every two weeks to clean.

Oh, and Alice drops by unannounced to make sure I'm keeping everything
in shape.

"It doesn't sound like you appreciate this place."

"Alice would enjoy the house far more than I do, but she doesn't like
seclusion."

"I guess it's true what the Realtors say-location, location,
location."

Maria shrugged.

She wouldn't mind living here.

"Why are all the curtains drawn?"

"So that no one can see in.  Remember, Maria.  We might not be alone on
the island."

That was one fact she couldn't forget.

The gaunt man on the beach might have friends.

And his friends might have guns.

They might be waiting, just outside.

"Can they break in?"

"The house is well built, but not a'fortress."  4 He raised his hand
and she saw the Beretta.  " But thty know we're armed.

I don't think they'll risk a direct assault.

That was reassuring.

"But how are we going to get out of here?"

"We'll find a way."

Determinedly, she shook off her apprehensions.

Maria paused beside the table, drank in the atmosphere.

She listened to the silence, a weighty solitude, that permeated these
solid walls and floors.

Peaceful, she thought, and yet there was a sense of anticipation, as if
the house were standing ready and waiting to be filled again.

With children?

Though the furnishings were meant for adults, she easily imagined the
laughter of children as they raced through the house.

If she and Jason had really been married, she would have been the
mistress of this solid, well-constructed place.

"This is a really great house."

"I can't take credit.  It's been in the family for four generations."

"A seafaring family," she recalled wistfully.

The history appealed to her.

But there were other matters, far more pressing, starting with her
wristwatch.

"So?

Which way to your office, Jason?

"You remember," he said as he pushed himself out of the chair and
braced his weight against his cane.

"It's the room where you went to steal my gun."

"I didn't steal anything," she said.

II Borrowed?

" he suggested.

She confronted him, hands on her hips.

In spite of the tangible threats, she felt feisty and strong, ready to
take on the world.

And she had a goal -to find herself She needed to find her true
identity and put it on, then wear it around until it felt comfortable
again.

She could do it.

Even if she'd had a brain injury, Maria didn't feel that she'd ever
been stupid.

"I did not borrow your gun," she informed him.

"When I was in my room, lying on the bed, I felt something under the
pillow.  It was a note, and it said that I was in danger and I should
look in the bedside table.  I opened the drawer.  There was the gun."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"What difference does it make?"

"How can I explain to you about danger?"

He thumped his cane on the floor for emphasis.

"Doesn't it strike you that it might be dangerous to have some person
or persons wandering around with loaded weapons?"

"Well, I'm sorry.  But I'm not accustomed to thinking like that.  I
don't generally believe that people want to hurt me."

"Then you can't possibly be Maria," he pointed out.

"Unless I've forgotten."

"Maria, be wise.  Remember the risks."

His gaze locked with hers.

"The note in your bedroom means that someone who was at the wedding
made a point of warning you and getting a gun in your hand.  Why?"

"So that I could defend myself?"

she guessed.

But that didn't make sense if the person who had warned her had meant
to do her harm.

"Against what?"

He led the way toward his office.

"I interpreted the note to mean I should protect myself from you," she
said.

"But that doesn't make sense now.  Jason, is it possible that we have
an ally?  Could there be someone who is trying to help us?"

"Possibly."

He thought of his mysterious source.

A disembodied voice on the telephone.

Male or female?

He did not know.

Had the source person been in attendance at the wedding ceremony?

Jason couldn't be sure.

His only information about his contact was a phone number, a local
number.

Once, from idle curiosity, he had tried to trace the number and
discovered it was unlisted.

Reaching into his middle desk drawer, he found her gold wristwatch and
passed it across the desk to her.

Maria sank into the burgundy leather chair opposite the desk, dangled
the watch before her eyes and studied it .

while he studied her.

Today she appeared rested.

A lively curiosity emanated from her green eyes, and her long, black
hair shone with health.

He asked, "Did you keep the note?"

"I don't remember what I did with it.  I probably stuck it in the
bodice of the wedding gown and it got sopping wet."

"At the wedding, after the ceremony," he asked, "did anyone seem
suspicious to you?"

"Three people stand out.  Eddy Elliot because he said something about
how I wouldn't get away with this and he hinted that you might be a
dangerous character.  And Chip Harrington."

She snapped her fingers.

"Chip said something about Juana Sabbatta.  I thought he was making
small talk about Guermina."

"What did he say?"

"His comments were laudatory.  He admires her work."

"And the third?"

"The reverend.  He was kind, concerned about me.

And his Spanish is excellent.

Did I mention that the note was written in Spanish?

"That narrows the number of suspects."

"The only two people I met yesterday who spoke fluently were Chip and
Reverend Blaylock."

"One or the other of them might suspect you have a connection with
Juana Sabbatta.  They might have been here to check you out before they
made a move."

"Which they made."

Sitting here with her, it was hard to remember the danger.

He was tempted to stay-if only for a day-on the island.

To allow himself to settle in with her, to see what it was like to have
Maria puttering around the house, pretending to be his wife.

There had been no disturbance in the night.

If the man he'd killed was working with someone else, the second person
had either fled or was waiting.

Waiting and watching until they left the house and went to the pier.

Yet, because of the seclusion, they were pretty damned vulnerable
here.

He knew they couldn't risk staying.

"We have to get off the island, Maria."

She placed the watch on the desk in front of him.

"It's a Paktel, " she said.

itilm sorry, that doesn't mean anything to me.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's a special logo from an exclusive
jewelry store.  One of those really classy places, like Tiffany's, that
uses its own brand on the jewelry."

He followed her reasoning.

If they found the store, they might uncover information about her
identity.

"And where is this store?"

"I don't remember exactly, but I have a good guess."

She bounded from her chair, came around the desk and knelt on the floor
with her back to- him.

Maria tossed her -hair over her shoulder.

"Read the label on my shirt."

His gaze rested on the graceful nape of her neck and her delicate
shoulders.

When he touched the satin skin below her luxuriant hair, she trembled
slightly and he found himself responding to her in a purely masculine
way.

"Read it," she repeated.

"Out loud."

He flipped up the label.

"Minx of Boston."

"Boston!

She swung around to face him.

Still on her knees, she was between his legs, looking up at him.

Jason had never seen a more lovely, adorable creature.

As she chattered happily about how she might be from Boston but
couldn't remember for sure, he sank qceper under her spell, inhaling
the clean fragrance of her hair, imagining, dreaming .

He caught her shoulders in his hands and held her still while his mouth
descended to taste the intoxicating sweetness of her lips.

Her new healthy energy aroused him, enticed him.

She returned his caresses in a manner that surprised and delighted
him.

She took advantage of her position, kneeling between his legs, and
stroked the inside of his thighs.

He was hard.

His groin was heavy with the need to make love to this magnificent
woman who, by the most remarkable of coincidences, was his wife.

He drew away from her, breathing hard, his gaze riveted to the lovely
oval of her face.

"I want to consummate our marriage She whispered, " But if I'm not
Maria.

"You gave your consent to the marriage.  Not when you repeated the
reverend's vows" but when you kissed me.  "

He saw doubt in her eyes.

"I don't know how or why, my bride, but we are meant to be together."

In a small voice she said, "What if I'm already married to someone
else?"

"Why would you think that?"

The thought irritated him.

"Do you remember?"

"No, but I could be."

She sat back on her heels, then stood.

"But don't you see?  I caift make love to you until I know who I
am."

He rose and clasped her body against his, crushing her breasts against
his chest.

She was so soft, so fresh.

"Whoever you are, whatever you've done, I want you:' The front doorbell
sounded and they broke apart.

Acting on pure reflex, Jason stepped in front of her, shielding her.

He took the Beretta from his pocket.

"Are you expecting 'someone?"

she asked.

"No.  Stay with me, but be ready to run."

They went to the door and Jason called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me!  Chip Harrington!  You said I could interview Maria today."

"I said you could telephone," he grumbled.

She whispered in Jason's ear, "Ut me talk to him.

Maybe I can find out if he gave me that note.

"Be careful, Maria.  Don't tell hfin anything," Jason warned.

"He's fishing for information."

"Don't worry."

She unfastened the locks on the door and welcomed Chip in Spanish.

"Please come in, I will be happy to complete our interview."

The small, crinkle-faced reporter glanced at them both with a cool and
jaundiced eye.

His wry expression said that he knew exactly why Maria's cheeks.

were flushed and Jason's hair was mussed.

"Getting to , know each other?"

he asked with worldly innocence.

"Indeed, we are," Maria responded brightly.

This is our honeymoon.

From Jason's office they heard the ringing of the telephone, and he
excused himself to answer it.

Maria stepped around to Chip's side.

"Shall we go to the kitchen and leave my husband alone to tend to
business?"

Though it was her first time in the big kitchen, Maria had no trouble
finding the buffet leftovers stored in the refrigerator.

As she laid out the fixings for sandwiches, she realized how very
ravenous she was.

Her stomach felt like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

ill

She pulled out an open bottle of white wine and held it toward Chip.

"Would you care for a drink?"

, only if you will join me.

"Delighted."

After searching through a few cupboards, she found crystal glasses and
splashed a healthy-size dose in each.

In moments the sandwiches were assembled on bone china plates, and she
gestured grandly toward a table near a wide bay window.

The lower half of the window was shuttered, but sunlight sparkled
through the upper panes.

Centered on the table were more roses in a vase.

"Please seat yourself, Senor Harrington."

Though she was aware that she was behaving like the lady of the manor,
Maria enjoyed her posturing and posing, the sophisticated sipping of
white wine while being interviewed by a journalist.

She could get used to this .

to being Mrs.

Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

"Now, Mr.  Harrington," she said, "tell me about your experiences in
journalism."

"That is not how an interview works," he responded.

"I ask the questions."

, "But I am so dull.  " Still maintaining her pose, she forced herself
not to devour the sandwich in huge bites.

"There is very little to say."

Chip took a small notebook from his back pocket and placed it on the
table.

Nonchalantly, he flipped to a blank page.

His pen poised above the notebook.

"I am most interested in hearing about, your homeland.

Guermina, isn't it?

Did you live in the city or the country?

"Both," she said evasively, smiling and sipping her wine.

"Have you visited my country?"

"Once or twice.  It is very beautiful."

"Not like Maine."

While she ate, she rhapsodized about the differences in climate and
terrain, finding positive features in both.

As she finished her discussion of flora and fauna, she noticed that
Chip had begun to visibly fidget.

With boredom, she hoped.

If Chip thought he would garner useful information in talking to her,
he was mistaken.

With a ridiculously perky smile, she concluded, "I hope to become
active here in the local gardening club."  I From the back of his
notebook, he took out a three by-four-inch photograph and slid it
toward her.  " Do you know this woman?

Maria glanced down at the black-and-white picture.

It appeared to be a candid shot, a bit grainy.

The woman had been caught mid-sentence.

Her hand, beside her face, flexed tensely.

She had long, black frizzy hair.

She wore flashy earrings and too much makeup.

Her features resembled Maria's, except that her lips were more full and
the irises of her flashing eye were black as ebony.

Maria shrugged.

"I don't recognize her."

"Looks a little like you," Chip said.

"Enough like you to be a sister."

"I have a sister.  But this is not her.

"This is Juana Sabbatta, the journalists' Maria looked more carefully
at the picture.  This was the woman she was to impersonate.  But this
woman looked nothing like her memory of Maria.  " I thought there were
no photographs of her.

Where did you get this?

He retrieved the picture and stuck it into his pocket.

"I have my sources."

"Why do you ask me about this woman?  Yes, she is from my country.

But I have nothing in common with " You come from a dangerous land,"
Chip said.

C'Can you honestly tell me that you do not share the danger that is
directed toward Juana Sabbatta?

Or her fear?

A dissonant chord resonated within her.

The fear?

Yes, she had experienced fear.

"I do not understand."

He sneered his disbelief.

"You are not just a mail order bride, Maria.  You are too smart, too
clever.  I want to know the truth."

"You seek drama where there is none."

This was not going as she had planned.

She tried to work him around to a question about the note and the
Beretta.

"Do you fear for me?  Do you suggest that I arm myself?"

He leaned across the table, caught her hand in his own.

"I suggest you protect yourself with whatever means are needed."

"Why?  Who would hurt me?"

"Juana Sabbatta has many enemies," he said intensely.

"In her own country, she has offended the men in power.  In this
country, she has the power to reveal many secrets.  There are people in
the immigration service who despise her."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I cannot say more.  Not now."

"Please, Chip.  Tell me why I should be afraid."

He squeezed her hand and released it.

"You're good, Maria.  I almost forgot... Well, let's get back to our
interview."

"I have nothing more to say."

When Jason pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and entered,
Chip backed off.

He leaned back in his chair.

The intensity fled from his face, leaving a sardonic expression of
indulgence.

"We need to go," Jason said.

"Chip, I'd appreciate it if you could give us a ride back to the
mainland."

"Sure, no problem.  Where are you going?"

"Shopping for clothes.  Maria didn't bring much with her."

" If I take you," Chip said, " how will you get back?

"We won't be returning to the island immediately," Jason informed
him.

"We're going to take this chance to explore.  I want to show Maria the
sights of New England."

"Where?"

Chip inquired with seeming innocence.

"Wherever the wind blows us."

Jason added, "This is our honeymoon, you know."

I'm aware of that.

" Chip rose from the table and drained the dregs of his wine.  " Both
of you have mentioned the honeymoon.

I get the picture.

Happy couple, blab, blah.

All this sweetness and light makes me want to puke.

I-et's go.

Outside the house, on the wide -porch, Jason linked his arm with
Maria's while he scanned the landscape, searching for threats.

He kept his other hand in his pocket, gripping the handle of' the
Beretta.

Before'he released her so he could carry his small overnight bag, he
whispered, "Stay close to me."

The pathway to the pier where Chip had tied his boat was open and
unprotected.

If there was another shooter, Jason knew this was the time and place
where he could strike.

That was why he had prevailed upon Chip.

He was a witness.

Possibly, he was more deeply involved than that, and his connection
would be further protection.

Also, Jason figured, it was safer to hitch a ride with Chip in his
boat.

In that way, they avoided the danger of using one of Jason's boats that
might have been sabotaged, rigged to explode.

He moved gingerly.

Despite the pain in his leg, be practiced walking without using his
cane, and the exercise was difficult.

Yet he needed to be stronger, to be able to run.

He needed confidence, not a crutch.

Behind sunglasses, his eyes were in constant motion, looking for
irregularities in the familiar land.

An unusual sound.

A bit of rock that was not where it should be.

Chip fell into step beside him.

"Leg giving you trouble, Jason?"

"It's stiff today."

"I never did find out how you hurt it."

"Car accident."

Jason repeated another cover story, another lie.

"I was in Vegas, visiting friends.  I wasn't driving."

"Too bad.  What exactly were your injuries?"

"Shattered ankle."

Saying the words recalled the unbelievable flash of agony when a
sniper's bullet had torn into his lower leg, smashing the bone and
severing tendons.

Shattered!

He couldn't think about that now.

Not now, when there might be another shooter, holding them in his
sights, waiting to pull the trigger.

"Look!"

Maria pointed to the pier.

The Elena had been scuttled.

She'd been sunk at her mooring The nose still pointed out of the gray
waters and the proud white mast tilted at a crazy angle.

His motorboat was gone.

Maria turned to Chip.

"Why didn't you tell us?"  " Thought you knew.

" He looked at Jason.  " I thought that was why you asked me for a ride
to the mainland.

"You're right," Jason said, suppressing the rage that flared behind his
eyelids, blinding him.

Elena.

His beautiful, magnificent sailboat was destroyed.

He forced himself to speak calmly.

"I didn't want to tell Maria."

"What happened?"

III didn't keep up with my repairs.

" Jason gritted his teeth.  He had to stay alert.  Had to be
prepared.

Couldn't take the time to mourn.

To Chip, he said, "The hull needed some work.  I guess last night's
rain and wind were too much for her."

Suspiciously, Chip said, "It didn't rain that hard."

"Out here on the island, the weather is more severe."

"And the motorboat?"

Chip asked.

"One of the caterers got left behind.  I loaned it to him."

One falsehood mounted upon another.

The weight of them burdened Jason's mind.

He- wanted out!

-He had never asked to be involved in espionage.

When the source had promised a simple cover story Jason should have
known better.

A simple lie?

There never was such a thing.

Lies were always complex, always had conkquences.

He'd lost the Elena.

He'd killed a man.

Bitterly, he regretted the lies that had brought him to this point.

Stay ready.

Don't let down your guard.

There was still more to lose.

Jason searched the stand of pines near the house and stared into the
jagged rocks that bordered the sea.

If he'd sighted the men who had sunk his boat, he would have fired upon
them without hesitation.

What had he become?

He was a doctor, a healer.

And yet he was prepared, even anxious, to kill again.

Why?

For what reason?

The truth, he thought.

The simple truth.

Maria tugged at his arm, and he looked down into her troubled eyes.

She gave him another reason.

He would endure all of this and more.

for her.

He would protect this woman as if she were truly his wife.

Chip climbed behind the wheel of his small motorboat and took Maria's
hand, helping her into the seat beside him.

Jason did not object.

He stayed on the pier, still watching, observing.

When Chip started the engine, he climbed into the back.

As they motored away from the island, Jason silently bid a relieved
farewell to the jagged shore.

He kept his gaze trained on the house that had been in his family for
generations, and he wondered if he would ever see his home again.

Chapter Eight

The mainland presented a whole new set of dangers, and Maria's senses
prickled as they approached the marina.

She scrunched down in the seat as Chip glided his motor craft to a halt
beside a gas pump.

It was Sunday afternoon and the shoreline was hectic with people and
boats.

All strangers, she thought.

All of them posed threats.

Any one of them could approach her and she wouldn't know until it
was-.

too late that they meant her harm.

She hated being afraid, hated the way her heart began to hammer beneath
her fib cage.

Unreasonable panic shot through her as she stepped out of the bohr.

She was so vulnerable.

Standing on the walkway amid rows and rows of boats, she gulped down
deep breaths.

She needed to be calm, to keep her wits about her.

She needed to use all her faculties.

Think!

Don't make foolish mistakes.

She forced herself to smile at Chip, hiding-her terror, but it wasn't
until her gaze met Jason's cool gray eyes that she dared to hope that
she might survive.

Jason, with his strong arms and his wits and his will of tempered
steel, would protect her.

Cursing silently, she banished the doubts and the darkness, wished them
away.

When she was a little girl, she remembered her mother telling her about
whistling in graveyards to keep the ghosts away.

Her mother?

She tried to recall her mother's appearance, her name.

But the picture would not come clear; Maria puckered her lips to
whistle a tuneless melody.

She had much preferred the island.

Though the solitude held its own threats, she'd felt momentarily safe
in the solid old house of Jason's ancestors.

An illusion, she reminded herself.

The sunken sailboat and missing motorboat were clear indications that
someone had been laying a trap for them.

They'd escaped by sheer luck and the unexpected but fortunate arrival
of Chip Harrington.

She thanked him profusely as he eased up in the line waiting at the
pump.

"Are you sure I can't give you a lift into town?"

he asked.

"We're fine," Jason said curtly.

"Alice will be meeting us here."

Chip looked directly at Maria.

"Much as gracias.  The interview was most enlightening, and I will look
forward to your garden club begonias."

As she and Jason moved across the dock toward the boathouse, he asked,
"Begonias?  What does that mean?"

"It's nothing.  A tribute to my ability to be boring."

She shook her head dismissively.

"Jason, I'm sorry about the Elena.  "

"So am I."

He exhaled a deep breath.

"It's not good to look back, Maria.  The past ... well, it's gone.

And we need to think about what's ahead.

Okay?

"All right."

"Lighten up."

His words sounded like an order.

"Now, tell me what you and Chip talked about.

" He showed me a photograph of Juana Sabbatta."

"It's a fake," he said.

"There are no photos."

"Are you sure?  The woman looked a lot like me.

Close enough to be a sister.

"Do you have a sister?"

"Yes."

She had a sister.

That knowledge was certain in her mind, but she had no visual picture,
no name, no fond remembrance of sharing a bedroom or laughing together
or fighting.

It was as if her brain had filled out a questionnaire and had placed a
check mark beside the word "sister" without allowing her to recall the
actual person.

Jason proceeded slowly to the front of the boathouse.

He gave her his overnight bag to carry, and she knew it was because he
needed to keep one hand in his pocket, holding tight to the pistol.

With the other.

hand, he leaned on his silver-headed cane.

His limp Was more pronounced today than she had ever noticed before,
but he did not complain.

He indicated a vacant picnic table.

"Let's sit.  We need to make some plans.  We'll speak Spanish, 'm case
anyone cares to eavesdrop.  Now, why do you think Chip showed you this
picture?"

"To get a reaction, I suppose.  He kept making these oblique warnings,
telling me that I needed protection.  I wouldn't be surprised if Chip
was the one who hid the Beretta in the hope that I would accidentally
blow your head off.  He doesn't seem to like you very much."

"And he likes you too much."

"Does he?"

"You bet.  Good old Chip is crazy for you.  Your brains and your
beauty."

Jason pulled a pair of, dark glasses from his inside coat pocket and
put them on to hide the constant scanning of his gaze.

"Yessirree, Chip is as infatuated as a schoolboy.  I guess that's
another conquest for you."

"Another?  And who was the first?"

"Me," he said simply.

A warm glow blossomed within her.

In spite of everything, she was glad to think of Jason as a conquest.

Only hours ago she'd mistrusted him enough to flee.

Butnow.

Trusting him seemed like her only chance for survival.

"Maria, do you see that man on the shore?  He's standing in the shadow
of a pine tree, smoking a cigarette."

She looked.

From this distance it was impossible to make out features, but the man
was tall, barrel-chested, and wore a yellow, short-sleeve shirt and a
baseball cap with an unidentifiable logo.

As she watched, he stepped into the sunlight.

Another man joined him and they stood together, talking and gazing out
to sea.

"He's not familiar," she said.

"If you see anyone, or hear any sound that seems unusual, tell me."

Tension formed a knot in her stomach.

The food she'd just eaten, the wine she'd just sipped, congealed in a
hard, indigestible lump.

She wasn't accustomed to being afraid, constantly afraid.

"Is it really that dangerous?"

"In a word, yes."

"But why?  I mean, it's only a book."

"Tell that to Sahnan Rushdie," he said.

"Truth is an eloquent indictment of government officials, not only in
your little country, but throughout the Americas.  The book talks about
a spider web of conspiracy that reaches all the way to high-ranking
officials in the United States government.  Dangerous?  Oh, yeah."

"What do we do next?"

"We hit the road, Jack."

"Then, we're not going shopping with Alice?"

she clarified.

"I'm not calling Alice.  I'd like to keep my sister as far away from
this as possible."

Conspiratorially, he grinned at her.

"Can you imagine setting Alice loose on the tangled messes they make in
government?"

"She might just slap them into shape," Maria said.

"At least everybody would be well fed and organized."

She laughed.

Through his sunglasses, he seemed to be staring at her.

"What is it, Jason?"  @ " I like that sound.

Gentle, like a birdsong.

"A magpie's?  A crow's?"

"A nightingale's."

He looked away, into the diqtance, scanning again.

"The phone call I had when Chip arrived was from the marina.  It seems
that a white Ford Probe with tinted windows was left in the parking lot
the night before last.  When they checked the registration, they found
it was a rental car, taken in the name of @. Jason Wakefield Walker the
Third."

She reached into the pocket of her Levi's, pulled out the mysterious
keys she'd found when she dressed this morning, and showed them to him
before sticking them back into her pocket.

"I guess that's how I got here."

"But you don't have any identification.  I had all the paperwork.

The birth certificates, the marriage license, application for
citizenship.

"I must have had something, too.  But I've lost it."

"Strange," he said.

"Why would the people who planned all this make two sets of
identification papers?

And how could you rent a car in your married name when we weren't
married?

You'd need a driver's license and a credit card.

Annoyed, she said, "I don't know.  I don't remember the car.  Don't
remember driving here.  I just happened to find the damn keys in my
pocket this morning."

"It's okay, we'll figure it out."

He patted her hand, rose to his feet and escorted her to the
rustic-looking boathouse.

Jason held the door so she could precede him into the store, and she
noticed that he turned and watched for a moment before following her.

Inside the store he went past the counter, tapped on a door marked
Office and went inside.

The darkly tanned blond woman behind the desk looked up from her
ledgers and gave a friendly greeting.

Jason pulled Maria forward.

"This is Maria, my bride."

"You got married?  That's so sweet."

She beamed at both of them, then chided Maria.

"But, honey, you can't just leave your car sitting anywhere, you
know.

I'm surprised it wasn't stolen or vandalized.

"She's from Central America," Jason explained.

"They got car thieves there, too," she said.

"Anyway, it all turned out okay.  When the car was still there this
morning, I checked it out."

She dug into her desk drawer.

"The windows were locked, but one of my boys got inside using a coat
hanger.  Here's the keys.  You'd left them in the ignition."

Maria felt the car keys in her pocket.

Not to this car?

Then what?

Every time it seemed like a piece of the puzzle was about to fit, the
solution was yanked away and she was left with the impenetrable blank
wall of no memory.

"Here you go."

As the woman placed the keys in MarizCs hand, the telephone on her desk
began to ring and she reached for the receiver with one hand while
waving goodbye with the other.

"You be careful now.

And congratulations to you both on tying the knot.

When they stepped out into the sunlight again, Maria searched the shore
for the man in the yellow shirt.

He was gone.

But she didn't feel relieved.

He could be hiding.

He could have a long-range rifle aimed at them right now.

Shivering in the afternoon sun but refusing to give in to the
encroaching fear, she held both sets of car keys in her hands.

The shapes were dissimilar.

The keys to the rental car in the parking lot were on a silver ring
with a tag attached.

She read the logo.

New England Rents.

Boston.

"I guess that's where we'll be shopping this afternoon," he said,
limping through the rows of parked cars until they located the sporty
white car.

He held out big hand for the keys.

"I'll drive."

She eyed the car suspiciously, remembering the damage that had been
done to his boat.

"Do you think it might be booby-trapped?"

"Good point.  Are you sure you've never worked with terrorists
before?"

"No, I'm not," she said.

"For all I know, I'm James Bond in disguise."

"Clever disguise."

His gaze slid down her body, from her glistening mane of black hair to
her trim ankles.

"Bond never looked so good."

He opened the car door, releasing a wave of heat, and tossed the keys
to her so that she could unlock her side.

Jason popped the hood and checked the engine.

He painfully lowered himself to his knees and studied the
undercarriage.

Nothing unusual.

The rental car seemed to be in excellent condition.

"Car trouble?"

Jason glanced up at the familiar voice.

"Reverend Blaylock.  I didn't realize it was so late.  Thought you'd be
in church."

"I've made a little pact with the Lord.  He gets my Sunday mornings,
but the afternoons are mine.  Especially during football season."

He greeted Maria in Spanish and inquired after her health.

When she answered that she was feeling fine, he turned back to Jason.

"Where are you two headed on this fine day?"

"Clothes shopping for Maria.  Then we'll go where the whim takes us."

"Oh, to be young and free," he said.

Wally Blaylock's genial chuckle sounded false to Jason.

Though he liked the reverend, he didn't know him very well, and
everyone was a suspect.

Jason rose to his feet and dusted off his black trousers and jacket.

"We'll catch you later, Reverend.  Maria and I are anxious to get under
way."

"A moment of your time," the reverend said, linking his arm with
Jason's.

"There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you before you
leave for New York."

New York?

Jason hadn't mentioned New York.

He held his ground, refusing to budge.

His hand rested on the gun in his pocket.

"I hate to leave my bride alone.

You understand, don't you, reverend?

He leaned close to Jason's ear and, in a low voice, repeated a phone
number.

It was the number Jason called to reach the source.

The Reverend Wally Blay- , A lock?

Jason took a step back and looked at the tall, easygoing man in
surprise.

It didn't seem possible.

"You.

"The pen, as you know, is mightier than the sword."

"Get in the car with us," Jason said.

"I want to get clear of here as quickly as possible."

The reverend said quietly, "I can't say these things in front of the
woman."

"Why not?"

Reverend Blaylock waved to Maria.

"Why don't you get into the car, dear?  I'll return your husband in
just a moment."

She glanced toward Jason, only obeying when he gave the nod.

"All right, reverend, what's going on?  Who is she?."

"I'm not altogether sure.  We lost track of Maria 'in St.  Louis.

She never appeared at the meeting place for her network contact in
Philadelphia.

She telephoned, a day and a half late, and said she was taking an
airplane.

Jason focused on the immediate problem.

"If this woman, the woman I've been calling Maria, the woman I married,
isn't Maria, why the hell are people shooting at us and sinking my
boat?"

"The Elena?"

"Yes."  The reverend winced.  For a moment Jason thought he might offer
a eulogy for the sailboat, then he remembered that this man was the
mysterious source, intimately involved with revolutionaries.  He wasn't
likely to mourn material objects when he was aware of the inhumanities
men perpetrated upon each other.

"I'm sorry," Reverend Blaylock said.

"Listen to met Jason.  There's only one thing that's important right
now."  y " Truth.

"Can this Maria-" He pointed toward the car.

"Can she convince the editor to publish the book?"

Yesterday, Jason wouldn't have considered it possible.

Yesterday, Maria had been incredibly erratic.

And yet, even then, she'd held her poise during the wedding ceremony.

And today, most of the time, she covered her amnesia well.

"She's sustained some kind of memory loss," he said.

"But she was able to quote the opening paragraph of the book."

"Work with her, Jason.  Wherever the real Maria Ramos Hernandez might
be, whatever has happened to her, she would want that book in print.

It was her dream.

"You're talking as if she's dead.  What do you know?"

"I can say no more.  Where are you headed now?"

"Boston.  She seems to have some connection to Boston.  We're trying to
track down the onset of her amnesia.  She's remembered something about
being drugged.  It might have to do with Maria."

"Call when you arrive.  Be careful."

He shook Jason's hand, then went to the car window, peeked in and
flapped his hand in a friendly goodbye.

"Vaya con Dios.

Reverend Blaylock took one step back, pivoted and strode into the
crowd.

Despite his height, he faded in nicely.

And wasn't that the true mark of a spy?

Someone who was blandly unsuspicious.

Still, Jason couldn't believe that this mild-mannered reverend had been
the source who had given him orders, had .

set him up to marry this woman.

Surely a false marriage was some kind of sin.

He climbed behind the steering wheel of the car and fired up the
engine.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate espionage?"

"I had that impression," she said.

"What did the reverend want?"

"Just giving me advice on my husbandry responsibilities.  Telling me
how to treat you, how to make my marriage work."

"In less than five minutes?  Wow, he's better than Arm Landers."

But Arm Landers wasn't dangerous, and the -reverend was most certainly
dabbling in life and death.

Though Jason wasn't familiar with the entire setup, he knew that the
source 'who was Wally Blaylock,-or all the blah people-managed a wide
network of people, contacts, all across the nation who sympathized with
the cause of Juana Sabbatta.

For some reason that network had been compromised.

How many people had been betrayed?

And how did the woman sitting beside him in the bucket seat fit into
the picture?

He skirted the edge of town, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror,
watching for any car that might be following them.

For a while, there was a forest-green Volvo station wagon that kept
pace, two cars back.

Then it turned in a different direction, and Jason aimed for the
highway.

There might be answers in Boston.

I He hoped so.

He'd be reassured when he pinned down her true identity and knew for
certain that they were on the same side.

"Are you tired?"

he asked.

"A little."

"Beautiful day," he offered.

Though he wanted to push and probe, it was best not to pressure her, to
allow her memory to work.

"Summer in Maine," she said.

"One of my favorite seasons.  At least, I think it is."

As they merged onto the highway, she turned in her seat and stared out
the rear window.

"Nobody's following us, are they?"

"I don't think so."

"Good."

She felt better, safer.

Though she'd seen adventure movies where helicopters swooped out of the
skies and men with machine guns blasted at the good guys, Maria didn't
expect such high drama.

"What do you think we'll find in Boston?"

he asked.

"The Common, and Harvard, and Bunker Hill," she said " Paktel's
jewelers, maybe.  Minx of Boston."

"Harvard's in Cambridge."

"Close enough."

"Then there isn't anything special you remember?"

"Not yet."

She adjusted the car radio to a classical station and allowed the music
to soothe her worries and tensions.

Flutes and harps created gentle images, and she closed her eyes and
listened.

They'd be on the road for at least four or five hours.

Nothing she could do until they got to Boston.

Maria adjusted the seat belt, leaned back and willed herself to
relax.

She glanced over at Jason, who stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes
on the road.

A frown pinched his forehead.

His forearms, leaning on the steering wheel, were muscular and
capable.

And she realized that she trusted him enough to put her fate, her very
survival, in his hands.

Was she making a mistake?

There didn't seem to be any alternative.

Maria whistled along with the radio until she fell asleep.

When she awakened, the radio played the rousing symphonic 1812

Overture.

4 "Boston Pops," she said lazily.  " They always do that fantastic
Fourth of July concert.

when they play this piece.

The whole city gets involved.

National Guardsmen set off cannons.

The church bells clang.

"You've been there?"

he asked.

"We took a picnic," she remembered slowly.

"I went with Jessica and Tom and their kids.  Oh, and Larry.  He and I
dated for a long time."

"And now?"

She sighed.

"We've been broken up for a long time, too.  He moved, I think."

"Try not to concentrate," Jason-advised.

"Just talk.

I-zt your mind wander freely.

The pieces of memory came, to her through a-fog.

Despite his hint to stay relaxed, she examined each one carefully
before speaking.

"It's hard.  I don't want to remember wrong."

"Tell me about Jessica and Tom."

She's one of those delicate-looking blondes with long, curly hair and
blue eyes.

Their last name is.

She remembered and laughed out loud.

"Smith.  Their last name is Smith."

"Tom Smith?  Oh, good," he said sarcastically.

"That should be simple to trace."

"Their phone's unlisted.  He's an... attorney."

The mental picture of her friends fleshed itself out.

But Maria hesitated before saying anything else.

There was a sense of unreality about her recollections, as if she were
inventing them.

Larry?

Her impression was of a stocky, blond man, very aggressive.

Deep voice.

They'd argued vehemently several times.

Though he didn't look like Chip Harrington, there was something that
reminded her of the reporter.

it was Something vocal.

She snapped her fingers.

"His accent," she recalled.

"Whose accent?"

Jason said.

"Nothing."

Like Larry, Chip spoke Spanish with an American twang.

But that wasn't important, not compared to the images that were coming
faster and faster as they neared Boston.

She'd driven these roads before, had seen these road signs, taken these
exits.

"Here," she said.

"Get off the highway right here."

Without questioning, Jason did as she said.

"Three miles, give or take, this way."

"What is it, Maria?  Where are we going?"

"Randy's," she said.

" Who's Randy?"

"You'll see."

Her directions were flawless.

She pointed to the sign in the parking lot.

"Randy's Burgers.  I've never actually met Randy.  But I remember this
very clearly."

Jason parked in the lot.

He was muttering, "This is great, just great.  We're in a life
and-death situation and you're having hamburger flashbacks."

"I'm hungry."

"Fine.  We'll get a burger."

As soon as they were seated at a booth, Jason excused himself and went
to the public telephone.

By the time he returned, Maria was ordering.

"Blackberry pie, a cheeseburger and Coke."

"I'll have the same.  Coffee instead of Coke."

He gazed at her indulgently.

"You know, Maria, I've heard that an appetite for food, especially
cheeseburgers, is closely related to sexual appetites."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"It's a proven fact."

"Are you sure it's not the other way around?  Seems to me that a person
who eats well is less likely to crave, um, satisfaction in other
areas."

"Satisfaction," he repeated.

"That's something to think about."

Silently she agreed.

She had been considering that idea since their last kiss.

Making love to Jason, being his wife, finding the ultimate
satisfaction.

"If we survive this," he said, "I'd like to spend some time with you,
get to know you."

"Find of a formal proposition for a husband," I she teased.

"A risky proposition, considering that I don't even know your name."

"It'll come," she said with an assurance that she truly felt.

"This is where I live.  Boston.  It's my home.  I know where I am."

"Any ideas about your profession?"

he suggested.

"Why do you speak Spanish so well?"

"I-et's consider the possibilities.  I might be from a country where
Spanish is the native tongue.  Or my parents might be Spanish.  I do
have strong images of living in a tropical country."

She fidgeted on the smooth leatherette booth.

"But it doesn't seem right.  Feels like I'm a tourist, not like it's my
home."

"Let's get back to the occupation," he suggested.

"Do you work for someone else?"

"I think so.  I remember co-workers.  Jessica Smith.

She's a coworker.

" Something clicked.  " I think I'm a teacher.

Yes, that's right.

I'm a foreign languages professor.

"Great."

He nodded slowly.

"And here we are in Boston.  Where there are colleges and universities
on practically every street corner."

" Sorry," she responded with a flash of temper.  " If I'd known I was
going to have amnesia, I would have arranged to teach in Brunswick and
had friends with more exotic names than Smith.

"Listen, Maria, if we had weeks to figure this out, I wouldn't pressure
you in the least.  But we don't have much time.  Tomorrow, at noon, we
have to meet with the editor of Elmont House, and you're going to have
to be confident enough to convince him that Truth is, in fact, the
truth."

Their burgers came and Maria devoured half of hers.

Then she was full.

She took one bite of pie and pushed it away.

"I believe I can talk to the editor," she said.

"It's amazing, but I seem to have almost photographic recall of the
text."

"From translating it?"

he suggested.

i "It's possible.

That might be my connection to Juana Sabbatta.

"I can check that out," he said, pushing away from the table.

"By the way, there is a jewelry store called Paktel's, and it is,
apparently, a classy joint.  Located in the St.  Sebastian Hotel."

Fancy place," she agreed.  " Why would I be shopping there?

Do you think I'm wealthy?

691 cehent taste.

Especially in husthink you have ex bands.

On the way out, he paused at the public telephone to call the number of
his source, Wally Blaylock.

There was no answer.

"Of course," Jason said grimly.

"That would have been too easy."

Not far from Copley Plaza, they pulled up in front of the St.

Sebastian Hotel and left the car to be parked by a valet.

As the uniformed doorman helped Maria step out onto the curb, she
glanced up in time to see a forest green Volvo pass them by.

The car reminded her of something.

She almost mentioned it, but Jason was rushing her inside.

"Come on," he said.

"It's almost five o'clock.

What'swrong?

She shook her head.

"Nothing."

Chapter Nine

The interior of the St.

Sebastian was magnificent, with towering floral displays and marble
floors and elegant baroque furnishings.

Maria, in her disreputable T-shirt and I-evi's, felt horribly
underdressed.

Though she had no recollection of ever being in this position, she knew
there were only two choices.

She could grovel and show her embarrassment, or she could throw back
her shoulders and put on her "lady of the manor" attitude and act like
she was so outrageously rich that she didn't need to prove it with
clothes.

Opting for the latter, she sailed across the lobby on Jason's arm.

They passed a bank of elevators and descended two stairs into a more
modern wing that included gallery space, a restaurant, and several
exclusive shops.

I The center atrium, babbling fountain and intricate glow of light
showed the influence of modern architect.

M.

Pei.

The marble entryway to Paktel's was discreetly elegant.

There were no display cases, no signs of advertising sales-only the
name of the store in gold lettering that precisely matched the logo on
Maria's wristwatch.

Inside the double glass doors of Paktel's were several glass cases
edged in gold.

Jason's cane tapped loudly on the marble floors, attracting the
irritated attention of a clerk who wore an impeccable Brooks Brothers'
suit.

"May I help you," he said, disdainfully scrutinizing Maria's T-shirt.

"This watch."

She held it out.

"It's one of yours."

"Yes, I see.  There's Paktel on the face."

"It's very expensive, isn't it?"

"Well, that depends."

He sniffed.

"That depends upon your definition of cost."

"Hey, it's not a Rolex," Jason said.

It had occurred to him that this exclusive hotel and jewelry store were
not the best places to be caught packing a pistol.

The security had to be state of the art.

He wanted to be out of there before he was tempted to shove his Beretta
up the clerk's nose.

"You don't have a registry of people who've purchased these watches, do
you?"

"Actually, we do in some cases.  Especially if we've done the
engraving."

The clerk took thelwatch from Maria and studied it.

"But there is no registry on this particular style.  It has no
gemstones."

"Dead end," Jason said, taking the watch back.

He hooked his arm through Maria's and turned her toward the exit.

She took two steps, then balked.

"What is it?"

he whispered.

"Over there.  In the lobby.  That man who's leaning against the
pillar.

Isn't he the guy in the yellow shirt at the marina?

He was.

Jason recognized him in a minute.

Stocky build.

Dark, lank hair sticking out from under a baseball cap.

Sunglasses.

His presence did not bode well.

The elegant clerk shooed them forward as if they were reluctant
chickens.

"If you have no other questions, I'm afraid I really must lock up
now.

On Sunday, we close at five o'clock precisely.

Jason turned to him and smiled.

"We'd like to see your collection of engagement rings."

"Oh, really?"

he intoned.

"Would you now?"

"Not a diamond.  They're too common."

Jason unscrewed the head of his silver cane.

Inside was a small compartment.

He took out a ring.

It was an exquisite piece of jewelry, set with perfect emeralds and
sapphires that shone with a cool blue flame.

Jason held it out for the clerk to examine.

"Something like this."

The clerk peered through a gold eye loupe, then gaped at them.

"My God!  These are real."

"Of course," Jason said smoothly.

"Can you help us?"

"Yes, sir.  Of course, sir.  If you don't mind, I'll lock up.  We don't
need any other customers bothering us today, do we?"

"No, indeed," Jason said.

The clerk flipped open a wall panel beside the glass doors and punched
in a code.

"There we are, locked tight as a drum."

He beamed at them.

"Now, I have a lovely ring.  Perfect rubies, pigeon's-blood red, in a
highly creative setting, designed by our Paktel jewelers."  2

"Fine.  I'll take it."

Jason pulled his checkbook from his inside pocket, signed the bottom
line and passed it to the clerk.

"Fill in the amount."

Speed was of the utmost importance.

He didn't want to give the men who were following them time to prepare
their line of attack.

"What are we going to do?"

she whispered.

"The valet took the car."

"Follow my lead."

Jason interrupted the clerk's apologies for having to verify the
check.

"Damn," he said loudly.

"My ex-wife is headed this way.  She's coming across the lobby.

Quick, do you have a back exit?

"Well, of course, but it's highly irregular."

"Please," Maria said, immediately picking up on Jason's plan.

"If she finds us, she'll make a scene."

c "A scene?

" The clerk gasped in horror.

"oh, she's dreadful!  She'll be banging on your doors as soon, as she
sees us in here."

"Say no more."

The clerk bustled to a door at the rear of the store and opened it with
a key.

They followed him into a wide room with three separate walk-in vaults,
closed and locked.

He led toward the rear, passed the employee's area, punched a code into
a computer lock beside the metal exit, and stepper a .

side.

"There, it's open."

"Thanks."

Jason gestured for Maria to precede him into a concrete corridor that
contrasted the outer magnificence of the atrium and the hotel.

"The eh&ck's good.  Send the ring to the address on the front.

Pasgaquoit Island.

"Pleasure doing business with you."

The clerk's voice sounded utterly sincere.

"Absolute pleasure Jason and Maria moved quickly through the corridor
behind the hotel shops, aiming in the general direction of the hotel.

Down a short flight of stairs and through a metal door.

They were in the boiler room.

He had his Beretta in his hand, ready to shoot.

Their route led through a labyrinth of hallways, from one door to
another.

Maria was completely disoriented.

They'd taken so many twists and turns that she imagined they were
running in a circle, trapped.

There was a clattering noise behind them, and Jagon stopped.

He pulled her against the concrete wall, And they waited in the dimly
lit corridor.

If the man in the yellow shirt appeared, what would they do?

Would Jason kill again?

Here, in Boston, with no convenient tide to dispose of the body, they
would have to face the consequences.

Certain arrest.

Strangely, that prospect bothered Maria less than a fear of missing her
date with the publisher.

if they didn't show up tomorrow, Truth might never be told.

A maid with a laundry cart came into the hallway.

When she saw them, she stopped.

Jason had dropped his gun beside him, biding its lethal gleam.

"You lost?"

she asked suspiciously.

"Looking for the lost and found," Jason said.

"All the way to the end of this hall, to the left, then to the right.

Can't miss it.

They kept going.

Every sound echoed.

Voices came from far away and popped up right beside them.

Maria felt the claustrophobic pressure closing in upon them.

But when they finally came through an exit at the side of the hotel and
strolled out into the sunlight, she was struck by their
vulnerability.

People walking.

People laughing.

Cars driving past.

Threats, all of them could be threats.

"Now what?"

she asked.

"Stay with, me."

He slipped on his sunglasses, ?

nd she knew his eyes were constantly scanning, watching, protecting
her.

But how could he?

Jason was only one man, and there were so many dangerous
possibilities.

Hobbling, he led them to the front of the hotel, tipped the uniformed
doorman and they climbed into the back of a taxicab.

"Airport," Jason said.

As they drove away from the St.

Sebastian Hotel, he pointed to a green Volvo parallel parked at the
curb near the stoplight.

A man leaned against the parking meter beside the car.

He faced the hotel, his forehead crinkling as his gaze focused down on
a folded newspaper in his hand.

"Chip Harrington."

Maria gasped.

"Did he follow us?  "

"I don't think so."

Jason leaned back in the seat and pulled her back beside him so that
Chip wouldn't recognize them as the cab drove past.

"Why is he here?"

she demanded.

Her voice was shaky- "Do you think he's with the other guy, the one in
the yellow shirt?"

"That car, the Volvo, was following us," Jason said.

"But I was sure that I'd lost them."

"You must have," she said.

"We, stopped at Randy's.

If they were following, they could have caught up with us right
there.

"You're right," he said.

"Dammit, why did -they wait?  Why come here?"

"Maybe you did lose them," she said quietly.

Her ideas sounded crazy and paranoid.

"Maybe they were already here, waiting and watching.  If they knew we
were coming to Boston, they could have staked out the downtown area."

"I didn't say anything to Chip about Boston.  Did you?)) " No.

"But somehow, he knew."

Jason sat back in the seat, staring straight ahead.

No matter what kind of resources they had, finding them in Boston was a
long shot.

This was a big city.

Still, if the man at the marina had known.

If there were others to watch for them.

How would they know that he and Maria were headed to Boston?

True, the location of the rental car place had been written in bold
letters on the tag attached to the car's key chain.

Anyone at the marina might have deduced their route.

And Maria had also mentioned their destination to the reverend.

He had to consider the possibility that Wally Blaylock was not who he
claimed to be.

But how would he know-the phone number of the source?

He had also known the last words that the source had spoken.

The pen mightier than the sword?

The hell it was.

He'd like to see Juana Sabbatta write her way out of this situation.

There were times for pens and times for swords.

"Will they keep following us?"

Maria asked.

"Why?

What do they want?

"I don't know."

But if they'd gotten their information from the source, their scheduled
meeting at the publishing house was known.

Tomorrow at noon at Elmont House.

According to his instructions, Jason was supposed to step back and
allow Maria to make that contact all by herself.

Not a chance.

It was too dangerous, altogether too dangerous.

He couldn't leave her alone.

At the airport he used his credit card to purchase tickets on the next
flight to JFK.

Then he stopped at an Automated Teller Machine and withdrew the maximum
cash available.

If someone was tracing their movements by monitoring his credit cards,
they needed to have spend able untraceable dollars.

He gave Maria two hundred for herself.

"Why " In case we're separated.

"You're acting as if we could be traced by computer or something.

Doesn't that mean that we're being pursued by someone in authority?

Like a government official?

He nodded.

"Maybe someone like Eddy Elliot."

"The senator?"

A shock of fear went through her.

"Why?  I thought we were the good guys."

"We are.  There might be some 'high-ranking government officials' who
don't want to see Truth in print."

44 I can't believe this.

" A shudder rippled through her.

She felt unseen eyes watching her, and she moved closer to Jason,
seeking the protection he could offer.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

"Big trouble."

His smile was too determined to be reassuring, but she appreciated the
effort.

"Listen, Maria, we've got a few minutes, let's get you some clothes."

Haphazardly, she shopped.

Though she needed a whole ensemble from the shoes up, her thinking was
too disorganized to coordinate an outfit.

She grabbed.

A white shirt.

A leather mini.

Denim shirtdress.

Sandals.

Maria selected and Jason paid, buying an overnight bag to stash her new
wardrobe.

The whole impulsive exercise could have been fun in different
circumstances.

Instead, she was frantic.

She dumped her selections on a counter and swiveled around, keeping an
eye on the airport pedestrians.

Was that a yellow shirt?

She saw Chip's leprechaun features in so many faces.

Were there really so many men with scraggly ponytails?

When Jason took her arm, she jumped.

She couldn't imagine that in her prior life, the lifetime she could
only recollect in random snatches, she had been involved in espionage
at this level.

The tension was overwhelming.

Waiting for the plane, boarding, nibbling at the bland airline food,
she was numb.

She felt shivering cold, and at the edge of exhaustion, and yet she was
so alert that every sound was magnified a thousand times.

Every sensation sparked a reaction.

If it hadn't been for Jason's solid, calm presence, she would have
exploded into a million pieces.

When they arrived at JFK, night had fallen.

The cover of night, she thought.

A place to hide.

Or a place for someone else to hide from her, lurking around a blind
corner , waiting to pop out like a sick jack-in-the box when she least
expected it.

She stared into the depths of shadows, seeking the dangerous, dark
core.

Every sudden light startled her.

With only carry-on luggage, they exited quickly into a summer night
that was oppressive, sweaty, hot.

They took another cab, rode to a hotel in Manhattan.

"Not the finest," Jason explained as they climbed out into raucous,
humid, busy streets.

"But the better hotels would require my credit card."

At the front desk he booked a room, left a cash deposit, and led her to
the elevators across a lobby that was now near as ant as tie St.

Sebastian.

There was no atrium and fountain here, only a couple of potted palms.

The carpet had one of those zigzag patterns designed to hide the wear,
but the weave held the dirt of hundreds of feet and reeked of the
city's hectic, stale smell.

The elevator rose slowly, laboriously, to the tenth floor, and during
the ride Maria kept her attention foand alert, though their companions
were not ominous-an elderly couple and a redheaded woman in a slick,
neon-blue dress.

Inside their room was relative stillness, disturbed only by the rattle
of the air-conditioning.

After double locking the door, Jason fell back on the bed and sighed.

"" Hell of a chase," he said.

"I never expected this."

"You're smiling," she accused.

"Do you enjoy this?"

He didn't reply.

Instead he stretched and yawned.

His gray eyes did not seek contact with hers.

"Do you?"

she demanded.

"Is this a game of cops and robbers to you?"

"I understand the stakes."

"Do you really?"

She wheeled and stalked away from him, parting the curtains to look out
the hotel window at the surrounding skyline.

Sparkling lights from tall buildings looked as if the stars had fallen
and arranged themselves in rectangles and spires.

Above, t .

he skies were blank and dark.

"Why would anyone live here?"

she asked.

"Excitement," he said.

"Action."

"And you like that, don't you?!"  " Yeah, that's why I live on ah
island.

That's'Whymy sister calls me a hermit.

" He stared straight up at the cheap fixture on the ceiling.  " I like
Manhattan for a change.

"Jason, what are we going to do?"

She crossed the room and sat on the double bed beside his.

"How are we going to get out of this?"

"Tomorrow at noon, you show up at the publishing house.  Once the
editor is convinced and agrees to print Truth, there seems to be little
point in harassing us."

He paused.

"Unless, of course, you really are Maria Ramos Hernandez."

"I'm not."

"You're sure?"

"If I am, I don't want to be."

She rose from the bed and grabbed the carry-on bag he'd purchased in
the airport shop.

"I don't want to be a brave heroine, representative of truth and
valor."

"You do it very well," he said.

"In that jewelry shop?

You were cool, smart.

"And scared out of my mind."

She flung her bag onto the bed and unzipped it.

"Jason, where did you get that incredible ring?"

"It belonged to my first wife.  Sapphires of blue for hope.  Green
emeralds for growth."

His eyes closed.

"We were so young.  Idealists.  When we married, we believed that life
was good and pure and everlasting."

"Elena," she said quietly.

"Do you miss her?"

"When she died, I thought my own life was over.  But it wasn't.  I kept
on breathing and thinking and having dreams.  My life is different now.
I'll always remember her."

"Is that why you carry her ring?"

"I don't know why.  There isn't a why, anymore.  Only habit."

" Was she from Guermina?

"No, Mexico City.  That's where we met."

Maria dug through the sudden purchases in the carryon.

"Did I buy a nightgown?"

"Don't you always sleep in the nude?"

"No," she said firmly.

"I like flannel."

"Aha!"

He pointed in her direction.

"So now we know something about your mysterious past.  You're not
married or living with anyone."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?

"There's not a red-blooded man alive who would allow a beautiful woman
like you to sleep in a flannel nightie."

She yanked a new T-shirt, extra large from the bag.

"This will have to do."

Maria went into the bathroom, closed the door, and started the hot
water in the bathtub.

For the moment she was less concerned about her past than her future.

Had they actually managed to elude Chip Harrington and his
companions?

Would she succeed or fail in her meeting with the editor tomorrow?

Would she live or die?

Confronting her reflection in the mirror, she saw the worry and fear
etched on her face.

There were shadows beneath her eyes, and tension that tightened the
corners of her mouth and lowered her eyebrows in a scowl.

Not attractive, she thought.

Not lovely at all.

And did that matter?

Very much, she realized as she contemplated the immediate future.

Tonight she would be sleeping in a hotel room with a red-blooded man.

She turned away from, the mirror and undressed- for her bath.

As she peeled away clothing, she checked the bruises on her torso that
had begun to fade from livid black and blue to an ugly discolored
yellow that mottled her tan.

"More loveliness," she muttered.

"Nothing more attractive than a bruised and battered body."

It didn't matter.

Jason's first wife had been his one true love.

He would never feel that way again, not toward any other woman.

Certainly not toward her.

Their relationship-if she could even call their time together a
relationship-had been crazed.

She tested the bathwater with her toe, then slipped into the water's
soothing embrace.

Mrs.

Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

She was married to him.

And yet, not married.

Though their kisses bespoke an unexpected compatibility, they had none
of the usual ties of commitment.

She sighed, enjoying the gentle liquid caress of water against her
skin.

Should she make love to him tonight?

The thought flashed through her mind that she had not come prepared.

She had no condoms, had not been taking birth control pills.

A humorless laugh bubbled up in her throat.

Why worry?

She'd probably be dead tomorrow.

Maria closed her eyelids and tried to relax.

LYING ON THE BED, Jason hovered at the edge of sleep, and yet he was
not tired but energized.

He was more alive and vital right now than he had been in months, maybe
even since the "accident" that had shattered his ankle.

He smiled guiltily.

Maria had been correct in her accusation.

He was much happier in a chase than in passively pretending to be a
husband and providing a cover story.

Playing cops and robbers?

Maybe.

But he was well aware of the difference between real bullets and
blanks.

And he regretted the fact that Maria had gotten caught in the middle of
this dangerous game.

It was past time to turn the odds in his favor.

Jason considered.

In some way Eddy Elliot was involved.

But how?

And why?

Eddy was ambitious.

That was a given.

If someone who was important called him and asked for a favor, Eddy
would comply.

He'd be a big, old, red-faced St.

Bernard dog, wagging his tail and drooling for approval.

Was the government involved at a high level?

Jason had to assume that was true.

Until he learned otherwise, he should be prepared for threats at the
highest level, threats from people who were capable of tracing his
activities via credit card purchases, capable of turning local police
to their cause.

"Jason, would you come here?"

He heard her calling him to the bathroom, and his smile widened.

This would be fun.

But when he put his hand on the lock, it was fastened tight.

"What did you want?"

"I was thinking about how Chip could have found us in Boston."

He leaned against the door.

On the other side, he could hear her splashing in the tub, and his
imagination went wild.

"How?"

"In the spy movies, they always have those tracing devices that they
put on cars."

"Yes, they do," he concurred.

And in the cartoon shows, too.

That's pretty fancy equipment for Chip anct the guy in the yellow
shirt.

And how would they have known about the rental car?

"That's true.  I didn't even know about the car until after we got onto
the mainland."

He stared at the door, wishing it would dissolve.

Inside the bathroom, he heard more rippling.

"I didn't even know about Boston," she said, "until we got in the car
and you told me."

"But we discussed it in my office."

"I remember.  Right before Chip got there."

"Right."

He thought of shimmering liquid gliding across her long legs, shining
on her arms, on her breasts.

"The more I think of it, Jason, the more I'm sure Chip was the one who
left the note and left the gun in the drawer.  He seems to want to
protect me."

Jason didn't care about Chip or the Beretta or anything else.

His entire brain was consumed with a mental picture of Maria, sleek and
naked in the bathtub.

This had to stop.

He needed to concentrate on survival.

"I'm making a phone call," he said.

Limping, he went to the bed, picked up the hotel telephone and used his
long distance calling card.

He needed to talk to his source.

Reverend Wally Blaylock.

Did the reverend know about Chip Harrington?

Had he mentioned Boston to anyone?

The phone rang three times before it was picked up.

A woman's voice answered.

"Hello, may I help you?"

"Who's this?"

Though speaking English, her words were so heavily accented with
Spanish that she sounded as if she were speaking an exotic tongue.

"Hello?"

she repeated.

"Please, may I help you?"

"I need to talk to Wally."

"No.  he is not here.  Do you have, for him, a message'?"  94

Who are you?

"I am Maria.  Please.  Your name?"

Suspicion flooded through him.

If this was the real Maria, why was she in Maine instead of here in New
York City?

Surely, if she'd turned up on Wally's doorstep, he wouldn't have wasted
a moment in getting her here, readying her for the meeting.

He repeated, "I need to talk to Wally.  When will he be back?"

"A message?

Where can he reach you?

Her question was perfectly reasonable, but Jason hesitated.

He didn't dare to give their location to a stranger, not even to a
stranger who claimed to be Maria.

"I'm in Boston," he said.

"Getting ready for the meeting tomorrow."

"And this ... meeting?  What is this?"

She couldn't be the real Maria Ramos Hernandez, also known as Juana
Sabbatta.

She would know about the meeting.

This was her entire purpose in fleeing her country, choosing exile from
her homeland.

"I'll call back tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.  I want to speak to
Wally."

He hung up the telephone, wondering if his call would be traced.

If government officials were involved, a phone tap was possible,
perhaps even likely.

Had something happened to the reverend?

Was the network compromised all the way to the source?

Jason thought for a moment.

A phone'.

tap?

"Damn."

Chapter Ten Jason leapt clumsily from the bed and propelled himself

across the room, gathering up their case and belongings.

"Maria," he shouted.

"Get out of the bathtub.  Now."

4 c I I Why?

"Just do it.  We've got to get out of here."

Why hadn't he thought of a phone tap before he called?

The trace didn't even have to be as sophisticated as a tap.

It could be one of those pieces of equipment from the phone company
that illustrates the phone number where the call was made.

If the woman who answered, the woman who claimed to be Maria, wanted to
find them, tracking the call was child's play.

His own beautiful Maria emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam,
and Jason suppressed his purely male reaction to the sight of her long,
slender legs beneath the oversize T-shirt.

Her hair was wrapped in a towel atop her head.

"I-et's go," he said.

"I made a mistake.  There might be people here any minute."

To her credit, she didn't complain or object.

Maria yanked on her jeans, pulled off the towel, and they were out the
door.

As they rode to the lobby in the incredibly slow elevator with a
bickering couple who couldn't decide whether to eat Chinese or deli,
Jason felt his heart beating in triple time.

Why hadn't he made the call from a public phone?

Where was his brain?

Though he could claim to be distracted by the mental image of Maria in
the tub, that was no excuse.

They fled the lobby quickly and Jason hailed a cab.

"Is it Chip?"

she asked.

"I don't know."

From the rear of the taxi, Jason watched the hotel entry.

The usual pedestrian traffic cluttered the sidewalk.

He noticed- two men, walking shoulder to shoulder.

They checked the name of the hotel, then went inside.

They could be perfectly innocent.

But they might have been responding to a traced call in Maine.

Jason leaned back on the seat and sighed.

"Where to?"

the cabbie demanded.

"A hotel," Jason said.

His supply of cash was already dwindling.

"Nfidrange.  Not cheap.  In Mgnhattan."

Their second hotel resembled the first, except the price was
significantly higher.

Jason paid and they went to their fifteenth-floor room in an elevator
that moved at normal speed.

Once inside, with the door double-locked, Maria demanded an
explanation.

"I made a call, looking for information.  As soon as I got off the
phone, it occurred to me that the call could be traced, and I had just
given away our location."

"To Chip and the guy in the yellow shirt?"

"I really don't think they're high level."

He peeled off his watch and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Chip has got to be a pawn."

"I figured out how he knew we were in Boston.  It's very simple."

She sat cross-legged on the bed.

"He was eavesdropping."

"How?"

"When we were in your office, talking about Boston, he must have been
outside listening.  I even mentioned Paktel's.  He would have known
where to wait for us."  ) Her theory made sense, except that the
windows in Jason's office were double-pane glass.  It would have been
impossible to overhear more than a snatch of conversation.  Unless Chip
had been in Jason's office the day before, on their wedding day, and
had planted a listening device.

Jason groaned.

So obvious.

So simple.

Bugging equipment was readily available.

Chip could have picked up something close-range in a local toy store,
Spies R Us.

"I'm not good at this," Jason said.

"Thinking ahead, scheming, anticipating what somebody else is going to
do."

"We're safe," she said.

"That's the only important thing."

"Tomorrow at the meeting," he said.

"That's important."

He retreated to the bathroom and allowed the hot water of a shower to
rinse away his doubts.

Maria was right.

He'd made a mistake, but he'd recovered.

It was a save.

He couldn't allow himself to dwell on it.

There were too many other potential disasters ahead.

The hotel room was dark when he came out of the bathroom with a towel
wrapped around his hips.

Though the air-conditioning droned, the atmosphere felt humid in the
nondescript hotel bedroom, almost sultry.

"Maria?  Are you asleep?"

There was silence, and he experienced a moment of tension.

Was she all right?

Had someone broken in here while he was showering and'I'm not asleep,"
she said.

He could hear her rustling around beneath the sheets.

"But I'm trying."

He reached behind his back and turned off the bathroom lights.

"Jason?"

Her voice seemed to echo in the small dark room.

"Maybe we should leave a light on."

"Sure."

He went to the window and threw open the curtain, allowing the
nighttime landscape of Manhattan's skyline to invade their
fifteenth-floor room, shimmering with neon.

To Jason's eye, each light flared with the promise of excitement and
adventure.

He hadn't failed.

It was a save, he repeated to himself.

They were going to succeed.

"The city that never sleeps, " Maria whispered.

@: "Is it too distracting?"

"No, it'll help me remember -where I am in the morning."

She watched him slowly cross the room.

The city lights cast a pale gleam across his shoulders and back.

Without his clothing, Jason seemed bigger and stronger, like a handsome
male animal.

The dark fur on his chest beckoned to her.

Despite her better judgment, she wanted to run her fingers through that
hair, to feel the warm flesh beneath.

In the semidarkness of the room, she could study him without fear of
embarrassment.

She could indulge the fantasy of making love that had taken root in her
mind when she heard the shower in the bathroom and thought of him being
nude, water sluicing down his chest.

They were sharing a room.

Ideas, intimate ideas, popped into her head.

Making love?

What would it be like?

Of course, she shouldn't carry her fantasy into the realm of reality.

When the time came for them to make love-and she was absolutely certain
that it would come-she wanted to hear his baritone voice whisper her
real name.

Not Maria.

He sat on the edge of the other bed, less than a yard away from her,
and called the front desk to arrange a wake-up call for eight in the
morning.

His body fascinated her.

The hard, ridged muscles in his arms, his flat stomach, which was a
little thin with n'bs showing.

His thighs.

The squared bones of his knees.

She focused on his injured leg.

The dark black hair on his calves was crisscrossed with scars; some
marks were straight and even, the work of surgeons, others were poorly
healed.

Her gaze lifted slowly as she realized he was also watching her.

"Your leg," she said.

"Yeah," he acknowledged sardonically.

"Guess I'll never dance Swan Lake again."

"How did it happen?"

"A bullet in a jungle, a long way from doctors.  I got left for dead,
thought I was dead.  Then I figured out I wasn't going to die and I
hurt too bad to lie there.  So I rigged a splint, stopped the bleeding,
and found help.

Since then, I've had a lot of repair work, and it's healing.

But it's a slow process.

And you're impatient," she said.  " Does it hurt?

"Only when I'm awake."

"I haven't seen you take any of your pain medication."

"I avoid taking the medication unless I absolutely have to.  It -makes
me drowsy, and I'd rather be alert.

The pain is .

well, it keeps me aware of my limitations.

"Really?"

she teased.

"You have limitations?"

"Severe ones.  Especially now."

What did that mean?

She thought for a moment, then realized that something was missing.

"Jason, your gun?

Is it.

"In Boston.  While we were on that shopping jag in the airport, I
slipped away and checked the Beretta in a locker."

"Why?

) Y "Come on, Maria.  I couldn't very well board an air lane with a
pistol in my pocket.  It was enough of a risk to stash the damn thing
at the airport."

He sounded angry.

Impatient, she thought.

'That was an accurate description of him.

Jason was a man who needed action, who knew without thinking ho.

to engage his survival skills.

Not like her.

How was she.

supposed to think of these things?

Disposing of a gun?

Drawing money from the ATM so no one could trace a credit card?

How could she know?

She'd never been on the run before.

At least, she didn't remember being chased.

"When you killed that man on the beach, did you-" She was reluctant to
ask this question, but needed to know.

"Jason, have you ever killed a person before?"

it Yes.

"What happened?  Who was it?"

"Faceless men."  9 9 INIY men?  ") " Yes.  If it's any reassurance, the
only times I've lifted a weapon have been in self-defense or when I was
protecting someone else.

I'm not proud of it.

Those times are something I'd rather not talk about.

She turned onto her back, enjoying the smoothness of clean hotel
sheets.

"Ironic, isn't it?  You're trying to forget your past, and I can't
remember mine."

"Then let's talk of the future."

"All right."

But it was almost impossible to think of future times when she had no
past for grounding.

"And what future might that be?"

"Let's think about autumn in New England," he said.

' I "The most beautiful time of year.

It's not far away.

' Closing her eyes, she imagined the scarlet and gold and yellow of
September forests.

There would be a crisp bite to the breeze, bringing a blush to the
cheek.

The forest existed, she knew it did.

But where?

Had she been there before?

Had she only read books about it?

Her eyes opened, and she was back in the unlit room of an inexpensive
hotel.

The cooled air hung over her like a damp blanket.

Outside there were millions of lights and people.

People who wanted to kill her.

"I can't think about the future, Jason.  I don't know where I'll be in
the fall.  Boston seemed familiar, but I don't know if I live there."

"this autumn," he said, "you'll be with me.  When this is over, I'll
take you back to Maine.  We can drive through Vermont.  The maples and
oak.

God, it's beautiful.

"When this is over," she corrected, "I will have remembered my life.

I'll have to get back to it.

"But you have a new life.  As my bride."

His words sparked a tiny flame of desire deep within her.

She turned her head on the pillow and gazed at him.

He still sat on the opposite bed, wearing only a skimpy white towel
slung dangerously low on his hips.

"What if I'm some horrible person?"

Her gaze measured the breadth of his shoulders, the peppering of hair
on his chest.

"We're not really married, you know.

You don't have to feel obligated.

"I feel glad."

Moving slowly and deliberately, he shifted his position and sat on the
edge of her bed.

His nearness was undeniably arousing, and when he looked into her eyes,
she melted.

Her protest was weak.

"Jason, we really mustn't- " "Whatever fate brought you to me as a
mail-order bride, it was a happy accident."

When he leaned forward, she couldn't resist.

She remembered his kisses too well.

His lips joined with hers, and the most exquisite sensations prickled
along the surface of her skin.

Her breath boiled in her chest.

Behind her closed eyelids she saw the dancing of a thousand
butterflies.

His hand sought the warmth of her flesh.

Beneath the blanket and the sheet, beneath her nightshirt, he lightly
stroked her torso.

"Like satin," he murmured.

"Your skin is so so it.9 7

She ought to be pushing him away, objecting, reminding him that he
didn't know her and she didn't know him.

But she lost herself in the moment, reveling in sheer pleasure of his
nearness.

When his hand touched her breast, she fought to suppress quiver of
delight, but when he teased the nipple to a taut bud, she trembled
uncontrollably.

"Tell me to stop," he whispered.

She literally could not speak.

Her ability to reason was gone, erased by yearning.

His touch had brought her body to life in a way that she'd never
experienced before.

This was not a forgotten moment.

This was new and wonderful and perfect.

He lifted the T-shirt over her head and pulled back the covers before
he cast aside his towel and joined her on the bed, wonderfully naked.

The romantic glow of the city lights suffused her vision.

When they made love, he claimed her with his strength and passion.

Yet he waited on her pleasure, holding himself back, manipulating her
body until she was on fire.

And then, together, they experienced sweet relief.

Cradled in his arms, she sank toward sleep with a blissful smile on her
lips.

A honeymoon, she thought before succumbing to dreams.

And she was truly his bride.

THE cLAmoR of the bedside phone jarred them both awake.

Jason answered, slammed the receiver back on the hook and sighed.

Through the open curtains, he squinted into the glare of morning in the
city.

A glimpse of hazy sky was visible against the flat concrete silhouettes
of buildings.

Gone were the magical lights that had lit their passion last night.

Today would be hot, difficult and dangerous.

He pushed aside her heavy black hair and kissed the nape of her neck.

"Wake up, my lovely."

"Yourlovelywhat?"

she grumbled

He wanted to say wife.

But after last night, that word held new significance Their
relationship was more than a cover story.

He pushed away from her, heading for the bathroom.

"My lovely bottom.  You have a great bottom."

"How sweet of you to notice."

In the bathroom, he started the water running in the sink, splashed his
face and forced himself toward alertness.

There really wasn't time for reverie.

Today he would need his wits about him.

Back in Maine the reverend had told him to coach her, to make sure she
knew the right answers to questions the editor might ask.

The reverend?

Wally?

Jason stretched and yawned.

He worried that Wally Blaylock was not all right, that something had
happened to him.

And what about the woman who had answered the phone, claiming to be
Maria?

He pulled on his trousers before coming into the room where Maria was
on the hotel phone ordering room service.

"And a whole pot of coffee.  With caffeine, yes."

Jason raised an eyebrow.

"Hungry?"

"Last night my appetite was satisfied.  But this is another day, isn't
it?"

Holding her T-shirt to barely cover her nakedness, she flounced into
the bathroom.

He dug into the carryon and pulled out a cream colored cotton shirt
that he'd bought in the midst of Maria!

s wild purchasing.

He slipped it on and dug deeper.

Though he'd remembered most of the necessary toiletries, he'd forgotten
shaving equipment.

Rubbing at his already roughened jawline, he decided not shaving was
okay.

He'd look tougher with a day's growth of beard.

Maria called out from the bathroom.

"Would you bring me the carryon?  I need to see exactly what it was
that I bought."

He hung the strap of the bag on her outstretched wrist, a delicate
wrist.

Lovely.

Graceful.

Then he sat back and waited.

She swept out of the bathroom wearing a long denim dress that she
should have tried on first.

"Very nice," Jason commented.

"But about two sizes too big."

"Modest," she said.

"Don't you think Juana Sabbatta would me modest?"

"She's not a missionary.  No, the adjective I'd pick would be strong.

Don't you have another outfit in there?

"Yes.  But it's-" She groaned.

"I can't believe I picked this out."

She retreated into the bathroom.

When she returned she wore an oversize white shirt with the sleeves
rolled up and a black leather miniskirt.

Two sizes too small.

On her bare feet were strappy black sandals.

"Perfect," Jason said.

"For a hooker, maybe.  Nobody is going to take me seriously in a black
leather skirt."

"Believe me, honey, nobody's going to laugh.  And if they do..."

He rolled his fingers into a fist.

"They'll be sorry."

Hands on hips, she glared.

"Oh, that's good, Jason.

Very sophisticated.

Very nice.

The fist goes well with the stubble.

He stuck out his chin.

"How about a kiss, baby?"

She went up on tiptoe to place a light kiss in the center of his lips
without nuzzling.

"For a thug, you're cute."

She k@ him again, a little harder.

"And don't ever call me 'baby," again.  I might not know my real name,
but I'm very sure it's not 'baby.  "

' There was a rap at the door for room service, and Maria detached
herself from Jason to answer.

The young man who entered placed a tray on the table beside the window,
turned, eyeballed Maria and accepted his tip.

He winked at Jason and said, "Enjoy your breakfast, Mr.  Flynn."

She double locked the door behind him and turned back to Jason.

"Mr.  Flynn?"

"Didn't want to use my real name, and I always liked Errol Flynn as
Robin Hood."

While they ate and drank coffee, Jason offered advice on how to handle
the meeting.

He filled in physical details about Guennina, the climate and the
city.

He offered physical descriptions of some of the people mentioned in the
book.

They were finishing their second cup of coffee when he mentioned, "And
I think you should speak English with a Spanish accent."

C'Why?

@ I "Because you sound like an all-American gal, and Juana Sabbatta is
Latin."

"I hate to do that."

Her lower lip jutted as she considered.

"For some reason, it really offends me: Maybe because I'm a teacher and
I see no reason to pretend stupidity or ignorance."

"For right now, you're not a teacher.  You're Juana Sabbatta.  A
revolutionary.  A journalist.  And the author of Truth.

What if they have the same photograph that Chip had?

I resemble that woman, but it's obvious that I'm not her.

"I already told you, it's a fake.  Besides, I'll be right there with
you, vouching for your identity."

"Doesn't that blow the cover?"

"Yes, but it can't be helped.  I won't let you go alone."

He checked his wristwatch.

Ten o'clock.

It was time for him to return his call to the source, Wally Blaylock.

He told Maria what he intended to do and warned her to be ready to take
off as soon as he hung up.

"I'm packed," she said.

She pulled the shoulder strap of her small purse across her shoulder.

"Now, I'm ready."  9

His phone call was answered on the first ring.

This time the voice was male.

"Hey, Jason, is that you?"

"Chip Harrington."

Jason had a sinking feeling in his chest.

"Where's the reverend?"

"He's on his way down to meet you.  I think we've got everything
figured out now.  Where are you, man?"

"Boston."

Jason stuck to the lie he'd told yesterday.

"But you know that.  Don't you, Chip?"

"Why would I?"

His voice sounded friendly, unassuming, innocent.

If Jason hadn't known better, he would have trusted Chip.

"I spotted you.  Green Volvo.  Outside the St.  Sebastian.  You're a
distinctive guy, Chip.  You don't fade in."

"Look, Jason, don't do anything.

Tell me where you are, and my people will contact you.

Juana Sabbattathe real one-is here in Maine.

She's here!

Now, you're going to have to trust me on this one, but-"

" Who areyourpeople?

"A web of contacts, nationwide.  We're on the same side, Jason.  Why
else would I have helped you get off the island?"

His reference made a certain amount of sense.

If he had wanted to hurt them, why hadn't he done the job at the
island?

"I'll call you tomorrow, Chip.  At this number."

"Wait!  Don't-" Jason clicked down the receiver.

He glanced up at Maria, who was watching him with troubled eyes.

I-et's get out of here before they've got us traced.

"It was Chip on the phone?"

she questioned.

"I thought you were checking in with your contact person."

"So did I."

They departed from the hotel quickly, paying at the desk and hitting
the streets.

It was midmorning, but the heat was already stifling.

Jason took off his jacket and placed it inside the carryon.

"I should lose the cane," he said.

"If they've got people out here looking, I don't want to have anything
that's so easily identified."

He unscrewed the top and removed the incredible ring.

Elena's engagement ring.

Taking Maria's hand, he slipped it onto her pinky of her right hand.

"Keep this for me."

"I will."

When she looked up into his eyes, she felt a lump rising in her
throat.

Maria knew how important this ring was to him.

"I'll take good care of it."

His smile was quick and a little tense at the co per of his mouth.

"I never thought another woman@W'ould wear this."

She displayed her hands.

It was quite a collection, she had amassed.

The wedding band.

The heavy, gold, rose entwined band with thorns.

And now the beautiful engagement ring of sapphires and emeralds.

Each had significance, but the engagement ring was, by far, the most
important.

Trust.

They were linked by trust.

Ust night had been more than an overpowering animal attraction.

She and Jason had a relationship.

Though he didn't know anything more about her than two days of
confusion, there was a bond more sacred than that sham of a wedding
ceremony.

"You don't mind," he said.

"I won't want to give it back."

He stashed his cane in the mouth of an alley, and they joined the
throng of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

Maria followed his lead.

"Do you know where you're gOing?

"I have the address, and these streets are organized.

We don't have to rush.

We're not due at Ehnont House until noon.

II If they traced the hotel phone number, will there be people after
us?

Do you think someone is following us right now?

"I can't tell."

He smiled reassuringly.

He aimed his tone for levity.

"I never went to spy school."

She didn't laugh.

"We're so close, Jason.  If we mess up now, it will all have been for
nothing."

He stepped to the curb and tried to flag down a cab.

The first three drove past without even slowing.

To Maria, he muttered, "Maybe we're in luck.  We've turned
invisible."

Finally a taxi squealed to a stop and they hopped inside.

When Jason gave the address of the publishing house, the cabbie
informed him that they were only four blocks away.

"But it's your nickel, buddy.  I'll take you there.

"Tell you what," Jason said, checking his watch and noting that they
had an hour to kill before noon.

"Drive past the building, point it out to us.  Then I'd like to see the
Brooklyn Bridge.  Take us there."

"Meter's running," he said.

"I don't care if you want to drive to Miami."

"The Brooklyn Bridge?"

she question.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Within moments the cabbie pointed out the entrance to the building and
headed downtown.

Though the windows were rolled up and the cab's air-conditioning was
on, it was not cool.

Jason felt stifled in the rear of the vehicle.

With his senses alert to danger, his adrenaline pumped hotly through
his veins.

What would he do if they were attacked?

He had no gun, no weapon of any kind.

All he could do was shield Maria, provide a distraction.

In a hand-to-hand struggle, he could manage.

But his weak leg prevented him from escaping or chasing after.

They rode in silence, then Maria spoke in a heavily accented voice,
practicing.

"I am from Guermina.  I bring you Truth.

"A little melodramatic," he said, "but the accent is quite
believable."

"Jason, I don't know what to say to these people.  I'm not an
actress.

They're going to know I'm an impostor.

"Act like a teacher," he suggested.

"Pretend that you're lecturing them about the book."

She continued to practice, ting the deta& he had given her over
breakfast and expanding upon her own detailed knowledge of the text.

At ten minutes until noon, the cabbie had delivered them again to the
-p'ubfishing house.

Jason paid his astronomical fare and tlfey darted inside the building
and took the elevator to the sixth floor.

In the reception area for Ehnont House, there were several framed
pictures of book covers for famous novels and nonfiction successes.

"So far, so good," Jason murmured as he approached the receptionist and
gave her their names.

"They're expecting you," the receptionist said.

"This way."  She led them down a hallway, past several small offices
piled high with papers, and tapped on a closed door before opening
it.

" She's here," the receptionist announced.

Jason entered first.

There was an older man sitting behind an antique oak desk.

Behind him was a wall of books.

Seated on a long sofa were two women wearing glasses and expressions of
utter boredom.

In a dark, leather-upholstered chair directly opposite the desk sat a
well-groomed man.

He rose when they entered the room, but did not smile a greeting.

He was Edward Elliot.

was on, it was not cool.

Jason felt stifled in the rear of the vehicle.

With his senses alert to danger, his adrenaline pumped hotly through
his veins.

What would he do if they were attacked?

He had no gun, no weapon of any kind.

All he could do was shield Maria, provide a distraction.

In a hand-to-hand struggle, he could manage.

But his weak leg prevented him from escaping or chasing after.

They rode in silence, then Maria spoke in a heavily accented voice,
practicing.

"I am from Guermina.  I bring you Truth.  " "A little melodramatic," he
said, "but the accent is quite believable."

"Jason, I don't know what to say to these people.  I'm not an
actress.

They're going to know I'm an impostor.

"Act like a teacher," he suggested.

"Pretend that you're lecturing them about the book."

Shecontinuedtopractice,repeatin thedetailsbehad -9 given her over
breakfast and expanding upon her own detailed knowledge of the text.

At ten minutes until noon, the cabbie had delivered them again to the
pub 9 fishing house.

Jason paid his astronomical fare and thdy darted inside the building
and took the elevator to the sixth floor.

In the reception area for Elmont House, there were several framed
pictures of book covers for famous novels and nonfiction successes.

"So far, so good," Jason murmured as he approached the receptionist and
gave her their names.

"They're expecting you," the receptionist said.

"This way.

She led them down a hallway, past several small offices piled high with
papers, and tapped on a closed Ldoor before opening it.

"She's here," the receptionist announced.

Jason entered first.

There was an older man sitting behind an antique oak desk.

Behind him was a wall of books.

Seated on a long sofa were two women wearing glasses and expressions of
utter boredom.

In a dark, leather-upholstered chair directly opposite the desk sat a
well-groomed man.

He rose when they entered the room, but did not smile a greeting.

He was Edward Elliot.

Chapter Eleven

'tFAdy, Jason said.

"What a surprise!"

"Shouldn't be."

He nodded to Jason and shook Maria's hand.

To her, he said, "I told you that you'd never get away with this."

In her heavily accented voice, she responded, "You are wrong,
Senator.

The truth will never be denied.

"Oh, please," he muttered.

"As if you have -any idea of truth.  As if you-"

"Senator!"

The gray-haired man behind the desk interrupted Eddy's tirade.

"If you don't mind, we have business to discuss."

He was a tall man, impeccably dressed in a summer suit of ice blue with
a white shirt and red suspenders.

He came around his desk and warmly shook hands with both of them while
introducing him to the two women who sat side by side on the sofa.

"A brilliant editor and an equally dynamic marketing and publicity
person.

And I," he said, " am Harvey Elmont.

I don't own this place anymore, but I run things, by golly.

And we need to answer a couple of questions, Juana, before we make a
decision to run this book or not.

He retreated behind his desk again.

The editor checked her notes on a yellow legal pad, pushed her
eyeglasses up on her nose and said, "You make a lot of accusations
about US.  government officials, but you haven't named names."

"That is correct," Maria said.

"I do not wish to attack individuals.  The corruption is within the
system."

"Ha!"

Eddy Elliot leaned forward in his chair.

"She doesn't mention names because she doesn't have names.

It's all a fabrication.

"Have you seen the text?"

Jason asked him.

He couldn't believe that Eddy was here, that this ridiculous jerk was
trying to thwart the publication.

"Have you, Eddy?  Have you read her book?"

"Not the whole thing, but enough to know that this woman is a
troublemaker.  She's trying to build her reputation as a journalist by
destroying the careers of many hardworking officials."

"Including yourself?"

Jason suggested.

"Of course not.  My interests here are not selfish."

"Why are you here?"

Evasively he answered, "To see that the right thing is done.  Is that
so hard to believe?"

"From a politician?  Yes."

"Excu se me."

The editor on the sofa pursued her original line of questioning to
Maria.

"Do you have these names?"

"Yes."

"Can we add them to the book?"

"I prefer not.  These people will be dismissed and others will rise to
take their place.  As I said before, the problem is not an individual,
but the system itseIL" "Does the corruption rise all the way to the
top?"

The editor glanced at the woman beside her.

"I'm looking for a publicity angle here."

"This is what I will say."

Maria launched into a story that Jason had told her, about meeting
several officials and listening to their ideas about providing relief
to her country.

Every one of their proposals were deals.

Jason was impressed by her eloquence.

When he studied the attitudes of the two women sitting on the sofa, he
realized that they were equally mesmerized.

And sympathetic.

The attitude of Elmont was harder to read.

He sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled, listening intently as
Maria described the many deceits and complexities of the programs for
aid and relief in Juana Sabbatta's homeland.

There were trades for weapons, for physical goods, for money, for the
right to immigrate to the United States.

The governmental structure in her country had been a disaster for more
than a decade, and the people who should have been helping were looking
for ways to line their own pockets.

"But this is unimportant.  Trivial," she said.

, "The truth is inhumanity.  People who -need care, children who need
care, are cast aside and ignored."

"Absolute lies," said Eddy.

He was blustering.

More red-faced than usual.

He jabbed a thick finger at J?

Lson.

"And this guy is up to his eyebrows in it.  Do you know what he did?"

The editor on the sofa coldly replied, "Why don't you tell us."

"I will.  This woman, Juana Sabbatta, is in this country illegally.

She took another name-"

" My real name," she said.

"Maria Ramos Hernandez."

"Whatever," Eddy continued, buffing and puffing.

"Maybe that's her real name, but she's here under false pretenses.  A
few days ago I witnessed a wedding ceremony between this man and
woman.

She claimed to be a mail-order bride.

"Oh," said the editor on the sofa.

She glanced at the woman sitting beside her, and both their expressions
softened.

The marketing woman, who had not yet spoken, offered a sigh.

"That's so romantic."

"They don't even know each other," Eddy said.

"You want to talk about lies?  From somebody who is so big on the
truth?"

He swiveled in his chair and glared t Maria.

"Tell us right now.  The truth.  Why did you marry this man?  Do you
love him?"

Maria held out her hand to Jason.

' Gazing directly into his eyes, she linked her fingers with his.

He felt her strength of character, her inner beauty, her courage
tempered with gentleness.

Quietly she said, "I love him with all my heart."

And Jason knew she was speaking the truth.

"That's absurd!"

Eddy bolted from his chair.

He began to pace.

"And what about you, Jason?  You're a wealthy man.  You could have your
pick of willing brides.  Do you mean to tell me that you've fallen in
love with a mail-order bride?"

"Yes," he said.

The glow that passed between them shimmered with perfect light.

Never before in his life had Jason experienced a moment that was so
exactly right.

"I love her."

"I don't believe it!"

Eddy said vehemently.

The editor on the sofa scoffed.

"Then you've got to be blind as a segmented earthworm."

"You can't talk to me that way.  I'm a senator."

"Then act like one, II she said.

"This is a joke!"

He jabbed his pointing finger across the desk at Mr.

Elmont.

"If you publish these ludicrous accusations, I guarantee that we'll be
all over you.

We're talking lawsuits.

We're talking restraining orders.

There's no way.

"No?"

Ehnont turned to the two women on the sofa.

"Opinions, please?"

The editor rose to her feet.

She smoothed her cotton dress and planted her sneakers firmly,
preparing to defend her opinions.

"I've loved this book since I read the translation.  And I believe
every word this woman is saying.p The woman in charge of publicity
stood.  " I can market this.

Can I use the mail-order bride stuff?

I mean, this is too good to be true.

t'I'm warning you," Eddy said.  " Don't even think about running this
book.

I'll have orders to stop you within the hour.

"You're too late," said Mr.

Ehnont.

He reached into a drawer of his antique desk and pulled out a co of "PY
the book, bound and printed.

Th e cover jacket.

was white, embossed with gold lettering that said, simply, Truth.

While Eddy sputtered Mr.

Elinont came around the desk and presented the copy to Maria.

"This is for you, my dear.  I hope the publication of this book will
make a difference for your noble cause."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He turned to the two women on the sofa.

"Well?

What are you waiting for?

I want this book shipped and delivered.

immediately.

No, scratch that.

Yesterday.

Faster than irmnediate.

And I want a media blitz.

Every talk show.

Every columnists' Eddy charged at the door.

He was so furious that he seemed to be steaming.

His last words to Maria were the same as his first.

"Never.  You'll never get away with this."

When he left, Jason stepped up to say, "I don't want to put a damper on
your efforts, but Maria can't appear in public.  There's too much
danger.

We were pursued here from Maine.

"This is so great!  " the publicity woman extolled.

"You're on the run?  Right now?"

"That's correct," Jason said.

"Much as I hate to contradict anything that Senator Eddy said, this
isn't a joke.  This woman is in extreme danger, and until we have the
situation under control, you can't use her for publicity."

"Absolutely right," said Mr.

Elmont.

"For the moment, it's enough to have the books shipped and in the
stores."

He turned to the editor and publicity specialist.

"Take care of it.  And thank you.  Your work on this important project
has been outstanding."

When the marketing specialist shook Jason's hand, she said, "As soon as
I can start, call me.  This could be big.  Really big!"

When they'd left, Harvey Elmont confronted them directly.

"Were you followed to this building?"

"I don't think so," Jason said.

"But with Elliot running around and tooting his horn, everybody will be
informed.  So how are we going to get you away from Manhattan
safely?"

His high forehead wrinkled as he considered.

He ran his thumbs up and down the red suspenders.

Then he brightened as he answered his own question.

"Helicopter."

"Fine idea," Jason said.

"Can it be arranged?"

Elmont was already on the phone, issuing directives.

"And where will you be headed?"

"I'd rather not say.  The fewer people who know our destination, the
better.  Tell the pilot to be prepared for a two-hour ride."

"You got it."

He finished on the phone.

When he turned back toward them, his face split into a wide grin.

I)m sorry, kid.

I know your situation is dead serious.

But, by golly, this is fun.

More quickly than Jason would have thought possible, Ehnont escorted
them to the top of the building where there was a heliport.

"One of the reasons I located here in this building," he said.

"I'm an impatient man.  When I want to get somewhere, I want to be
there.

Now.

Yesterday.

Immediately.

Plus, I love flying.

In World War II, I was a flying ace in the south Pacific.

"But you won't be piloting the chopper," Jason clarified.

"Heck, no!  I have a million things to do, making' sure your book hits
the stands before Elliot gets his-ac-t together."

He snapped his suspenders.

"I love it when stuff gets stirred up."

"Is there a possibility;" Mari@ said, "that the senator can stop the
shipment of books?"

"I sure hope he tries.  As soon as a book is considered contraband, the
sales figures will go through the ceiling."

ttben people will know," she said.

She looked down at the bound copy of Truth in her hand.

With great satisfaction, she realized that they had succeeded.

Though Maria's part in this saga was not complete, she and Jason had
fulfilled the dreams of Juana Sabbatta.

Now, all they had to do was survive.

All THF- HELIco arrived with a deafening roar and a furnace blast of
summer air.

Maria had never ridden in one before, but she didn't have time to
anticipate or be nervous, because Ehnont bundled them aboard with his
best wishes and a couple of excited "By golly's."

After they'd boarded and were under way, Maria looked around to get her
bearings.

She was surprised by the comfortable eight-seat size of the passenger
cabin and by the fact that the noise level was bearable.

She turned to Jason, who was strapped into the seat beside her.

"It's not loud," she said, "just a rumbling."

"Customized," he explained.

"This is a luxury chopper.  Not a Huey or a weather 'copter.  This is
geared for Manhattan businessmen like Ehnont.  It's a flying limo."

"Good description," called the pilot from where he sat in front of a
huge bubble window.

There was a small partition that divided the cockpit from the rest of
the interior, but Maria could peer around it to see a bewildering
multitude of dials, knobs, buttons and instruments.

"So," the pilot asked, "where are we going?"

"Boston," Jason said.

"That's a couple hours away.  Where in Boston?"

"The airport's fine."

"Enjoy the ride," he said.

"You can walk around, but when you're sitting, wear the seat belts.

There's a little fridge in the rear.

Snacks.

Help yourselves.

'.

' He slipped on a headset and concentrated on his job.

Maria gazed down on the awesome urban landscape.

Tbough she knew the buildings were far below them, it seemed like some
were so close that she could reach out and touch the spires.

Skyscrapers, she thought.

Scraping the very edge of the sky.

The helicopter shoved aggressively through the hazy summer clouds, and
she had a new sense of what flight was all about.

This was far different from an airplane soaring at an unreal distance
above, the earth.

The chopper moved in direct strides, keeping view of the land before
the horizon.

The ride had an intensity, an intimacy, that was as if she'd actually
sprouted wings.

"Do you like it?"

Jason asked.

"Amazing," she said.

"Whatever my life was like before, I'm sure I never had so many
adventures."

"Are you beginning to " No," she interrupted before he could finish his
thought.  " I am not beginning to enjoy myself.

I haven't lost track of the fact that there are people who want to kill
me.

I won't let them touch a beautiful hair of your head.

" He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips.

"We'll get out of this."

She pulled her attention away from the in' 7-dible @C view and
willingly concentrated 0- n him.

His face.

His fascinating gray eyes that went from stormy to soft as a dove's
feather.

She adored his tigh t little' smile

She, even liked the bristly stubble that roughened his chi ii

Maria had meant what she'd said in Elmont's office.

With all her heart, she loved Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

Still, she regretted being pushed into such a declaration.

Love meant permanence and a commitment.

Perhaps it was too soon.

They barely had a relationship.

Wryly, she reminded herself that she was already married to this man.

Might as well love him.

But how did he really feel about her?

He didn't even know her.

Existing as they were, in the midst of a frantic chase where each
breath might be their last, their relationship lacked reality.

On a day-to-day, routine basis, what would they do?

She really couldn't imagine really being married to a man who
considered it his duty to race off and join the nearest guerrilla
war.

"Let's have a look at the book," he said.

Disconnecting her hand from his grasp, she set Truth on her lap.

The cover was eye-catching, and the back cover copy avoided
sensationalism while still promising an exciting and thought-provoking
read.

There was no author photo on the back flap, and again Maria considered
her encounter with Chip Harrington.

"That picture," she said, "where do you suppose Chip got it?"

"I can't second-guess the guy.  Quite obviously, I'm a lousy judge of
character.  I always thought Chip was okay."

"Maybe he is," she said thoughtfully.

"Then why was he lurking around in Boston, following us?"

She countered.

"Why didn't he kill us on the island?"

"I don't know."

Jason shook his head.

"Eddy Elliot is a lot easier to figure out.  I wonder whose political
butt he's trying to save."

"And what they've promised him for saving it."

"In the grand scheme of things," Jason said, "he's a maj or nobody.

Though he'd like to believe otherwise, he's only a state senator from
Maine.

How did he get involved in this high-level stuff"

" How did you?

she pointed out.

"A wealthy man who lives on an island?  How did you become entangled in
the politics of a country that's thousands of miles away?

"You know the answer."

"Because you're you."

Her voice quavered slightly as she pronounced a description of his
character.

"Brave, courageous, unable to stand by and watch while other people
suffer."

Though Jason wasn't the sort of man who would blush, he rolled his eyes
and looked sheepish.

"Stop it, Maria.  You make me sound like a hero."

44you are.

" She held his stub bled chin and kissed him lightly.  " Whether you
like it or not.

"Not."

He kissed her back.

"Being a hero is way too much pressure for me.  Besides, the thoughts
I'm having about you are a far cry from noble and pure."

"What thoughts?"

she teased.

He whispered in her ear, and his breath tickled pleasantly.

"Your naked body next to mine.  My hand on your breast, feeling the
tight little nipple.  Your thighs, long and graceful.  And your skin
like smoothest silk."

"That's enough."

She was already warm.

He glided his fingertips along the inside of her knee.

"I like this short skirt.  Are you, wearing underwear?"

"Flannel underwear."

He nibbled her earlobe.

"Want me to take those panties off?"

"Absolutely not."

She slapped his questing hand and brushed him away from her ear.

"Not until later, anyway.

"Okay."

He drew a breath and exhaled.

"The book.

let's look at the book.

She flipped open at random and read a passage that was completely
familiar to her.

Her knowledge of this text was eerie.

Though Maria was sure she had written the words, she knew every
sentence, phrase.

She read a paragraph.

"Wonderful writing, isn't it?  There's a lovely, logical flow.  It
really sings."

Opening to the front of the book, she ran her finger down the page of
Juana Sabbatta's acknowledgments, which ended with, "A special note of
gratitude to the woman who diligently translated these poor phrases
into English, Carolyn Kelly."

The name leapt off the page and sank deep into her brain.

Carolyn.

Carrie.

In repetition, the name took on a pealing resonance.

Carrie.

She heard a woman's voice calling from the front porch, "Carrie, time
for dinner," followed by a man saying, "This is my daughter, Carrie."

Carrie Kelly.

She saw the name written in a childish scribble by her own hand.

On a school paper.

Beneath her photograph in a yearbook.

Carrie Kelly.

Her mind reeled with images and her ears rang with memories.

"Carrie Kelly, our school valedictorian."  " Carrie Kelly, magna cum
laude.

She was found!

Her history embraced her like a long lost friend, no longer absent, but
a part of her.

She was Carrie Kelly, a student of foreign languages who had graduated
from college, then graduate school.

A teacher.

While pursuing her doctorate, she taught college courses in Boston.

But her true academic love, her favorite endeavor, was translation.

She remembered long months working at her desk beside a window where
the maple tree went from barren to leafy springtime green.

Late nights, she'd poured over the Spanish text written by Juana
Sabbatta.

And she, Carrie Kelly, had transformed the poetic phrases and brilliant
insights into English.

She felt Jason's hand on her arm, shaking her slightly, rousing her
from her reverie.

"Maria," he said.

"Maria, what's wrong?  Are you all right?"

When she gazed up into his eyes, she knew that her remembered identity
changed everything between them.

She could no longer pretend that they were married.

The danger would dissipate.

There was no reason for anyone to attack a college teacher who worked
as a translator on the side.

Carrie Kelly didn't represent a threat to world security.

In finding her identity, she'd lost something else.

The wedding ceremony had, indeed, been a sham.

She was nobody's mail-order bride.

She was Carrie Kelly, an independent, educated woman.

"Maria?"

His concern touched her.

"Maria, what is it?"

"I'm not Maria."

Chapter Twelve "Carolyn lzigh Kelly," she repeated.

"Don't you understand, Jason?  That's me.  I'm Carrie.  And I
translated the book.  That's why I know the text so well."

"Makes sense."

He read the name in the acknowledgments again.

Carolyn Kelly.

Carrie.

"I'm a foreign language student working on my doctorate and teaching.

But I also do translation work.

Mostly, I work for businesses with dealings in foreign countries.

You know, helping them with correspondence.

Her words were coming faster and faster, as if she couldn't keep up
with the flood of memory.

"And I volunteer at the hospital whenever they have patients who don't
speak English.  Or in the schools.  The public schools, not the
colleges.

Spanish and French are my best, but I've got enough Italian and German
to get by.

She leaned back in her seat and gazed through the window of the chopper
at the more picturesque sea coast north of New york City.

"Carrie," she said.

"Carrie Kelly.  That's who I am."

"I'm glad you finally know."

He stole a glance at her profile.

Her lips curved in a gentle smile, and her expression was more relaxed
than he had ever seen her.

Her hand curled into a fist, as if to physically grasp this new
identity, then her fingers relaxed.

The tension ebbed from her.

Different, he thought.

She looked different.

She was still beautiful.

She still possessed those traits he considered admirable.

Wit.

Grace.

Intelligence.

Definitely intelligent.

No dummy had translated that book.

She had to be bright to be in graduate school.

Carrie Kelly was everything he liked in a woman.

And yet a vague sense of disappointment colored his perception of
her.

She was different.

He unfastened his seat belt.

"I'm going to rummage around in the back and get some food.  Would you
care for anything?"

"Something to drink.  A diet soda, maybe."

Jason edged down the tiny aisle to the counter-size refrigerator.

He found a soda pop for her.

Diet, he thought.

Would Maria have wanted diet?

He passed it up to her and grabbed a beer for himself.

The available snacks were chips and jerky and junk food.

Stuff for nibbling, and Jason wanted steak.

He wanted fuel, something solid.

Still, he poked around in the cabinets.

"You're sure you don't want anything?"

"I'm too excited to eat."

"Sure, I understand."

But Maria had been ravenous.

Her appetites were incredible.

In his mind, he tried out her new name, her real name.

Carolyn?

Carrie Kelly?

He wasn't sure that he liked the sound of it.

Last night he'd made love to Maria.

The vibrant woman who had come alive in his arms had been called
Maria.

That was the name he'd whispered over and over.

And now she was someone else.

A grad student.

A woman of acknowledged capabilities and accomplishments.

Carrie was a more suitable mate for Jason Wakefield Walker the Third.

She was the type of female his sister would approve of.

Jason frowned.

He would miss Maria.

"I think we're coming up to Boston," she said.

"The towns are merging into a sprawl."

He returned to his seat.

"Do you remember your address?"

"Yes.  The hamburger place is about half a mile away.

I)ve got a little house.

Rented, but I've been there for almost two years.

It's redbrick with white trim and a picket fence.

If it wasn't in the city, I guess you'd call it a cottage.

Great yard.

I love working in it.

"In your bathing suit?"

"Sometimes.  How did you guess?"

"Your tan line.  I thought you were sunbathing."

"No time for that.  Although there is a public swimming pool very close
to my house and I often exercise there."

She sounded directed and efficient.

"But I don't sunbathe.  Not with my studies.  And the work on the
translation.  I can't believe I had forgotten that.  It took up all my
time for months."

"That must have been hard for the people you live with."

"I live alone.  No boyfriend.  No husband."

"But a career that takes up all your time."

That comment, he realized immediately, was uncalled for.

He was being too critical of a life-style he knew nothing about.

Being involved in a career wasn't so terrible.

@y was he so eager to find fault with her?

Well, I guess this is over, she said, " all the running and hiding.

The espionage that you hate so much.

Why would you assume that it's over?

"No motive," she said.  " Why would anybody be interested in killing a
grad student?

I'm hardly a threat to the world order, am I?

"I suppose you're right."

"How will this affect Truth?"

she wondered.

"God, I feel awful about lying to Mr.  Ehnont."

"We'll figure it out," he said.

"And you weren't really lying.  You were ill.  I'm sure the publicity
lady will be delighted that you were amnesiac."

"You're right.  She'd love this.  Although I'm not sure that I'm ready
for my fifteen seconds of fame on talk shows as the woman who couldn't
remember who she was."

She laughed, and the sound was musical, the same lilting laughter that
he'd fallen in love with.

But different.

More controlled Even her thick black hair seemed different, he
thought.

Suddenly she was more neatly groomed.

Jason looked away.

He had major doubts about a relationship with Carrie Kelly.

The pilot took off his earphones and called back to them, "We're
landing in about half an hour."

"Quick trip," she said.

"I've really enjoyed the helicopter."

"Have you?"

"It's a different perspective."

They talked.

He finished his beer and munched disinterestedly on a handful of
peanuts.

The intimacy, he thought, was gone.

They were like strangers, meeting for the first time.

He wasn't even sure that she was interested in him.

They studiously avoided the topic of their wedding.

The first thing he did in the airport was to buy a newspaper, which he
used to hide the Beretta when he removed it from the locker where it
had been stashed.

Having the weapon in his pocket felt good.

Even if they were out of danger, he wasn't sure how to notify the bad
guys.

"I'll try a phone call to the source," he said.

"What if it's Chip again?"

"I'll tell him who you are.  Maybe he can get the guys who were
following us to back off."

He handed her a credit card.

"You go take care of the rental car."

"How can I do that?  I still don't have any identification."

She patted the small purse she wore on a shoulder strap.

"The only things in here are two hundred dollars and car keys.  My car
keys."

She beamed a smile.

"I have a Toyota."

"Good for you."

He dug into his wallet and produced the other bits of identification
that he had been carrying.

"You'll have to be Maria Hernandez Walker, my wife, for a little
while.

Think you can manage that deception?

She took a step back.

"What's wrong, Jason?"

"Nothing.  We'll get everything taken care of No more danger and all
that."

"Of course."

She leaned toward him to take the cards, and be tried not to notice the
vivacious sparkle of her green eyes, tried not to inhale her special
fragrance.

The scent had belonged to Maria.

It pained him to think she was gone forever.

"This is what you want, isn't it?"

he asked.

"You want this to be over."

" Given my druthers, I would very much prefer not to be shot at,
terrorized, chased or-" " Forced into a marriage?

" He pointed to a bank of telephones.  " I'll use the phone over here
so I can keep an eye on you while you're going through the line.

At the public phone, Jason contacted the familiar number.

This time the voice that answered was the usual mechanically disguised
tone.

"May I help?"

"Wally?  Wally Blaylock, is that you?"

" Jason?  Where are you?"

"Boston."

Jason paused.

He wanted to believe that the voice on the other end of the phone was
Wally Blaylock, but there was no way to make recognition with the
mechanical translator that cancelled inflection and tone.

"How was your meeting?"

the voice asked.

"There's only one way to describe it."

Jason struggled to toss out a clue.

"Remember what you told me?

About the sword?

"Yes, certainly," the voice said.

"Beating the sword into plowshares."

Wrong!

The pen is mightier than the sword.

"Right," Jason said.  " That about covers it-.

"I want details from ny the mting."

"Hey, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Maria lost her ring.

You know, the gold one.

He purposely described it incorrectly, knowing that Wally would know
the ring.

He'd told Jason about it.

"The one with the little hearts."

The response he got was far more excited than he expected.

"What do you mean?  I hope this is a joke.  The ring is gone?

Maria's ring is lost?

"Yeah, the one with the hearts."

search "This cannot be.  It must be found.  You must until you have
located the ring and then call me back."

"Relax," Jason said.

"I'm sure it's in the bottom of her purse or her luggage or
something."

The voice rattled on, near frantic, about the importance of this gold
ring.

Whoever was using the mechanical device on the other end of the phone
wasn't the reverend.

Wally would have corrected him about the description of the ring.

And whoever it was, Jason realized, didn't know about Eddy Elliot who
had been at the meeting.

Was it possible that there were two special interest groups pursuing
Maria?

"You must return to Maine," the voice demanded.

"Immediately.  You and Maria come back here."

"That would be fine, but the woman I'm with isn't Maria."

"Is that so?"

"She's had amnesia, and finally recovered her memory."

He paused, allowing that information to sink in.

"Her real name is Carolyn Leigh Kelly.  She's nobody important, only
the person who translated Maria's book."

"This is a ridiculous lie."

"Ridiculous, maybe.  But it's the truth.  She's no more Maria than
you're Wally Blaylock," he said very clearly.

"Is this you, Chip?"

"No."

"Is Chip there?  Can I talk to him?"

"I do not know what you are speaking of" "Back off.  I'm telling
you-whoever you are-that the big chase is off.  Okay?  She's not
Maria."

"How can you be sure?"  " I'M sure.

And here's another tidbit for you.

Truth is already in print and on its way into bookstores.

So you've got nothing to gain by harassing us.

So you might as well call off the hounds.

Jason hung up the phone.

Though he hoped the conversation had been productive, he doubted that
his words made much difference.

It might be best to lie low until all the furor blew over.

He looked over at the rental car counter where Carrie Kelly was
handling the rental with efficiency.

Could Maria have done that?

He remembered the last time they'd been in this airport, and she had
fumbled through the stores, grabbing clothing and sandals.

There had been an edge to her movements, an excitement.

Carrie Kelly-she probably called herself Ms.

Carrie Kelly, soon to be Dr.

-had none of that flair.

She was calm and self-assured.

One of those unflappable women who never fussed and fumed and got
crazy.

He wondered how she kissed.

Jason turned back to the bank of telephones,- went through information,
and called the phone number for Chip Harrington.

No one answered, and Jason left a long message' explaining that the
woman they thought was Maria was actually Carrie.

They should call off the search.

He still wasn't satisfied.

Until he got confirmation from the reverend, Jason would have to
believe that there was still danger from people who didn't know
Carrie's identity.

Joining her at the end of the counter, he suggested, "I think we need
to stay in hiding for a couple of days.

When we're sure that nobody is going to mistake you for Maria, we can
resume our regular lives.

But until then, we'd better play it safe.

"Do you really think so?"

Damn, she sounded unhappy.

Was it so awful to think about spending a couple of days in hiding with
him?

"I'd feel real bad," he said, "if I spent all this time protecting you
and quit too soon."

"Not as bad as I'd feel.  Probably not as dead, either."

She offered a slight smile.

"I got a midsize Chevy rental.  Not as flashy as the Probe, but far
more nondescript."

A Carrie decision, he realized.

Intelligent.

Practical.

Not at all wild.

"Chevy's fine."

They went to the rental lot and picked out their car from dozens of
other dull beige cars.

Carrie went around to the driver's side.

"One favor before we go into hiding?  Could we stop by my house?  I'd
like to pick up some clothes."

He didn't see why not.

After all, nobody was after Carrie Kelly.

Even if Chip and his gang intended to check out the message that Jason
had left on the phone and with the source, it would take a while before
they figured out where Carrie Kelly lived.

"A quick stop," he said.

"'nank you."

"You're driving?"

he questioned.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?  I know my way around this area better than
you do."

"Right."

He felt a tightening behind his eyes.

Maria would never have suggested that she drive.

Why the hell should that bother him so much?

Maria didn't exist.

"You drive to your house, then I'll take over."

"That's a plan," she said lightly.

He climbed into the passenger seat.

Despite the bright, warm afternoon, he was in a dark mood that in no
way matched the perkiness of the intelligent woman who slid behind the
steering wheel and tugged at her leather mini, trying to make the skirt
longer.

"It's about forty-five minutes," she said.

"From airport to my place."

Automatically she fastened her seat belt, as was her habit, before
starting up the rental car.

After studying the dashboard, she turned on the air-conditioning.

"Let's keep the windows up.

It's hot enough outside to use the cooling.

"Sure."

She headed cautiously toward the exit.

For the first time since this amazing episode began, she felt a
semblance of control over the situation.

"Anxious to be going home?"

he asked.

"I hope my flowers are all right."

The thought of seeing her home again should have filled her with
inordinate pleasure, instead she felt a strange emptiness.

"In summer, they need to be watered every day."

"Do they?"

She could have recalled her daily schedule, mmute by minute, starting
with corn flakes for breakfast and ending with herbal tea.

But she didn't want to bore him.

Maybe that was the problem, she thought, the source of this irritating
dissatisfaction.

As Maria, she'd been mysterious and exotic.

As Juana Sabbatta, she was a brave journalist, fighting for freedom no
matter what the odds.

In her true identity, as Carrie, she was bright and ambitious, with a
charming, well-regulated life.

A life that was deadly dull.

Perhaps she would miss those moments of high drama after all.

Watching the neighborhoods of Boston unfurl in warm, familiar patterns,
she recognized landmarks.

Her past was with her, as if it had never been gone.

She remembered her mother and father and sister and the dog that was a
puppy when she was eight.

A nice family, she thought.

None of them lived in Boston, b I ut they would be getting together
over the summer.

She had a life.

She should have been overjoyed.

Why did she feel so hollow inside?

That was foolish, she chided herself.

Everything was going to be fine.

Now that she knew who she was, everything else would fall into place.

Brightly, she pointed out the sights to Jason, who seemed to have
slipped into a cranky mood.

As they cruised past the familiar hamburger stand, Jason said, "It was
only yesterday that we were here."

"Seems like a lifetime ago."

In a way, their lunch yesterday was separated from today's afternoon by
a whole life.

Maria's life.

Maria?

What was she thinking?

Carrie cocked her head to the right.

She could feel her lips purse as she concentrated.

Verbalize, she thought.

Often, that helps to reach a solution.

"In a strange way, I miss Maria," she said.

"Not the real Maria, but the Maria that I was supposed to be.

But that's absurd, isn't it?

Maria never really existed.

' "Then who picked out that outfit?"

Jason asked.

Carrie glanced down at the leather mini and shuddered.

"Certainly not me.  But Maria wouldn't, either.

She grabbed it because she was too scared to shop.

" " Would Carrie Kelly grab a Beretta and try to escape on a deserted
beachfrofit9

"Well, no."

"Would Carrie Kelly agree to be a mail-order bride?"

"Certainly not."

"Not even if it would save her life?"

"Carrie would never be in that sort of situation."

She flicked on the turn signal for a left.

"I'm talking about myself in the third person.  This is not a good
sign, Jason."

"Sign of what?"

"I'm not exactly brimming with mental health.  Of course, I don't
expect that a dose of amnesia is conducive to stability and
psychological well-being."

"I don't expect so."

But when she glanced to the right and read a sign with an arrow that
pointed to the Public Swimming Pool, her grasp on sanity loosened
considerably.

The forefront of her mind felt like she'd been slapped, momentarily
stunned.

She pulled over to the curb and parked, almost forgetting to set the
parking brake.

What's wrong?

" he asked.

"Pool," she said.

Her hands fell limply in her lap.

Her eyelids drooped heavily, suddenly drowsy.

Darkness seemed to be closing in all around her.

But this couldn't be happening!

She couldn't be losing conscious memory again.

"Maria," he said.

"What is it?"

"Not Maria."

How dare he call her Marliar Determination shot through her.

She called upon every ounce of her willpower to bring her mind back to
alertness.

When she turned to face him, she was assured enough to feel that she
presented a calm facade.

But her breathing felt shallow and rapid.

Her vision wavered with strange distortion.

"Why?"

she asked.

"Why did you call me Maria?"

out.

@) "I'm sorry.  It slipped She focused on him.  His thick, dark hair
gleamed in the late afternoon sun.  His jaw set, firm and strong.  My
God, he was handsome.  An impulse, very unlike her, urged her to melt
in his arms.  Remembered sensations coursed through her.  Their
lovemaking had been the most wonderful, alive moment in her life.  "
Oh, Jason, I_IV "This has something to do with the pool, doesn't it?"

"What pool?"

"The public swimming pool.  You looked at that sign and started acting
strange."

"Possibly," she said.

Certainly, she thought.

Something about the local swimming pool frightened her.

But she wasn't willing to deal with it.

Why should she?

She was fine.

There was nothing wrong with her.

" I-et's go to my house."

But she made no move to turn the key in the ignition.

"We need to look at this," he said gently.

"Why?  I know who I am.  The book is on its way to publication.  What
else could possibly go wrong?"

"That's what we need to find out."

He opened his door and exited the car, coming around to her side.

"Come on, let's go.  We'll walk to the pool."

"I can't, Jason."

She stayed behind the steering wheel.

"Not dressed like this.  I don't want people to see me like this.

Really, I live here.

I'm not the sort of woman who wears leather miniskirts.

He held out his hand.

"Come with me."

With a sigh, she unfastened her seat belt and placed her hand in his.

The instant that she made contact with him, Carrie was transformed.

Her natural inhibitions vanished.

Her skin felt quivery and tense.

Mysterious, exotic chords sounded deep within her.

The sunny day took on a shadowed, fascinating depth.

Her grasp tightened.

She climbed from the car.

Her gaze twined with his, drawing them closer.

Her ips parted.

As a blue sedan drove past and a woman waved, Carrie broke the eye
contact.

What was she thinking?

"Not here, Jason."

"Oh, I see.  Carrie Kelly isn't the sort of woman who kisses on street
corners."

"No, she's not."

Third person again.

"I'm not."

"Fine.  I'll try my best not to touch you."

"Fine."

But she wanted to fling herself into his arms, to feel the tactile
warmth of his body against hers.

She longed to taste his lips, to experience the ultimate pleasure of
his caresses.

Instead she heard herself making plans, thinking ahead, ordering her
universe.

"We'll walk over to the pool.  I'll show you there's nothing wrong,
and

When they rounded the corner, she saw the chocolate brown painted pool
house of concrete blocks.

Behind a chain-link fence, the pool was busy.

Children giggled , shouted and shrieked.

Sunlight bounced off the surface of the water, reflecting on bared arms
and legs and bodies of every description.

But Carrie saw night.

A dark night.

She blinked, willing herself to stay in the point'.

Jason's voice called to her.

"Would you like to sit down?"

She turned toward him, saw that he was indicating a park bench shaded
by the spreading boughs of an elm tree.

She sat.

"Something happened here," she said.

Her voice was a whisper.

"But it couldn't be important, could it?  I know who I am.  We have
everything taken care of."

"Except for one detail," he said.

"The onset of your amnesia was caused by something.  A trauma.

You've told me bits and pieces of a story.

About two men.

@?

"Yes," she said.

"One of them was the man on the beach.  The man with the gun.  The dead
man."

"You said they held your arm, they injected you with a chemical."

"Muerte, " she whispered.

Her limbs felt heavy, paralyzed.

"They brought me here.  I was lying right there, at the edge of the
water.  I had the ring, Maria's ring, on my finger."

She coughed.

Her lungs felt so tight, as if she could not draw enough breath, as if
she were drowning.

"The water was cold, so cold.  I thought I would die.  I saw the angel
of death."

Pausing, she inhaled.

It was only a memory.

A nightmare.

The blue of the pool and the laughing children were all so innocent and
playful.

"How did they get inside the fence?"

Jason asked.

"Broke the lock.  They pushed me into the water.  I was drugged,
couldn't move.  My arms and legs were so heavy."

"Then what happened?"

"They must have thought I'd drown.

But I rose to the surface.

Good swimmer.

" Incredible pain, remembered pain, hammered in her head and swelled in
her lungs.  And there was fear, stark and cold.  She fought it.

am a good swimmer.

"Of course you are," Jason encouraged.

"Then what?"

44I floated on the surface, catching breath when I could.

Gathered my strength- Oh, God, it was so dark.

She buried her face in her hands, wanting to sob out all her fears.

"I made it to the ladder, climbed out."  A shock went through her.

She bolted to her feet.

"Oh, my God, Jason!  I remember!

"What is it?,?

"When I climbed out, I looked back.  I was still in the Pool."

"I don't understand."

He stood, reached for her.

"Can you tell me?  Can you explain?"

She paced, unable to stand the horror of her memories.

"I wasn't me.  There was another woman in the pool, floating
facedown.

She was dead.

Maria was dead.

Chapter Thirteen

The terror wasn't over.

She felt it with every fiber of her being.

She had witnessed the murder of Maria Ramos Hernandez, and there were
people who would kill to destroy that memory.

Carrie's shoulders slumped as she sat on the park bench and stared
blankly at the chain-link fence and the carefree panorama of late
afternoon swimmers.

Sorrow crept over her, sapping the last of her strength.

There was nothing left to do.

No more help for Maria.

"I never knew her, Jason.  But I lived with her words for months.  In
my mind, I had dozens of conversations with her.  Toward the end of my
translation work, I even imagined that I saw her once or twice."  The
vision was blurred, as if seen through a veil.

Carrie closed her eyelids and saw a dark woman with long, black hair.

Though her features appeared to be average, even plain, there was
dynamic strength that radiated from her eyes.

"A remarkable woman."

"Are You sure about all this?  It's not a hallucination?"

"I wish it was," she said weakly.

"I wish none of this had ever happened, that Maria were still in her
country.

She could have had a good life, had children, grown old and wise.

"Not a good life," he said.

In his voice, she heard the familiar ring of impatience.

"What do you mean?"

"Maria was too affected by the daily tragedy of her countrymen, of the
children.  She was a woman who needed to speak the truth."

"Truth killed her."

d al Carrie leaned back against the park bench an lowed her defenses to
shatter against the battering wave of grief.

Her eyes filled with hot tears, and she allowed them to spill down her
cheeks unchecked.

She was too tired to wipe them away, too tired to fight anymore.

When Jason helped her to her feet, she didn't object.

She stumbled along beside him.

Her leaden steps weighted with sorrow.

vaguely she asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the car, then to your house.  You can- pick up" some clothing,
we'll find a place to hide.  A motel or something.  Then we go to the
police station.  "

"I an't."

She needed to compose herself.

She couldn't face talking to anyone, explaining anytbling.

Had it been just this morning that she'd brazenly confronted Eddy
Elliot?

It seemed so long ago.

"I can't do any more today, Jason."

Atwell see.

At the car, he took the keys and followed her directions.

Only a few blocks past the pool, he recognized the cottage from her
description- a small brick house with a sprawling yard filled with a
profusion of daisies, glads, impatiens, mums and baby's breath.

So much color, he thought.

Yellows and reds splashed against deepest purple.

It was beautiful.

He half expected to see Walt Disney characters frolicking amid the
pansies.

Carrie Kelly was a woman of many surprises, he realized.

A nurturing woman who loved flowers.

An intellectual who translated books.

He couldn't believe that a woman who lived in a place like this would
ever be happy on his stark, rocky island where the flowers seldom
blossomed and the land was largely infertile.

He cared about her.

That was certain.

But each newly revealed facet of her identity convinced him that they
were not a suitable match.

But now was not the time to question.

First, they must deal with this tragedy.

And then .

who could say what would happen next.

When she dragged herself from the car, she barely had the strength to
stand upright.

He braced her, helped her walk along the sidewalk, amid the brilliant
garden, to her front door.

"Do you have a key?"

She shook her head.

"The only keys I have are the ones I found in my pocket.  Car keys."

She gestured weakly toward the curb.

"Keys for my Toyota."

He tried the door.

It was locked.

She pointed to a potted plant of red-orange geraniums.

"Under there."

"Very clever," he said sardonically.

"No one would ever think of looking under the plant."

"Sorry, but I'm not a spy."

He found the house key, gathered up several days' worth of newspapers
that were scattered near the porch and opened the door.

The curtains were drawn, and he turned on the overhead light.

It was a large room with bare wood floors and woven rugs.

Some of the furniture appeared to be askew, turned sideways.

Mysterious Vows sat on the sofa.

"You think I'm hal lucina She ting?

Look in the paper.

There must be some notice.

He found the article, a few small paragraphs, buried on the fourth
page.

It stated that an unidentified woman had been found floating in a
public swimming pool.

CcUnidentified woman," Carrie said.  " Maria.

When Jason went into the adjoining kitchen he realized how foolish they
had been to co' here.

The kitchen table was overturned, chairs scattered.

One cabinet was open and the contents strewn.

Clearly this had been the site of a struggle.

The men who had drugged Carrie had come here to find her.

They knew where she lived.

While Jason set the table right, a hot anger surged through him as he
remembered her story.

The men had come here and terrorized her, stolen her serene flower
filled existence and replaced it with confusion.

He heard her cry out and hastened through the house to find her in the
bedroom.

This room, like the kitchen, had been ransacked.

Carrie pointed to a dark stain on the carpet.

"Blood," she said, "Maria7s blood."

"Maria came here?"

"Yes.  She was at my door.  Told me someone might be after her.  Gave
me her ring and the red scarf she wore around her neck.  If anything
happened, she said I should find you.  Jason Walker, at a marina near
Boothbay Harbor in Maine, slip number eighty-six.

When we tried to leave the house, they were there.

The men.

" Her knees folded beneath her and she sank down in a boneless heap.

" When will this be over?

Jason hurried to her.

Painfully, he lowered himself to the floor.

When he touched her, she trembled.

In fear?

Was she afraid of him?

Carefully, he smoothed her hair back from her face, gently soothing her
with comforting murmurs.

Tension convulsed her body like a sob, then she was limp again, leaning
against his chest, breathing softly.

As he held her, he thought of all that she ha d been to him, all that
she meant to him.

How could he ever find flaws in her?

She'd been through hell.

Her P4urvival was a miracle.

An d now she needed for him to be strong for her, to aid her through
the last of this unhappy story.

"I owe you so much," he whispered.

In 'many ways she had saved him, rescued him from the w@ll of
bitterness he had dug for himself.

"I'll help you, Carrie."

It was the first time he had spoken her real name.

Not Carrie Kelly, a character that had no existence.

She was Carrie.

Not Maria, but Carrie.

A woman he did not know but couldn't help but admire.

He stroked her shoulders and arms.

She felt fragile in his arms, like a wounded bird.

"We'll be all right," he whispered into hr luxurious black hair.

"Everything is going to be all right."

Her lovely green eyes lifted to gaze up at him, to search his face and
discern if he was telling her the truth.

"We will" I he repeated.

She looked down at the bloodstain on the bedroom carpet and slowly
shook her head from sid,- to side.

"We've got to think," he said, trying a different tactic.

"Help me figure this out.  You're an intelligent person.  I need for
you to think."

"All right."

Her response encouraged him.

lator for the book, but Maria cam "You were the trans she come here?

e here.

@Y?

Why did " I'm not sure.

I don't know.

" Her body stiffened.  " I never thought I'd say that again.

I don't know.

God, I'm so tired.

I want to sleep.

"Soon," he promised.

"Don't ask me to think.  I can't."

"It's okay."

He patted her arm.

"I-et's get your clothes.  Come on, now.  We ought to get away from
here and go somewhere safe.  How can I help?"

"My suitcase is in the back of the closet."

With a final squeeze of her arms, he hoisted himself to his feet and
went to her closet, pulled out the suitcase and opened it on the bed.

"What do you want to take?  " 4 "I'll do it.

When she stood, she was unsteady, weaving as if she were ready to pass
out.

Still, she struggled to the dresser, yanked open a drawer and pulled
out a handful of underwear.

Haphazardly, she selected T-shirts,.

shorts, Uvi's.

By the time she'd finished, she looked marginally stronger.

With a perplexed look on her face, she stared at the drawers.

"What else?"

Quietly he said, "Your flannel nightgown."

"No," she said with a distracted air.

"I don't need that anymore."

He felt a warmth near his heart.

"Is that because you expect me to keep you warm in bed?"

"Never wear flannel in summer.  Too hot."

Disappointment reared up in him until he looked over at her and saw she
was attempting a lopsided smile.

"A joke?"

he asked.

"Ha ha."

"You're going to be all right," he said.

She was ready fairly quickly.

Before they left the house, he went to her desk in a small office she'd
set up in the second bedroom.

The walls were lined with books.

On the desktop were dictionaries in Spanish, French, German and
Italian.

He opened the middle drawer and found an address book.

and an agenda notebook that left a page blank for appointments.

The scribbling inside indicated that she was, perhaps, not as tidy and
efficient as she tried to appear.

When the telephone on the desk rang, Jason jumped back in reflex.

The noise was sudden, harsh.

He reached for the receiver, then removed his hand.

Contact with the wrong people could be dangerous.

No one should know they were here.

On the third ring, an answering machine picked up.

"Hello.  This is Carrie.  I-eave a message."

The simple request was repeated in Spanish, then in French.

There was a beep.

"This is Chip.  I've got to talk to you.  I'm staying at the Carriage
Lamp Motel.  Here.  In Boston.  Call me within the hour."

Chip?

Jason almost lifted the receiver, but he didn't trust himself to speak
with the small town reporter without snarling.

-Chip disgusted him.

He was part of this insane conspiracy.

In it up to his neck.

The light on the answering machine was blinking, indicating this
message and others.

Jason unplugged the machine and took the whole thing, stuffing it in a
large briefcase beside the desk.

He threw in the address book and the agenda in case they held a clue,
then went to the front door where she was waiting.

"Let's get the hell out of here."  y If Chip had the phone number and
address for Carrie Kelly, Jason iijured that pursuit wasn't far away.

Taking the Beretta from his pocket, he pushed aside the curtains and
peeked through the windows.

The garden was quiet, lovely in the summer sunshine.

Through the rows of flowers, he could just see the street.

There appeared to be nothing suspicious.

Still, he kept watch, waiting for an unusual motion, the flash of
sunlight on the barrel of an aimed gun, a sound more dangerous than the
twitter of sparrows.

But he saw nothing that gave cause for alarm.

So far, it was safe.

He turned to Carrie, offering her a tight smile.

"I think we'll be fine."

"Think so?  My, that's reassuring."

Though tired, she wasn't beyond sarcasm, probably paying him back for
his snide comments about hiding a key under the geraniums.

"You seem better," he said.

"I won't faint," she promised.

She looked better, too.

She'd changed from her tight leather skirt to a pair of beige walking
shorts and a navy blue tank top under a short-sleeve madras shirt.

"On her feet were running shoes.

Appropriate, he thou Ight.

They, were still on the run.

He kept his pistol in one hand and ready, lifting her suitcase with the
other.

The problem came when he tried to take the briefcase, as well.

we got this," she said, taking the briefcase from him.

Though she appeared to have slightly more color to her face, more life
in her step, he asked, "Can you manage it?"

"Better than you think."

When they left the house, they were completely vulnerable.

A couple of targets, he thought, moving slowly.

His limp, though less painful than might be expected given the activity
of the past few days, was pronounced.

And Carrie was so exhausted that placing one foot before the other was
a slow effort.

The sidewalk formed an aisle between the multitude of flowers, and he
recalled another aisle.

The wedding ceremony at his home.

He remembered walking beside her, thinking how lucky he was to be with
such a beautiful woman.

At the curb she suggested, "We could take my car.  I have the keys."

"Someone might know it.  We'll drive the rental."

"How about both?  I'll follow you."  She dropped the briefcase and went
to her car.

Under his breath, Jason muttered, "Stubborn woman."

With the door on the driver's side still open, she called back to
him.

"It's a little difficult.  I like to make sure it's started up every
day."

He hobbled over to her, watching as she pumped the gas with her foot
and turned the key in the ignition.

There was a grating noise as the starter tried to catch.

"Darn."

She tried again.

Another grating noise.

She climbed out and slammed the door.

When she glanced at him, her expression held a warning.

"Don't gloat," she said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied.

When he slid behind the wheel of the rental and glided easily away from
the curb, Jason breathed easier.

"We just might pull this off."  " Why wouldn't we?

" She sat up a little straighter.

"Are the bad guys closing in?"

"There was a call from Chip when I was in your office.  He wants to
talk to you."

"He can talk to the police," she said spiritedly.

Then she yawned.

"Oh, Jason, find me a bed.  I need to I sleep."  He cruised the side
streets, avoiding routes to downtown but looking for a main drag where
he could find a little motel, a nondescript place where there would be
no questions asked.  Even if Chip and his cronies checked every motel
in Boston, Jason doubted that they could be identified.  No one knew
the rental car.

Still, he thought, there was always the possibility that searchers
could comb the city.

That was probably too big an operation for Chip, but Jason didn't
underestimate the resources of Eddy Elliot.

If he wanted to find them, he might even pull in the local police.

Might be best to leave Boston," Jason said.

"Turn left here.

"You have something in mind?

I Sleep, " she said.  " On a feather bed On a wide street, where urban
renewal had taken root.

, and flourished, she pointed to a large corner house.

"There."

"Friends of yours'?  2" I " .

"It's a bed and breakfast," she said.

"Built in the eighteen hundreds and renovated to be accurate to the
period.  I saw the interior on a tour and always wanted to stay
there."

It was perfect.

The only indication that the house took in overnight boarders was a
discreet sign near the bell.

"Poplar House," he read as he pushed open the door to a Victorian-style
sitting room.

"Charming," she said.

Safe, he thought.

They checked in and climbed the stairs to a second floor
bed-and-sitting room that overlooked the front entry.

A small table, chairs and desk were arranged in front of the front
window.

The massive bed was just inside the door.

He was surprised that Carrie did not simply collapse across the
counterpane quilt.

With slow, deliberate steps, she went to one of the Queen Amne-style
upholstered chairs beside the skirted table and sat, tired but awake.

"I thought you wanted sleep," he said.

"I do, and I will."

She crossed her legs.

Though he admired the healthy swell of her calf and the delicate turn
of her slender ankle, he suspected they were about to have an
unpleasant conversation.

There was an air of conflict about her.

He asked, "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Us.

"Just like a woman."

He lowered himself into the matching chair opposite her and stretched
out his legs.

"We're on the run.  There're all sorts of weird conspiracy things going
on, and you want to discuss our relationship."

"We need to assess things."

When she shrugged, the effort became a stretching of her shoulders,
then a yawn.

"If you intend to share my bed tonight, we need to get a couple of
things straight.  Ever since I figured out who I was, you've been
treating me like a different person."

"You are a different-" "Nonetheless, I am, in most of the essential
ways, the same woman you made love to last night.  But I don't think
you like Carrie as much as you liked Maria."

When he tried to comment, she raised her hand.

"I-et me finish.  I have to admit that mysterious Maria was far more
exotic and exciting than a Boston grad student who teaches foreign
languages.  Has that changed the way you feel about me?"

"I might ask the same question."

"I think you preferred Maria," she said, "because she was confused and
helpless.  She needed you desperately.  And I, Carrie, am not
accustomed to needing anyone.

"Oh, damn."

He groaned.

"A feminist."

"Let's not use labels, Jason."

Her snappy comebacks amazed him.

She was verbally sparring while she was so tired that she could barely
keep her eyes open.

He hated to imagine how sharp she'd be when she was well rested and
alert.

"Strong women don't scare me," he said.

"I like a challenge."

"Your first wife," she said, "was an invalid for two years.  And you're
almost a doctor.  Jason, you might consider that the trait you found
most attractive in Maria, when I was playing that- role, was her
'neediness."

Hadn't he had almost the same conversation with his sister Alice?

Hadn't Alice advised him to give Maria space, not to smother her?

"You were never helpless," he said.

"You escaped from the bedroom by climbing through the attic.  You held
a gun on me.  I wouldn't call that docile."

"Why were people so willing to believe that you would find yourself a
mail-order bride?  Because you're the type of man who needs a wife who
needs you, a woman you could rescue?"

"And you don't need rescuing?"

She sighed.

"This is not my finest hour.  But most of the time, I'm capable of
giving as good as I get."

"Listen, Carrie, I don't know where this is leading.

Frankly, we've got a couple Of other problems that take precedence.

"

" I only want to know one thing.

And you don't have to be afraid of hurting me.

" She braced her forearms on the chair, as if preparing to take a
blow.

" Do you care for me, about me, at all?

"I-et's find out."

He pushed himself smoothly from the chair and stood in front of her.

Holding out his hand toward her, he said, "Kiss me, Carrie."  I " Oh,
please.

We've done this test before, Jason.

"I've never kissed your lips, Carrie Kelly."

She accepted his hand and rose to her feet, standing only inches from
him.

"All right."

This time.

she knew exactly what to expect.

Instead of holding back, she flowed into his arms and allowed her
emotions free rein.

Incredible sensations flooded her exhausted body.

The limp, tired ache was replaced by a sexy lassitude.

Lazily, she rubbed against him.

Her hands fondled the hard muscles of his back.

When his tongue plunged into her mouth and he held her so tightly that
she could not draw breath, Carrie was overwhelmed.

She broke off their kiss, gasping.

His gray eyes smoldered, hot as the banked fires of an active
volcano.

He was breathing hard.

"Was that good for you?"

"Gosh, I don't know.  Can we try again?"

They fell across the bed, enfolded in each other's arms.

He was careful with her, teasing and caressing her body with light
strokes.

But the heat was there.

A gentle flame, sweetly tended with kisses, grew into an exPlosive
passion.

before had a man aroused her so completely.

Never Nor fulfilled her so perfectly.

After they'd made love, she snui!

i!

led under the covers.

The pillowcase felt cool against her flushed cheek.

Quietly she said, "No flannel gown tonight."

"Too bad.  I'd love to rip it off."

Carrie drifted toward sleep, willing the terrible memories to silence
and welcoming the pleasant side of her past.

And her future?

She wished for dreams of Jason.

They might not be in love, might not be wholly codpatible, but there
was no denying that they connected on a wanton, primal level.

He kissed the tip of her nose before leaving the bed.

Sleep well, " he whispered " Tomorrow, we'll go to the police.

"There's a nice romantic thought," he said.

"Anything else?"

Her eyelids lifted slowly and she gazed into his handsome face.

"What's my name?"

,cc aggie.

Beautiful, sweet, smart Carrie ny of Boston.

" He patted her shoulder and left the bed, strollin g naked to the
second-floor window that overlooked, the street.  outside, the late
summer dusk had begun to settle and the last rays of the sun were
hidden behind a shadowless appearance to the gray cloud, giving a flat,
he repeated in his cious old neighborhood.

Carrie Kelly, mind.

That wasn't the name on the ID cards he'd given her.

In that identity, she was his wife.

His mail-order bride.

The irony was irresistible.

A mail-order bride who was a strong-willed feminist?

impossible!

He pulled the curtains and turned on the green shaded lamp on the
desktop.

There was still work to be done.

Jason needed to clarify this whole story before they marched into the
police station with a crazy tale based on the memory of a woman who
admittedly had amnesia.

He started with a phone call to Maine.

"He@o, Alice?"

"Jason, where are you?  You left with the boat sunk and a mess on the
island."

"A mess?"

"You and your bride were apparently having quite a fling.  When I went
over on Sunday with a pecan pie, it looked as if the place had been
ransacked.," " Sorry about that," he said.  Sorrier than she could
know.

Why would anyone have torn up the house?

Looking for Truth?

If so, they were too late.

Jason smiled to himself.

Thanks to Mr.

Elmont, they could buy a copy at their bookstore.

"The mess was terribly embarrassing," Alice said.

"The reverend was with me."

"Reverend Blaylock?"

"Who else?  Really, Jason, what's wrong with you?

Put on your thinking cap.

Anyway, the reverend was very sweet about the whole thing.

He told me that strange behavior was to be expected from newlyweds.

Which makes me feel quite fortunate that I never entered the state of
wedlock.

"I'd like to call the reverend," Jason said, hoping for information.

"You know, to apologize.  Do you have his number?"

"Well, it's the same as always.  But he's not there.

Had an unfortunate death in the family and had to leave town.

" " Of course.  " Jason tried another tactic.  If he could somehow
reach Wally Blaylock and inform him of what had happened to Maria,
Wally might be able to offer protection.  " But the church must have a
forwarding number.

"I'm sure they do.  But it's somewhere remote.  One of those Central
American countries you're so fond of.

The reverend's family member was a missionary.

It didn't take a mathematician to add up these figures.

Wally Blaylock had been called to Guermina, leaving Jason and Carrie to
fend for themselves.

That particular source of information was gone.

"And guess what e@?"

Alice said with relish.

There was a dead body washed up on the mainland a few miles south of
here.

Chaptf,

Jason cringed washed up onsh beach had been he should have diately.

He'd sai, Blaylock, who Wally was be conformation.

"A body," he said,"

" He was shot to death.  happens when you legs ment.  "

"I wish."

"And so, w " We're in N was roughly ci speaker.

"She " Lovely girl, any indication, made a cluck in You remember
dence.

Don't ycju go protection.

"But the church must have a forwarding number.

"I'm sure they do.  But it's somewhere remote.  One of those Central
American countries you're so fond of.

The reverend's family member was a missionary.

It didn't take a mathematician to add up these figures.

Wally Blaylock had been called to Guermina, leavin Jason and Carrie to
fend for themselves.

That 9

particular source of information was gone.

"And guess what else?"

Alice said with relish.

"There was a dead body washed up on the mainland a few miles south of
here."

Chapter Fourteen Jason cringed inside when Alice mentioned a body

washed up onshore.

no ugh his killing of the guy on the beach had been clear self-defense,
witnessed by Carrie, he should have reported the death to the police
immediately.

He'd said as much to his source contact, Wally Blaylock, who'd advised
him to ignore it.

Good old Wally was becoming a font of bad advice and lousy
information.

"A body," he said, "An accident?"

"He was shot to death," Alice reported.

"See what happens when you leave town?  You miss all the excitement."

"I wish."

"And so, where are you?  How's your bride?"

"We're in Vermont," he lied.

Telling Alice anything was roughly comparable to announcing it over a
loudspeaker.

"She's fine."  " Lovely girl, Jason.

But if the state of your house is any indication, she's not much of a
housekeeper.

" She made a clucking noise, indicating disapproval.  " Now, You
remember what I said, she needs her independence.

Don't you go spoiling her.

He glanced over at Carrie's sleeping form on the bed.

Even at rest, she had a stubborn cast to her features.

"Not much chance of that."

"Well, I don't approve of toting up long-distance charges.  Thanks for
letting me know you're all right.

"Bye now.

"Wait, Alice.  Any other gossip?  About Chip, or maybe Eddy Elliot?"

"Is that why you called?  To gossip.  Things must be pretty dull on
that honeymoon if you're homesick."

"No, I just figured that-"

"Nothing's going on, far as I know.

Haven't seen hide nor hair of Chip or Eddy.

But I've heard that Eddy is setting his sights on big things in the
next election.

Maybe even running for governor.

"How about that."

4C@d why would you think I know all the gossip, anyway?

' "Good night, Alice."

"Tell that little wife of yours buenas noches for me."

He hung up the phone.

The discovery of the -dead man on the beach wits unfortunate.

Jason was aware that currents and tides could be mapped, indicating the
most likely points of entry.

And the bullets would match his gun, a gun registered in his name.

If the local police bothered to pursue the forensics at all, the
situation could get touchy.

especially if, the next governor of Maine, Eddy Elliot, started pushing
the police in the right direction.

Maybe it wasn't the greatest idea in the world to call the police first
thing in the morning.

It was entirely possible that the police, the FBI and the CIA were
looking for him.

He wished that he and Carrie had a better idea of all the intrigues.

It was damned unfortunate that Wally wasn't there to help.

"Jason?"

He was immediately sorry to have disturbed her rest.

it It's okay, Carrie.

Go back to sleep.

' I "You're the most wondrous sight I've ever seen" , she murmured.

" Sitting there naked and thinking.

He had forgot about clothes, he thought, a little embarrassed.

Her admiration made him feel like a calendar boy.

She made a sound, very much like a growl.

"Come back to bed."

He crossed the room and slipped beneath the covers beside her.

"I thought you were exlyausted."  " I am.

So tired that I'm beyond tired.

" She turned her back to him and snuggled against his chest.  " Oh,
this feels good.

I adore the hair on your chest.

Much softer than the stubble on your chin.

The movement of her body against his brought an instant arousal.

He wrapped his arm around her and cupped the firmness of her breast.

What did Alice have to say?

I heard you mention a body.

Wtiols dead?

" " You know, this isn't the kind of conversation I usually expect to
have with a beautiful woman in bed.  "

"I'M an unusual woman.  Tell me."

"The guy I shot on the beach."

He explained about the tides and the forensics and the possible
influences of Eddy Elliot.

"I've been thinking about Eddy, too.  My performance in Mr.  Elmont's
office skates pretty close to fraud."

"But you were-" "I was pretending to be someone I'm not.  Obviously
the only reason they hadn't shipped the book was a need for
verification from the author.  I'm not the author.

And now we know the author is dead.

"I'm sorry, Carrie."

"No, I'm glad I did it.  Even if I had known the consequences, I would
have done the same thing.  The publication of that book was Maria's
dream.  She was such a brave, noble woman.  She deserved to have a
dream come true.  Besides, her accusations are going to make a
difference in the politics of her country and perhaps clear up some
corruption here."

Jason rubbed his chin against her hair, catching strands on his
thickening growth of beard.

"Sorry about the stubble burns."

"I'm sure it's good for my complexion.  Like a natural abrasive."

She shifted against him.

The friction of their bodies delighted him.

"We need to think," he said.

"We're in a lot of trouble here, Carrie, and we need to figure out what
to do."

"You're asking me?"

"Why not?  You're intelligent and you know as' much if not more, about
this than I do."

"Maybe you're not as- much of a dinosaur chauvinist as I thought."

"Now who's being quick with the labels."

But he realized that she was right on target.

He seldom discussed plans or ideas with women.

Not that he made a conscious choice not to do so, but it just happened
that way.

Maybe a habit, he thought.

Elena had been ill for a long time and before that she was like a
stranger in a strange land.

She needed him, needed his help, his assistance.

And the other women in his life?

With some chagrin, he admitted to himself that most of his
relationships hadn't lasted long enough to study the behavior patterns.
And, of course, there was Alice,

ME

his older sister.

Jason had spent most of his LIFE trying to hide his secrets from Alice,
like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

"When I was Maria," she said, "you'd be more likely to make a decision,
grab my helpless little hand and tear into action."

"Well, you're not Maria anymore."

And, in some ways, he was glad.

"I need your brain power."

"Oh, I love it when you talk like that."

Mith Carrie, it was different.

He felt like she was his partner.

Definitely an equal.

But a very sexy equal.

Her naked body, rubbing up against him, was pure excitement.

He gave her one final squeeze and sat up on the bed.

"Okay, we need to figure this out."

"Comeback here," she said.

"If I stay in the bed with you, I won't be able to control myself and
we'll end up making love instead of thinking."

"Use your willpower," she said.

"Honey, I'm not a saint."

"Don't call me 'honey."  Not 'honey' or 'baby' or snookums.  " I have a
name."

"All right, Carrie, we've got a couple of problems here.  I'm a
murderer.

And you're a fraud.

Now, what are we going to do?

"When you put it that way, going to the police sounds like a really bad
idea."

He stepped away from the bed and slipped into his trousers while she
grabbed the madras shirt she'd worn over her tank top and buttoned
it.

"Seems to me," he said, "that we did everything for the right motives.
I killed that guy in self-defense."

"And I lied because I believed in Maria and in the book.  I still
do."

She fastened her top button and looked up.

"So, how come we're on the run?"

"Because we've got zero backup.  Nobody behind us.

Nada.

Nothing.

My source contact, Wally Blaylock, has fled like a dog with his tail
between his legs.

He explained what Alice had told him about Wally and the supposedly
deceased missionary relative.

"The way I understood this," Jason said, "was that the source, Wally,
headed a nationwide network of people sympathetic to Guerinina, which
hopefully included some powerful individuals.  But I don't know how to
contact any of them."

"A network," she said.

There was a vague recollection about such a network, but she didn't
bother to concentrate upon it.

"If we knew who they were, we could have allies."

"But only Wally knows and he's in Guermina.  So we're on our own."

"Okay."

She curled her knees beneath her on the bed, aware that she ought to be
more nervous.

They were Wh do we talking about life-and-death situations.

ere start?

"We need more information," he said.

"I lifted the answering machine from your house.  So I'll plug it in
and see if you've gotten 'any interesting messages."

He set up the machine on the desk, and they listened.

There were two messages from Jessica Smith about a missed lunch date
and a couple of quick business-related calls pertaining to translation
work.

"Be sure to save those," she said.

"I don't teach during the summer and I usually don't have as much
work.

Which is nice for me but rough on my bank account.

The next message was all in Spanish.

"This is Maria Ramos Hernandez."

ME Jason pressed the Pause button.

"Is it?"

"Can't be," she said immediately.

"That call came after I was on the island, after Maria was dead."

Still, she was intrigued.

Who was this woman?

Whywas she impersonating a dead person?

From her experience, it seemed that being Maria was not a safe thing to
do.

He pressed Play and the message continued.

4"Carrie, I am most sorry for the terrible things that have happened.

I must speak to you.

I fear that I have been misrepresented.

Because of my enemies, there is no way to reach me.

I will call again.

Jason told her about his strange conversation with a woman who called
herself Maria.

"That was when I was trying to reach Wally Blaylock."

Carrie was fascinated.

In the back of her mind there was a glimmer of the impossible hope that
somehow Maria had survived.

She pointed to the tape.

"Play it again, Sam."

She listened carefully.

The accent was exactly right.

As a student of languages, Carrie was especially sensitive to voices.

The lilts and slurs peculiar to Guermina were present in this woman's
voice.

"This is puzzling," she said.

"It seems we have an abundance of Marias."

"What if this is the real one?"

"And the woman who came to my house was an impostor?  I don't believe
it.

Besides.

She held up her hand, displaying the heavy gold ring with its design of
rose and thorns.

"Ube woman who came to my house had this.  From the little I know about
Maria Ramos Hernandez, this ring never left her.  It's the way she was
identified."  " The ring.

That's what they were looking for.

" Jason told her about the ransacking of his house on the island.  "
They need the ring to prove that this other woman is Maria.

"Maybe that's the real reason they're following us.

They need the ring.

"But they don't know what it looks like.  When I called the source
number from the airport and talked to some clown who was using a
mechanical device to alter his voice, I described the ring incorrectly
and he didn't notice."

Jason chuckled.

"I told him you'd lost it.  Bet that set things in an uproar."

"Are you sure it was a 'him' on the phone?"  she asked.

He paused.

"I can't be sure.  Through that filtering device, everybody sounds the
same.  You think it was the fake Maria?"

"Maybe."

She shrugged.

"Okay," he said, "now we're making some connections.  The people I've
gotten on that phone number have been Chip and the fake Maria.  We know
they're linked."

"She might be the woman in the picture he showed me.  I know that
wasn't the real Maria."

A twinge of sorrow prickled along her spine and Carrie shivered.

Though she was behaving rationally, she was grieving 'm part of her
mind, thinking of Maria and how she had died violently.

All she had wanted was peace.

All she had wanted was care for the children and the people of her
country who had suffered.

When she looked up, Jason was watching her.

His expression was grave, not impatient or angry.

He was perceptive, she thought.

And sensitive to her moods.

Not a pig at all.

Gently he reached across the bed and patted her knee.

"This is hell, isn't it?"

"We've got to figure it out, Jason.  I only saw Maria once, but when I
was translating her work, she touched my soul."

She squinted hard, stopping the tears that threatened to spill from her
eyes.

"Let's concentrate.

Play the rest of the tape.

There were a couple of hang-ups, then they heard Chip Harrington
introduce himself to Carrie Kelly and say that he needed to talk with
her.

He left the Carriage Lamp Motel as the contact place.

Jason pushed Pause again.

"He might be our last resort.  Chip has obviously got the information
we need.

It's hard for me to believe he's one of the bad guys.

Maybe he's a jerk, but I always thought his heart was in the right
place.

Jason, let's take a look at the facts.

He was after us in the hotel.

He's linked to the fake Maria.

"I know, but I've still got this feeling that he's okay."

"An intuition?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"You might call it that."

"Well, now, Jason, there's an interesting role reversal.  You're going
on intuition.  And I'm going on facts."

"This doesn't have anything to do with gender."

Lightly she teased, "Do I bring out the feminine in you.

"Hell, no.  Listen, Carrie, I don't buy into that 'there's a woman
living in every man and a man in every woman' junk I'm a man.

Period.

She gazed at the hair on his chest, his broad shoulders, the stubble on
his chin.

"I won't argue with that."

"Now, let's get back to these messages.  You've got a hell of a long
tape here."

"That's why I bought this particular machine.  I travel, but I need to
keep in touch with all my clients."

He pressed Play.

The next voice they heard was Eddy Elliot's.

His tone, even over an answering machine, was gloating.

"Well, I guess I've won this little battle.  I know who you are, and
the scam you pulled on Elmont is fraud.  You never fooled me.  Not for
one minute.  I've talked to the real Maria, and she admits the book is
a pack of lies.  I advise you to turn yourself in, Carolyn Kelly, and
bring that idiot, Jason, with you."

They played the message and replayed.

It didn't get any better.

Carrie sighed.

"Were in deep trouble.  What are we going to do?"

"I haven't got a clue."

He yawned.

"I've got a couple of ideas, though."

"Pertaining to our dilemma?"

"Pertaining to your beautiful body.  I know you're going to say this is
'just like a man," but I want to make love to you.  "

"How can you even think about sex?  With all this stuff hanging over
our heads, we could be arrested or shot dead."

"If that's the case," he said, "let's go out with a smile on our
lips."

When he touched her, Carrie was surprised to feel her body respond.

She had other things to consider, 'unportant things.

Her life and liberty hung in t I he, balance.

But when he kissed her, everything else faded.

Sensation directed her moves.

Pleasure overwhelmed her worries.

They made love and fell asleep in each other's arms.

THE NEXT MORNING Jason wakened before her.

It was still early, predawn, and he went to the window and looked out
at the quiet street below.

A kid on a bicycle rode down the center of the road, throwing
newspapers to the right, then the left.

It was a warm, pleasant view of Americana.

As he watched, a light in the house across the street went on.

Carrie was still sleeping, and he didn't want to wake her.

Typically, this was his time of day, the early morning hours when the
sun crept over the edge of the horizon like a secret source of life.

He opened a crack in the curtains so the light wouldn't shine in her
eyes.

Then he took her appointment book from the bag and began flipping
through it.

There was nothing of particular interest, but he found himself
fascinated in trying to decipher her code.

BUMG meant Boston University, Meeting.

SISBD, he guessed, meant that it was her sister's birthday.

On the day before she arrived at the island, the day before they were
married, the mystery initials were MTH.

Myth?

It might be Maria and something else.

But what?

Maria Time Something?

If it had been a baseball headline, the letters might have stood for
Maria Takes Home.

He glanced over at the surprising woman who'd shared his bed last
night.

Had she known Maria was coming?

He wouldn't have been surprised.

ming about Carrie was like following one of those fun house mazes where
there was a different surprise around every corner.

When he'd thought he had her pegged as an uptight grad student, she'd
turned into a sexy kitten.

Kitten?

She was a tiger.

Always had a snappy retort, but she had been lying in the dark and
staring at him.

The woman was a challenge.

She kept him on his toes, bobbing and weaving.

And he was damned glad that she was on his side.

MTH?

He'd ask her about it.

In the phone number book, which she had apparently used for many years,
he found the same strange organization but lack thereof.

Some people were filed under first name, others under last.

There was a full page of schools and universities.

At the edge of one page, under the alphabetical heading of X, he found
a number written in the margin.

It was the phone number he'd called so many times, the phone number for
the source.

Now it made sense!

Carrie was part of the network of people who were sympathetic to
Guermina.

That must have been how she'd been recruited to translate the book.

It also meant that Carrie Kelly wasn't the "play it safe" woman she
pretended to be.

But he'd known that.

She was sensible and practical, but she was adventurous and exotic, as
well.

Last night, in bed, she'd been incredible.  Jason halted his thoughts
before he went too far down that particular pathway.

Or else he'd be forceg to return to the bed and kiss her awake.

Think!

He needed to think so they could get out of this mess and have the time
to get to know each other.

So, Carrie was part of the network.

She was probably Maria7s last scheduled stop before coming to
Passaquoit Island.

He pieced together a possible scenario.

For her final leg of the journey, Maria had intended to drive.

She'd used faked identification, using Mrs.

Jason Wakefield Walker, to rent the Probe in Boston for the trip to
Boothbay Harbor.

But she hadn't gotten any farther than Carrie's house.

After Carrie had escaped from' the swimming pool, she'd taken the
Probe.

Probably because her Toyota wouldn't start.

There was a screech of brakes from the street below, and he pecked out
from behind the curtains.

A car had parked on the opposite side of the street.

A forest green Volvo station wagon.

Chapter Fifteen Chip Harrington shoved open the door of the Volvo and

climbed out from behind the steering wheel.

He hitched up his trousers and stared across the street at the bed and
breakfast.

"Damn," Jason whispered.

How had Chip known where to find them?

There wasn't a clue.

They hadn't left a trail.

He went to the bed and shook Carrie's shoulder.

"We've got to get out here.  Hurry."

Lazily, she smiled.

"Jason, good morning.  I didn't dream you, after all."

She was beautiful, but there wasn't time to appreciate her.

"Chip and his goons just pulled up in front.

We've got to get out of here.

"What?"

Her eyes blinked, tried to focus.

"What did you say?"

"Get up.  Get dressed."

He was already putting on the shirt he'd worn yesterday, checking the
clip in the Beretta.

"Now, Carrie!"

She rolled out of the bed and into her clothes in only a few minutes
while Jason stared out the window, cursing under his breath.

There were four men.

Chip and three others.

They looked out of place in this peaceful neighborhood with its canopy
of trees and well-tended lawns and gracious brick homes.

Jason recognized the guy in the yellow shirt and baseball cap who was
now wearing green.

They spread out.

Two of them split up and headed for opposite corners of the house.

Chip and one other proceeded toward the front door.

Carrie was dressed.

Same clothes as yesterday.

Running shoes without socks.

Her tiny purse slung across her chest.

He grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her toward the door.

"We can't go out the front."

"But the car is parked out there, on the street."

"I think there's probably only going to be one of them watching the
backyard."

They heard Chip and his companion enter through the front door.

The trilling voice of the lady who ran the bed and breakfast called out
to him, "Come on in, the coffee's ready."

Chip's voice was a low rumble.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am.  We're with a federal agency, and we are,
looking for a man and a woman.  He walks with a limp and she has long,
black hair."

"I'll see your identification.?"  Her t The was skeptical.

A typical Yankee woman, Jason thought.

They were standing at the foot of the staircase.

That way out was blocked.

Jason wished he'd taken the time last night to scope out the big old
house.

The only exploring he'd done was to find the bathroom at the end of
the hall and to return to their room.

Carrie pointed.

"There's a back stair.  A servant's staircase.  I remember from when I
took the tour."

"ere?"

End of the hall.

"Don't run," he said.

"They might be able to hear us downstairs."

Cautiously they crept down the carpet runner, aware of every sound,
every creak of the floorboards.

She pulled open a door, the only one not labeled with a room number or
marked as a bathroom, and they were rewarded with a dark, narrow
staircase.

The air was hot and stale, as if the doors had been closed for a long
time, and Jason wondered why.

Was their staircase unsafe?

He stepped ahead of her.

"Up or down?"

she asked.

If they went up they could be trapped like rats in the attic.

"Down."

Carefully he descended, testing each step before he put his weight on
it.

The last thing they needed at this moment was for him to slip and fall
and aggravate his injured leg.

"Close the door, Carrie."

II But it'll be totally dark.

"Close it."

They were entombed in blind shadows.

The only illumination was the slight bit of light that sneaked under
the bottom of the door.

He felt her hands on his arm.

Halfway down, he whispered, "Carrie, if we get stuck, if there's a
problem anywhere along the way and I tell you to run, do it."

"And leave you behind?"

"With this burn leg, I can't keep up with you.  Somebody's got to get
through this mess alive."

"I won't leave you."

Though he adored her statement of loyalty, he deplored this lack of
common sense.

"Don't be foolish.

Just do it.

There wasn't time to argue.

He concentrated on the stairs, which were wobbly and uneven beneath his
feet.

This back stairway was unusable.

Somehow, in the rest of the renovations, it had been overlooked.

They stopped on the landing.

Though the stairs continued downward, there was a door.

They stood against it and listened.

Logically this servant's stair would open into the kitchen on the first
floor, but it was hard to tell where they were without knowing the
floor plan of the house.

The only sound they heard was a radio tuned to an oldies station.

Jason tried the knob.

it turned in his hand.

He pushed.

They were in a large, efficient-looking kitchen.

The scent of baking biscuits wafted enticingly.

No one was there.

"The landlady is probably upstairs, showing Chip our room," he said.

"Let's get out of here."

Past a pantry and a laundry room, there was a doorway.

Surely one of the men was stationed back here, watching the rear.

Even sloppy amateurs would know that much about surveillance.

Jason turned back to her.

"Lees take the stairs down another flight.  There might be a cellar and
an exit from there."

"What's wrong with this door?"

"There's probably somebody standing on the other side with a gun."

"I Oh.

Then the basement it is.

They were back in the narrow space, following the winding stairway down
another flight.

II I'm sure there is a cellar," she said quietly.

I 1)"Y?  I I " Fruit trees.

There were peach trees and a crab apple in front.

That means somebody does canning, making preserves.

And that means a cellar.

"Does it?"

"In the olden days, it did.  I can't imagine anyone going to the
trouble of messing with fruit trees and not using the harvest."

The basement was lighter than the stairwell.

There were three squared windows that shed early morning light into the
musty concrete room with the low ceiling.

Jason made out the shape of a new furnace.

There were stacks of housekeeping supplies and rows and rows of metal
shelves lined with dusty mason jars.

"Preserves," she said.

' tyou see?

'9

"How about a way out of here.  Do you see a door?"

She pointed.

The door was across the basement.

it was a heavy, rough wood, braced against intruders and barred with a
heavy latch.

Jason only hoped there was not a similar lock on the outside.

After they removed the brace and the bar, Jason offered a semblance of
a plan.

"When we get outside, I'll sneak around to the front and make a run for
the car.

When they're distracted, you take off running down the back alley.

"Wait!"

She put her hand on his arm.

"We're not splitting up.  You come with me down the alley."

"We don't know what's back there.  Maybe a gate with a lock."

He tapped his leg.

"I wouldn't get far."

"Okay.  We'll try to make it to the car.  Together."

"Dammit, Carrie.  This isn't the time to be stubborn.  If you can get
clear, contact the police."

"And then what?  Tell them I committed fraud?  No, Jason, we're
sticking together."

"You are the most stubborn female."

"There isn't time for discussion.  If I intended to turn myself in to
the police, I could pick up the phone and do it right now.  It's not an
alternative."

He swallowed his impatience.

"Okay," he said, handing over the car keys.

"You make the run for the car.  I'll cover you.  By the time you've got
it unlocked and turned on, I'll be in the seat next to you."

"Wait!"

"Now what?"

She kissed him fast but hard.

"Just that."

When he eased open the door, pulling it inward, the hinge squawked.

Jason winced at the noise, hoped that whoever was waiting for them in
the backyard would mistake it for a birdcall or a cat in heat.

They squinted for a second, getting accustomed to the splash of morning
light.

The dawn gray had faded swiftly.

The sun was rising.

They were at the bottom of a concrete stairwell.

Nobody was standing at the top.

Jason took that as a good sign.

Since the house stood on a corner lot, they had a fifty-fifty chance
of not being seen if there was only one watcher for the backyard.

Carefully they ascended and peeked over the upper ledge.

There was no one in sight.

The back door and stairway leading down from the kitchen must be on the
other side.

The backyard provided ample cover.

It wasn't blooming with flowers the way Carrie's yard had been, but
there were a number of neatly trimmed shrubs.

A low-maintenance landscaping.

They eased up the stairs and across to the side of the house, standing
in the shelter of a bright yellow forsythia bush.

As they edged along the side of the house, they heard snatches of
conversations through the open windows.

Apparently some of the other boarders took the offer of free breakfast
seriously.

Jason overheard some initials that displeased him.

CIA.

FBI.

Somehow that weasel, Chip, had convinced the landlady that he was with
a certified government agency.

Tbming to Carrie, Jason asked, "I was looking through your appointment
book this morning.  On the day before you came to the island there was
a noteMTH.  What does that stand for?"

"Maria's Truth Here."

"So you were expecting her.  You're part of the network?"

She frowned, then nodded.

"I guess so.  Yes, of course, I am.  I remember now.  That's why they
used me to translate."

"You're almost a spy," he said.

"Somehow I wish my spy training included more than an occasional
newsletter on the progress of freedom in Central American countries."

He peered around the edge of the house.

The only surveillance he could see was one man stationed almost
directly in front of them at the street corner.

He leaned against an oak tree, keeping a casual watch.

Their rental car was on the other side of where he was standing,
tightly hemmed in by other cars that had parallel parked on either
end.

"Are you going to shoot him?"

Carrie asked.

"Not unless I have to."

"Why not?  He':; just standing there.  You could wing him."

"In spite of what you saw on the island, I'm not a marksman.  If I
shoot and miss, they'll all be after us."

" Then what are we going to do?"

"Let's hope he's as bad a shot as I am.  You take off.

Head to the car.

Don't let the noise distract you.

"The noise?  You mean, the bullets flying around my head?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Sure thing, Jason.  I'm cool."

She braced herself to start running.

"Carrie.

She turned her head and stared at him.

"I love you, Carrie Kelly."

"And I love you, Jason.  With all my heart."

She took off.

Jason leapt out from behind the bushes and fired.

The guy leaning against the tree was so startled that he almost dropped
his gun.

Jason was halfway across the lawn before the other man had aimed.

Jason fired again.

The other guy dropped back.

He still hadn't pulled off one shot.

There was a blast from the other side of the house.

Another man appeared.

He must have been watching the kitchen door.

Jason whirled.

Fired at one.

Then the other.

He was almost to the sidewalk.

Carrie was inside the car.

He heard the engine turn over with a satisfying roar.

Jason turned.

Hardly aiming, he issued one more shot.

He saw Chip run onto the p@rch.

He,was yelling something, but Jason wasn't about to stop and Usten.

He dove into the passenger seat.

Three of the four men had been accounted for.

"Let's go, Carrie."

She slammed in reverse, bashing the fender of the car behind them.

In drive, she stomped on the gas.

"Hold it right there, lady."

Man number four was in the back seat of the car.

He held a gun to the base of Carrie's neck.

In Spanish he said, "We will not be going anywhere.  Stay very
still."

He held out his hand to Jason.

"Give me your gun.

Now.

There wasn't much choice but to obey.

k@ JASON AND C sat together in the back of the green Volvo.

The man who had surprised them was driving.

Chip sat in the passenger seat, holding a gun on them.

"You don't know how much I hate doing this," he said.

"Why didn't you call me back?  We could have done this without
violence."

"How did you know where to find us?"

Carrie asked.

"We're all on the same side," he said.

His face crinkled with the effort to sound sincere' "Really.  You guys
just II took a wrong turn.  Listening to the wrong people.

"Like Wally Blaylock?"

Jason was biding his time, waiting to make a break.

They hadn't been killed yet, and that was good.

But he didn't know why not.

"I suppose Wally misled us."

"Not his fault.  The reverend is a good man."

Chip was willing to forgive everyone.

"Hey, he was just like you.  He got confused when things didn't go
strictly according to plan.  They need somebody like me at the top,
somebody who's able to go with the flow."

"How did we get confused-) " When Maria didn't make all her check-in
points.

You see, she knew somebody was after her, and she didn't want to take
any chances.

I guess that's when Carrie here decided to step in and take her
place.

" He gave her one of those big smiles.  " I knew from the start that
you weren't Maria.

@' "As I recall," she said.

"I told you repeatedly that I wasn't any sort of heroine."

In different circumstances, Jason would have debated that statement.

He thought she showed all the attributes of courage, strength and
grace.

But right now he wanted to concentrate on getting as much information
as possible.

"How is it, Chip, that you know so much about all this?"

"Because I'm getting my info from the number one person.  Maria Ramos
Hernandez herself."

Carrie started to object, but Jason squeezed her hand and talked over
her.

"You've met Maria?  You've talked to her?"

"That's where I'm taking you right now.  We've got to have a little
chat and straighten out this mess you two made with the book."

"What mess?"

Carrie demanded.

"The book is in print.  It's being distributed.  Do you mean to tell me
that Maria, who is really Juana Sabbatta, doesn't want to see Truth on
the shelves in the bookstores?"

"Exactly right.  She says there are a lot of mistakes.

A lot of accusations that are misleading.

Untruthful.

She's hoping we can do a media blitz and get this thing under control
before it goes too far.

"A media blitz," Jason said.

He'd seen the twinkle in Chip's eye.

Whoever this Maria was, she was a clever manipulator.

"Let me guess.  She wants you to handle the media."

"Who else?  Not only do I know the right people, but.

I'm bilingual and I can handle the flack from abroad.

They rode in silence for a few blocks.

Jason still wasn't sure what value he and Carrie had as live
witnesses.

The only thing he could think of was that this new incarnation of Maria
wanted the pleasure of killing them herself.

"You still didn't answer my question, Chip.  How did you find us?"

"You know I'm not real big on government."

He held up his graying ponytail and flapped the end.

"Hey, I'm an aging hippie myself.  But those phone taps sure do come in
handy."

"You bugged my sister's phone?"

Jason wouldn't have guessed in a mill io years.

"You actually had someone who would sit there and listen to her
conversations?"

"From what I understand, it was fascinating stuff.

Your sister, Alice, makes our little town in Maine sound like Peyton
Place.

If all those women were really sleeping with the milkman, the cows
would have reason to blush.

"I suppose you got authority for the tap through Eddy Elliot."

"Eddy's been a champ throughout this mess.  He contacted us, if you can
believe that."

"How?"

"'nrough people in Guermina.  Anyway, he and Maria talked for a while,
and he agreed to do anything to help us out of this problem, including
fake identification for a phony government agency.  That came in handy
at the boardinghouse."

"And the phone taps," Jason said.

"Ain't technology grand."

Chip tried a folksy chuckle.

"That's how we almost found you in New York.  Before you got smart and
changed hotels."

"And in Boston the first time?"

she asked.

"How were you able to follow us then?"

"That was my lead," he said proudly.

"On the day of the wedding, I put a bug in Jason's office."  I " That's
when you stole Jason's Beretta," Carrie said.

"But why did you leave me that note?"

"I didn't steal anybody's gun.  What note'?"

"The one you left under my pillow.  It was in Spanish.  It said I was
in danger."

He shook his head.

"That wasn't me."

"Then who?"

She directed the question at Jason, and he had to wonder.

As far as he knew, there was only one other person at the wedding who
spoke Spanish.

Wally Blaylock.

What sort of crazy logic had led Wally to arm her?

How the hell did he fit into this scheme?

"So, anyhow," Chip said, glad to be talking about himself again.

"When I got to the island, I stayed outside and listened on my bug.

I heard you talking about Paktel's, the jewelry store in Boston.

"On your surveillance equipment," Jason clarified.

"Kind of a fancy name for it.  This stuff is nothing sophisticated or
powerful.  Has a range of maybe five hundred yards."

Spies R Us, Jason thought.

"Why?"

"You were so touchy about giving me information that I figured
something must be going on."

"So you were acting like a reporter," Jason said.

"Looking for a scoop?"

"You got it.  Then, after I dropped you off at- the marina, these guys
approached me.  They took me to Maria, and she saw the obvious
advantages in hooking up with a guy like me."

Jason sank back against the seat of the car.

The, barely suppressed grin on Chip's face told him that this reporter
was in seventh heaven.

Involved in high-level stuff.

Pretending that he was a government agent.

Holding a gun and lecturing them.

Chip Harrington was one of those guys who always stood on the sidelines
and cheered when the home team made a touchdown.

This time Chip thought he was carrying the ball, and he was happy.

No more a reporter.

Chip Harrington was part of the news.

Jason tried that tactic.  "Say, Chip.  I don't suppose you saw that
tiny piece in the Boston newspaper about

EL

an.

unidentified woman who drowned in the public swimming pool near
Carrie's house.

"Can't say that I did.  Why?"

"She was murdered, Chipper."

Jason noticed that the driver reacted slightly.

The muscles in the back of his neck tensed.

"Your friend-the woman who claims to be Juana Sabbatta-and her henchmen
killed her."

"And why was that?"

His voice was totally disbelieving.

"Because the woman who was killed was the real Maria.  She had the
ring.

Gave it to Carrie.

Show him.

Carrie held up her right hand.

Maria's heavy gold ring with the rose and thorns pattern was on her
middle finger.

Elena's ring sparkled on her pinkie.

Still holding the gun on them, Chip took her hand.

"Damn, that's beautiful.  Are those real sapphires and emeralds?"

"Yes."

She glanced at Jason.

Silently they shared the realization that Chip didn't know that Maria's
ring was the far more simple gold one.

"Well, I can see why everybody has been going crazy trying to find
this.

Must be worth a small fortune.

"Must be."

They parked in front of Carrie's house, right behind her Toyota.

" She's here?  " Carrie questioned.

" In my house?

"Staking it out.  Sooner or later, we figured you'd have to come back
here again."

As they marched down the aisle of flowers with Chip and another gunman
at their back, Carrie muttered furiously about breaking and entering.

At the door they waited while Chip tapped a coded knock.

The door opened wide.

They were welcomed inside by another Maria.

Chapter Sixteen

Carrie recognized the woman from the photograph Chip had shown her.

Maria?

A respected journalist?

Not hardly!

This woman had a wild, exotic look, with long, black hair that tangled
in frizzy knots.

Screaming red lipstick slashed across her olive complexion.

Her dark eyes were emphasized by heavy-lidded makeup that turned every
expression into a smoldering glance.

She had emphasized the exotic aspects of her features.

Likewise, she wore a low, off-the-sfioulder blouse in vivid scarlet,
and tight black pants.

High heels, of course.

It was impossible for Carrie to avoid comparing this, phony with the
real Maria who had been quiet in appearance but radiated inner
strength.

This version of Maria-flashy and trashy-made Carrie want to spit.

"At last we meet," the woman said to Carrie, but she saved her smile
for Jason.

"And you were to be my husband.  These misunderstandings are a
shame."

Indeed, Carrie thought.

Murder was such a shame, such a pity.

The anger that simmered inside her threatened to spill out in a tirade
that would do no one any good and might result in their being summarily
shot.

She was glad when Jason spoke.

"I understand there's a problem," he said, "with the translation of
your book."

"Inaccurate," she said.

She spoke in Spanish.

"The truth is distorted in so many ways.  I do not blame Carrie for
this.

Oh, no.

The problem came from people who were very close to me.

I was betrayed.

Carrie noticed that Chip was watching closely and listening.

She wasn't sure how much power he had within this organization, but he
did have a gun and if he could be convinced that this was not the real
Maria, they might have a chance to escape.

There was only one other person in the room with them.

He'd been driving the Volvo.

She knew he had a gun.

That was only two.

Plus Maria.

The odds weren't overwhelming.

But the driver left the room, and then Carrie heard sounds from the
kitchen, smelled the scent of cooking onions.

There were more men out there.

This was going to be tricky.

Their only advantage, she figured, was the fact that this was her
house.

She was familiar with every inch of it.

There had to be some way she could use that knowledge.

While the fake Maria denounced the people who had betrayed her to
Jason, Carrie sauntered to her sofa and sat opposite the television
set.

Her television set.

The remote had been discarded on the sofa, and Carrie resented that
they had been watching her television.

And she hated the fact that this horrible parody of Maria had made her
home, her sanctuary, into a headquarters.

There were mugs and glasses scattered on the end tables.

The remnants of a fast-food lunch littered her coffee table.

Maria and her little friends were pigs, she thought angrily.

-How dare they come in here and act like they had the right to eat her
food and drink her coffee!

Carrie's rear molars grated, but she held tight to her selfcontrol.

After all that had happened-the murder, the drugging, the man on the
beach, the constant ursuit-it was absurd to lose her temper because
they'd mussed her living room.

Chip, she remembered.

There might be a way to get Chip to help them.

The newspapers were piled up beside the coffee table, and Carrie
shifted through them, pretending a casual interest.

When she found the article about the unidentified woman in the nearby
swimming pool, she passed it to Chip.

"Here's that story we were telling you about."

She strode toward Maria, wanting nothing more than to knock her off her
stiletto heels that were probably marring the finish on Carrie's
hardwood floors.

"So, Maria, when shall we start on the revisions for your book?  Now
that you're here, I can make sure I've got the information right."

"Too late."

She waved her hand extravagantly, flashing her long, crimson
fingernails.

"No one will believe me now.  Not after all thosp lies."

"What are you going to do?"

Denounce the book and the publisher.

"With the help of Edward Elliot," Carrie said.

"The senator.  Yes, he will help me."

Chip cleared his throat.

"Maria, I have a question."

"Vnat is it?"

The woman's disdain was clear, an indication that Chip was not high in
the pecking order.

But he didn't seem to care.

Like the good little believer he was, Chip stuck the newspaper article
beneath Maria's penciled eyebrows.

"Do you know anything about this?"

She shook her head.

"Urban tragedy.  Maybe drugs were involved."

A heavyset man strolled from Carrie's kitchen, picking his teeth.

She recognized him instantly.

Big man.

Sloping, heavy forehead.

He was the brute who'd held her arm while the other had stabbed the
needle and erased her past.

She would never forget that evil face.

Rage shot through her, tightening her muscles.

"Ask him," she said.

"Drugs were involved, weren't they?"

He didn't bother to deny anything.

He looked down on her and chuckled, as if dismissing an annoying
flea.

This time she wasn't intimidated.

Her anger, her sense of violation, built to an unreasonable point.

Her thighs tensed.

She was prepared to launch herself at him, to claw the stupid grin off
his face.

Jason touched her arm.

Though it looked like a casual gesture, she knew he meant restraint.

Without saying a word, his expression told her not to strike out.

Not yet.

Maria held out her hand.

"The ring.  I would like to have my ring back."

Over my dead body, Carrie almost said before she realized that her
death could be easily arranged.

She pretended to struggle with the ring.

"Sorry, it doesn't want to come off."

"It will," Maria said.

"Perhaps my friend here can help."

The large man lumbered toward her.

"Don't touch me."

Carrie heard her voice go shrill.

"Don't you come near me."

He sneered and caught hold of her arm.

In an instant Jason had spun him around.

- He delivered a sharp jab to the man's lantern jaw, then another quick
punch to the stomach.

Again Jason's hands lashed out with unbelievable speed and force.

Caught off guard, the big man's eyes widened in surprise, then he
toppled to the floor.

Carrie whirled around.

This could be their chance.

They could still escape.

"Don't move."

The woman who called herself Maria held a deadly steel automatic, aimed
and ready to fire.

"Stay back," she said.

"Nothing would give me more pleasure, Jason, than to remind you of your
previous injury with a bullet in your leg."

Chip stepped forward.

"I really don't think that's necessary.  These are reasonable people,
Maria.  We can take care of everything without bloodshed."

"I have no more patience for reasoning."

She held the gun at Carrie's head.

"Give me the ring."

She snapped at the man on the floor.

"Stand up.  Get over here, you ox."

Slowly and resentfully, he obeyed.

She placed the gun in his fist.

"Cover them.  Now, Carrie, I will have the ring."  ) Carrie twisted
both rings off her fingers.  " Ask-her, Chip.

Ask her how I got it.

"It was stolen from me," Maria 'said, tossing her frizzy hair.

"Taken from me at gunpoint."

"This ring is symbolic," Carrie said.

"Very important.  It's the only tangible identification for Juana
Sabbatta.  You described it in your book, didn't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"I can tell you the page number," Carrie said to Chip.

"You can verify this."

Carrie held out a ring in each hand.

"Okay, Maria.

if you are Maria, which is the ring?

Here we have the golden rose and thorns, beauty and pain .

Here we have emeralds and sapphires, symbolizing growth and idealism.

Which one?

After an instant's hesitation, the woman chose the rose.

"This is my ring.  I would be a fool to own the other, such an
expensive ring.  I would sell it.  The people of my country are in such
need."

"You're right, of course," Carrie said.

"I am a practical woman."

Carrie turned to Chip.

"But there is no description of this ring in the book."

"Perhaps not in the version you translated.  That is not my book.

That book is lies.

Not Truth.

She was good, Carrie thought.

Had an answer for everything.

If she actually managed to perpetrate this fraud, she would do well on
talk shows.

"Are you an actress?"

"On occasion."

"And this is one of those occasions."

She turned to Chip, pleaded with him.

"Don't you see?  She's a fake."

"But I have had enough of this nonsense," Maria said.

"Carrie and Jason, you have put me in an uncomfortable position with
the publication of this book.

But I forgive you.

I suggest we go together, right now, to New York and talk with this
Mr.

Elmont.

" She turned to Chip.  " You must come, too.

"Sure thing."

"We are agreed," she said.

"It's hard to argue," Jason said, "when somebody is holding a gun on
me."

She tossed her head and laughed, taking the gun from the big man.

Though she did not aim it, she didn't put the gun away.

"We do have the problem of transportation.  I would wish to leave the
Volvo here for my other men.  They are accustomed to driving it, and
the paperwork is in order.  We shall take your car, Carrie."

"It wouldn't start the other day," she said with some satisfaction.

If they were really going to New York, she wasn't looking forward to
confronting Ehnont.

He'd been so kind, so stalwart in facing Eddy Elliot's creepy
threats.

She hated to pull the rug out from under him.

Sorry.

"You will give the keys to Chip, and he will fix it."

She gave him one of those smoldering looks.

"Chip is a man of so many diverse talents."

"Sure," he said.

"I can get it running.  I can use the other car to jump it."

"The keys," Maria demanded of Carrie.

Carrie wanted to hold out, but what was the point?

She dug into her purse and handed over the car keys to Chip.

"Anything else?  You've taken over my house, now my car.  Is there
anything else I can do for you?"

"You can be silent until we depart."

She turned to Chip.

"Please hurry with the car."

Chip bounded out the door with the enthusiasm of a young man on his
first date, eager to please.

Maria told the other man to go with him.

To help him.

When 'he strode past Maria and Jason he made a low rumbling noise in
the back of his throat.

"What fools," Maria said distastefully when they had left.

"Iley are expendable."

E,xpendable?

Carrie felt a surge of panic rise up inside her.

Expendable!

This woman had just sent Chip out the door to his death.

"The car!  There's something wrong with the car."

"A bomb," Jason guessed, confirming her fears.

"This woman never intended for us to meet Ehnont again."

"Most assuredly not," she said.

No longer bothering with the flashing smile and charm, her tone was
cold, ruthless as a cobra about to strike.

"How could I let you live, Carrie?  You witnessed the death of
Maria."

"I could forget about it.  I promise not to tell anyone."

She glanced toward the door.

"We can't just let Chip go out there and be blown to bits.  I've got to
stop him."  But she already heard the grind of the key in the
ignition.

"It's all very neat," Jason said.

"You have the car explode, killing Chip and the man who murdered
Maria.

No killer, no crime.

Right?

"He is a bungling fool.  He was supposed to make the deaths of Maria
and Carrie look like an accident."

"Why Carrie?"

"It seemed expedient to eliminate the translator of the book.  She
would have the most intimate knowledge."

Carrie stood at the window and shouted.

"Chip!

Come back!

" " He won't pay attention to you," Maria said.  " He listens only to
me, only to the orders I give him.

"So what happens to us?"

Jason asked.

"How were you planning to eliminate Carrie and me?"

"It is so obvious.  After the car explodes, and the police arrive, they
will also find you both dead.  Shot.  It was a battle, I will tell
them.

Of course, I will be smeared with your blood, trying pathetically to
save your lives.

I will weep.

I will mourn for you.

"Like an actress."

"Dramatic skill is only one of my many talents."

The look she aimed at Jason left no doubt as to another talent.

"How sad that I was never allowed to marry you.

That might have been a role I could enjoy.

From the window Carrie watched as Chip tried again and again to start
the car.

"Why?"

she said.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Cash payment.  First, I was being paid by officials in Guermina.

But your Senator Elliot has made a far more lucrative offer.

I prevent the book from being taken seriously, then I drop out of
sight.

With enough money to live in comfort.

Somewhere other than Guermina.

She eyed Jason.

"I might even find myself a rich American husband."

Carrie saw Chip climb out of the car.

The other man did the same.

They went to the front and popped the hood latch.

She prayed they would find the bomb.

"When the car explodes," Maria said, "you will also die."

"You haven't been in this country long," Jason said.

"It's going to take more than a couple of tears to convince the police
you had nothing to do with this blood bath."

"I have the influence of Senator Elliot," she said.

"Oh, yes, and I will have an impeccable witnesses' " You've got to stop
this!

" Came came away from the window.  When she had approached within ten
feet of Maria, the gun raised threateningly.  One more step, she
thought.

What did it matt@r?

She was going-to .

die anyway.

Again, Jason held her back.

He caught hold of her arm.

"No, Carrie."

"ILX t her come.  Then you will both be dead so much more quickly."

She glanced toward the window.

" Why aren't those idiots starting the car?"

She was momentarily distracted, but not for long enough.

Carrie judged that Jason was closer.

She could tell by the way he was standing, with his weight on his good
leg, that he was prepared to spring.

Any distraction.

Any reason for Maria to look away.

Carrie sank down on the sofa.

Her hand closed on the remote for the television.

"We could pay you, Maria.

Jason is wealthy.

You saw that ring.

"Oh, yes."

She laughed coldly.

"And when I was free from jail, would I have time to enjoy my
earnings?"

Carrie clicked on the television.

The loud voice of a commercial blasted.

Maria turned her head.

That was all the opening Jason needed.

He leapt through the air, knocking her off her feet.

The gun fired.

He struggled with her for only a few seconds before she was disarmed.

Jason had the gun.

The barrel was poised inches from Maria's face.

Carrie threw open the door.

Yelling for Chip's attention and waving her arms.

"Get away from the car!"

He was standing in front of the hood.

He looked up, perplexed.

The blast of the car bomb shattered the air with a wave of heat.

She saw Chip thrown clear.

The other man, she didn't see.

Didn't care to see.

Carrie raced back into the house.

Jason held the gun on Maria, who was seated in a rockin chair.

Carrie saw the dark stain of blood on his left arm near the shoulder.

"Jason, you were shot."

"I'm all right.  How's Chip?"

"He wasn't in the car.  But he was thrown for quite a distance."

She couldn't take her eyes off the wound.

"Can I get you something?  What should I do?"

"Stay right here.  Don't move."

"I wouldn't mind a drink," Maria said.

"Whiskey, straight."

Carrie wheeled around and glared at her.

"I don't serve reptiles."

"So bitter?"

She was pretty damn calm.

"Don't you get it, lady?

Even if you have friends in high places, you're going to jail.

"An American jail would be better than the bell of my homeland.

"maybe Truth will make a difference.

" Sadly, she looked to Jason.  " Can I get you a glass of water or
something?

II Stay right here, Carrie.

He still sounded tense, and she didn't know why.

They heard the scream of sirens.

The emergency vehicles would arrive in minutes.

ct jason you can relax.

It's finally over.

"Not quite," Jason said.

"There's still that impeccable witness that Maria mentioned."

"Who?"

"He's here.  In the kitchen.  Or in the bedroom.

Somewhere.

Listening.

it's you, isn't it, reverend?

"Have you gone crazy, Jason?"

"I'm sure that blowing up the car and shooting us was all his plan.

He's good at inventing complicated cover stories.

Aren't you, Wally?

There was some commotion on the street in front of her house, but
Carrie heard the sound of footsteps in her kitchen.

She stepped aside, allowing Jason a clear shot if someone should walk
through the kitchen door.

"The reverend was the one who left you the note under your pillow,
Carrie.  His assassins were probably al like a ready in place, and he
figured it would look more legitimate gun battle if you were armed."

it made a horrible kind of sense.

Poor old Wally has been playing it from both ends, telling us one
thing, telling Maria another.

" He raised his voice.  " This time you got too complicated, Wally.

Too many lies.

From the rear of the house they heard the door slam At the same time
Carrie's neighbor appeared at the open front door and peered through
the screen.

The police were on her heels.

Carrie moved close to Jason, touched his arm.

"Are you going after the reverend?"

"No.  Let him stay on the run."

Running, she knew, was a terrible fate.

She knew the moments of ice-cold fear when there was silence.

She knew the fire of questions that could brand your heart with
confusion so you would never trust again.

She and Jason had been lucky.

They had survived.

BRILL shimmer of waves surrounded the Elena as Jason stretched out in
the cockpit.

They were sailing toward the mainland.

Carrie stood at the helm.

Her long, black hair floated on the breeze, and her wedding dress
tossed gracefully.

"I can't believe you wanted me to wear the same dress," she said.

"It worked fairly well the first time."

"Honestly, Jason, you can't think the first time we were married by
that snake, Wally Blaylock, was a good time."

"Wonder how Wally's doing in jail," he said.

"Didn't last a week on the run."

"Well, of course not," she said in the matter-of-fact voice he had come
to adore.

"Wally didn't have me there to help him out."

" And what is that supposed to mean?"

"You never could have made it without me."

He laughed.

They'd been laughing often during the past carefree month they'd spent
on the island.

Laughing and making love with the intense vigor of a couple of
teenagers.

But their decisions, he thought, showed a great deal of maturity.

She'd given up her house in Boston and was managing to nurture some
wild daisies on the shoreline.

The interior of his home was filled with pots of blooming plants.

She'd brought life to the old house.

And, as soon as they had discovered she was pregnant, they'd decided to
legalize their previous marriage.

Carrie pointed toward the marina.

"There's Alice and Chip.  I can tell from here that she's lecturing him
about something."

"Maybe he's lucky that he lost half his hearing in that explosion."

"And look!"

She waved vigorously.

"It's Harvey Elmont and that publicity woman from the publishing
house.

I'm so glad they made it.

Jason stood and craned his neck.

"They're .  going to try to pressure you into going on tour to promote
the book, even though it's already a, bestseller.  Don't do it."

"Are you forbidding- me?"

Hell, no.

You'd be on the road in the blink of an eye, if for no other reason
than to prove I can't tell you what to do.

"How can you say that?"

she teased.

"Here I am, decked out like a new bride, ready to take a solemn vow to
love, honor and obey.

"Fat chance."

He stepped up beside her and fitted his arm snugly around her waist.

"I don't expect obedience.  I love the way you constantly surprise me.
I love you, Carrie Kelly."

"And I love you."

When she gazed up into the warm gray eyes of her handsome
husband-to-be, the father of the child she carried, her heart was so
full she felt like she might burst from happiness.

"Jason Wakefield Walker the Third," she said.

"Yes?"

"You may kiss the bride."