For years readers have asked how they can get the original The McKenna Legacy novels. I’m pleased that I now have the opportunity to bring them to you in digital format. And for those of you who would like to have all three related books, with my pleasure, here they are in a special package:

See Me in Your Dreams

Tell Me No Lies

Touch Me in the Dark

Good reading!

Patricia Rosemoor

The McKenna Legacy

Book 1

See Me in Your Dreams

Patricia Rosemoor

Copyright © 2010 Patricia Pinianski

See Me in Your Dreams was previously

print-published by Harlequin Intrigue

In memory of my late husband,

Edward Majeski

Feeling that justice is all too rare in real life, Patricia Rosemoor drives her characters to seek an equitable resolution, no matter the personal sacrifice. Her fascination with "dangerous love" – combining romance with danger – has led her to write various forms of romantic suspense and paranormal romantic thrillers, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills and romance to each book. She believes strongly in breaking down barriers to write crossover fiction that appeals to a large and varied audience.

The McKenna Legacy

To My Darling Grandchildren,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday-enough time to know what you are about-you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good, lest you destroy yourself or those you love.

See Me in Your Dreams

Prologue

THE DARK SWALLOWED HER WHOLE, making her feel smaller than ever.

She lay frozen. Waiting. Counting the seconds...the minutes...the hours.

Finally, the house grew perfectly still.

Her ragged breath piercing the silence, she gathered her courage and slipped out of bed. She threw off her nightshirt, tugged on soft jeans and an even softer T-shirt. The familiar cotton garments soothed her flesh that was pebbling despite the warmth of the June night.

She acknowledged her fear.

And as she stuffed a change of clothing, a sweater and a few personal items into a backpack, her thoughts were as liquid as the waves washing onto shore outside her window.

Can't stay here any longer.

Not one minute.

No more lies.

She buckled up the backpack. Her hands shook, making her bracelet resonate. Strands of leather intertwined with ancient charms and symbols that she didn't fully understand – and that had somehow become a part of her – tinkled like a fairy windchime.

Scooting her stockinged feet into high tops, she took a deep breath. She was ready. Except for money. She didn't have enough. She knew where some cash was, though. She'd have to take it.

That would make me a thief, she thought uneasily.

No worse than a liar, an inner voice countered.

A thrill shooting down her spine, she sneaked down the stairs, avoiding the one that creaked. A moment later she was in his study, ransacking his desk for the handful of tens and twenties he always kept available in case of an emergency. She stuffed the cash into her wallet, the wallet into her jeans pocket.

Returning to the foot of the stairs, backpack straps secured around her shoulders, she stopped for a moment, tears gathering in her eyes...a lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

Why did he do it?

Why?

Now that I know, everything is ruined.

Sick inside, she rushed toward the front door, knocking into the pedestal, making the new stone sculpture teeter on its base. She caught and steadied the free form that reminded her of an angel about to take flight. Certain her pulse drummed so loud it could be heard in the farthest reaches of the house, she was astonished when no responding sound warned her that she was about to be apprehended.

Even so, she fled the dwelling as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. She burst into the moonless night, unseeing, moving by rote, by memory tracing her way down into the ravine.

Brush thrashed around her legs.

Gasps broke from her heaving chest.

Lake water battered the nearby shoreline.

None could drown out the frightened beat of her heart.

Chapter One

County Cork, Éire

AS ALWAYS, WHEN KEELIN MCKENNA entered the work shed behind the old-fashioned thatch-roofed cottage, she sorely missed the solid if diminutive presence who had been part of the place for so many decades. She passed under the bunches of drying herbs and other plants hanging from the rafters, inhaling deeply as she approached the workbench–the healing scents helping to assuage the sorrow that was becoming more distant with each passing day.

Not that she would ever forget Moira McKenna.

The year before, at ninety-three, the elderly woman had finally relinquished her earthly existence to join her late, much beloved husband Seamus, and had left Keelin the possession most precious to her – the bit of land with its cottage amidst a field of wild herbs and a carefully cultivated supplemental garden. Over the decades, some of the locals had appointed Moira McKenna healer, while others had disparaged her as witch. Keelin had called the dear woman Gran.

Knowledge of potions and poultices gathered over the years, from the time she was a toddler at her grandmother's knee, added to the spirit that made her want to help others, were Keelin's true inheritance from the woman who had been the backbone of the McKenna clan.

She didn't want to think about the other...the darkness that dwelled deep inside her...that, too, had been one of Moira's many facets...the thing that made them both different.

She shook away the traces of last night's frightening dream and concentrated instead on her purpose. If only her stubborn father had listened to her (if only her voice had been stronger, Keelin thought guiltily) perhaps Da would not have had the heart attack that almost killed him. Well, if she hadn't been vigilant enough before, she would do what she could now.

Wanting to be at the main house when her father arrived home from hospital, she hurriedly gathered the supplies she needed – root of valerian and dried blue lavender blossoms. Mixing them together, she placed a small handful in each of a dozen muslin pouches. When suspended beneath the tap so that hot water flowed through them, the herbs would make an exquisitely scented fresh infusion that would also be soothing, hopefully relaxing her quick-tempered father and helping him to the restful sleep so necessary to healing.

Undoubtedly he would refuse any more advanced remedies from her. But, even if he scorned it, rolled his eyes and shook his head as he was wont to do over things he didn't understand, this she could do for him. And one other thing. A truly momentous thing. Perhaps she could bring him some inner peace.

But how to make the announcement?

After tying off the last pouch, Keelin gathered all together in a basket, left the shed and headed across the field of wild herbs and over the rolling pasture toward her parents' home. And just in time. Her brother Curran and sister Flanna were helping Da from the car as Ma and Great-aunt Marcella, on short leave from the convent that had been her home for her entire adult life, looked on.

Basket swinging from her arm, thick auburn hair whipping around her face, Keelin ran to join them. “Da!" she yelled.

James McKenna turned to wave at his oldest daughter. His whitened hair reflected only glimpses of the red that had once crowned his head. His eyes, though, were still as green as the fields around them, where cows with new calves grazed. They were Moira's eyes. And Flanna's eyes. Like Curran, Keelin had inherited their mother's gray.

Keelin enveloped the wiry body that should have withstood the curse of high cholesterol, even if her father was a dairy farmer. “How are you doing, Da?”

"Just grand. Good as new."

But she could see the lie to Da's words in his eyes. He might be recovering physically, but his near death experience had affected him deep in his soul, whether he would admit it or no. The reason she had to act, to set things right in the family.

"See, the sun has even made an appearance to greet me," he said expansively, raising his face to the golden rays.

Auspicious, Keelin thought, for the weather was more fickle than any lover. Most days were soft with the mist that greened the fields year-round. But the sun could pop in the blink of an eye. A body could take both umbrella and swim suit along on any excursion, for she was sure to have opportunity to use both.

"Get yourself in the house, James Joseph McKenna, before you expire from heat exhaustion," Keelin's mother Delia demanded. A handsome woman, skin smooth and only a bit of silver threading her black hair, she appeared far younger than her husband, though only five years separated them in truth. "Come along now."

Da shook his head and made a sound of exasperation even while following orders. "No need to fuss, woman."

Though all his children knew he loved being fussed over. Keelin exchanged grins with Curran and Flanna. They linked arms, taking up the rear of the group as they entered the two-story limestone house that had for many years sheltered grandparents, parents, and siblings. After Seamus died, however, Moira had moved back to her old cottage. Then, lured away by fine horseflesh, Curran had gone off to Galway; Flanna had entered university in Dublin, after which, she'd chosen to stay to design her jewelry; while Keelin herself had taken a flat in Cork to be near the herbalist shop she ran with two other women. That is, until Moira's inheritance had made a commuter of her.

At the doorway, Keelin automatically dipped her fingers into the small font of holy water and crossed herself as she entered the foyer. For the past several years, her parents alone had wandered the rambling rooms with tall bay windows and views of the rolling pastures that were green year round. The exception being holidays and the like, when grand stories and laughter once more filled the house. Perhaps she would be able to make certain that soon more such occasions would present themselves, Keelin thought with hope, still wondering how she would tell Da what she was about to do.

Her father settled in his great stuffed chair before the stone fireplace and looked around him. "Ah, this is satisfying to a simple man such as myself. Having me whole family in attendance."

"Not your whole family," Marcella corrected him, straightening the collar of her habit. The elderly nun had never been one to mince words.

"Now, Sister Mary, don't you be bringing them up," he complained.

"Da, it was you who brought up the subject when you were in a desperate way," Flanna reminded him. "You wished the three could be together one last time before you died!"

Bless her soul, Keelin thought, gathering her courage.

"Well, I didn't die, did I?" With the full drama of a true Irishman sorely beleaguered, he said, "And they didn't care enough to come to my side when I was near death, so why should I be giving them a thought?"

"Ah, Da, you're being unreasonable," Curran told him, swiping his thick black hair away from his forehead. "You wouldn't let us contact them so they would know you were sick in the first place."

With the way of her Murphy ancestors, Delia teased, "You always did have a bit o' the blarney in you, James. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know you want a wee peak at Rose and Raymond again..." She suddenly sobered. "God willing."

An uneasy silence muted all voices for a moment. Keelin hadn't considered her aunt or uncle might have gone on – and her never having set eyes on either of them. She couldn't tell himself what she was about, then. Couldn't raise Da's hopes. A refusal from one of the other two triplets would be bad enough. But if one of them weren't even alive...

Shaking away the chilling thought, Keelin quickly reconnoitered. "I have an announcement." Though not the one she'd intended.

Five pairs of quizzical eyes turned to her.

Da asked, "What is it, lass?"

"I'm going on a trip. Tomorrow morning, as a matter of fact. Business." Her mouth went dry with the lie. "To meet with other herbalists." Heat rose along her neck like fairy fire. "And it's out of the country."

"Where to?"

Taking a big breath, she said, "America," and waited for an explosion of temper.

"DA'S SUSPICIOUS, YOU KNOW."

The expected outburst never having come, Keelin still pretended innocence as she and Flanna entered her white-washed, thatch-roofed cottage after supper. "Of what?"

"I'm neither blind nor daft, Keelin. Nor is anyone else in our family. Everyone is feigning ignorance, when in truth your intentions to contact Aunt Rose and Uncle Raymond are as clear as the waters of Lough Danaan," she said of the small lake edging the McKenna property.

Keelin moved to the peat-burning stove where the kettle was on the boil. "You do know me."

"You never could tell a falsehood without turning as red as your hair."

So true. Keelin sighed. "Tea?"

"That'd be grand."

The cottage was merely two rooms, the larger for living, the smaller for sleeping– part of the original bedroom having been converted to a bath. Keelin loved Moira's old house, the place where her grandmother had lived alone before Seamus had come to her rescue when she was in dire straits, and she in turn had tamed his wild heart. The cottage was simple as were the furnishings, but neither mattered to Keelin.

While she prepared the relaxing chamomile, Flanna fetched the mugs and placed them on the table, then searched the icebox for a lemon and milk. No words passed between them. They'd always had a special rapport, working together seamlessly, as if they had somehow been connected in the womb despite the three years between them. Connected and yet nothing alike. Green-eyed, strawberry blonde, petite but well-filled out, Flanna turned heads. And she was as bold as they came, Keelin knew. Unlike herself. Sometimes she envied her younger sister's outgoing spirit and sense of adventure. By comparison, she was but a mouse.

"So how will you go about it?" Flanna asked when Keelin set down the teapot and slid into the vacant chair.

Keelin poured the steaming, aromatic liquid. "Several of the American cousins wrote Gran. She kept the letters in their envelopes, so I have the addresses."

"Then you'll approach Raymond and Rose through their children." Flanna gave her tea a squeeze of lemon.

Adding a bit of milk to hers, Keelin nodded. "I thought it a wise idea. I'm certain I'll be needing their help in reuniting three of the most stubborn Irish I've ever heard tell of."

"The wound goes deep – more than thirty years."

"Long enough."

"Aye."

Dreamily, Keelin sipped at her tea. "I was imagining how grand it would be if they could celebrate their sixtieth birthday together this October with as many McKennas as could be gathered round them."

"If Rose and Raymond are both still alive," Flanna said softly, echoing Keelin's worst fear.

"They must be. For Da's sake."

Later, after Flanna left to retire to the bedroom their parents kept for her, Keelin had reason to further contemplate birthdays. She'd passed her thirty-third unnoticed while Da was in hospital. The day had transpired like any other...except for her thinking heavily on Moira's last words to her.

Entering the bedroom, she lifted the top of the ancient music box that she'd bought from a Traveller recently, and removed a thick, cream-colored sheet of paper. She sat on the edge of her lace-trimmed bed to once again study the missive written in her grandmother's steady hand.

To my darling Keelin,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday – enough time to know what you are about – you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good lest you harm yourself or those you love.

Flanna and Curran both had received like missives, and Keelin supposed the thick cream envelopes the solicitor had sent to the American cousins held more of the same. She had been well and truly caught by the spirit of Moira's bequest to her grandchildren. Moira had wanted them to be happy after the way each of her own children had tainted their personal lives with intolerance and jealousy.

She and her siblings had poured over the contents of the letter together several times throughout the past year, wondering if their grandmother, truly something of a bean feasa – an old woman with magical powers – could have seen into their futures. Wondering if there was any validity to this legacy that held both fascination and burden for each inheritor.

Keelin read Gran's words yet again.

Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday...

Not even two weeks to go.

And the reference to dreams reminded her of the one she'd had the night before.

Act selflessly in another's behalf...

Keelin swept away a nagging guilt. This was different than the last time, she assured herself. Different from all the others. She didn't know these eyes she saw through. They belonged to a stranger in a strange place. Therefore, she had no control.

Perhaps this dream had been just that, she thought desperately. A dream rather than one of her dreaded night terrors. Keelin considered. A young woman running away – and her off to America. Of course. That had to be the thing.

Had to be.

THE CITY WAS ALWAYS A SCARY PLACE. At night, it was even worse, overflowing with menacing people. Raggedy homeless with blank stares. Uniformed policemen with too sharp gazes. Billed-capped gang members with hot, hungry eyes.

The stuff nightmares were made of.

She wasn't very brave, but she forced herself to continue on. Hands stuffed into pockets, head down so she wouldn't have to look at anyone, she rushed east along Monroe Street, taking the bridge over the railroad yard. One foot in front of the other.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Music beckoned her like a Pied Piper.

Almost there. Almost there.

She hurried across the edge of the lawn, dodging a hand-holding couple. Skirting a bag woman leaning against her shopping cart of belongings. Losing herself at the back of a crowd of middle-aged people with their fancy fold-up chairs, lit candles and glasses of fine wine.

In the distance stood Navy Pier with its giant Ferris wheel a lit beacon. She turned. Bandshell and illuminated city skyline before her, she slumped to the grass. Winded.

Afraid. Always afraid.

Tears flooded her eyes, but she slashed them away. She'd had no choice. She had to make the best of it.

How long?

She tried concentrating on the music, but it was classical stuff like he played. Liszt, she thought. Why that? Anything else would have been better. Anything not a reminder...

She closed her eyes, covered her mouth and rocked. She could see him – dark hair swept across his brow, pale blue eyes sparkling as he laughed with her, hugged her tight.

Lies. All lies.

The enormity of what she'd done hit her suddenly and she began to shake inside. It took all her willpower not to scream. Not to get up in front of all these people and beg for help. They would only make her go back.

Blindly, she reached for her bracelet. Fingers twined through the leather strands. Traced one charm, then another. Their familiar touch calmed her. With great effort, she settled herself down. Took deep breaths. Told herself everything was going to be all right.

Then the voice behind her saying, "There you are!" made her jerk, setting the charms to tinkling and her whirling around so fast something flew from her fingers and her head spun...

HEAD SPINNING, KEELIN SAT STRAIGHT UP IN HER SEAT, her body covered in a light sweat. For a moment, she was dazed. Disoriented. Until Liszt faded into the drone of jet engines and she realized she was on the plane to Chicago.

Another dream. The same eyes. The same fear.

Fear that she could taste as if it were her own.

She trembled inside at haunting memories. At old guilt. At her inability to act when it counted. Now it was happening again...but this time she didn't know who.

Dear God, no. Not again.

Surely she couldn't be held responsible for yet another life.

Chicago

"I'M IMPRESSED. YOU REALLY CAME all the way from Ireland for the sole purpose of talking my father and Aunt Rose into visiting the old sod for a reunion?"

Keelin stared across a slick black lacquered desk scattered with folders and videotapes. Her cousin Skelly McKenna, oldest child of Raymond, leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. She searched his expression for any trace of mockery, but he seemed genuinely impressed.

"Da almost died, and in his sickbed admitted he wished to see his brother and sister again. I'm certain if the situations were reversed, you would do the same for your father."

Skelly laughed, the sound tinged with bitterness. "My father would never say such a thing to me. He and I are not exactly what you would call close."

Not exactly what Keelin wanted to hear. "Are you telling me you won't help?"

"Not at all. But I am telling you that I don't have a lot of influence with Dad." Skelly rose and paced the spacious office, outfitted with more black lacquered furniture and a couple of overstuffed black love seats. The only color in the room came from the Oriental carpet and a few well-placed pieces of art work on the walls. "My sister Aileen, on the other hand, continues to charm the socks off the old man, and I'm sure we can enlist her aid when Dad gets back from Washington."

Raymond McKenna being a U.S. Congressman from Chicago.

Relief swept through Keelin. "I dreaded doing this alone."

"Hey, cous, I'll do whatever I can for the cause," Skelly said with a wicked smile that dimpled one cheek.

Keelin started. "Grandad."

"What?"

"Your smile...you reminded me of him just then."

"That's right. You knew old Seamus."

"That I did."

And with his black hair, blue eyes, that smile, dimple and all...Skelly looked exactly like a young Seamus McKenna.

"You knew Moira pretty well, too, right?" Skelly asked, settling a hip on the edge of his desk.

"Of course."

"Was she...okay just before she died? I mean here." He tapped his forehead.

Putting Keelin on edge. The spacious office suddenly seemed to close in on her. "Gran was the wisest woman I ever had the privilege to know," she informed him stiffly. "And that, until the day she died."

"Well, after she died, I got this strange letter..."

"Ah, the legacy." She relaxed.

"You know about it, then?"

"I received the letter, as well, as did my brother and sister. I believe she wrote what was in her heart for each of her nine grandchildren because her own children had acted so unwisely."

"Nicely put," he said, a cynical note in his tone.

And why shouldn't he be a bit cynical? Keelin thought. An anchor for The Whole Story, a televised tabloid news show, Skelly reported stories that often laid open people's terrible secrets for all to dissect. Though she didn't care for tabloid journalism herself, neither televised nor print, Keelin was not about to judge this cousin she'd just met. Who knew what road had brought him to his place in life?

"You'll have to tell me more about Moira later," Skelly said, rising. "But at the moment, I need to get to make-up. I'm taping this afternoon's show in a quarter of an hour."

"Well, then." Keelin stood. "I'm at the Hotel Clareton–"

"Hey, I'm not chasing you out. Stay and watch the telecast. We'll do lunch."

Do lunch? Realizing Skelly meant they should eat together, Keelin thought Americans certainly had some unusual ways of expressing themselves.

"You're certain I wouldn't be in the way?"

"You're too polite to get in anyone's way."

So, a short while later, Keelin found herself sitting in a back corner of the busy control room. Having lived a simple life mostly close to the land, she was a bit intimidated by all the technology and the fast pace that was part of Skelly's world. Looking through the plate glass window to the studio, she could see technicians adjusting lighting and sound equipment. In the control room, others talked over headphones, while images flashed across the monitors, some at double speed.

One particular image caught her interest. A man's face filled the screen. His features were handsome, strong, magnetic, his expression intense. From the pale eyes looking out at her as he spoke – the sound was down, so she couldn't hear his words – Keelin sensed both strength and heartbreaking emotion. She couldn't tear her gaze from the monitor, and so when the next image flashed across the small screen, she felt as if she were suddenly sucked inside.

A young girl, barely a teenager, her light brown hair flying around her pretty face.

Something about the girl... Keelin felt a strong connection.

Then the monitor went blank.

And Keelin sat staring, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the raucous voices in the booth.

She didn't know how long she sat there in stunned silence, mind spinning away. It couldn't be. She was in denial as the show began. Teasers introduced the day's stories, but the words didn't mean anything to Keelin until the girl's image multiplied on several monitors.

"... and then we have a story we see every day," Skelly intoned in an authoritative voice. "Teenagers vanishing from their homes. But did Cheryl Leighton run away as the police report indicates, or was she the victim of foul play as her father, real estate magnate Tyler Leighton, wants us to believe?"

Sitting through the first two stories and myriad commercials of the half-hour program was the most difficult twenty minutes Keelin ever spent. She kept telling herself she was mistaken. There could be no connection. She'd imagined it.

But Cheryl Leighton had disappeared...and her dream had been of a runaway, the setting some unknown American city.

On edge, she watched footage of the girl and her father at some kind of building christening ceremony, as Skelly explained, "Two nights ago, fourteen year old Cheryl Leighton disappeared from the North Bluff home she shared with her widowed father. So far in the investigation, the police have turned up no evidence of foul play."

Then, before that same home, a mansion on a bluff overlooking the lake, her father spoke to the camera. "Cheryl wouldn't have run away," Tyler Leighton insisted. "She had no reason. She was a happy kid. A normal kid. She wasn't involved in gangs or drugs. We had a great relationship. We never even fought."

But a flash of something unsettling in his pale blue eyes put a lie to those words, Keelin thought. Something he wasn't saying.

Why did he do it? Why? Now that I know, everything is ruined...

Fragments of the dreams whirled through Keelin's head. She replayed them to the best of her ability. In her mind, the girl was fiddling with her bracelet, taking succor from the familiar sound of the tinkling charms, when Keelin caught sight of the very same bracelet on the monitor. Her eyes widened as the proof transfixed her.

Then his image returned to the screen. The father. The reason the girl had run.

"All I want is my daughter back," he was saying grimly. "Home and safe. I'll do anything to make that happen."

And Keelin realized she would do anything, as well. This couldn't turn out like the last time. Dear God, she would never be able to live with herself if something desperate happened to Cheryl Leighton.

But how to go about finding her?

Putting her trust in a cousin who had no idea of what he was dealing with, she cornered Skelly directly after the taping, insisted they return to the privacy of his office where they could talk without being overheard.

The moment the door was closed behind them, she said, "I know you'll find this hard to believe, but I have a connection to the Leighton girl."

"What kind of a connection?"

"The kind I sometimes get through a dream."

"A dream," he echoed, settling a hip on the edge of his desk.

She'd seen that look before. Mocking disbelief. Not that she could blame him. Pacing to assuage her nerves, she told Skelly what she had to. Only the minimum. Not the details of her worst night terrors. She focused on the current situation, briefly capsulizing both incidents.

"In the past, the dreams have always been connected to someone I knew or at least met," Keelin then told him. "This was different. I thought maybe it was just a simple dream because I had no idea of who the girl was. Or where she was, for that matter. Now I know the big American-looking city in the second dream obviously is Chicago, because Cheryl Leighton is the girl." She indicated her wrist. "That unusual bracelet she was wearing in the news footage...I saw it twice before."

Unable to discern if Skelly believed her or not, she tensely waited for his reaction.

That he said "You know this sounds absurd" didn't thrill her.

"The dreams are not something I asked for or want, Skelly...no more than Gran did. It's part of her inheritance...at least for me."

He scowled. "Dad did say something about his mother being considered a bit fey."

"You don't have to believe, Skelly. Just help me. Help Cheryl Leighton."

"If you really know something that'll help find her, you should go to the police."

"No authorities." Once was enough. She shuddered, remembering the consequences. "I've had a bad experience with that," was all she would say, though.

"What, then?"

"First, help me get to Tyler Leighton."

Skelly was thoughtful. "That's do-able. He runs L&O Realty." Then his expression grew shrewd. "I tell you what. I'll make you a deal. I help you get whatever information you need...then you help me. We find the Leighton girl and I get the exclusive. We can do a whole program on this case and your abilities–"

"No!"

"No?"

"Absolutely not!" Keelin could hardly believe what he was suggesting. "I won't be paraded before your countrymen like some kind of freak."

"Not a freak. A sensation. Talk-show hosts will be clamoring for you–"

"No," Keelin repeated, more calmly this time. "I won't let you exploit something that even I don't fully understand." Intending to leave, she moved toward the door. "I'll find Tyler Leighton on my own."

Skelly put an arm out to stop her. "All right. I didn't mean to upset you." He sounded sincere when he said, "I'll help you in any way I can. No strings. If you change your mind, though–"

"I won't."

He nodded. "We'll see."

Making Keelin think her American cousin was possibly the most cynical man on earth.

Chapter Two

TYLER LEIGHTON WAS ABOUT TO ENTER HIS BUILDING on north Clark Street after a late lunch that he'd barely touched, when he heard the rumble of his name. He glanced over his shoulder to see Nate Feldman, his chief business competitor, having exited a chauffeured limousine at the corner, rush in his direction. In contrast to his exclusive designer suit, manicured nails and styled hair – or what he had left of it, for the man was balding fast – the ever-present stinking cigar stuck between his thin lips reflected Feldman's true nature as far as Tyler was concerned.

"Slumming?" he asked, for at a recent social event, Tyler had heard Feldman disparage his location to potential customers. Feldman's office was in the Gold Coast, a real estate mini-step-up from Lincoln Park West.

Without removing the cigar, the man slurred, "Hey, what sort of greeting is that for an old friend."

Never, in any stretch of the imagination, would Tyler consider them friends. And he didn't need this aggravation on top of the worry eating him. The only reason he was working at all was because couldn't figure out a damn thing he could do personally to get his daughter back. He was working so that he wouldn't go crazy. Not that he was doing a great job of it. He swore every minute Cheryl was missing took a day off his life.

"What's on your mind, Feldman?"

"I wanted to congratulate you on getting the Uptown job."

Tyler's company had recently been awarded the management of a classic movie theater of the thirties that had been boarded up for decades. During its coming renovation, the building would retain its architectural integrity while being transformed into a multi-usage arts space. Feldman had bid for the management, as well, but had lost out to L&O Realty because of Tyler's personal vision for the place. Again. And Nate Feldman hated to lose at anything, Tyler knew.

He said, "That's big of you," and waited for the man's real motivation in seeking him out.

With a show of exaggeration, Feldman finally removed the cigar and issued a warning. "You won't be so lucky with the North Michigan Avenue project."

Ah, there it was. And some said he was a cynical devil. Tyler merely considered himself realistic. "Do you know something I don't? Or is it someone?"

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't," his competitor said with a feral grin. "What I have doesn't matter so much, though, when you're tied up in that nasty lawsuit over the Wicker Park incident. That changes the balance of things, doesn't it? Let's just say I have the upper hand on this one."

Tightening his jaw – how could Feldman call the death of a kid an incident? – Tyler said, "I'm forewarned then."

"That's the idea."

"But, if you don't mind, I'll hold my congratulations until it's a done deal."

"Hold anything you want, for all I care. How about your breath?" Laughing at his own crude humor, Feldman stuck the cigar back in his mouth and signaled the limousine driver. "No holds barred on this one, Leighton. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Tyler didn't wait until the man crept back into his extravagant lair. He immediately entered the first floor offices of L&O, from which prime real estate was sold and luxury apartments and townhouses were rented. He felt all eyes on him as he made his way to the stairs. Worried eyes. Eyes filled with pity.

Cheryl, baby, where are you?

The agonizing question followed him to the second floor that held his private office as well as that of his partner Brock Olander and their administrative assistants. Brock oversaw the sales and rental part of the business, while Tyler headed the building management end. Alma, their receptionist, was nowhere to be seen, and Tyler figured she must be running an errand. He stopped to scan her desk for any messages...anything about his daughter. Nothing. Maybe on his desk...

Hopeful, he was on his way to check when he noticed a woman rising from a chair in the waiting area. "Mr. Leighton?"

The soft voice stopped him cold. He gave her a quick once-over – a cloud of shoulder-length dark auburn hair, clear gray eyes, delicate if ordinary features – all unfamiliar to him. All appealing. Something about her spelled fresh. Innocent. Maybe the loose flower-print dress that skimmed her slim body, topping ankle boots and bright green cuffed socks. Definitely not professional apparel.

And yet he found himself asking, "Do we have an appointment?" He'd been so distracted since Cheryl disappeared that anything might have slipped his mind.

"No, that we do not. I just took a chance on your seeing me." Drawing closer, she held out her hand and said, "Keelin McKenna."

She spoke with a melodic inflection that was distinctly Irish. Her low voice stirred him for a moment and he stared, caught by some odd connection, the sensation deepening when their hands clasped. Her gaze meshed with his, and from the surprise he noted in the depths of her eyes, he would swear she noted it, also.

Then reality set in.

Cheryl was missing and his thinking of anything more personal was inappropriate.

Releasing the woman's hand and taking a step back, Tyler said, "I'm sorry. Today's not a good day."

"But I must speak to you," she insisted.

"Ty, there you are." Coming from the stairs, Brock stalked him. "We have to talk. Now."

Mr. Popularity. Suddenly everyone wanted his attention at the same time. Tyler was oddly relieved by his partner's demand. "All right. In my office." He started to go.

"But Mr. Leighton–"

Interrupting the woman, he spoke in an impersonal tone even as he kept on walking. "My administrative assistant should be back any minute. Perhaps she can take care of you."

"But it's not her I'm here to see."

He followed Brock inside his office, turning to say, "Then she'll give you an appointment for later in the week."

Please, God, let Cheryl be found by then.

The woman crossed her arms over her chest and raised her chin. "I am not vacating the premises until I've had a word with you about your–"

"Sorry." With regret that went deeper than a fear of being rude, he closed the door in her face and turned to his partner, who seemed reluctant to look him in the eye. That certainly didn't bode well. "Brock, what's the problem?" He was expecting his partner to bring up a new twist in the law suit against L&O Realty.

Planting his stocky body directly next to Tyler's massive mahogany desk, Brock muttered, "I know my timing stinks...but I want out." He followed the explosive statement with a big breath and ran a hand through his silver-shot hair.

"What?" Tyler stopped short. Surely he misunderstood...

"This has to be a shock, especially now with all you have on your mind. I was planning on telling you yesterday, but then Cheryl disappeared, and it didn't seem like the time."

Tyler was stunned. He hadn't misunderstood. Brock wanted out of the business. "This isn't the time." If ever.

"Yeah, it is. It's actually been a long time in coming." Brock's hazel eyes were steady when he explained, "We're full partners, Ty, but not so that anyone would know it. When someone mentions L&O Realty, people think of you."

Not that their partnership had started out that way. Tyler had always had more drive than his laid-back partner. Things had evolved as they were over years. Brock had never before complained.

"So this is about ego?" Tyler asked.

"It's way beyond something so simple." Brock seemed almost regretful as he explained, "I'm tired of being pigeonholed. Unappreciated."

"I appreciate the hell out of you, Brock."

"Only because I do the work that doesn't interest you any more. You can focus on redeveloping buildings, redeveloping dreams, while I handle the boring day-to-day details of rentals and sales."

Tyler felt as if he'd been blindsighted. How had he missed this? He couldn't conceive of a decade-long partnership ending without warning.

"If you've been dissatisfied, why haven't you said something before?"

"I've tried in a dozen different ways. Maybe not directly enough...Why couldn't you have been listening?"

Not the first time he'd been accused of being so focused on his own goals and desires that he couldn't recognize someone else's needs. Guilt rocked Tyler. He regretted that he'd failed the man with whom he'd built his success. Surely it wasn't too late.

"Look, Brock, give me some time, would you? I'm not all here right now, but I know I don't want this to happen. And I hope you don't really, either. If we put our heads together, we can work things out. I promise I'll try to give you whatever it is you need."

Tyler moved around him, planted himself before a window overlooking Lincoln Park. Arms crossed before his chest, he stared out at the lush trees and flowerbeds near the south pond with blind eyes. Everything seemed to be caving in on him. The accident at the Wicker Park site. The lawsuit. His daughter. Feldman. Now this.

"All I can concentrate on right now is Cheryl," he said, trying to forget the rest.

"You know how much I love your girl. She calls me Uncle Brock for Crissakes."

Desperate, Tyler thought of something that might make Brock feel more needed while taking a worry off his shoulders. He turned to face the partner he didn't want to lose.

"Listen, Brock, Nate Feldman's breathing down my neck about the North Michigan Avenue project. You could take over for me, there."

"Feldman?" A pregnant pause was followed by Brock's careful, "What do you think he's up to?"

"Probably something devious."

"Hell!" Brock's tense expression intensified.

"Put this split idea on hold, would you, Brock? At least until I find Cheryl."

At the mention of his daughter's name, the door burst open and his assistant, Pamela Redmond, ran into his office so fast the chestnut top knot she wore to make her look taller threatened to topple. "The Whole Story," she gasped, clearly out of breath as if she'd run straight up the stairs. "Channel 8!"

Tyler retrieved the remote control and turned on the television in the wall unit to see his own face staring back at him.

"Cheryl wouldn't have run away. She had no reason. She was a happy kid. A normal kid. She wasn't involved in gangs or drugs. We had a great relationship. We never even fought."

He lowered the sound as the anchor's voice-over continued with speculation about the case.

"That was supposed to be hard news footage, for God's sake!" Tyler couldn't take his eyes off the screen, off the image of his missing daughter. "I'd be furious that some electronic rag is bandying around my personal life if I weren't so worried about Cheryl."

"Right. Think of the positive," Pamela said, her dark eyes melting with concern. "Maybe this piece will alert someone who's seen her...like happens with that missing persons program."

"I hope so. I'd be thankful for anything that'd bring her back."

Tyler only hoped the producers of the tabloid show wouldn't continue to follow up certain nuances of the story...like an investigation into Cheryl's mother's death...

"Listen, Ty," Brock said, his agitation clearly growing. "I'm sorry this is all hitting you at the same time, but you're going to have to deal with my wanting out. Soon."

Realizing commercial filled the screen, Tyler shut off the television. "We'll talk about it after Cheryl is safe." The look he gave his partner pleaded with him not to object.

Square jaw tightening, bobbing his head in agreement, Brock turned toward the door.

"You can leave, as well, Pamela," Tyler told her, feeling the need to be alone for a while so he could brood in solitude.

His assistant backed off, but said, "There's a woman who's been waiting to see you. A Keelin McKenna."

Envisioning a cloud of auburn hair and clear gray eyes, Tyler muttered, "She's still here? Get rid of her. Nicely, of course."

"You will not be rid of me just yet," came a soft lilting return from the doorway.

Tyler started as the Irishwoman entered his office uninvited. "Now see here–"

"You just said that you would be thankful for anything that might help bring back your daughter."

His gut tensed. "What about Cheryl?"

"Uh, I have some work to do," Pamela said, making her exit. "I'll just leave you two alone."

The door closed and Tyler stared at Miss Keelin McKenna. "I'm waiting."

"A seat?" she murmured as if he'd offered her one. "Why, yes, thank you." Then she crossed to the couch and three upholstered chairs set around a heavy coffee table.

"So sit already and spill." When her forehead creased as if in puzzlement, he said, "Talk. What do you know about my daughter's whereabouts?"

She sank into one of the chairs. "I wish I could tell you where to find her."

"So you don't know, after all." He stalked her, towered over her, hoped to intimidate her into the truth. "Then why are you wasting my time?"

"Because I might be able to help puzzle it out."

Tyler narrowed his gaze on the woman. His antennae went on alert and rightly so. He wasn't a man who suffered fools easily. And he was used to people coming to him with hair-brained schemes in hopes of separating him from some of his money.

"So how much do you want? For your help?"

She shook her head. "I have no interest in monetary payment, Mr. Leighton."

"What, then?"

"My reasons are personal."

"And obviously you aren't going to share."

If he thought he could goad her into slipping, he was wrong. Her gaze steady, she waited. For his permission to continue? He sat and gestured for her to go on.

Keelin took a deep breath. "I have rather unusual dreams. Not dreams, really. More like visions that come to me while I sleep." Her tongue darted to wet her lips as if she were having trouble getting the words out. "I see through other people's eyes...know their thoughts...like I'm inside their heads."

Great. A kook. Any hope he might have had dashed, Tyler indicated the door. "You're wasting my time."

She didn't budge. "I've seen through your daughter's eyes twice, Mr. Leighton. First when she ran away and–"

"Cheryl didn't have any reason to run away!"

She continued, "And the second time when someone found her."

The skin at the back of Tyler's neck crawled. What was wrong with him. He didn't believe in E.S.P. or whatever this was supposed to be. He didn't believe her and a story that was too preposterous for words.

"Look, you've got the wrong man. Give up on it."

"You live in a huge home on the lake and opposite a ravine," she went on calmly, as if he hadn't spoken.

"Which you undoubtedly saw in a news clip."

"Your daughter's bedroom overlooks the water." Her expression turned inward as if she were remembering. When she said, "One of the steps in the front staircase creaks," Tyler felt a chill shoot down his spine.

Still, he said, "That step has needed fixing for years. Anyone familiar with the house could have told you that."

"A pedestal in the foyer supports an unusual sculpture that reminds Cheryl of an angel about to take flight."

Tyler's pulse surged. The sculpture was new. Not many people had seen it yet. And Cheryl had told him it reminded her of an angel...

"I almost forgot. You keep emergency money in your study. Tens and twenties. She took them all."

That did it. Tyler plunged to his feet again. "How the hell could you have known what I didn't tell anyone but the police?" he demanded, wondering if his daughter taking the emergency cash fund had somehow become common knowledge, more fodder for people bored with their own lives.

Her steady gray gaze turned up to him. "I saw."

"You saw Cheryl take the money."

"Not in the same way as if I were watching a movie, no. I saw the bills...her hands...the leather wallet. It's like I was inside her." She squeezed her eyes shut for a second. "Like I was her for a few minutes."

Tyler dropped back to the couch and stared as her lids drifted back open. He didn't know what to make of Keelin McKenna. She couldn't be telling the truth. Her story played out like best-selling fiction. Fact: his fourteen-year old daughter was missing. He was dealing with reality here.

What to do?

Tyler was torn. This woman either really did know something about Cheryl's disappearance or she had an in with one of the policemen who gave her details no one else had privilege to. Maybe he'd better check that out. And while he was at it, he could get the police to check her out. Maybe she was in on a kidnapping. Maybe that's why he hadn't gotten a ransom note, because she was going to work him somehow.

"I need some time to think," Tyler said.

"I fear time is running out."

He ignored the renewed prickling at his nape. "Why don't you give me your address and phone number so I can get in touch with you."

Looking crestfallen, she didn't continue arguing. "I'm staying at the Hotel Clareton."

"The hotel?"

"I just flew in from Cork early this morning."

Tyler started. "Then you weren't even here when Cheryl disappeared."

"No." Her smooth brow furrowed. "I don't understand it, either. A stranger in a strange land. No connection between us. I knew the others."

Despite the cynicism that long ago had become part of him, Tyler felt himself wanting to believe her. At the same time, her sucking him in made him uneasy. He was a rational man, one not given to being conned. What was it about this woman that got to him where he lived? He was vulnerable because of Cheryl, Tyler reminded himself. Because the only person who really meant anything to him was missing. If anything happened to her, it would kill him. And Keelin McKenna could use his powerful emotions against him.

As if reading his thoughts, she pressed her case. "You say you would do anything to find your daughter."

"I would."

He'd done questionable things to protect Cheryl over the years, but his efforts hadn't been sharp enough. They'd been too focused. Danger had come from some unexpected direction.

"Then trust me," Keelin pleaded, her tone heartfelt. "I do not know your city, therefore I cannot find her alone."

What would it hurt? Tyler decided agreeing was a win-win situation. He'd get Pamela to contact both the police and his private detective, to see what they'd come up with on Keelin McKenna. In the meantime, he'd become her shadow.

"All right," he said. "I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. For Cheryl's sake."

"Good."

Her relieved smile mesmerized him. It trembled on her lips, lent a sheen to her eyes, brushed a glow across her cheeks. Like a quiet little bud blooming into a full-blown flower, Keelin suddenly appeared unspeakably beautiful. Again, he felt the connection...and purposely stood and turned his back on her to break it. He couldn't let her affect him in any way. He needed his wits about him. Needed to concentrate on what was important here.

"You can tell me more about these powers of yours over dinner," he said. "And you'll detail the dreams concerning my daughter. Maybe I can pick up on something you couldn't."

"That was my thought."

Or he'd trick her into revealing her hand, Tyler added to himself.

Suddenly, the appetite that had eluded him at lunch kicked in. He felt not only a powerful hunger, but a renewed strength that had eluded him for the past two days. A man who was energized by doing, his sitting back and letting others handle things had festered inside him.

If the woman had the power to make some otherworldly connection with his daughter, Tyler thought, she'd make a believer of him. And if she had had anything to do with the girl's disappearance...she would be damn sorry.

If Keelin McKenna were part of some con to wring money out of him at the expense of his daughter, he would personally turn her life into a living hell.

NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, STILL WAITING FOR TYLER LEIGHTON to finish up business, Keelin wondered if she'd made a pact with the devil. A dark-haired, pale-eyed, too-handsome devil. She knew he didn't trust her, and she could hardly blame him.

But he had agreed, and that's all that counted.

This time, the story would end well, she assured herself. They'd find Cheryl Leighton and from that day forward, her father would keep her safe. Keelin had no doubts as to his love and devotion to his daughter. She didn't know what had driven Cheryl to run, though she gathered the girl blamed him for some terrible lie.

A misunderstanding, perhaps?

Keelin rested her head against the chair back, her energy suddenly at a low. The dreams had interfered with her sleep the last two nights. Added to jet lag...

"I'm ready."

She started. "And just as I was getting comfortable." She forced herself from the chair and into close proximity of Tyler Leighton. Too close. His warmth reached out to her, curled along her tired body.

"I wouldn't get too comfortable around me, if I were you," he murmured.

"A warning?"

"Call it what you will."

Keelin stared up at his enigmatic expression. Though she was of average height and size, she felt dwarfed by the man. He wasn't so very tall. She judged him to be just short of six feet. And he wasn't so very large. His shoulders were of medium breadth beneath the tailored suit jacket. But she recognized strength in his visage and power in his gaze when he stared at her with lids half-lowered as if he were trying to sear her brain.

Keelin suspected she should be a bit afraid of the man, but at the moment, she was too weary even to be intimidated. "Then I'll consider it a challenge," she finally returned. "But don't underestimate me, Mr. Leighton. I'm as motivated as you are to find your daughter." In some ways more so. She had a lot to make up for.

"Then let's get started. And my name is Tyler."

Keelin found Mr. Leighton safer. Not that she would admit it. As he held the office door open for her, she nodded agreeably and adapted a positive attitude.

Seeing to Cheryl Leighton's safety wouldn't bring back Galvin Daley, but it might assuage a bit of her guilt, Keelin thought hopefully as they descended to the first floor. Besides which, she certainly didn't need another soul on her conscience.

Downstairs, she waited in the sheltered entryway while Tyler left her to fetch his vehicle from the car park across the street. A movement to her right caught her eye. Her attention refocused, she watched a stocky man slide out from the protection of a nearby doorway. Nearing middle age, he had a jowly face and salt and pepper hair. He glanced around furtively, then crossed the street at a trot, entering the same door that Tyler had taken.

Keelin frowned and her stomach tightened for a moment until a bottle-green Jaguar rolled out through the car park exit and stopped directly across from where she stood. Tyler swung open the car door and slid from behind the wheel, then motioned for her to cross.

A quick look around assured her there was no sign of the other man. Undoubtedly he was merely fetching his auto, as well, Keelin decided. Shaking away the odd feeling his furtive actions had given her, she waited for a break in traffic, then raced across the street.

A short ride took them south, toward the center of the city. Tyler drove in silence, stopping just before crossing the Chicago River. A doorman opened her car door, and as she stepped out, a valet traded places with Tyler, who then escorted her into a lovely two-story restaurant with glass walls overlooking the water. The tables were draped with white linen, their centers decorated with bouquets of fresh cut flowers mixed with herbs.

Taking pleasure where she could, Keelin inhaled the fragrance and absorbed the ambiance. She was certain she wasn't going to enjoy what was coming. Tensely, she waited for the inquisition.

It seemed as though Tyler was in no hurry. They perused menus and ordered. The waiter quickly brought a bottle of Merlot, and after Tyler approved it, filled two stemmed glasses. Keelin sipped at the red wine. As tired as she was, one glass would be her limit or Tyler would have to carry her out of the restaurant. The wine was relaxing her when he finally got down to business.

"So tell me about this unusual ability of yours."

"I dream through other people's eyes," she told him again. "I cannot explain it any more accurately."

"So, in your dream, you see what someone else, who is awake, is seeing at that very moment?" When she nodded, he asked, "How long has this been going on?"

"Always, I guess. When I was young, I simply thought all my dreams were of the normal sort. And as I began to sort out the difference between real dreams and these...visions...I assumed everyone had like experiences. Then I learned that no one else in my family had the...well, gift or curse, however you want to think of it. Except Gran, of course. My father's mother, Moira. She explained things to me."

The way Tyler was looking at her, Keelin couldn't tell if he believed her or not.

"And what exactly did she tell you?"

"That I was given a responsibility which I couldn't put aside. That I was the one to inherit because I was strong enough to deal with the consequences."

Not that she felt strong. If she could give the supposed gift away, she'd do it in a heartbeat, just as she'd told her grandmother at age fifteen, after the first of the darker episodes that she called her night terrors.

Always a wise woman, Moira had merely said a person couldn't fight her fate. It had taken more than a decade and an unnecessary death to convince Keelin of it.

After the waiter had delivered their salads and a basket of bread, Tyler continued his line of questioning. "What kind of consequences?"

Not about to share her personal traumas with a stranger, Keelin made light of the issue. "Having to deal with the distrustful sort who thinks I make my living spinning fairy tales." She punctuated the observation with a forkful of salad and a piece of crusty bread. Both were delicious.

But Tyler didn't seem about to let her off the hook with a joke. "How do you make your living?"

"Herbs."

"What? You grow or sell them for cooking?"

"And for healing."

A dark brow shot up at that one. Keelin was used to skepticism when it came to alternative therapies. She wasn't about to try to convince him that many modern medicines were based on herbal remedies.

"So was it herbs that brought you here from Ireland? Or was it Cheryl?"

Relieved he wasn't going to take issue with her work, not missing the shot about his daughter, Keelin said, "Actually, I'm here to see family. My father's sister and brother both emigrated to the United States more than three decades ago." She figured if she was being honest, she might as well go all the way. Taking a big breath, she said, "Skelly McKenna is my first cousin."

He shrugged. "Am I supposed to know who he is?"

"You do in a way." Her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. "You watched his telecast this afternoon."

"The Whole Story?"

"That would be the one."

"What the hell? Is that why you sought me out?" His roar turned heads. "To get a story for a televised rag?"

Embarrassed by the unwanted attention, she shrank into her seat. "No, of course not. I told you why. That Skelly did the story on your daughter's disappearance was coincidence." From his glare she didn't figure he believed her, but she went on. "It was how I recognized her."

He lowered his voice. "I thought you were inside her. That you didn't see her. Or did Cheryl conveniently look at herself in a mirror on the way out of our house?"

Keelin shook her head. "I had no idea of what she looked like until a few hours ago. The bracelet – the strands of leather with magical charms. I saw it on her wrist in my dreams and then again on the studio monitor while I was waiting for Skelly. That's how I put it together. I had no idea of who the girl in my head was until that moment, I swear."

Tyler appeared to be bursting with accusations or questions – she didn't know which – but the waiter delivering their meals held either off.

Keelin didn't have much success eating her pasta creation bursting with fresh, barely cooked vegetables and judiciously sprinkled with herbs. Tyler, however, wolfed down his rare steak like a man possessed. Tension sizzled along her nerves. Keelin hated the feeling. Unlike her more easily inflamed sister Flanna, she wasn't one to thrive on arguments and stress. If she had a choice, she would pick herself up and walk away from the whole situation, never to look back.

But she had no choice. She had Cheryl Leighton to find.

"Why are you doing this?" Tyler suddenly asked.

"A fourteen year old girl is in trouble." And Keelin couldn't, wouldn't, turn her back on the daughter, no matter how the father felt about her.

"You said something about personal reasons before."

"Yes, I did."

"If you want me to believe you, you'll have to tell me more. Be totally honest."

Lies. All lies...

Why did he do it? Why? Now that I know, everything is ruined...

Keelin's head spun with the remembered fragments of her dreams. Cheryl had to have been thinking of her father. Who else?

Careful as to how she framed her response, Keelin asked, "Have you always been so honest? Would you reveal every detail of yourself to anyone who would ask? For that fact, would you be completely truthful even with your own daughter?"

She'd definitely hit an open nerve. Tyler's complexion paled. His skin appeared almost gray, Keelin thought, realizing she was far from happy for hitting her mark. Her discomfort grew when his gaze meshed with hers and she recognized the pain that went deeper than his eyes, perhaps all the way to his soul. She had intimate knowledge of that kind of pain, and she respected its right to remain private.

Chagrined, she said, "I'm sorry."

Slowly, he nodded. "But you had a point."

"I wish you could take me on faith."

"Let's say, I continue to give you the benefit of my doubt."

"As long as that means I don't have to do this on my own."

He sat back and stared. "I don't get you."

"You needn't."

Keelin could tell Tyler Leighton didn't particularly like puzzles, especially ones he couldn't solve. She guessed he was a man who would pick away until he came up with a solution. Hopefully, she wouldn't be around him long enough for him to lay her open.

"Let me tell you about the dreams," she suggested.

Keelin spent the next quarter of an hour replaying them both to the best of her ability, giving Tyler every visual detail she remembered. Holding back on Cheryl's thoughts because she didn't want to sound accusatory. Because she didn't want to sharpen his pain. Besides, whatever had happened between father and daughter, he already knew. And it was none of her business. Tyler and Cheryl would have to work on the reasons, after they found her.

"Who could she have been meeting at the concert?" Tyler murmured once she fell silent.

"I never saw the person. That's when I awoke."

"Maybe one of her friends."

"Have you spoken to them?"

"The police have tracked down her school friends as well as ones in the neighborhood. And the private detective I hired did the same. They came up with zero."

"Who does Cheryl know in the city?"

He shrugged. "Beats me."

"Does she have an address book at home?"

"I'm not sure...but we can look for one. Good thinking."

A carefully modulated if throaty voice countered, "If she were thinking straight, darling, she wouldn't be here with you, now, would she?"

To Keelin's amazement, an elegant blonde in a clingy summer sheath appeared at their table. She was stunning and perfectly groomed, as if she'd just stepped out of an exclusive salon. A thick gold necklace and several rings with large stones attested to her wealth.

And Tyler muttered, "Vivian," as if her name were a curse.

The luscious Vivian gave a speechless Keelin a once-over. "A bit unsophisticated for your taste, isn't she, Tyler?"

"And you're as rude as ever, Vivian."

She batted long lashes over intensely green eyes. "You didn't always think so...and not so long ago, I might add," she purred, running long French-manicured fingernails under his chin.

Tyler ducked his head away from her touch. "Don't make a scene. Whoever you're with must be waiting for you."

"Yes, he is, thank you." She turned to Keelin. "And you, darling, a little friendly warning between us girls. Be on guard. Tyler Leighton takes no prisoners. He'll break your poor heart if you let him. Ta."

With a wave of her beringed hand, she was gone.

Leaving Keelin speechless, and with heat climbing her neck.

She was more than thankful when Tyler ignored her discomfort, casually saying, "If you're done eating, I'll take you over to Grant Park, to the bandshell."

The last place she'd seen Cheryl in her dream.

Chapter Three

AS HE AIMED THE JAGUAR FOR GRANT PARK, the bandshell area being barely a mile from the restaurant, Tyler was aware of exactly how much Vivian Claiborne had flustered Keelin. While she could be the most engaging creature on earth, when angry, Vivian could also be a nasty piece of work. He'd quickly grown tired of her razor-sharp tongue. Besides which, he'd suspected she had her sights on him to be husband number three. One marriage to a woman more interested in what he had than who he was as a person had been enough. He'd gladly broken off his short-lived relationship with Vivian before things could get out of hand.

Unfortunately, Vivian was a woman who didn't take even the smallest of rejections well.

And she'd definitely managed to subdue Keelin. The Irishwoman sat in silence, her attention fixed on whatever flew by the passenger side window. He let her alone, figuring she would recover quickly enough once they arrived.

The bandshell was not in use tonight, the area dark and fairly deserted. Even so, with the Buckingham fountain on the north side working again added to the lure of the lakeshore a quarter of a mile east, finding a free parking meter was out of the question. He pulled the car into a No Parking/Tow Zone a few hundred yards from the bandshell and cut the engine.

"Parking here isn't legal," Keelin murmured.

"I noticed. I break the rules when I have to," Tyler said grimly. "C'mon. Get out. I doubt we'll be here long enough for it to make a difference anyway."

By the time he circled to the sidewalk, she was out of the car, facing west, taking in the electric skyline looming over Michigan Avenue. He closed the door and stared at her features, garishly illuminated by the street lights. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and a visible pulse throbbed in the slender column of her throat. She was caught. And for the moment, he was caught by her.

What was going through that head of hers? Did she recognize the area or was she trying to make him think she did? Cynic that he was, Tyler knew it would take more than her word to make him believe her.

"This is it," she finally murmured. "I recognize everything. The position of the buildings. The lit signs. The bridge she took to get to the bandshell."

Tyler focused on Monroe Street, on the other side of the Art Institute. A homeless man had stationed himself on one side of the bridge. A couple of punks were play-streetfighting on the other. The kind of people his daughter had been forced to deal with? He didn't know that, Tyler reminded himself, trying to remain calm. He still wasn't convinced that Cheryl had been on her own. If he believed she was, then he would have to believe she ran away from him. He would have to believe her being missing was his fault.

The suggestion made him gruff. "Getting any good vibes?"

Keelin's eyes narrowed as they met his. "Let's walk around the bandshell. Maybe I'll pick some up."

Tyler didn't miss the sarcasm in her tone. He took her arm and escorted her onto the lawn. She was silent but for the small breaths and sighs she occasionally released as she gazed around the area this way and that, seeming able to see through the thickening dark. Suddenly she stopped dead and faced the bandshell, her flesh trembling under his hand. Instinctively, he released her.

She glanced to her right, her gaze narrowing as if she were measuring. She stepped several yards back and to her left. Adjusting. Checked herself and corrected her position again.

Finally satisfied, she nodded. "Here."

"Here, what?"

"Where Cheryl waited. Afraid. Trying to concentrate on the music. Liszt. A piece you listen to." Forehead pulled into a frown, she faced him. "She was upset because it reminded her of you."

Hair prickled at the back of his neck. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

As if she didn't hear, she sank to the lawn, concentrating. The prickle spread when she cocked her head and glanced over her shoulder, pointing. "The voice came from over there somewhere."

He stared in the direction she indicated, hoping to see something, feel something. Of course he didn't.

"The voice startled her," Keelin went on, as if in a trance, "and she jerked around..."

She sat very still for a moment, obviously concentrating. Her expression changing slightly as if she remembered something. Then she swept her hands through the grass.

"What?"

"Something flew out of her fingers onto the ground."

Right. "And the clean-up crew would have found whatever that was."

Keelin would know that, he told himself. She was merely play-acting for effect. Still, he tensely watched her as she continued to examine the ground around her, getting to her knees and widening her search. He fought the urge to drop to his knees and help. Fought making a damn fool of himself.

Still his gut tightened when she murmured, "Wait...I think I felt something."

Her fingers scrabbled, digging through the green blades to the earth below. When her hand whipped up, something small was clasped tightly between two fingers. Quickly she rose to her feet and came to his side.

Tyler held out his hand and Keelin placed the object in the center of his palm. A chill shot down his spine. Even in the near dark he recognized it. A fairy charm from the bracelet his daughter always wore.

He remembered Cheryl complaining that he hadn't been spending enough time with her last summer, that he was too busy with his work. He'd tried making up for his negligence. They'd spent an entire weekend together, Sunday at the Renaissance fair. They'd had a great time. An unforgettable day, just the two of them. The bracelet had been outrageously priced for scraps of leather and small bits of metal, but he'd seen how his daughter's eyes shone when she'd looked at it, and he hadn't been able to resist buying it for her. The bracelet was her prized possession and she rarely removed it.

Keelin's eyes were shining when she asked, "Now do you believe me?"

"I believe you know something about Cheryl," he agreed, the proof in his hand. "What I don't know is if you're telling the truth about these dreams of yours."

"But the charm–"

He slipped it in his pocket. "Could have been planted. Or you could have had it all along, palmed it, pretended to have found it." He loomed over Keelin and grabbed her upper arms, wishing he could wring the truth from her. "Did you have anything to do with my daughter's disappearance?"

The excited light extinguished from her eyes, she said, "No!" and pulled her arms free, one at a time. Features saddened by disappointment and disgust, she turned her back on him and marched across the lawn.

Tyler lost no time in following. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my hotel."

"What about my daughter?"

"What about her?" She stopped and faced him. "What truth did she learn that was so devastating that she ran from you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." But, deep in his heart, Tyler was beginning to fear he might.

"At this moment, is anything more important to you than your daughter's safety?"

"Nothing." She was his whole life. If anything happened to her...

"Then prove it. Take some responsibility and stop placing the blame."

His "All right" seemed to take her off guard. She blinked and took a big breath.

"Suddenly you believe me?" Keelin asked quietly. "Just like that?"

He couldn't say the words. "I'll stop placing the blame," he promised instead.

Innocent or guilty, Tyler sensed Keelin would lead him to his daughter. In the long run, bringing Cheryl home safe was all that mattered to him.

"So what have we accomplished by coming here?" he asked. "Other than your treading the path in your dream?"

"It makes the connection real for me. I hoped to see something I missed earlier...but I didn't. Still, it makes tangible what I knew in my heart." Her tone fervent, she said, "I wish it did for you, as well."

Tyler held fast to his distrust. "Nothing more? No indications of who might have found Cheryl? What the person looked like, for instance?"

"I'm not a psychic," she protested. "At least not in the way you're suggesting. I can't make predictions. I can't envision places or people I haven't seen through physical contact. I experience real events and emotions through dreams. That's it."

Keelin rubbed a lethargic hand across her forehead, and Tyler responded despite himself. She looked exhausted, as if she could hardly stay on her feet. And there was a fragility about her that he hadn't noticed before. Not physically, perhaps, but of spirit.

"Perhaps I'd better get you to your hotel."

Keelin sighed and the sound was a weary one. "I could use some sleep."

"And maybe you'll dream again."

"I cannot force it," she warned him.

"I'll take my chances."

Including the opportunity to talk further with this mysterious woman. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to make members of the opposite sex open up to him.

Tyler determined that whatever her game, Keelin McKenna would be no exception.

ON THE SHORT RIDE HOME, KEELIN couldn't rid herself of the bitter aftertaste Tyler Leighton provoked. He'd brought up all the old insecurities. The feeling of helplessness. Of being thought a liar or a fool. She couldn't blame him, she supposed, and yet it was difficult to be generous when it was his daughter she was trying to help.

If only she could have done this alone.

The Hotel Clareton, tucked on a side street of the Gold Coast, blended perfectly with other limestone and brownstone buildings surrounding it. Elegant yet understated, the modest establishment offered all the amenities of a larger hotel with even more personal service.

Swinging open the Jaguar's passenger door, the liveried doorman said, "Miss McKenna, I trust you're having a good evening."

Keelin forced a smile and let the polite inquiry hang.

"Take care of the car," Tyler said, handing the man a large bill.

"Certainly." The doorman motioned for a younger uniformed man to come forward and move the Jaguar.

In a low voice, Keelin said, "No reason you need to see me to my door."

When Tyler insisted, "Of course there is," she had the distinct feeling that he meant to do more than escort her to her suite and leave. Not wanting to argue the point before the hotel's employees, she spun on her heel and through the hotel's entry.

Tyler followed her inside, past a lobby decorated in champagne and gold with touches of palest pink. Her suite was decorated in similar fashion, the sofa and two chairs in her sitting room identical to those in the lobby. The walls were a subdued pink with a gold sheen, warming the flawlessly appointed setting. And the coffee table held a spray of matching pink tiger lilies as did the chest in the bedroom. When he stepped inside, she noted Tyler's raised eyebrows and assumed he was calculating the expense.

Trying to be subtle, she said, "I really am very tired."

"I imagine you are," he said, continuing to wander through her temporary living quarters.

All right, so she had to be more direct. "I'm trying to end the evening."

"Consider it ended." He dropped onto the sofa.

Keelin shut the door so their words wouldn't echo down the hall. "Not with you here."

While she was willing to put up with the man for his child's sake, she wouldn't allow him to get too close for her own. He kept prying under her skin, poking and prodding at her innermost being. Knowing he had secrets of his own, Keelin suspected he was exactly the type of man who could get what he wanted from her if he kept at it.

The type of man she made a point of avoiding.

"I'm not going elsewhere," he stated.

Keelin feared the consequences if she didn't set boundaries. Drawing closer, she crossed her arms over her chest. "You cannot stay in my rooms."

"You certainly can't expect me to drive back to North Bluff. If you have one of your visionary dreams, it would take me better than a half hour to get back here, even in the middle of the night. Then how would we get to Cheryl in time?"

Unable to miss his sarcasm even as he made a sensible point, Keelin settled into a high-backed chair opposite him. "So what are you proposing?"

"That I spend the night on your sofa. Don't worry, I have no desire to invade your bedroom."

"That never occurred to me," she hedged, the vision clear in her mind the moment he put words to it.

"No?" His eyebrows lifted fractionally, as if he knew better. "You seem tense." He looked around the room, his gaze settling on a drink cart. "A little brandy would do us both good."

Did he hope liquor would loosen her up? Or loosen up her tongue? Keelin thought the latter. Let him try. He couldn't wring from her a truth he suspected she was hiding, not when she was innocent of any wrongdoing.

While he decanted the brandy, the red glow on her telephone finally caught her eye. Realizing a message awaited her, she picked up the receiver, read the instructions and punched in the code to retrieve it. So many technical advances in this America of her relatives...and her used to a far more simple life.

"Hey, cous, Skelly here. Call me first thing in the morning, would you? I've got some info on Tyler Leighton that I think you need to know."

A beep was followed by an electronic voice telling her she had no more messages.

What could her cousin have learned about Tyler? she wondered. Something she needed to know...And Skelly's tone had seemed a bit ominous.

She hung up just as Tyler made himself comfortable on the sofa and handed her a glass.

"Who was that?"

"My cousin. Family business."

Feeling the heat creep up her neck, Keelin cursed her inability to tell the smallest of untruths without telegraphing the fact. But if Tyler noticed the flush spreading up into her face, he didn't say a word. His expression blank – purposely so? she wondered – he seemed content in his silence until her glass was half-empty.

"So why don't you make an effort to convince me?" he finally suggested.

He didn't have to be more specific. Keelin knew he was referring to her ability. "I'm not certain that I can."

"Me, neither, but you can start with whatever you're holding back," he suggested. "The thing that makes finding Cheryl so important to you."

"I doubt anything I tell you will change your mind."

"Try me."

Tyler sounded as if he were serious. And the way he was looking at her, as if he were afraid to trust her, touched Keelin. Sensing he meant what he said, that he really wanted to be convinced, she didn't see any harm in relating the first part of the story.

"After Gran explained everything to me," she began, "I hated the fact that I was different. But I couldn't change things, couldn't run away from who I was. I felt the huge responsibility she spoke of in my heart and in my soul."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

"Not much older than Cheryl. Heavy stuff for a kid..."

Keelin could almost hear him mentally adding if it's true.

"The dreams always sprang from strong emotions," she went on. "Sometimes good emotions, sometimes bad, but always very, very intense."

"And the bad ones upset you?"

Keelin nodded. "Of course, though they weren't anything of great significance until..." She took another sip of her brandy for courage. Sharing this still wasn't easy. "My closest chum was a schoolmate. Deirdre Flanagan. One night, I saw her being molested – I felt her being molested and fighting a boy we both knew. I woke up near-hysterical, made Da ring the constable. I was certain I was reporting a crime in progress." The painful memories washed over her. "When they were caught together, Deirdre told the constable that Tully O'Meara was her new boyfriend and that he hadn't done anything she hadn't wanted." She took a deep breath. "Afterward, she and my other schoolmates froze me out for telling."

"But even if you were wrong, you were trying to help her."

"And I'm not certain that I wasn't correct. In my heart, I believe that Deirdre was raped...but I suppose she thought admitting to it would put more of a stigma on her than if people merely thought she fell from the virtuous path."

"So she lied to save face."

"And in so doing made me an outcast. A subject of jest. This from a good friend," Keelin said sadly, remembering as if the betrayal had just happened. "I wanted to die of embarrassment."

"Being a social outcast as a teenager would be traumatic," Tyler admitted. "But if you're saying that's your motivation, the reason that you've got to find Cheryl –"

"No."

After abruptly cutting him off, Keelin splashed back the last of her brandy and reveled in the smooth burn of the liquor as it slid down he throat. This is what she could not speak of. What she had never told anyone but her confessor. The burden she'd carried around with her. The guilt she could never wash away completely. Day after day, year after year, she'd thought it impossible to redeem herself.

But maybe she'd been wrong.

Maybe finding Cheryl Leighton before something terrible happened to the girl was her chance at last.

She set down the empty glass on the table next to her.

"I'm saying ‘tis the reason that, for many years, I chose to ignore the ability I inherited from my grandmother. And there were terrible consequences to be paid." An image of Galvin Daley's body caught in the shallows of Lough Danaan danced in her head. Her eyes stung with the vision that haunted her. "I can not let that happen again."

"So exactly what was it that happened?"

"That's all I'll be telling you," Keelin insisted, bouncing up from her chair, head down so he wouldn't see the tears trembling on her lids.

Tyler was equally quick. Before she could get around him, he'd blocked her path, and his hands were encasing her arms again. "Tell me."

"No!" Her refusal was a ragged cry.

"I think you need to talk about it."

Slowly, Keelin raised her head, forced herself to look at Tyler. Her pulse surged. What she saw etched in his features startled her. Empathy. Concern. For her?

But it couldn't be.

"What do you care about my needs?" she asked softly, aware of his fingers burning into the flesh of her arms. "You think I'm a fraud. That I am out to trick you of your precious money. Not everyone is motivated by greed."

The sensation spread, making her want to move closer, to feel those arms around her. She needed succor, and yet she could not ask for it, because she could not be totally honest.

"Experience tells me different."

"I live a comfortable life and that's enough for me. Can you say the same?" With that she shrugged free and tore into her bedroom. "You can see yourself out."

Keelin slammed the bedroom door and set the lock, then threw herself across the four-poster bed. She fisted the pink satin quilt and squeezed. Willed herself not to cry. Too many tears already. Her heart was hammering in her breast so hard she thought she might be sick.

She hadn't meant to defend herself. But that's what she had done, had nearly pleaded for Tyler's trust. Why? He didn't have to trust her. He only had to go along with her. She knew that. And also knew she wanted more.

This made no sense, this connection she'd felt from the moment he'd faced her in his offices, this charged undercurrent between them that swayed and dipped and suddenly rushed over her with an intensity that frightened her. Simply stated, Tyler Leighton made her uncomfortable.

He was too complex, too powerful.

And something inside him was too dark.

She should have backed off the moment she sensed the danger, and yet, instead, she came closer like moth to flame. Despite his distrust of everything she stood for, she was drawn to him. As he was to her, she realized.

What was wrong with her? Keelin wondered. Why had she suddenly lost her good sense? She'd spent her adulthood on guard. Setting boundaries. Maintaining distances. Keeping herself safe.

She could continue to do so if she tried, Keelin assured herself. If only she weren't so exhausted. Lack of rest had lowered her defenses, perhaps even made her imagine untruths. She didn't have to succumb.

Not to Tyler Leighton.

All she needed to regain her normal control was a good, deep sleep...

AFTER TOSSING AND TURNING IN THE LUMPY BED for hours, she gave up on falling asleep. She was creeped out anyway after seeing the rat on the back porch when she'd set the garbage out. Faint streetlight shone in through the single window. The narrow, sparsely furnished room looked better in the near dark, she decided. Nothing like her room at home, of course, but in the circumstances, it would do.

Better than the streets.

Still, she felt spooked again. Maybe she could fall asleep on the couch watching television. She rose from the bed and crossed the room, stopping before the door when she heard raised voices on the other side.

"How long are we going to wait?"

"Until I say."

Wait for what?

She shifted from one bare foot to the other, fingered one of the charms on her bracelet. A sudden breeze from the open window crawled up her bare legs, all the way up to the hem of her T-shirt. Shivering, she pressed her ear to the door.

"You're forgetting who's in charge here."

"In charge?"

"All right. Maybe that's a little strong. But it was my idea."

"True enough. You want a medal?"

"No, I just want to write the damn ransom note and get it over with."

Ransom note?

She knew what that was. She'd watched enough television, seen enough movies. But what were they talking about? They hadn't kidnapped her or anything. She'd agreed to come with them. They’d said they would help her.

"We're not going to hurry this. I want to make him sweat first. Let him know what it's like to have someone else on top for once."

"You wanna be on top?" The other voice changed, became low and husky. "C'mere. I'll let you be on top."

Feminine laughter shot a chill up her spine and she backed away from the door.

She'd been fooled. They weren't doing this for her like they said. They wanted money. They were using her. They'd lied!

Did all adults lie?

Without thinking it out, she slid into her jeans, grabbed her hi-tops and backpack. Ignoring the grunts and whispers from the other room, she tiptoed to the door, boldly shot a hand out, slipped her fingers around the knob and turned.

Nothing happened.

Oh, God...locked in.

Her pulse thrummed and her heart smashed against her ribs. She flitted to the open window and peered out desperately, even knowing what she would see: a three story drop to the ground. She'd kill herself if she tried that.

Trapped! A prisoner!

She backed into a corner. Sank to the floor. Hugged her backpack and her hi-tops to her chest.

Never in her wildest imaginings had she considered this. What now? What if her father was so angry he wouldn't pay to get her back? What would they do to her then?

She couldn't panic. She had to keep her head. Hard to do when all she wanted was to cry. That and have her father holding her in his arms, telling her everything would be all right. He would forgive her if she apologized, wouldn't he? If she told him she would never run away again?

Please, Dad, please...

Brushing her fingers nervously across the charms, she knew she had to get to him. But how? They wouldn't let her go back, not if they wanted money for her.

The tears flowed down her cheeks. A lump stuck in her throat. She'd never been so afraid. Not even when the guy who'd given her a lift as far as Evanston had tried to maul her. Not even when she'd spent the rest of the night hiding beneath some bushes on the Northwestern campus.

Suddenly it occurred to her that they didn't know she knew.

That was definitely to her advantage, she decided.

She slashed at her tears, swallowed the lump.

She would have to pretend. Not let them suspect a thing. She'd gotten the lead in her class play last year, and everyone had agreed she had talent. Even Dad had said she was quite a little actress. She could do it. Pretend nothing was wrong until she figured out an escape.

She would wait for her opportunity, and then she would be out of this dump so fast they wouldn't know what happened.

Only...what then?

HER CRY JOLTED TYLER UP OFF THE SOFA in a single lunge. He got to the door even as she unlocked it and threw it open. He'd left only a single low light burning, and that across the unfamiliar room, but he could see well enough to know her face was pale, her eyes glazed.

Spooked, he asked, "What?"

"She's in real trouble," Keelin choked out, fisting his shirtfront. "She heard them...tried to get away. But the door was locked. And the window..."

"Heard who?"

"I don't know. A man and a woman. I didn't see." Her gaze turned inward. "Scared. So scared. Walked right into it..."

Realizing Keelin was speaking as if she were the one in trouble rather than his daughter, he gave her a sharp shake to snap her back. "Scared of what?" he demanded, his voice gruff. "What did you hear them say?"

She gasped and her eyes cleared. Her long, dark lashes fluttered over her pale cheeks. She was breathing hard, as if she'd been running. Her gaze met his, and he realized she was terrified. Her flesh trembled under his hands.

"What were they talking about?" he asked again, more gently this time.

"Something about a ransom note."

Tyler's heart skipped a beat. A parent's worst nightmare. His child had been kidnapped.

Chapter Four

KEELIN SWAM UP OUT OF HER DREAMLIKE STATE to find herself pressed against Tyler's chest. He was holding her fast and she was clinging to him as if this were the most natural act in the world. She vaguely reasoned that she should be uncomfortable, should push herself away. Regain some distance and a perspective on the situation. This man didn't even trust her, for heaven's sake.

But the last thing she desired was to put any distance between them, Keelin realized.

His body heat was comforting...distracting...Her pulse surged and unexpected emotions warred through her. Forgetting his distrust, she concentrated on him. On the man in pain. She wished she could will the misery from him, absorb it into herself – unreasonably, perhaps, given his antipathy toward her – or at the very least render the anguish he was suffering impotent.

She couldn't help herself. Following her natural instincts, she slid her arms up around his neck and comforted him as best she could. He shuddered against her.

"It'll be all right," she whispered, only hoping she was uttering the truth.

"Keelin, I have to get her back."

"I know. I know."

"Whatever I have to do." His mouth pressed into her hair. "Anything." Whispered against her temple. "I'll do anything to get my daughter back." Trailed across her cheek. "Give them anything they want!"

Eyes stinging, heart churning with things she didn't understand, Keelin turned her face up to Tyler's, felt his breath brush her skin. "I believe you."

Threading her fingers through the thickness of his dark hair, she was startled by her own boldness. For a moment, their gazes caught and she responded to the torment she read in his eyes. Torment that came at least partly from guilt, she thought, even as her body quickened to his.

How could this be? How could her blood rush with such longing now? At such a desperate time when personal want should be as nothing?

"I knew Cheryl didn't really mean to run away from me," he whispered, sounding as if he were trying to deny the guilt she sensed in him. Smoothing her hair so that she pressed a cheek into his hand. "Not seriously. She would have come home by now if she weren't being held prisoner."

Keelin shook her head. "Cheryl did run, Tyler. And she trusted whoever is now holding her prisoner to protect her. From you. Don't waste time fooling yourself, please." Though his expression darkened and he put her from him, gripping her shoulders hard, she didn't stop. "You need to concentrate on whoever might have pretended they wanted to help Cheryl. Maybe if you can figure out who has a motive–"

"A motive? The bastards want money, plain and simple." His gaze changed, as if he remembered suspecting that's what she wanted of him. He suddenly let her go altogether and took a step back. "The greedy people in this world are willing to do anything to get money."

Realizing he included her in the sweeping condemnation, Keelin took a deep breath and tried to will away the yearning to feel his arms around her again. To harden herself against Tyler so that he couldn't hurt her more. She couldn't do it. God help her, she felt something for the man.

And him a near-stranger.

Trying to derail her emotions, she choked out, "Greed is only a part of it. There's more." She concentrated, tried to remember exactly what she'd heard. "One of them said something about wanting you to sweat, to know what it's like for someone else to be on top."

He pulled a face. "You're saying someone is using my daughter – a child – to punish me?"

Keelin swallowed hard. "I believe so."

"Dear God, what have I done that's so terrible that He would let my child suffer for it?"

Making an uneasy Keelin wonder the same thing.

HALFWAY THROUGH THE MORNING, Brock Olander was pacing Tyler's office. This waiting put his nerves on edge and twisted his gut into a fancy knot. Pam had told him the moment Ty called in. Supposedly he was on his way and would arrive any minute. Brock checked his Rolex. Eighteen minutes ago now. It was out of character, Ty's being so late.

But the past few days had been a crap shoot in general, with nothing going like it was supposed to.

Brock stared out the window at Lincoln Park. So many people with no worries. Going about their pleasure like it was any other day. Well, it wasn't any day. In Brock's mind, today was D-Day.

Ty had better agree to his proposal.

"Any mail?" came the deep voice from the outer office.

Brock whipped around and stared at the half-open door. He'd thought he was psyched, but Ty had somehow sneaked up on him, made him feel as if he was at the disadvantage. Sweat gathered on his forehead, along his neck, under his suit. He wasn't good at confrontation, especially not with someone as tough as his business partner. Brock knew that very quality had spelled their success...but had also caused his own discontent.

"I think the mailman was here a few minutes ago," Alma was saying. "Sara is probably still sorting. Should be up any time now."

"Let me know as soon as you get it, then." Ty's voice drew closer.

"Waiting for something in particular, Mr. Leighton?" the motherly receptionist Ty had hired after her husband left her called after him.

"Just let me know."

In command, as usual, Ty took ownership of the office the moment he walked in the door. He didn't look like a man who was suffering, Brock mused from his position at the window. Not at all like a father who feared he might have lost his only child for good.

Then Ty noticed him and frowned. "Brock. What are you doing in here?" He set his briefcase on his desk.

"Waiting to continue the discussion that got interrupted yesterday."

"I asked you to give me time."

"Time isn't going to fix things." Though guilt sneaked along his nerves, Brock wasn't going to back down now.

Ty sat, stared at him pensively. "I thought we were friends."

"We were. Hell, we are. I feel for you. You know I do. But this is business."

Brock wanted more than a partnership in which he faded into the woodwork. An opportunity had come up, one too good to let slip through his fingers or he wouldn't be so fixed on leaving now. If Ty got a whiff of his plans...

"Right at this moment, I'm having trouble believing you consider us friends."

"Let's say both the friendship and the partnership are strained. Maybe the first can be recovered if the second is dissolved amicably."

"A friend would put this on the back burner until we get Cheryl home."

"Which could be never."

A thick silence followed, and Brock would swear that Ty paled. He went stiff as a corpse. Cold. His light blue eyes reminded Brock of shards of ice. He shifted uncomfortably under their glare. He'd seen that particular look before, but never aimed at him. He didn't relish being the recipient of the other man's ill-will.

"Don't ever intimate such a thing again," Ty warned him in a low, menacing voice. "I'll bring my daughter home, and in one piece. You can bet your half of the business on that."

"I'm not betting my half of the business on anything. I just want to pack it up and leave." Despite his growing discomfort, Brock pushed forward. "I want half of everything. Split right down the middle. Clients, contacts, assets. Everything."

"I promise you, we'll talk about it. When I'm ready."

When he was ready. Wasn't that just like Ty. Decisions were always his call, Brock fumed, frustration getting the best of him. Without another word, he stormed out of the office.

Coming up the stairs, mail in hand, Pam gave him an intense, inquiring look. Not wanting her to guess what had gone on in there – how, once more, Ty had taken the upper hand – he turned his face away and escaped into his own office.

The one with the view of congested Clark Street rather than the tranquil park.

Brock's insides felt as knotted as the traffic tie-up at the intersection, but he was determined for once to get what he wanted. Cheryl really was Tyler Leighton's weak spot and Brock knew it. He loved the kid, he really did, and he didn't want to have to use her disappearance as leverage.

But if it came to that...

For once in his life, he wasn't going to back off because something was too tough.

"MAIL CALL." PAMELA BROUGHT IN half an armload and set it on Tyler's desk. "Alma said you were anxious for something or other this morning."

Tyler was already flipping through the letter-sized envelopes when he grunted, "Thanks."

He hadn't thought to disbelieve Keelin about the ransom note when she'd seemed as shaken as he. At first, he'd clung to her with trust and something more, something that cut deeper despite his worry over his daughter...and then...suspicion had reared its ugly head.

Now he didn't know what to think.

How could he be certain his feeling closer to Keelin hadn't been part of her master scheme to take him?

She'd made moves on him, throwing her arms around his neck, touching his face in that gentle way that made his heart thunder in his chest. He'd wanted to touch her and kiss her and do more than just hold her. And this while his only thought should have been of his daughter, Tyler remembered, disgusted with himself. Keelin making him think he was to blame, that some enemy he'd made was using Cheryl to get even, could have been no more than a stroke of genius on her part. A smoke screen so that he would forget he didn't trust her. That he'd vowed never to be fooled again.

He automatically discarded any envelopes with a familiar return address. Two were from people he didn't know. A third had no return address at all. His fingers tightened on the ordinary white paper that could have been purchased at any drug store.

"Are you okay?"

Tyler glanced up at his assistant, her gaze sympathetic, but he couldn't answer. No, he wasn't okay. He wouldn't be okay until he held Cheryl in his arms. He tore open the envelope and pulled out the missive.

This was it.

No originality here. Block letters cut from magazines and newspapers glared out at him.

Don't involve the police further if you value your daughter's life. I'll be in touch.

For a moment, Tyler forgot to breathe. Pressure built inside him until he was ready to explode.

"Tyler?"

He glanced up at Pamela, at the dark eyes reflecting his own anguish. He handed her the warning missive. She blanched when she read it.

"Oh, God. What are you going to do?"

"Whatever the bastard who sent that says."

Inspecting the envelope as if he could read the sender's true intentions from it, Tyler suddenly realized that while it had been stamped, there was no postmark. "This never went through the U.S. mail." He showed Pamela.

"You think someone slipped it into the pile when it was first delivered?"

"How else?"

"We had at least a dozen strangers wandering around downstairs this morning," his assistant admitted. "I suppose any one of them could have done it."

Or someone who was not a stranger at all, Tyler mused. Keelin? Definitely someone who knew him. He still couldn't get over the idea of Cheryl's going off with someone she trusted more than him...

"What about George Smialek?" Pamela suggested. "Maybe he's crazy enough to do something like this."

"He's suing me."

"But a suit isn't personal."

"You have a point." Though Cheryl didn't know the man.

"So, aren't you going to call the police?"

"No. The sender threatened to kill Cheryl if I did."

"You could give them what they want and they could kill her anyway."

As if he hadn't thought of that.

"Pamela, I don't want you telling anyone about this."

He had to find his daughter before it came to a life or death situation, Tyler thought. Keelin McKenna was the key. Though he prayed Keelin was on the up-and-up, she could be part of the scam.

One way or the other, he feared he would be forced to put his daughter's fate in Keelin McKenna's hands.

SKELLY LIVED IN A POSH NEW BRICK AND STONE rowhouse on Lincoln Avenue, one of the diagonal streets cutting across Chicago's north side. The triangular development with entrances at each of the three corners had been designed to emulate a London neighborhood. All the rowhouses looked over inner streets and small snatches of green. Living quarters stacked up two stories over the street-level garages.

"Quite a place you have here," Keelin said, wandering around the generously apportioned living and dining areas. She wondered if Skelly was in love with black lacquered furniture, or if the same designer who'd planned his office had had a free hand in his home, as well.

As she stood over him, Skelly frowned. "You look tired."

"Sleep seems a bit elusive these days."

"Another dream?"

Keelin nodded. "Cheryl Leighton's in trouble." She tried not to dwell on the complex emotions she had for the girl's father, all of which troubled her. "She trusted the wrong people. They're going to want money to give her back."

"I'm sorry." He took a folder from his briefcase and indicated she should sit on the couch opposite him. "Especially sorry that you feel responsible for this girl. Tyler Leighton is the type of man a woman should avoid."

Skelly spread the contents across the coffee table. Keelin sat and looked over copies of newspaper articles. Actually, they were society columns, most of which were accompanied by photographs of Tyler with some woman on his arm. Rather all different women.

And one she recognized.

"Over the years, Leighton's been seen with a number of socialites, each for a limited period of time," Skelly told her. "He's never been seriously involved with any of them as far as I can tell. Never lets them get too close. The latest of his conquests was Vivian Claiborne."

"We've met, so to speak." Pushing away the memory of being held in Tyler's arms, Keelin said, "Skelly, if you're afraid Tyler will turn my head–"

"I'm afraid for your safety. He moved from Indiana when his daughter was about a year old after his wife died, supposedly in a car accident. Only I couldn't get a bead on the particulars. No tragic story in any Indianapolis newspaper. No obituary. If you ask me, Helen Leighton must have died under some mysterious circumstances..."

"You're not saying you think he killed her and buried her in the backyard, are you?"

"I'm saying that it's possible."

Remembering her caution around Tyler, having recognized his dark side, Keelin shifted uncomfortably. Tyler a murderer? Surely not. Surely she would sense it if he were truly dangerous.

But why should she?

Though she might be able to see through another's eyes, that's as far as her so-called psychic gift went. She couldn't see into another person's soul. Couldn't read anyone's mind. She had to rely on her natural instincts, the same instincts that everyone possessed, to judge character.

Besides, Keelin reminded herself, Skelly sensationalized stories for a living. Maybe he was digging for a story where there was none.

Keelin shook her head. "No, it's too bizarre."

"The strange disappearance of the first Mrs. Leighton is bizarre," Skelly agreed, "and that's why I want you to be careful. I don't want to chance losing my new cousin before I even get to know what makes her tick."

"You mean afterward would be all right?" she asked with a straight face.

Skelly seemed startled for a moment. Then, when he realized she was joking, he grinned. "Aileen's going to love your sense of humor. And speaking of my sister, we ought to get a move on or she might be unavailable. I don't have a clue to her bookings for today."

Keelin already knew his half-sister was a massage therapist and that she'd been enthusiastic at the prospect of meeting her cousin from Ireland.

"Then we had best hurry," Keelin agreed. She indicated the copies. "Can I keep these?"

"Consider them yours."

Keelin stuffed the papers back into the folder and took it along. She'd have the time to look them over more carefully later in her hotel.

Taking Skelly's car, they drove north up Lincoln Avenue to Aileen's place of work.

"Natural Is...is an alternate lifestyle business owned by a local health food guru," Skelly said. "It promotes a more natural way of life, from organic foods to homeopathic medicines to healing hands. There's a combination shop/cafe and a health clinic. Aileen is the massage therapist."

"How peculiar and grand that I share a similar interest with a cousin who was born thousands of miles from me," Keelin said with wonder.

Natural Is...was located in a double storefront in an area that Skelly told her was still recovering from an economic fallout. Two major department stores had gone out of business with most of the smaller shops following. But eventually new businesses had moved in, loft condominiums had been created, and the neighborhood had received a face-lift in general.

Keelin especially appreciated the old building facades that had been cleaned up and restored. And she felt comfortable entering Natural Is...The reception area of the clinic was anything but sterile. Purple walls. Oriental carpets underfoot. An eclectic mix of second-hand furniture, some of it painted bright colors, scattered about. A mobile of the universe glittering in one corner. And plants peeking out from every nook and cranny. Lots and lots of plants.

And her cousin Aileen was equally colorful, wreathed in a brilliant fuchsia, turquoise and jade print cocoon jacket that shimmered as she threw her arms around Keelin for a hug.

"My schedule is clear for the rest of the hour," Aileen said before Skelly could make more formal introductions. "Let's go next door into the cafe."

Half-brother and -sister had the same blue eyes and Keelin could see a resemblance in the cheekbones and jawline. But where Skelly had black hair, Aileen was blond, her extraordinary fairness no doubt inherited from her mother LaVerne.

Keelin knew that Skelly's mother Faye – her own father's first love and the reason for the division between James and Raymond – had died shortly after his birth. Raymond had quickly remarried, but his union with LaVerne Gordon had ended in divorce. Gran once mentioned Raymond also had a child by a woman he'd never married, but Keelin hadn't found any letters or cards from Skelly and Aileen's natural half-brother in Moira's box of cherished memories.

The cafe took up the front third of the other half of Natural Is... Keelin barely got a glimpse of the displays of books and supplements and more eyecatching treasures sold in the store before they settled at a table overlooking the busy street. Keelin and Aileen ordered herbal teas, while Skelly stuck to a hearty coffee.

They exchanged details about their lives while waiting for their order. Once they were served, Skelly got down to business.

"It's up to you to convince Dad to make this trip back to Ireland, Aileen."

"I can try."

"She can wind him around her little finger," he assured Keelin.

Aileen shrugged modestly. "Plus we have the advantage because Dad never did get over not seeing his mother again before she passed on last year. I can probably use a little guilt...uh, not that I think your father is going to die or anything," she hurriedly added.

"Use whatever ammunition you have to. Right, Keelin?"

His statement reminding her of what Skelly did for a living, Keelin squirmed. "Within reason," she agreed, disliking the idea of being underhanded.

For wasn't that what Tyler thought of her? That she would do anything, fabricate anything to get to his money?

She hated that Tyler Leighton could get to her even when he wasn't in her presence. When she was trying to concentrate on family, on her original mission. She hated that Tyler thought she might be a charlatan when all she wanted was to help him and his daughter.

And herself, an inner voice reminded her.

"Dad's planning on taking the Friday night red-eye in from Washington," Aileen was saying. "Maybe I'll surprise him, meet him at the airport."

"Get him in a weakened condition." Skelly grinned. "You'll have him agreeing before he knows what hit him."

Keelin shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't that she didn't like Skelly. She just wasn't certain that she approved of him. Or rather of his methods of doing things.

"If he puts up a fuss," Aileen said, "I'll tell him we're going, with or without him."

"Will you really come?" Keelin asked.

"I've always wanted to see Ireland."

Skelly added, "I might be able to find an angle for a story. A tax write-off."

As long as the story was not about the McKennas, please God, Keelin thought.

"What about Donovan?" That was the name of Raymond's natural son. "Is he likely to agree?"

Siblings exchanged looks.

"Who knows what Donovan's likely to do," Aileen said, tearing her gaze from Skelly to Keelin. "I'll tell you, it's doubtful, considering he doesn't even think of himself as one of us."

"Who even knows where Donovan is or what he's been up to for the past dozen years," Skelly muttered less amiably.

Arousing Keelin's curiosity. But, with the distinct impression that Skelly would rather not talk about their mysterious half-brother, she asked, "What about Aunt Rose? Do you think she's open to a reunion?"

"Mm, I don't know." Skelly sprawled back in his chair. "She has the biggest reason to stay away, doesn't she, considering she was told never to darken a McKenna doorstep again."

Harsh words and hardly believable as coming from her father's lips, but Keelin knew them to be true. For centuries, the Troubles in Éire had pitted Catholic against Protestant. When Rose fell in love with a man who was both Protestant and American, her brothers forbade her to see him. When she defied them, saying she would marry Charlie and go off to America with him, they felt she betrayed not only their country, but them personally.

And when they disowned her, an angry Rose cursed her brothers, wishing them the same luck in love for them that they wished for her.

Not long after, the brothers bitterly fought over a woman. Raymond won Faye O'Reilly's heart. They, too, came to America, with him never looking back on James. Faye hadn't long to live, however, and Raymond never found a lasting relationship with another woman.

The only triplet to remain in Éire, her own father had settled for a young girl he'd had no romantic notions over. And while he'd learned to love Delia in his own way, Keelin had always sensed something missing in her parents' relationship.

She could only hope that Rose had fared better with her beloved Charlie.

What she knew of the story, Keelin had gleaned directly from her grandmother. The triplets had broken her heart, and thus Moira had created what Keelin thought of as the McKenna Legacy, wishing for her grandchildren the personal happiness denied her own offspring because of their selfishness and intolerance. And for all their sakes, Keelin hoped the legacy held all the power of Moira McKenna's love.

"Maybe the best way to get to Rose would be through cousin Kate," Aileen mused, bringing Keelin back to the present.

"Kate's the veterinarian in South Dakota," Keelin recounted. "You've actually met her?"

"Years ago, when she was passing through Chicago and looked us up," Skelly explained.

"We're not close," Aileen added, "but we're friendly. "We write a couple of times a year and call at the holidays. I'm afraid she's our only connection to Aunt Rose."

"Then let us hope that she's as close to her mother as you are to your father."

They had little more time to plot and scheme before Aileen had to give her regrets. A client was due any moment. Hugging Keelin and extracting a promise that she wouldn't leave the city before they all had a proper dinner together, Aileen flitted back to the clinic.

And Keelin's thoughts were already flitting back to her other, more pressing concern. But what to do about it? When Tyler had left her hotel suite in the early hours of the morning, he hadn't exactly been in an expansive mood. He'd said nothing about follow up. He'd said nothing about seeing her again that day, a fact that inordinately bothered her.

She guessed it was up to her to pursue the truth...with or without Tyler's cooperation.

As they left the cafe, she asked, "Skelly, would you be willing to do a bit more research for me about Tyler Leighton?"

"Sure, cous. I'm glad you've decided to proceed with caution. What kind of info do you want?"

"Anything you can find about his business associates."

"Within L&O Realty?"

"That, too, of course. But I was thinking more on the lines of an unhappy competitor. Someone who might be holding a grudge against him."

Skelly unlocked the car door for her. "You think his daughter's being held for ransom could be part of a business war?"

... let him know what it's like to have someone else on top for once...

The words from the dream echoing in her head, Keelin nodded and she slipped into the passenger seat. "Could be. Or it could be more personal. I don't want to overlook any possibility. I fear we don't have much time to find Cheryl."

Skelly started the engine and pulled the vehicle from the parking spot. For once, he didn't have much to say, merely turned on the radio to a soft rock station that played tunes from the seventies. Keelin rested her head against the car seat and let her mind drift.

Images of Tyler Leighton floated through her head. She concentrated on his various moods. Angry. Worried. Devastated. She wanted to see a smile lighting up his handsome features, happiness radiating from him. She wanted to see his daughter safely in his arms.

Halfway to her hotel, Skelly said, "I hope you know what you're doing, getting so involved with people who don't mean anything to you."

But Tyler did mean something to Keelin. Or at least he was beginning to and not only because she was attracted to the man physically. Despite his caution with her, Keelin was convinced Tyler would do anything, put himself in any danger, to rescue his child. She admired that kind of selflessness, something she had been lacking in the case of Gavin Daley. And Tyler's deep feeling for family so like her own touched her.

While Skelly wasn't a bad sort, Keelin suspected her cousin had never been the type to put himself out on a limb for someone else.

"We're all responsible for each other," she reminded him, echoing their grandmother's sentiments. "If you spotted a stranger on the street being attacked, wouldn't you help?"

"Sure. I'd call the police. They're trained to handle violent situations. If I stuck my nose in where it didn't belong, I'd probably mess things up."

No surprise there.

"But the authorities might be too late," Keelin argued. "Or unwilling to believe you. There are times when, knowing someone is in trouble, you're compelled to act."

Because not acting could haunt one for the rest of her life, as she well knew.

"You're a better person than I am," he said caustically. "But that's okay. What would the world do if everyone was like me?"

Act selflessly in another's behalf, Moira's legacy had charged.

Sadly enough, Keelin couldn't see Skelly living up to their grandmother's finest dreams for them. She feared that, unless he had a change of heart, he would follow in their parents' footsteps and never find the personal happiness every human being deserved.

NO SOONER HAD KEELIN STEPPED FOOT in the lobby of her hotel, when she saw Tyler Leighton waiting for her. Her mouth went dry and she noted the funny feeling in her chest. Popping out of a wing-back chair, he appeared drawn. Grim. And very, very determined as he closed the gap between him to intercept her.

"We have to talk."

Taking her elbow, he guided her to the elevators. His touch, while not rough, was unyielding.

"I'm not trying to get away from you," she murmured and used her free hand to press the call button.

A flush darkening his features, he let go. "Sorry."

Before Keelin could ask him to explain what had happened, a ding signaled a set of doors opening. They entered the empty car together. Tyler waited until the doors closed and they started their ascent.

"It arrived with this morning's mail."

Her pulse lurched. "The ransom note?" Somehow, she'd imagined him receiving it at home.

"No postmark, though. Someone hand-delivered it."

The way he was looking at her, she had no question as to whom he included among the suspects.

"You were with me this morning until you left for your office."

"Actually, I stopped home to change first."

"But I wouldn't know that, would I?"

"Aren't we a bit defensive? I made no accusations."

"We are beginning to know your expressions like the back of our hand."

They locked gazes in silent struggle, only releasing their hold on each other with the opening of the elevator doors.

"My floor." Keelin led the way to her suite. Once inside the sitting room, she asked, "So what did the note say?"

Tyler ran a hand through his perfect hair, leaving a mussed lock drooping over his forehead. He looked as exhausted as she felt. And distrusting.

"That I shouldn't involve the police any further if I value my daughter's life. And that the person would be in touch. How long before the next note comes, Keelin?"

She sat. "How would I know?"

"What? No more dreams?"

Irritation rising, she said, "I was busy this morning."

"With?"

"Trying to get a family reunion together." Not that she wanted to go into the problematic details.

His expression skeptical, he said, "Well, now you can come home with me."

That gave her a start. Enter the lion's den willingly? "Why should I?"

"You said you knew the others." He paced the length of the room. "Since you never met Cheryl, you can get to know her by going through her things. And by sleeping in her bed."

"Now, wait a–"

"You wait!" He stopped before her. "You told me yourself time was running out. And you can only connect with Cheryl when you sleep. Maybe being among her things...in her bed...will help."

And being among Cheryl's things and sleeping in the girl's bed would put her in far too close a proximity to the father, Keelin thought. Even though she'd convinced herself that Skelly's insinuation about Cheryl's mother was the suspicious journalist talking, how could she know what Tyler might or might not do when crossed? He had a power about him that she couldn't deny. But violence?

Pulse thrumming at the thought, she said, "I'm not certain that's such a good idea."

"Why is that, Keelin? Afraid?"

Of him? Definitely. Though Keelin suspected the thing she feared most was increased intimacy with the man. She didn't want to consider the physical danger aspect.

"Your daughter's somewhere in the city," she hedged. "Better to stay as close as possible."

"For whom?" He bent over her chair, grasping the armrests, his face practically in hers. "Cheryl or you?"

Realizing what he was suggesting, Keelin felt her irritation rise. Her temper might have a slow fuse, but he'd been striking matches since they'd met.

"I have nothing to do with what happened to your daughter," she assured him yet again. He was so close she could feel his breath waft across her face. Her heart skipped a beat in response. "I was not even here in this country when she disappeared."

"How do I know that? This family business thing of yours is pretty dicey, if you ask me."

Placing her hand in the middle of Tyler's chest, Keelin pushed. At first he didn't budge. She glared at him, mentally willed him to comply. As if he read her determination, he finally gave way, and let her rise.

"Speak to my cousin Skelly." Her turn to pace, to work off her growing aggravation.

"Right. The tabloid journalist. I can certainly trust him."

If Keelin didn't jump to Skelly's defense, it was because Tyler had a point. Her cousin's methods made her uneasy, and Tyler didn't even know him. If only Skelly hadn't done that sensational piece on Cheryl's disappearance...then, again, if he hadn't, she would never have identified the girl before it was too late.

"How's this for a theory?" he went on, not bothering to hide his rancor. "Your cousin wanted a good story, something that would make his career. So he recruits you to help him. He tells you to pretend to have this power so you can feed me information."

That he might be skeptical about her gift was one thing. But his continuing distrust of her motives made Keelin lose the temper she'd been hanging onto by a thread.

"I would tell you what you could do with that theory, but my mother raised me to be a lady. If you really think that I could choose to hurt a young girl – or anyone – then you'd best search for your daughter on your own!"

"Not when you can lead me to her!"

Tyler was standing over her, threatening her with his too-close presence. Part of her was afraid. Another part was seeing-red angry.

"Get out," she said, far more calmly than she was feeling. She was trembling, her stomach knotting. "Before I ring the management to have someone throw you out!"

His glare intensified and Keelin's throat went dry. She couldn't swallow. Had she pushed him too far? Would he avenge himself in his anger?

When Tyler suddenly backed off, Keelin felt faint with relief. He crossed the room, his stride quick, and didn't look back. The door slamming shut shook not only the walls, but her insides, as well. Her legs could have been made of rubber. She felt her way down into a chair.

She'd done what she had to, Keelin assured herself, heart still pounding.

Only...what about Cheryl Leighton?

Fearing that allowing her temper to get the better of her had sealed the girl's fate, Keelin was sick inside.

Chapter Five

AS HE RACED OUT OF KEELIN'S HOTEL, Tyler's insides were tied up in knots. What the hell had gotten into him? He hadn't meant to screw things up when he'd gone back to face the woman, to try to figure out her true role in his daughter's disappearance. But the longer he'd waited, the more out of kilter his thoughts had spiraled, until he'd been unable to control himself.

He had to face facts: he'd lost it.

He'd opened his mouth and had spewed out his worst fears at Keelin without thinking things through properly. If she were innocent – if – he'd put her off, perhaps for good.

And if Keelin were guilty, things might go worse for his daughter.

Either way, he'd been a fool.

But what to do to make things right?

Whatever it took, a small voice inside his head insisted.

On the way back to his office, Tyler considered his dilemma from every angle, and only one plan came to mind. After giving her enough time to cool off, he'd have to seek Keelin out once more. He'd have to apologize, to admit that he'd been an ass, to tell her that his worry for his daughter was so great that he was having difficulty getting a proper handle on things.

And then he would have to charm her.

Normally, the thought of romancing an attractive woman would be more than amenable. He was no more immune to Keelin than she seemed to be to him. At times, the chemistry between them had been palpable.

But the idea of getting closer to his daughter's kidnapper made the bile rise to his throat.

And if Keelin were genuine and only trying to help...how could he live with himself then?

He'd find a way.

His daughter was the only thing that mattered, Tyler reminded himself. His soul, after all, had already been damned years ago.

So he would do it, charm Keelin, make her want to please him. He didn't know whether her motives were feigned or true. If he waited to find out, it might be too late. That he might trick a woman who was innocent of anything but wanting to help him was a chance he had to take.

He'd learned to live with the unspeakable once.

The second time would be easier.

KEELIN COULD HARDLY CONCENTRATE on the computer screen and the article

Skelly had retrieved about Tyler's recent successful bid to renovate an old theater into a multi-use arts space. Their earlier fight had been replaying through her head ever since, had kept her from catching up on that lost sleep.

She blamed herself for letting things get out of hand.

Tyler was far too emotionally distressed to be sane. She should have side-railed his anger rather than fueling it. Normally a congenial person, who would do anything to avoid a fight, she couldn't say why she'd been so contentious.

"I found several more instances when Nate Feldman lost lucrative contracts to L&O Realty."

Skelly's voice snapped Keelin back to the research done at her request. Now she was feeling guilty at her disapproving thoughts concerning her cousin. She'd asked for a favor and he hadn't hesitated to come through for her, even if he had insisted a research assistant had done the work while he'd videotaped this afternoon's show. She didn't care how he'd accomplished the task, he'd responded to her need. Perhaps he wasn't as removed from responsibility toward his fellow human being as he would like her to believe.

"I still cannot fathom how quickly you journalists find information," she marveled as he sat in a vacant chair and wheeled closer to her.

"Thank the computer age."

"No, thank you."

Skelly seemed a bit flustered, as if he didn't know how to respond. Perhaps he wasn't used to gratitude, Keelin thought. He certainly seemed more comfortable with conflict and pessimism. An outgrowth of his career choice? she wondered. Or had he merely been born with a negative view of life?

"Anyway, Nate Feldman is definitely Leighton's chief business competitor," Skelly was saying. "Whether or not he holds a grudge at losing is another question."

"Did you find anything to link him to Cheryl?"

"Not directly, but hold on. Scoot over a bit."

Keelin did as he asked, and Skelly moved in on the computer. He sped the mouse around its pad and his fingers over the keyboard, and the images on the computer monitor changed nearly as quickly.

A moment later, they were looking at another page of The Chicago Tribune, this in the Chicagoland section. The headline indicated a christening of a factory building converted to mini-mall in the Clybourn Corridor. Keelin recognized the event from the video footage in her cousin's report the day before. Skelly used the mouse to mark the accompanying photograph, then hit a few more keys.

A blink and the picture exploded outward, filling the screen.

Tyler shaking hands with the mayor was the focus of the photograph. Cheryl stood slightly behind her father, nearly out of the frame. And on his other side, between Tyler and the mayor, standing some distance behind...

"Feldman?" Keelin murmured, tapping the image of the balding man.

Skelly nodded. "That's him. Odd that he showed for a celebration of a job he lost, don't you think?" He scooted his chair back and faced her. "He may not even have spoken to the girl, but he obviously knew about her."

"Surely Tyler would have realized as much. Odd that he never mentioned Feldman."

Or perhaps Tyler had been waiting for her to do so. Would he have considered that further proof of her perfidy? she wondered.

"Maybe it never occurred to him that a business rival would be involved," Skelly mused.

"Perhaps," Keelin agreed. "Did you learn anything personal about Feldman? Anything about his character that would make him capable of using a child to punish a competitor?"

"I can give you tons of facts and figures about the man, but without hitting the streets and interviewing people who know him, it'd be impossible to analyze him personally."

And Keelin couldn't ask her cousin to take the time from his work to do so. Another solution came to her. "Tyler has a private investigator trying to find Cheryl."

"Checking out Feldman might be a productive use of the man's time."

"I'll suggest as much."

If Tyler would speak to her, given the way they'd parted earlier. Hopefully, he would still be in his office. Whatever his reaction might be to her unexpected appearance, Keelin knew she had to brave facing him.

And this time, she would not let Tyler Leighton get under her skin and derail her from her purpose.

TYLER BROODED IN HIS SHADOW-FILLED OFFICE. He'd spent the latter half of the afternoon calling the Hotel Clareton in an attempt to charm Keelin into forgetting his earlier accusations, but she'd up and disappeared on him.

He was so frustrated that a knock at his door made him grouse, "What is it?"

Pamela Redmond poked her head inside, her topknot bobbling. "Is it safe to enter?"

He waved her in. "How come I never tick you off?"

"Who said you don't?" His assistant raised her eyebrows but appeared as easygoing as always. "Uh, you want some light in here?" Her hand reached toward the wall switch.

"Leave it be."

He thought better in the semi-gloom. Or maybe it was that the light would make him face things he'd prefer to avoid at the moment.

Pamela forgot about the light and stepped closer to his desk. "I had Mr. Bryant check out Keelin McKenna as you asked me to do."

Tyler stiffened. Jeremy Bryant was the private investigator he'd hired to find his daughter. "And?"

"As far as he could tell, she's genuine. No police record on anyone using that name. He couldn't find any trace of her in this city. Then he used a personal contact – a friend of a friend of a friend, as I understand – to get to Immigration. Keelin McKenna just flew in from Ireland just as she said."

A weight lifted from Tyler's chest and he realized he'd been holding his breath. Though he'd thrown around accusations with impunity, he hadn't wanted them to be true. He'd wanted Keelin to be exactly who and what she claimed to be. While not the last word – a con artist probably could change identities easier than he could change

the blueprints for a renovation – Bryant's research indicated that was the case.

"I appreciate your help."

Pamela backed off. "Sorry I can't do more."

"That makes two of us." He checked his watch. Almost five. "Go on. Leave. Get back to your life for an evening. Let me brood in peace."

"Sure."

Tyler didn't wait for the door to close behind her. Impatient, he picked up the telephone receiver and hit redial, mentally following the rash of beeps that followed.

"Hotel Clareton."

"Is Miss McKenna in, yet?"

"No, I'm sorry, sir," came the aggravating reply. "But if you would like to leave another message..."

Having left two already, realizing the clerk recognized his voice, Tyler felt foolish. "No message."

He slammed down the phone. For all he knew, Keelin was in and avoiding him. So what next? He crossed to the windows and stared down at the park. He was trying to come up with some options when his office door opened again.

Thinking Pamela had returned, he gruffly said, "I thought I told you to go home."

"Of the many desperate things you said to me, that was not among them."

The Irish lilt plucked at Tyler's insides, twisted him in knots as he turned to face Keelin. Wreathed in a flowing sunflower yellow jumper-dress over a white T-shirt, her cloud of hair a low simmering flame brushing her shoulders, she was a bright spot against the gloom.

They spoke as one.

"I was an ass."

"You were frantic for your daughter."

Tyler realized Keelin had come to make things right with him. She'd chosen to forgive – or at least to ignore – his accusations. Either that, or she was a very, very clever con artist. He had to consider the last option so that guilt wouldn't stop him from doing what he had to...to cover all bases.

He couldn't screw up again.

Registering a regretful expression, Tyler moved closer. "It seems emotions were running high on both sides earlier."

"I wish you could accept me for who I am, Tyler, but if you cannot, you cannot." Her fingers tightened on the strap of the large leather bag swung over her shoulder. "Your suspicions will not sway me from my purpose."

He couldn't be swayed, either, couldn't afford to lose sight of his plan.

No matter that his investigator had found nothing in the least incriminating about her, Tyler couldn't let down his guard around Keelin. Too much was at stake. He couldn't trust anyone or anything but himself.

He began the seduction by saying, "You have a generous heart," in as sincere a tone as he could manage. He nearly believed it himself.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but she didn't respond directly. "I carefully considered what you said earlier. About being closer to Cheryl through her things."

He started. "You're talking about coming home with me. You're willing?"

She nodded. "If you still wish me to."

"That would be best," he agreed, crossing the room to her. "We can stop by your hotel and–"

"No need. I brought a few things." She indicated the leather bag.

So much the better, Tyler told himself. He could begin drawing her in immediately. Keelin's being in his territory would make his goal that much easier.

So why was he having so much difficulty at working up the proper enthusiasm?

THOUGH TYLER HAD MADE AN ATTEMPT AT AN APOLOGY, Keelin didn't fool herself into believing he trusted her. She could feel the suspicion simmering below the surface. Not that she blamed him. Not that it mattered. Nothing could sway her from her course of action.

Despite herself, she felt her tension dissipate as they left the city behind and entered the suburbs of the affluent North Shore. The houses along the east side of Sheridan Road were mansions, some clustered together, others solitary and facing the lake. A few even had coach houses that mirrored the main quarters. She caught sight of an outdoor swimming pool on one estate, clay tennis courts on another, and as they kept driving, more and more wooded areas separating the properties.

The ravines.

A thrill shot through her as she envisioned herself – rather Cheryl in her initial dream – stumbling down the incline, brush thrashing around her legs, the sound of turbulent waves battering the shore.

Feeling as if her heart were going to burst.

Keelin's blood pulsed at an alarming rate, and she had to take a deep breath to calm herself.

"You all right?"

Tyler's tone held the right amount of concern, and yet Keelin grew more tense. "I'll survive."

"We're almost there. Only a few more minutes."

A few minutes of curves and hills and ravines that grew deeper and denser. By the time they popped up over a knoll and turned into a drive, Keelin had dug her nails into her seat's upholstery in anticipation.

Tyler pulled the Jaguar into the shade under the carport. Keelin didn't wait for him to open her door, rather popped out and breathed in the lake-scented air. Her eyes strayed to the ravine to the south, and again she mentally replayed Cheryl's escape into the night and wondered if retracing the girl's steps along the wooded gully would be of any help.

"I'll take your bag," Tyler suddenly said, giving her a start. He was directly behind her.

"No. I have it."

Keelin slung the leather strap over her shoulder and circled the car, making for the entrance with its high double-doors. She would begin inside.

Tyler unlocked the house for her, and she entered as if in a dream. The marble floor whispering beneath her booted feet felt familiar. She recognized the freeform winged sculpture. Passed by the formal living area and went straight for the smaller room off the foyer.

Tyler's office.

Standing in the doorway and gazing at the heavy mahogany desk, she felt as if she'd actually been inside. Had ransacked his drawers for the money he kept for emergencies.

"You seem mesmerized."

"It's all so...odd." Her pulse danced to a strange rhythm. "I've never been here before, and yet..."

"You feel as if you have, through Cheryl." Tyler wrapped an arm around her back, his hand lightly resting on her shoulder. "I can't imagine how difficult this is for you," he said solicitously. "Maybe you'd like to sit down and catch your breath."

Not unaffected by his touch, Keelin had to fight to remember why she was there. "Her room."

In a haze, she pulled away from Tyler and turned to the staircase. She slowly climbed. Hesitated halfway. Purposefully tested the next step.

The wood creaked.

And a chill shot up her spine.

Barely aware of Tyler following, she continued ascending and with unerring instinct turned to her right. She kept going until she reached a room halfway down the hall. Keelin opened the door and entered.

No doubt in her mind that this was a teenager's room. Cheryl Leighton's bedroom. A place at once both familiar and alien.

In her dream, she'd merely gotten vague impressions of the heart-throb and New Age and sports posters tacked to hot pink walls. The futon Cheryl used as a bed lay open, a worn stuffed dog with a torn ear at its foot, the only indication that the teenager was still a child, the covers mussed as if Cheryl had just risen. A corner wall unit held a computer, sound system and television. Books, videotapes, computer programs and CDs were scattered across nearby shelves, these a brilliant purple. Keelin could see shoes and clothes strewn about the closet. The floor of the private bathroom was also a repository of discarded clothing and a pile of used towels.

"I told the cleaning woman to stay out of here." Expression grim, Tyler stood at the door as if reluctant to enter, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. "Stupid, but I keep thinking that nothing is changed...I keep expecting to see Cheryl curled in bed with her headsets on...or at her computer, playing a game or flying through cyberspace."

Remembering how easily Skelly had whipped along through sources of information using his computer, Keelin nevertheless eyed the electronic contraption warily. She lived several decades separated from the technology that Tyler's child took for granted. She dropped her leather bag near the futon and circled the room, touching the girl's things, almost as if she expected to feel her.

"Anything?" Tyler asked.

Keelin shook her head. "I dream through another's eyes. That's the extent of my gift as I told you. Awake, I cannot conjure her. I agreed to come with you so I could get to know Cheryl better. Or remember something I missed. Perhaps find some material indication as to her intentions."

She couldn't miss the disappointment he quickly masked as he said, "Of course."

Compassion made Keelin cross to Tyler and place a hand on his arm. The physical link drew her closer to this distrusting, angry man, even as she knew keeping her distance would be a far wiser course. "Come." Hooking her fingers into his flesh, she drew him into the room.

He moved with her as if mesmerized. Confused. As if, for a moment, he forgot what he was about. Their gazes meshed. He allowed her in...and she felt his pain with agonizing clarity. Then he blinked, as if awakening from a spell, and a subtle change came over him.

Keelin suddenly found herself shut out.

"Where shall we start?" he asked.

For the next hour, they browsed through the items on the teaming shelves, hoping for some clue as to Cheryl's state of mind. Looking for anything that would jog Keelin's memory. Nothing. They didn't even find the address book that Keelin had hoped for. No reference to acquaintances in the city.

"She must know all her friends' telephone numbers by heart," Keelin murmured.

"More likely, they're programmed into her phone."

Surrounded by Cheryl's things, they were sitting on the floor together, Keelin's legs swept behind her, Tyler's before him, knees up, ankles crossed. How odd that they seemed of a mind, at last. They'd worked seamlessly together, and Tyler hadn't uttered one biting word since they'd begun.

Moving to the bottom shelf, Keelin chose one of several scrapbooks and began paging through photos and souvenirs that were several years old. Her eyes were tired and threatened to close on her at any moment, but she forced herself to examine each page before going on to the next.

Thinking talking would keep her awake, she said, "Tell me about your daughter."

Tyler flipped through a magazine and threw it onto a growing pile. "Cheryl's bright and passionate about life," he said, sounding every bit the proud parent. "She's trusting, big-hearted and, I fear, too-easily hurt. She's easy to anger...and easy to..."

"Forgive?"

"I always thought so."

But not now? What wasn't Tyler telling her? Keelin wondered. What had he done that his daughter was finding hard to forgive? What lies could he have told her that were so terrible that Cheryl had felt betrayed enough to run away?

Tempted to ask directly, Keelin bit back the question. Asking would only anger him. Better that she wait until he was ready to share whatever it was that was eating him up inside. Though she had no extraordinary powers beyond her mysterious dreams, she had the natural instinct that every person possessed. Perhaps she was more attuned to her intuitive side than some, for she was certain Tyler's harshness was meant to cover up his own feelings of guilt.

"Cheryl sounds a bit like Flanna," Keelin said, going on to another scrapbook, this one older. "My sister. And my grandmother Moira, too."

She was looking at Cheryl's baby book, Keelin realized as Tyler said, "I thought you were like your grandmother."

His attention was on a stack of Cds, hers on the faded photographs of the infant and her parents.

"We shared some traits, yes. But I think we're all a bit like her in some way or other. Flanna has a wildness about her that was definitely Moira's."

Tyler's late wife had been stunning, curvaceous and blond, Keelin noted. And she was a natural model. She knew how to make love to the camera, and the camera, in turn, had loved her. Plus, in each photograph where they posed together, Tyler wore the besotted expression of a truly happy man.

A stab of envy made Keelin too-quickly close the album, telling herself that she'd find nothing of value in these pages. She slid it to the side with the others.

"Cheryl sounds very different from you," she mused. Or at least different from what he'd become since losing his young wife. "Does she favor her mother?"

Tyler's "Cheryl's nothing like her mother!" was so vehement, his words sent a chill through Keelin.

He sounded as if he hated the woman, and more than a decade after her death. And yet the love he'd had for his young wife was obvious for anyone to see in those photographs. Uneasy, she wished she hadn't brought up the subject.

To break the tension, she turned the conversation back to her own family. "I wish I were more like Moira."

Words stiff, he asked, "How so?"

"She was a woman who drew people and creatures alike to her. More important, she was so unafraid of who she was."

He seemed to let down his guard when he asked, "What do you have to fear?"

Her gift. Not knowing if she could ever live up to its expectation of her.

People.

Him.

"Sometimes...everything," she admitted.

His dark eyebrows slashed upward. "You could have fooled me."

Warmth crept through Keelin. Tyler almost sounded as if he admired her. A little flustered, she chose another of Cheryl's scrapbooks, this one newer than the others, and turned back the cover. A large glossy print of father and daughter stared back at her. They stood in the shelter of some trees. The facades of buildings behind them had a medieval look as did several costumed people. A summer fair. Cheryl looked only slightly younger than she had in the news clip Skelly had shown of her. This probably had been taken the year before.

As she studied the pretty face she had never seen in person, Tyler urged, "So tell me more about this grandmother you wish you were like."

Keelin looked up at him. "She was quite unconventional for a woman of her day. She married late. The thirty-third day after her thirty-third birthday to be exact."

Hence, part of Moira's legacy.

"Ah, a superstitious woman."

"More to the point, the people who lived in the area were superstitious, including the young men who feared to pursue her. Some called her witch."

"Because of the dreams?"

Keelin nodded. "And because she had the power to heal. We had that in common also – our love of the land and of the plants that could ease suffering." Seeing the shadow sweep over Tyler's features, she quickly added, "Gran also talked to the animals, both domestic and wild, and swore she understood what they said in return."

"Most people would consider that a little strange," he agreed, his expression lightening, making him appear even more handsome.

Her pulse skittering strangely, she said, "And the men of the surrounding villages were timid romantically because of these things. Moira Kelly would have none of them with their weak natures. She wanted a real man, her equal."

"Since you're here, she obviously got what she wished for."

"Eventually. Seamus McKenna came to her rescue at a desperate time." Keelin remembered the tale her grandmother had repeated both with sadness and joy many times through the years. "A child Gran tried to heal died. There was no helping it, for the parents waited too long and expected a miracle. The fever took the lad. But the family blamed Moira, came after her, determined to burn the witch in her enchanted cottage."

"But Seamus stopped them."

Keelin nodded. "A tinker by trade, he lived on the road in a caravan and made his way by fixing tools and such for people. He was repairing a drying rack in the herb shed when trouble arrived. He protected Moira with his own life and so won her heart. She, in turn, tamed a bit of the wildness in him, enough to convince him to settle down with her."

"Sounds like a fairy tale."

"My family is from Éire, after all," Keelin said with a grin. How good it felt to smile. To feel days of tension drain from her, if only for a short while. "A land of many wondrous tales."

"You'll have to tell me more."

He made it sound as if she would be around for an indefinite period. As if he was suddenly enjoying her company. And despite the many heated words that had passed between them, despite the distrust that still lingered like a dark shadow in the background, she found the idea of spending some peaceful time with Tyler oddly appealing.

"Sometime, perhaps," she said softly. "But at the moment, I fear I am talked out."

Before she knew what he was about, Tyler cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. Though he held her gently, she could feel the imprint of each finger. Her breathing near stopped. His pale blue eyes seemed to take in every detail of her features. And the longer he took, the harder her heart thudded.

And for a moment, she lost it.

Sense.

Purpose.

Everything but the need to give and take comfort.

He lowered his head a fraction, found Keelin's mouth. She opened to him, invited him in. Fiercely, he entered, and she felt as if his frustration with his powerlessness battered her. But she was stronger than she'd implied. She seized his demons and matched them with a potency of her own.

For a long, long moment, they lost themselves to each other. Male to female. Strength to softness. Determination to compassion. She had never felt so lost in a simple kiss.

A low moan shuddered through her. She pressed closer, her body flamed with wanting...

And then she came to her senses, remembered what she should be about.

She broke the kiss.

When he raised his head, Tyler appeared as astonished as she. And even more flustered. But though her fingers worked against the muscles of his arm, she made no immediate move away from him. Instead, she waited, her gaze twined with his, anxious to see what he would do, to hear what he would say to her, now that their alliance had taken a new twist.

Seeming in some quandary, Tyler sat frozen for a moment, his tension clear. Then he took a deep breath. Carefully backed off, a neutral move that put some distance between them without offending.

"You look exhausted," he said sympathetically.

So he was going to avoid talking about what just happened. Too bad she couldn't ignore the feel of his mouth that lingered against hers.

"Tis the jet lag." And the dreams. She couldn't remember her last full night's sleep.

"Maybe you'd like to freshen up and rest until dinner. We can continue going through Cheryl's things afterward."

A sensible suggestion. "A short rest would be grand." If truth be told, Keelin felt as if she could sleep for hours and hours. And she definitely needed time alone, away from Tyler to regain her bearings. A sudden thought occurred to her. She eyed him warily. "And who will be doing the cooking?"

Tyler laughed as he rose to his feet. "Don't fret. Mrs. Hague – that's the housekeeper – cooks in big batches once or twice a week and leaves meals enough for two in the freezer. Everyone says a dog is man's best friend. I say it's the microwave oven."

He was still grinning when he held out a hand to her. Keelin accepted his help, slipping her hand in his and allowing him to steady her as she got to her feet. She swayed toward him and caught herself just before they touched again.

"Hm, maybe I should have had the room straightened," Tyler mused.

His glance at the unmade bed sent tension humming through Keelin. "No problem," she said, when really there was.

The growing attraction...

... the imaginings...

... the unexpected kiss.

"There are clean linens in the closet." As if realizing he was still holding onto her, Tyler stared down at her hand for a moment before releasing it. Then he started for the door. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to put dinner in the microwave."

Keelin nodded and closed the door behind him. Touching forehead to the wood panel, she sighed and went limp. Either she was fooling herself or Tyler was experiencing a change of heart toward her. He was treating her s if he wanted to be friends with her.

Or perhaps more.

A scary thought.

Something to dream on.

Chapter Six

SHE DIED A LITTLE AS SHE WAITED until the apartment grew quiet except for the game show on the television in the living room, the announcer's voice backed by the intermittent sound of snoring.

Stemming her rising excitement, she forced herself to wait a moment longer. Until she was sure.

One of her jailers had left directly after they'd eaten, never suspecting that she knew what they were up to. Then she'd volunteered to do the dishes, had acted as if she were ever-so-grateful because they were keeping her safe and off the streets. She'd even gotten the first beer from the fridge.

Then she'd gone to her room to wait.

For the past hour, ear pressed to the door, she'd listened to channel-surfing and the toilet flushing, interspersed by the refrigerator door opening and more beer tops popping.

Finally, she decided it was time.

Trembling inside, her stomach knotted so bad it ached, she grabbed her backpack and ever-so-quietly turned the door handle. Knowing it would creak if she opened it all the way, she carefully swung the panel only far enough to squeeze through.

She slid into the shadows of the narrow hall and held her breath.

From her vantage point, she could see the television screen and the back of the chair from which an arm dangled, fingers pointing to the half-dozen beer cans littering the floor below. Asleep. Rather passed out.

Better for her.

Heart thrumming with excitement, she backed up. Slowly. Silently. One hi-top-shod foot behind the other. Eyes glued to what she could see of her solitary jailer. No movement from the living room but that on the television screen.

Then she was at the door.

Unlocking.

Opening.

Slipping through the crack.

The hall was dark, the landing light out. She felt her way to the stairwell. Hung onto the rail as she flew down the steps as fast as her feet would take her. On the second floor landing, she grazed a silver-haired woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

"Sorry," she muttered, dancing around the elderly lady, whose arms were loaded with groceries.

"What's yer hurry?" the woman yelled after her. "Kids!"

But she was already a landing away. First floor.

Through the glass inset door, lock broken. Down scuzzy chipped marble steps.

Out the front door and past three marijuana smoking teenage boys on the front stoop.

"Hey, baby, not so fast. I got something for you," one of them called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder to see the offered joint. Three sets of glazed eyes stared at her. Three mouths trembled in smirks as if they could smell her fear. One of the boys took a step off the stoop toward her.

She ran, their laughter ringing in her ears, and utilized every bit of speed she could muster.

A few minutes later, popping off the side street onto a busier one, she headed for the crazy intersection ahead. Three streets crossing one another. She was passing an old-fashioned newsstand tucked on one of the six corners, when she heard an elevated train screech to a stop. Whirling, she spotted the station. She thought to go for a train that would take her downtown. But that would only bring her back to the same dire situation she'd started in.

Then she spotted them – a couple of outdoor telephones on the angled street. She wanted to talk to her Dad. Surely he would tell her what to do. Maybe even come for her.

She begged for change for a dollar at the newsstand. Then, taking her life in her hands, she crossed against the lights, weaving her way through the traffic. Having horns blaring and curses heaped on her head for the doing.

Only one of the phones was working. She inserted coins in the slot and dialed.

C'mon, Dad, be home...forgive me...please!

Uneasy, she eyed the foot-traffic at the nearby tatoo parlor while listening to the phone ring for what seemed like an eternity. A biker couple in black leather pants and T-shirts came out, the guy admiring the tattoo on his girlfriend's breast. Suddenly the ringing stopped.

"Hello?"

The lump in her throat was so big, she had trouble forcing out the word "Dad!"

"Cheryl? My God, baby, where are you?"

He sounded glad to hear her voice. Inside, a dam broke. Tears flowed from her eyes and she choked out, "I'm sorry, Dad. Honest. I'll never do it again."

"Where are you?"

"I'm not sure. In the city somewhere."

"Look for a street sign. Ask someone. I'll come get you."

"You will? Really? You're not angry?"

He was saying, "I'm worried...not angry at you," when she felt the hand on her shoulder.

"Jeez, I'll be off in a minute!" she said impatiently.

And then the hand covered her mouth and she knew she was in trouble. Her head went light with renewed fear. The phone flew from her hand and the buildings around her whirled crazily as her legs folded and the pavement rushed up to meet her...

"CHERYL!" HEART POUNDING, hope soured to fear, Tyler clutched the cordless phone harder, as though he could make his daughter answer. "Cheryl, baby, what happened? Please tell me you're all right!"

But all he got in answer was the sound of street traffic and the repeated clunk of the phone on the other end, as if it were swinging free and banging against something solid.

"Cheryl?" he tried one last time.

Then someone replaced the receiver in its cradle and the line went dead.

His joy turned to renewed grief, Tyler blindly pitched the cordless with all his strength. The bottles in a small wine rack crashed to the kitchen floor like pins scattered by a bowling ball. One bottle broke and a deep red pool seeped across the pale ceramic floor.

Like blood would ooze across his daughter's fair skin.

The sudden tragic image drove him crazy. Without care, he retrieved the broken glass, then yelped. His hand had struck a jagged edge. He was heaving the now-bloody glass into the trash when he heard the stair squeak followed by his name.

"Tyler?" Keelin called, her voice faint and frightened, "where are you?"

The pain of the cut momentarily forgotten, he rushed out of the kitchen as she stepped off the staircase. They met in the foyer. One look at her dazed expression and he knew.

"You were sleeping. You saw something?"

"Cheryl escaped the building where she was being held. She ran." Keelin took a big breath. "I saw busy streets. An intersection. The telephone..."

"She called me." His chest tight, Tyler demanded, "What the hell happened?"

Keelin squeezed her eyes shut and touched her shoulder. "A hand, here."

"She told the person to wait a minute."

"Then his hand covered..." Her fingers moved over her lips.

Tyler would kill the bastard if he ever got hold of him. Suddenly he stilled. "You said his. You saw him?"

Keelin's features pulled together in a frown. "I'm sorry. His grip was so strong I assumed it was that of a man, but then before I could turn, everything went spinning..."

Suddenly he realized that Keelin was speaking in the first person, as if the incident had actually happened to her. She was white as a ghost, no doubt nearly as traumatized by the incident as his daughter.

Without thinking, Tyler spread his arms and stepped forward to comfort her. She accepted the shelter he offered, flying into his embrace and clutching him like a lifeline. She was trembling, her breathing ragged. He gathered her close to him, careful not to touch her with his bloody hand. He imagined that he could feel the uneven flutter of her heart through the wall of his chest.

Before, when she'd told him about the dream-visions, he'd only half-believed her. How could he deny her gift any longer when he'd been part-witness to what she'd experienced? He'd been on the line with Cheryl when Keelin had tuned in. Her explanation of what she'd seen fit exactly with his own perception of what had happened to his daughter.

Against all reason, he had to believe in a phenomena that had no logical explanation.

"It's going to be all right." As if in a trance, he ran his good hand soothingly through Keelin's loose lush hair and down her supple spine. Touching her so intimately had a very real and immediate effect on him, one he didn't want to acknowledge. "We're going to make sure it's all right. We'll find Cheryl. Together."

When Keelin gazed up at him, her eyes were shiny. "Truly?" she asked.

"I promise."

A smile trembled on her lips even as she blinked and a few tears freed themselves of her thick dark lashes. He couldn't help himself. He kissed the trail from her cheek. His lips instantly salty, he ran a tongue over them, vaguely wondering what he was doing.

How was it that he was getting caught up in the very woman he'd vowed to entice in return for his daughter's safety?

As if she could read his mind, Keelin vowed, "I would do anything to bring Cheryl home to you."

Her warm breath fluttered against Tyler's face. He couldn't help but believe her.

Suddenly Keelin noticed the blood dripping from his hand. Eyes wide, she demanded, "What happened?"

"I just nicked myself on some broken glass."

"That's more than a nick. Let me."

She took his wrist and raised his hand so she could see the wound. Over his murmured objections, she pulled him into the kitchen and to the sink where, keeping pressure below the cut, she washed it out with an antiseptic liquid soap and checked it for any stray pieces of broken glass.

Then she placed his free hand at a pressure point below the cut and ordered, "Keep your hand up, the wound above your heart, and hold that pressure steady. I'll get my first aid kit."

Keelin raced upstairs, pulled the soft-sided kit from her leather bag and ran back to the kitchen. She set it on the counter and removed a few items.

"What's that?" Tyler asked suspiciously.

"Wicked remedies that will render you powerless."

Keelin delivered the answer with a straight face and would have been amused at Tyler's uneasy reaction if he weren't hurt. Soaking a swab in witch hazel, she cleaned the cut. Minus the still-oozing blood, it didn't look so bad.

"Witch hazel helps stop the bleeding," she said, "but keep the hand upright." She opened a small jar. "And pot marigold cream is an antiseptic."

Smoothing the cream over his wound shouldn't have been a sensual experience. But touching Tyler made Keelin's heart beat a bit faster anyway. She felt his gaze on her and she looked straight into his eyes. Something inside her responded.

Confused, she turned away and put her potions back in their nest, taking longer than necessary to regain her balance.

"A small bandage and we're done," she pronounced.

This time Keelin was careful as to how she touched Tyler when she applied the strip. She avoided anything but the most impersonal of contact.

"Good as new," Tyler said. "It doesn't even hurt. Much."

"Remind me to apply more pot marigold cream later."

"You made these wicked potions yourself?"

She nodded. "As I did the rest of my herbal first aids."

"And you carry these everywhere?"

Thinking he sounded a tad too amused, she raised her eyebrows. "Would a doctor travel without his bag?"

"Probably not." Seeming embarrassed Tyler moved away and quickly unrolled some paper towels straight into the mess he'd made. "Do you think you can recognize the place in the dream?"

"The building they're keeping her in?" Keelin thought a moment, but realized Cheryl hadn't focused on anything but the teenagers leering after her. "No."

Tyler threw the used towels in a waste container and fetched some loose bottles, setting them on the counter. "What about the area she called from?"

"Perhaps." Images replayed in her mind's eye. "Yes, I think so."

"Describe it to me."

"A very busy place. Streets crowded with cars and lorries. And a commuter train on tracks raised above the street."

"An el. She was near an elevated train! That eliminates most of the city," he said, excitement nearly bursting from him as he recovered the cordless phone and checked it, then threw it on the counter. "What else?"

"Shops. Places to eat."

"A commercial district."

"And the telephones – they were outside, on the sidewalk."

"I figured. The sound of traffic was pretty clear." Tyler frowned. "Can you remember the name of any particular restaurant or store?"

Some vague memory nagged at her, but she shook her head. "Cheryl was so panicked, I don't think she noticed many details."

"At least we have a start in our search for Cheryl," Tyler said, sounding encouraged. "We can drive around checking out neighborhoods near each of the elevated lines until you recognize some landmark. We don't have much time, a couple of hours until dark–"

They were racing for the door when the sound of a car engine being cut directly outside the house made Tyler curse to himself.

"Now who can that be?"

"The authorities?" Keelin suggested as he crossed the foyer ahead of her. "Perhaps they found Cheryl!"

When he opened the door, however, a woman stood on the other side. All Keelin saw was long, sleek light brown hair haloed with lighter streaks so dramatic they looked as if an artist had brushed them into a painting.

"Tyler. You're certainly not looking worse for the wear," the stranger said, her voice low and throaty.

"Helen!" He spat the name as if he hated it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Damn you–"

"Then I'll invite myself."

The woman pushed past Tyler and Keelin saw that she was fashionably dressed in a gray silk short suit, the jacket topping a halter the same brilliant red as her slim belt, chunky heels and bag. She stopped when they came face-to-face. They were of an age, yet this woman was everything she was not, Keelin realized. Stunningly beautiful. The kind of body that tempted a man beyond endurance. Stylish. Most of all, confident.

Painted red lips quivered into a smile as the woman gave her a once-over in return. "You must be Tyler's newest playmate," she purred, holding out her hand. "I'm his wife, Helen Dunn Leighton."

HELEN GOT GREAT SATISFACTION at the expression of disbelief mingled with horror that she'd inspired in the mouse of a woman who didn't seem to notice the offered hand. Helen let it drop. Really. She'd thought Tyler had better taste, cultivating the creme de la creme of society babes. This one didn't even know how to dress, for heaven's sake. She looked like a throwback to the seventies with that shapeless rag she was wearing. What a pity if this was the best Tyler could attract these days.

"Helen is no longer my wife," Tyler assured the other woman in a low voice before grabbing her arm and spinning her around. "And she's just leaving."

Fury filling her, Helen ripped her arm free. "You're not getting rid of me so easy this time!"

Tyler stuck his face in hers. "You're not staying."

He enunciated each word like she couldn't understand English. Her pulse might be thundering, but she wasn't really afraid of him. Not any more. Not when she was holding the winning hand for once.

Sweetly, she countered, "Cheryl's home?"

"No."

"Then I'm not going anywhere." She waltzed into the living room, calculated the worth of the classic furnishings. And the artwork. "Not when my daughter is missing."

Tyler dogged her. "You care more about your nails than you do about Cheryl."

She whirled on him. "Don't tell me what I care about!" The resentment over his using Cheryl against her was as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. "I've had enough of your righteousness to last me a lifetime!"

She could see he was holding onto his restraint by a bare thread when he said, "We'll go into it at another time, Helen. We were just about to leave."

"A date? How sweet. And with Cheryl somewhere out there on the streets."

"We're going to try to find her."

This from the woman. The mouse had an accent. Irish?

Helen raised her eyebrows questioningly. "And how do you plan to find my daughter?"

"Our business is none of yours," Tyler stated.

Ticking her off good. She'd like to know his every move. She'd like him answering to her. But she would get what she wanted soon enough. He was vulnerable. She could see beyond the belligerent expression. He was hurting. Hurting good if not as much as he deserved to.

"Then go." She strolled to a couch and sat, making certain Tyler got a good view of her legs. He'd always had a weakness for her legs. "I'll find everything I need."

His eyes were shards of ice when he flicked them from the body parts in question to her face. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Helen?"

"What do you expect me to do when my daughter is missing, Tyler?" she demanded.

"Stay out of Cheryl's life as you've always done."

"As you forced me to do!"

"As you happily took money to do," Tyler reminded her. "I'll let you know what's going on when I learn something concrete. Where are you staying?"

"This place must have a few extra bedrooms not in use."

"You're not staying here."

"Damn if I'm not."

"Don't make me use force."

Helen glared at him and narrowed her gaze. "Don't make me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She studied the acrylic nails that his money paid for and frowned at a chip in the bright red polish. "You wouldn't want me spilling all to the press, now, would you?"

Triumph filled her when Tyler glowered. Silently. He appeared as if he wanted to strangle her. She recognized the expression.

And she remembered the feel of his hands on her throat, his thumbs at her windpipe.

Despite her hatred for him, something inside her stirred. Her nipples hardened, straining against the silk of her halter top. Perversely, she figured a tumble with Tyler now would be far more exciting than when he'd been willing to cater to her every whim.

He was stronger.

But so was she.

She gave the mouse a pointed look. "So you're Tyler's latest bimbo."

"Leave her out of this."

Helen ignored the threat in his tone. "He won't marry you. He wouldn't admit to having been married to me if it weren't for Cheryl."

"You have that one right."

"Bimbo must be one of your quaint American expressions," the other woman said. "A term you seem to be quite familiar with."

Helen gaped. The mouse was smart, maybe even had claws. She suddenly grew uneasy under the soft gray eyes that seemed to peel away her skin. The feeling made her itch.

"Just get on with whatever you have to do," she told them with an imperious wave of her hand. "I'll be waiting breathlessly for some news, so do call if you learn anything about Cheryl."

When Tyler didn't immediately move, the Irishwoman put a hand on his arm. "You said we did not have much time."

The virulence drained out of him when he gazed at her. Helen clenched her jaw. She recognized that look, as well. He'd aimed it at her often enough during their short courtship and marriage.

"You're right, Keelin." Then to Helen, Tyler said, "I'd prefer you were gone when we return. But if anything is missing..."

How dare he intimate that she was a thief!

Helen glared daggers at his back as he escorted this Keelin bitch out of the house. She'd never taken anything from him but what she had coming.

He, on the other hand, hadn't been nearly so fair.

Now it was his turn to suffer.

AS TYLER DROVE LIKE A MADMAN south along Sheridan Road, Keelin tried to assimilate the scene they'd just left. He was equally silent. Strained. His fingers curled around the wheel as if choking the life from it. She couldn't guess at his dark thoughts.

"Cheryl did say she was in the city somewhere." Tyler's words were stiff. "So although elevated trains run into the North Shore, I'm going to start in Rogers Park at the city boundary."

Keelin waited until they'd traversed a few suburbs, until Tyler's muscles seemed to relax a bit, before she broached the subject that lay between them.

"I was under the distinct impression that your daughter's mother was dead," she observed.

Even Skelly had said so...though he hadn't been able to find the evidence in print, making him think that Tyler had done something untoward. At least Tyler hadn't buried the body in the backyard.

"Too bad Helen's not out of the way for good," Tyler muttered, his malice putting a lump square in Keelin's throat until he added, "Not that I really wish her dead. I am glad that we are well and truly divorced, however. I don't know where she gets off telling you she's my wife."

For effect, Keelin was certain.

"Divorce is common in the United States. Why say a woman is dead if she isn't?"

"Because I wanted her dead to my daughter!"

Though taken aback at his vehemence, she asked, "Isn't that a bit...cruel?"

"Would it be kinder to tell Cheryl that her mother was so avaricious she chose money over her own daughter?"

"You're the one who paid Helen to give up her child, are you not?"

"Big time," he said, obviously missing her irony. "And I'm still paying. It was a forever kind of deal."

"I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to."

And he obviously wasn't about to try to explain.

What had she assumed? That one kiss would change him? Make him more open to her? Trusting?

Keelin tried to let it go, but Tyler's cruelty amazed her. Separating a mother and her child was unnatural. How could he? Even if Helen was one of the most unpleasant women she'd ever met, she was still Cheryl's mother. Such rancor on Tyler's part. Why? Because his wife couldn't live with him anymore?

Keelin left her questions unasked and concentrated instead on the real victim.

Cheryl.

She had to think of the daughter, for her current thoughts on the father were beyond bearing. And this so soon after they'd taken a step closer to each other... close enough to make her imagine they might even get closer.

They passed Northwestern University and crossed an area of Evanston where both sides of the street were lined with huge old houses, many taken over by fraternities and sororities. Then the Jaguar nosed along a stretch with the lake on one side, a cemetery on the other.

Reminding Keelin of Tyler's lie.

"We're just about there." A moment later, he turned west on Howard Street. "See – the elevated structure ahead. Tell me if anything looks familiar."

Keelin gave the street a thorough once-over as they passed under the honeycomb of steel beams. "Nothing."

Tyler turned the corner, and staying within sight of the elevated, wove back and forth along several main arteries with rapid transit stations. Keelin kept watch, hoping she would recognize some small detail.

"I believe we're in the wrong neighborhood," she told him. "This simply has a different feel. A bit newer, perhaps."

"Then we'll move on." He crossed under the steel structure where it turned. "I'm planning on following this line all the way, until it goes underground. Then we'll check the other rapid transit lines if we must."

"How many are there?"

"On the north side, both the Ravenswood and the Jefferson Park run above ground for quite a stretch."

"And there are more in other parts of the city?"

"A couple," he agreed. "The elevated loops around the financial/commercial heart of the city, though there's no real neighborhood anywhere nearby. Another elevated travels west. I think the southbound rapid transit lines run strictly underground or along the expressways, though there could be a stretch of raised tracks somewhere."

Grand. Tyler wasn't even certain of all the routes. Keelin's spirits sank further until they came to an area he called Uptown.

"This is more like the neighborhood I saw," she told him. "The buildings are similar and look to be the right age. But still..."

"Not it," Tyler said for her, and went on.

Dusk was deepening by the time they passed under the Addison station a few miles down and turned onto an angled street. The elevated loomed ahead once more.

Suddenly, something sparked Keelin's memory. "This isn't the place. And yet..."

She gazed around avidly.

"And yet what?" Tyler asked, his tone hopeful.

What was it about the area? she wondered as the Jaguar came to a stop amidst a sea of other cars where three streets crossed one another.

"Six corners!" Keelin said excitedly. "That's what's familiar."

"Cheryl crossed a three street intersection?"

"Aye!"

"Why didn't you say so?"

Keelin frowned at Tyler. "But I just did. Is it a help?"

"A real big one." Sounding energized by the information, he told her, "Only a few angled streets run across the north side. That cuts down on the number of possible stations."

But unfortunately, they were only able to reach three more by dark. When Keelin suggested she probably wouldn't be able to recognize the area at night, Tyler conceded they'd best return home and start out again at first light. He headed the Jaguar for North Bluff.

And so that she wouldn't have to think about the woman waiting for them at his home, Keelin considered the information Skelly had provided her.

"Have you thought about who might want to hurt you through your daughter?" she asked.

"I've thought about little else," he conceded. "I just don't know. I might not be the easiest person all the time, but I am honest."

Honest? When he'd pretended his ex-wife was dead and had forbidden her contact with their daughter?

As if he could read her mind, he added, "Under normal circumstances."

Making her wonder what exactly had been the circumstances that had come between him and Helen. Again she pushed such thoughts away.

"What about a business rival?" she asked.

"My business dealings are squeaky clean."

"Would that matter if someone kept losing money because of you. Say, Nate Feldman?"

He gave her a look she could feel even in the dark. "How do you know about Feldman?"

Since mentioning Skelly would probably set him off, Keelin chose to hedge the question. "Through newspaper articles. I read he lost several lucrative contracts to you in the past few years."

"That's the way the business world works. I mean, there's nothing unusual about one company succeeding over another again and again."

"But how do you know this Feldman separates his business from his personal feelings?"

"I don't," Tyler admitted. "Come to think of it, Feldman approached me yesterday morning, right before you did. He congratulated me on the Uptown deal...then warned me I wouldn't be so lucky on the Michigan Avenue project. Said he had the upper hand on that one."

"Could he have meant Cheryl?"

"Actually, he said something about a lawsuit the company's tied up in. And he doesn't even know Cheryl."

"You are certain?"

"Why?"

"A photograph in one of those newspaper articles...Cheryl was at the site...and so was Feldman."

Even with only the passing streetlights illuminating the inside of the car, Keelin could see Tyler's frown.

"I was tied up with formalities that day, so it's possible that he spoke to her without my knowing it. But enough to get her to trust him?"

"Maybe that ceremony wasn't the only time they met," Keelin mused. "What if Feldman made it a point to seek Cheryl out sometime later."

"Bastard!" Tyler exploded, hitting the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. His horn beeped, and surprisingly enough, the blast settled him down. "That'd be his style, all right. On the surface, he's all pressed and polished. But underneath...Feldman warned me that there would be 'no holds barred on this one.'"

Keelin shivered. She could tell Tyler was seriously considering his chief business rival as a suspect.

"Does anyone else have reason to want you hurt?" she asked. "Business or personal?"

"Other than my ex-wife?" His laugh was bitter. "How about my business partner? Brock wants out of L&O Realty as of yesterday. Seems I'm holding him back." Again the caustic laugh. "It seems the people I get closest to all want out, including my own daughter. Maybe I'm a worse human being than I ever realized."

"Whoever has Cheryl is the worse human being," Keelin assured him.

When he didn't respond, she let it go. Tension already thickened the space between them. And they didn't have long to go. She recognized the dome-shaped temple that was now lit a brilliant white against the night sky.

The sky. Illumination from the skyscrapers in the city proper reached even this far, dulling the blanket against which the stars lay. At home, she had but to step from her cottage on a clear night to feel as if she were crowned with heavenly jewels.

A wave of homesickness washed over her, and Keelin wondered how Da was faring. She offered a quick prayer for her father's physical recovery and for her own success in giving him a gift that would bring him peace of mind.

Then Keelin worried for her own peace, for she wondered if she would get any at Tyler's home. Not if his ex-wife could help it, she was certain. But upon arrival, she noted no other vehicle in the drive and had to admit to her relief. Though she'd stood up for the woman's rights to have a relationship with her daughter, she didn't care for Helen Dunn.

"Looks like my ex got tired of waiting to hear about the daughter she professes to be so worried about," Tyler said.

"You did try to banish her from the house. Perhaps she took you at your word."

"Helen does exactly as Helen wants." Then he muttered more to himself than to her, "More likely she went seeking some male company."

Giving Keelin a hint at what might have gone wrong in their marriage. Had Helen fallen for another man? She imagined that when they were first married all those years ago, Tyler had been just getting started in business. Perhaps he had neglected his young wife too often...not that there was an excuse for infidelity.

"You must be starving," Tyler said as he opened the front door. "I never did heat up that food I promised."

"I could use a bite," she admitted, though her appetite wasn't what it should be.

Worry about hunger was the last thing on her mind. Too much else had happened to disturb her. Being together alone in his house brought back in clarity what had passed between them earlier. Her in his arms. The sensual demand he'd stirred in her...then as easily had extinguished with his harsh attitude toward his ex-wife.

Tyler Leighton was a complex man, Keelin told herself. She'd best not get too close.

"Freshen up, if you want," Tyler was saying. "I'll have something on the table in fifteen minutes."

After racing up the stairs to Cheryl's rooms, Keelin was ready in five. Wondering if Skelly had tried to reach her, she thought to ease her cousin's mind if he was worrying at her whereabouts. She called him at home, expecting his machine to answer. But when the ringing was cut off, it was Himself at the other end.

"Skelly, tis Keelin."

"Hey, cous, I was about to send a posse after you. Where'd you disappear to?"

"North Bluff. Tyler Leighton's home." The pause at the other end telegraphed her cousin's disapproval. "I thought it a good idea to get closer to his daughter." She added, "I already had another contact with Cheryl."

"How so?"

Keelin quickly brought Skelly up to date about the dream and the search, leaving out the more personal details between her and Tyler. Skipping over the surprise visit from the dead for the moment.

"And we'll be out looking for the area again in the morning," she finished.

"You're staying in his house for the night?"

"I am."

Skelly didn't try to hide his sigh of disapproval. "You are a big girl, so I suppose you know what you're doing. Just promise me you'll be careful around Leighton."

Her cue to fill in some details. "Skelly, there's been a development." She wasn't certain if telling him would worry her cousin less...or more.

"What kind of development?"

"Helen Dunn is alive and well."

"Helen as in Leighton's supposedly dead wife?"

From his tone, Keelin realized she'd actually shocked him. "The same. Helen was here earlier. Skelly, Tyler's been paying off his ex-wife to play dead."

A low whistle at the other end alarmed her. Remembering what her cousin did for a living, Keelin hoped she hadn't made a mistake in confiding in Skelly. But before she could caution him that she expected the news to stay strictly between them, she realized she wasn't alone.

The hair at the back of her neck rose as she twisted around to see a glowering Tyler looming over her, his pale eyes as cold as frosted steel.

Chapter Seven

"KEEP THE INFORMATION TO YOURSELF, Skelly, please," Keelin said, her expression revealing her guilt. "I must hang up now."

Tyler didn't wait until the receiver hit the cradle before saying, "I have to be the most stupid man on earth."

"You aren't stupid."

"Then what do you call my believing you?" He closed the gap between them. She was sitting on his daughter's bed, for Chrissakes. Betraying Cheryl. Betraying him. "You swore to me that you weren't hand-in-glove with your sleazoid reporter cousin and I bought it."

"Surely you don't think I was giving Skelly information for another story on you?"

"Just stop this!"He grasped her arm and brought her to her feet. "Stop playing the innocent. I've had enough for one day!"

All the color drained from Keelin's face and she stared up at him with wounded eyes as if she were the injured party. Her pulse jumped in her throat. Mesmerized, he moved his free hand to her neck, slid his thumb along the center of the slender column until he found the echo of her too-rapidly beating heart.

"The least you could do is be honest with me after I've caught you in your lie."

Her lips trembled, and she forced out a response. "I have been honest."

He could sense she was afraid of him. The same way Helen had been afraid when he'd caught his ex-wife in her lies...

But Keelin wasn't Helen, a small voice inside him insisted.

He snatched his hand away and tightly contained his anger. Not to mention his disappointment.

"Now you're going to tell me I imagined the conversation you just had with your cousin, is that it?" Tyler mused in a much calmer tone. "You didn't waste any time filling him in on my business."

"I merely rang Skelly to reassure him...let him know where he could find me."

Fool that he was, Tyler wanted to believe Keelin. He even half did. But he also knew what he'd overheard.

"And Helen's name just happened to pop up in that conversation."

"Not exactly. Skelly had warned me about you because he couldn't find any information about your late wife's death. No obituary. So he thought...maybe..."

"That I did away with her?" The irony striking him, Tyler laughed. He couldn't help himself. Anger tempered by black humor, he said, "So the whole time you've been helping me, you thought I was a murderer?"

“No, of course not. I never believed that, not even before I met your ex-wife."

Her forehead furrowed in concern, Keelin moved closer and placed a placating hand on his chest. "I was only hoping to ease my cousin's mind so that he would not worry about me," she insisted. "That was all, Tyler. I swear you can trust me."

"Can I?"

Could she feel the way his heart was beating unevenly beneath her fingers? Could she sense how much he wanted to believe her? Was it possible that even now, he might be fooling himself?

Just in case...he tested her. "Then prove it," he said in a low voice, inching closer.

How far would she go to prove her innocence? Would she try to entice him with her lips? Her body?

When Keelin backed off, disappointment so clearly written on her features, chagrin filled him and he felt like an idiot.

"If you really do not want to believe me," she said coolly, "then I shall leave your house now and never look back."

Keelin decided she was finished with trying to convince Tyler Leighton of her good intentions. Unless he stopped her, she would find Cheryl with Skelly's help and deliver the girl into the hands of the local constables rather than to her father, she vowed, even as she fought the frustration...and something that went far deeper.

Tyler's expression changed, but he said nothing. Keelin crossed her arms over her chest. She would give him about two minutes to decide...and then she would leave.

Heartsick, she counted the seconds.

Only a few to spare when he finally said, "Perhaps I was mistaken."

"Mistaken?" she echoed.

"All right. Maybe I was out of line."

Figuring that she'd gotten more apology than Tyler would care to deliver, Keelin was satisfied. Taking a deep breath, she let her arms fall to her side.

"I am exhausted. If you'll leave–"

"What about dinner?"

Anything that she put in her mouth now would turn to cardboard, Keelin was certain. "I find that my appetite has dulled."

"In the morning, then."

"I shall rise at daybreak," she agreed.

Unless another visit with Cheryl woke her first.

BUT CHERYL MUST HAVE BEEN FAST ASLEEP HERSELF, for the only dream that came to Keelin in the wee hours of the morning was of Tyler. Rather of them together, she fumed, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

In the midst of her sleep, she'd envisioned him kissing her.

Arousing her.

Confusing her.

For, while made of flesh and blood, human emotions and passions, Keelin was not a woman to be driven by sheer lust. She believed in the kind of love found in high

romance – Romeo and Juliet, Guinevere and Launcelot, Heloïse and Abelard – the utopian state of passion her parents had never found together, sadly enough.

The kind she had only dreamed of finding...

Nevermind that all of those great epics of literature and/or history had ended in tragedy, Keelin was certain equally many real romances ended in happily-ever-after. For some reason, one just rarely heard about the good endings. Perhaps they weren't dramatic enough. She believed that genuine and total love of mind, body and spirit existed. She was certain her grandparents Moira and Seamus had found such in each other, hence Moira's last wish for her grandchildren.

For all of her adult life, Keelin had been waiting to meet the one man she couldn't live without...and according to the McKenna Legacy, she was fast running out of time.

But that man simply could not be Tyler Leighton, she decided.

Not a man who could deny his child a mother.

But he was also a man who would do anything for his daughter, an inner voice argued. He was a man capable of loving another well, perhaps even more than himself.

Keelin had no doubts that Tyler loved Cheryl with his whole being, that he would do anything to rescue his daughter. He was even trying to trust her despite his cynicism and what must have seemed just cause. Tyler was not an unfeeling man, merely a misguided one.

So what was it about him that got to her on a very basic level? The men of Éire with whom she'd kept company had been quite different. Mostly charming and fun-filled. Uncomplicated. So why had she never fallen for one of them?

Why did she now obsess on a man of dark secrets and passions?

Keelin was still thinking on it when the first gray of dawn stole into the room. Resigned, she rose from the futon. Ten minutes later she was ready to get started.

And when she descended to the first floor, Tyler was already waiting. Rising from a chair in the living room that faced the stairs, he came toward her. If he harbored any anger from the night before, she couldn't tell. He seemed calm enough. He even looked better rested than she until they drew closer. Then she noted the puffy flesh below his eyes that indicated he might not have slept so well, after all.

Had he lain awake thinking of his daughter half the night?

"Any dreams?" Tyler asked.

Pulse thrumming, Keelin lied. "None that would interest you." And felt the heat rise along her neck and steal into her cheeks.

Tyler stared for a moment, and though Keelin was certain he noticed, he didn't comment.

Instead, he said, "We'd better get going, then. I figured we could grab some coffee and whatever you want to eat at a fast food joint along the way."

Though her stomach growled its disappointment, she said, "No hurry."

Tyler took her at her word. They were into the city before picking up coffee for him and tea and an English muffin stuffed with bacon and scrambled egg for her. He

drove, she ate. Neither talked, yet for once Keelin didn't sense any negative tension emanating from Tyler. He seemed to have put aside his suspicions and resentments for the moment and was concentrating on the music from a CD. Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

Keelin was taking a last sip of tea by the time they arrived at the first of their six corner intersections in sight of an elevated structure.

"Here we are," he announced, turning down the music. "Clybourn, Halsted and North Avenue."

Keelin looked around. "Too upscale," she pronounced.

And the next neighborhood was too poor, too near the city's projects.

They kept on and soon crawled northwest on Milwaukee, one of the angled streets, trapped in the morning rush hour. Keelin's mind wandered to Helen.

"Your ex-wife's vehicle wasn't in the drive this morning, either." She wondered if it had been there at all during the night, or if Helen had found that male company Tyler had suggested. "Is Helen an early riser or did she give up on staying at your house?"

"Helen gives up on anything that takes work."

Like their marriage? she wanted to ask.

"Then you haven't heard from her?" she queried instead.

"Not a word. And that worries me. She wouldn't have stuck her nose in where it didn't belong for nothing."

"What do you think she hoped to get out of the situation?"

"Maybe she decided to sell her story to one of your cousin's competitors."

Keelin chose to ignore the reference to Skelly. "You don't think she could simply be worried about her own daughter?"

"Helen?" Tyler laughed. "Now that would be a switch."

She couldn't believe his hard-nosed attitude. "You don't think she loves Cheryl?"

"Helen loves Helen," Tyler said bitterly. "She always managed to take good care of number one. She never burned to be a part of her daughter's life before, and I seriously can't imagine anything's changed."

"If she was so self-absorbed, why did you marry her?"

"I was young and foolish. Love can blind a person. Once."

Keelin was about to argue the point when she glimpsed two free-standing telephones at the edge of the sidewalk to her right. Her pulse thrummed as she glanced around and noted the shop she should have remembered.

Just then, the Jaguar slid to a smooth stop at a major three street intersection.

"Anything familiar here?" Tyler asked, his voice neutral. He was obviously expecting another negative reply.

"The tatoo parlor," she murmured.

"What?" He glanced back the way they'd come.

Then, breath caught in her throat, Keelin looked around transfixed. Her gaze flew from building to building, from the elevated structure to the newspaper stand. Her heart pounding, she nodded.

"Keelin?"

"This is it!" She peered behind her at the familiar landscape. "Cheryl rang you from those telephones we just passed."

"You're certain?"

"Positive! I didn't remember the tatoo parlor until I actually saw it."

The street light changed and they were forced to move ahead. Tyler wasted no time in finding a parking spot.

As he fed the meter several quarters, she asked, "So what do we do now?"

"Let's backtrack. Maybe you'll remember something else that'll lead us to the building where she's being held."

Keelin knew that probably wouldn't happen, but she didn't want to argue. Didn't want to see the hope in Tyler's eyes die just yet.

So they started at the telephones and worked back the way Cheryl had run across the intersection. Thankfully, Tyler had thought to bring his daughter's photograph. For the next hour, they went in and out of the few businesses that were open, and he flashed the picture in front of anyone who would look. But all he received for his trouble were blank expressions and heads shaking in the negative.

No one had seen Cheryl.

Standing at the six corner intersection, a grim Tyler asked, "What do you remember right before her calling me?"

"She received change for a dollar to ring you at the newsstand."

They crossed the street and once at the newsstand, Tyler immediately got the proprietor's full attention with a ten dollar bill followed by the photograph.

He didn't hesitate. "Yeah, I remember seeing her."

Keelin's pulse surged as, voice hopeful, Tyler pressed, "More than once?"

The man shook his head. "Yesterday. She needed change for a phone call. Don't usually do that, but I felt sorry for her."

"Why?" Tyler asked. "Was something wrong with her?"

"Hey, I don't know." The man suddenly seemed nervous. "I just gave the kid change."

Tyler flashed Keelin a quick look and asked, "What direction did she come from?"

"You cops or something?"

Keelin assured the man, "He's the girl's father, and he's worried sick about her."

"Runaway, huh? Up the street." He indicated she'd come east on North Avenue.

"Which side?"

"This side. And that's all I know."

"What about after she made the call. You didn't see what happened to her then?"

"I run a business here, mister! An' I got customers."

His focus shifted to one that wanted a newspaper. And Tyler drew Keelin aside.

"Are you sure you can't remember details about the building or the street Cheryl came from?"

"All I remember is her passing a couple of lads on a stoop smoking an illegal substance."

Tyler took a deep breath and pressed her. "So the building she ran out of was large?"

"I couldn't say how large," Keelin admitted. "Though it did have at least three flats. She was so..." She didn't want to say terrified. He was upset enough. "... Cheryl didn't truly focus on anything until she arrived at this area."

Or at least Keelin hadn't. She remembered instead the girl's heartbeat, the knot in her stomach, the sheer panic that had enveloped her.

"How far did she run?"

Keelin shrugged. "Several blocks."

"At least we know which direction to look in."

As they crossed the street to the Jaguar, Keelin eyed a series of banners set high on the light posts that identified the area as Wicker Park.

For the next half hour, they drove around the neighborhood's side streets. Keelin gazed at two and three flats as well as larger apartment buildings side-by-side with old homes of cut stone or brick that once must have been considered mansions. The diverse elements and transitional condition of the neighborhood suggested that wealthy people no longer occupied them, however. And every time Keelin thought some building looked vaguely familiar, another popped into view that she thought was familiar, as well.

"I just don't know," she said. "The more I look, the more confused I become."

"We need help," Tyler admitted, slowing the vehicle and staring at a beautiful old commercial building, his brow furrowed. "I'm going to take you back to your hotel for a while to rest."

To rest or to sleep? Was he hoping that she would dream yet again, perhaps see the area through Cheryl's eyes?

Glancing at the building that had Tyler's focused attention – it looked to have been recently renovated – Keelin asked, "And what will you do?"

"Go to my office where I'll call the North Bluff police chief, see if he can get Chicago's finest to cooperate and do a thorough search."

"You're going to tell the authorities about me?"

Keelin was horrified. She wanted no contact with the constabulary. That's why she'd gone to Tyler in the first place. Her pulse surged and her mouth went dry at the thought of being questioned...and, no doubt, being held in suspicion.

"I'll be careful what I tell them."

"Trust me...they won't believe you," she said, suddenly feeling desperate.

Trapped.

"All right. I won't involve you at the moment. I'll say that I scoured the area, acting on a hunch."

Thinking Tyler sounded as if he actually did have a hunch of some sort, relieved that she wouldn't be held up to ridicule again, Keelin relaxed. His attention was still absorbed in the renovated building as the traffic before them began to move.

"We have the green," she murmured.

His attention snapped back to the street and he started up the vehicle. "I'll tell whomever I deal with that I showed Cheryl's photo around until the guy in the newsstand recognized it," he went on. "I'll have dozens of copies made so they can use them to identify her."

"And if the Chicago authorities refuse to help?"

"Whether they do or don't cooperate, I'll still get my investigator on it. I'll give Bryant the go-ahead to bring in more men to comb the area. If the police won't do it, he can start a door-to-door search."

Keelin nodded. Not that she believed the people living in the area would necessarily cooperate any more than the authorities would. But she also knew that Tyler had to have hope to hold onto, or he would go out of his mind with worry.

And while he was busy setting up the actual search, perhaps she would delve further into motive.

KEELIN FOUND THAT, despite her initial reluctance to come near a computer, she was able to move along the information superhighway, albeit at a crawl, with a bit of instruction. After Tyler had dropped her off at her hotel, she'd freshened up and had taken a taxi straight to the station. Skelly had finished his morning taping and had readily agreed to do a little more digging for her. At the moment, however, she was mourning the fact that she hadn't actually found anything of note.

Skelly popped back into his office, waving a videotape. "Lookie, lookie."

"You actually found something? You are an amazing man."

"I found a big something." Skelly popped the tape into the recorder and turned on the monitor. "Wicker Park rang a bell. I didn't have to go back very far into our video morgue to find the footage."

Keelin watched with fascination as he punched in some kind of code on the equipment. The machine whirred softly, clicked, and an image gelled on the monitor.

"... a tragedy in Wicker Park this afternoon," came the newswoman's voice. "An eleven year old boy died searching for his missing pet. It happened at this newly renovated Milwaukee Avenue building..."

Keelin stared wide-eyed. The newswoman was standing before the commercial building that had caught Tyler's attention while they were waiting in traffic.

Then the image changed.

"Harry was just lookin' for his lost dog. My son didn't mean no harm to nobody. An' he wasn't doin' nothing wrong. If that stairway wasn't safe, why wasn't it boarded up or something?"

The man speaking was stocky and had salt-and-pepper hair. His features were grief-stricken.

And startlingly familiar.

"A question that authorities want answered from L&O Realty, as well," said the newswoman, reporting from the rear of the building.

The stairway in question was now boarded to block entry, but the broken railing on the second landing was still evident. Keelin swallowed hard, imagining a poor child falling to his death on the pavement below, even as Skelly stopped the videotape.

"The man's name is George Smialek," he said. "And he's suing L&O Realty over his son's death."

"Maybe that's not all he's doing," Keelin murmured, excited. She kissed Skelly's cheek and hurried to the door. "Thank you, cous," she said, picking up his Americanism.

"Let me know if you need something else. This detective work kind of reminds me of why I became a journalist in the first place."

From the doorway, Keelin flashed him a grateful smile before rushing off to share her conclusions with Tyler.

THE CHICAGO POLICE PROVED TO BE far less cooperative than Tyler had hoped...probably because he'd not been convincing enough even though he'd told them his daughter was being kept for ransom. Only a single team of detectives would make the rounds of the Wicker Park area looking for anyone who had seen Cheryl. And though the squad patrols would keep an eye open for her, as well, he didn't consider that nearly enough action to find his daughter fast.

Even Jeremy Bryant was being elusive. He'd called the private investigator's office three times, so far, but the man seemed to be unavailable.

So it was up to him, Tyler figured, rereading the missive that had been waiting on his desk when he'd returned to the office.

Get your act together – and your money – fast. The kid's one in a "million". I'll be in touch.

A million dollars!

Not that he wouldn't pay any amount for Cheryl's safe return, Tyler thought. And not that his net worth wasn't far more than a million.

The problem was his getting his hands on that kind of cash. He could probably scrape together a few hundred thousand in a day or two. He'd already called his broker and, against the woman's advice, had told her to sell what she could. A second mortgage on the North Bluff estate would get him what he needed – as would a sale of his Barrington land – but either would take time. Still, he had his top agent checking on both possibilities for him.

All of his assets were tied up in stocks and property.

Or in the company.

The company. Tyler was reminded of Brock's determination to dissolve their partnership immediately. Would he be willing to come up with several hundred thousand cold cash to make it happen?

Though Tyler still wanted to work things out, he knew this was something to consider.

In the meantime, Tyler planned on going door-to-door in Wicker Park himself. He didn't count on Keelin showing up unannounced.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Did you –"

"No dream," Keelin said, deflating the small hope he'd nurtured that she'd have a clearer idea of where his daughter was being held. "But I learned something else that may be important. It has to do with George Smialek."

Tyler started. "How did you find out about Smialek?"

"My cousin Skelly."

Of course. The mudraker. "What did he tell you?"

"He showed me the news clip about the boy falling to his death on the L&O renovation site in Wicker Park," she said, her expression sympathetic. "How well do you know the father? Is it possible that he wants revenge?"

"I'm sure he'll get it, big time." Though no settlement, no matter how much money, could bring back a lost child. "You did know he's suing us?"

"Did you know he's been keeping a close eye on you personally?" Keelin countered, the claim amazing him.

"What makes you think so?"

"Monday when you left me waiting while you fetched the Jaguar, a man stood in the shadow of another doorway," she said. "He crossed after you into the car park. I had the oddest feeling, but then you drove out and I put it to coincidence...until I saw Skelly's footage. The man was definitely George Smialek. What could he have been up to?"

Figuring out how to plant a ransom note?

Tyler swore under his breath. After telling her about the second note, he said, "Maybe we should ask Smialek about it in person."

He called Pamela and asked her to check the legal documents for Smialek's address. When she didn't get back to him immediately, he grew fidgety.

Five minutes later, he said, "Wait here and I'll see what's taking so long."

Tyler found his assistant in a close huddle with his partner at the end of the hall. He stopped and stared at Brock's intense expression. His partner seemed to be angry with Pamela about something. What in the world was going on? Denise was Brock's assistant, while Pamela worked exclusively for him.

Then Brock spotted him and broke up the secretive huddle. With a curt nod to Pamela, Brock strode into his own office and slammed the door.

Leaving Tyler wondering.

Brock had been acting so strangely the past few days. Desperate perfectly described the man's emotional balance.

Takes one to know one, Tyler thought, running a hand through his hair.

Desperate enough to kidnap his partner's child? a small voice asked.

Tyler shook the unconscionable thought away and approached his assistant. "So what the hell is Brock giving you a hard time over now?"

Pamela flushed. "Nothing important. Brock and I get along fine. He's just not in the best of moods today. Not for you to worry, okay?"

When had Brock last been in a good mood? Tyler wondered. No doubt the man was merely taking his dissatisfaction out on the people who worked for them. And Pamela was correct. Getting involved in employee relations was too much for him to handle at the moment.

"Did you find the papers?" he asked.

"Right here."

She handed him the legal documents apprising him of the lawsuit against L&O Realty. He quickly took note of George Smialek's Wicker Park address.

"Thanks." He handed the document back to her.

"That's it?" Pamela asked, eyebrows raised.

"All I need. Keep trying to get hold of Bryant for me."

With Keelin at his side, he left the building, tension mounting fast.

After pulling from the garage a few minutes later, Tyler drove down the city streets like a madman, praying no cop would interfere. George Smialek. A grieving father wanting to give the source of his anguish some of the same. It made sense. If Smialek were the guilty one, he wasn't really after the ransom money – he'd undoubtedly get plenty through the lawsuit – he was after revenge.

Torturing him with Cheryl's disappearance might only be the beginning, he realized with a sick feeling.

Tyler hoped talking would keep his blood pressure down.

"The building on Milwaukee was an old department store that we're renovating into a retail shop and loft apartments," he said. "Harry Smialek's death was a tragedy, but it was a terrible accident."

One over which he'd had a few sleepless nights himself.

"The boy was looking for his dog, was he not?" Keelin asked.

Tyler nodded. "He must have thought he heard the mutt in the building. He climbed the construction fence in back and went up the rear porch. The second floor landing's side rail was in place but apparently not fully secured. Harry must have leaned on it. He fell through. The dog found him and stood guard over his broken body until the next morning."

"How horrible."

Tyler couldn't agree more. He'd arrived on the scene himself before the boy had been body-bagged. Even now, the vision haunted him.

"My crew chief swore that railing had been properly attached."

"Perhaps he was covering for his men's carelessness. Or his own."

"Someone was sure careless," Tyler agreed. "City inspectors went over the place, found several other things wrong, as well, including an electrical circuit to the retail area that wasn't grounded. I don't understand. I only hire the best and these men have all worked for me before. It's like I'm cursed or something."

"Or perhaps someone..."

Keelin didn't have to finish the thought. When he'd gotten the bad news, he had wondered himself if someone hadn't been out to sabotage the project and give L&O Realty a bad name.

Or him? he suddenly considered.

The renovation side of the business was his baby, after all, as Brock had reminded him.

Brock.

Surely not. Surely a dissatisfied partner wouldn't chance damaging the reputation of his own company, not when he wanted to split everything, taking both assets and current clients with him.

Arriving in the Wicker Park area, Tyler gathered his scattered thoughts and set his mind back on their present mission. Rather than wander about looking for the address that was not familiar to him, he stopped to ask directions. And before they even arrived at George's apartment house, he figured they were on a wild goose chase.

"Wrong side of Damen," he muttered, catching the steering wheel in a death grip. "The newsstand guy said Cheryl came from the opposite direction."

"Perhaps she crossed Damen and circled around," Keelin said, though she didn't sound convinced. "That part of the vision is so shadowy, anything is possible."

Tyler pulled up before a six flat with a front stoop and wondered if Keelin could be right.

Chapter Eight

GEORGE SMIALEK LUMBERED TO THE DOOR on unsteady bare feet, never expecting the high and mighty owner of L&O Realty to be on the other side. Him and that same little chippy he'd been dragging around lately.

"What're you doing here?" he thundered, taking a swig of beer.

He'd been drinking a lot since Harry's death. He'd even lost a good job over the booze. The boss had told him to come back when he meant to be sober. He weren't going back though, George told himself. When this was over, he and Ida would disappear and he wouldn't ever have to work again.

"We have some things to discuss," Tyler Leighton said.

George snorted. "This ain't your type of neighborhood. Unless you kin make lots of money on it," he amended. "Thinking about buying the building and renovating it?"

"Who is it, George?" his wife called from the kitchen.

He held the son-of-a-bitch's gaze as he yelled back, "The man responsible for our boy's death."

"Mr. Smialek, that's not fair," returned the woman in a lilting voice. "Nor truthful."

He narrowed his gaze, thinking that in her floaty, flowery dress and little boots she wasn't the rich man's usual sort. "That building was his responsibility. Who're you to say?"

"My name's Keelin McKenna. Can we come inside for a moment? We'd like to talk to you."

She was craning her neck, trying to get a good look around behind him. George all but closed the door with himself wedged in the opening.

"My lawyer says I ain't supposed to talk to anyone connected to the realty company. You wanna settle some money on me, you talk to him."

"We're not here about the law suit," Leighton said.

George's hackles rose. "What do you want from me? You already took enough!"

"I'm sorry about your son."

"So you say. Words won't bring Harry back."

Just as words wouldn't bring Leighton's daughter back to him, George thought, giving the rich man a once-over, searching for signs. A subtle tension radiated from him, and his eyes were haunted – George had seen that same look in his own mirror every day for weeks now, ever since they buried his boy. But the bastard seemed to be functioning like normal.

No creases on his expensive suit. No beard stubble. No tell-tale smell of alcohol.

George took another swig of his beer. Maybe the rules were different for the rich. Maybe they didn't grieve the same way ordinary people did.

"I can understand your bitterness, Mr. Smialek, but –"

"Cut the crap, Leighton! With your fancy clothes, your fancy house, your fancy car...you don't understand a damn thing about me!"

He got great satisfaction from slamming the door in the big man's face.

"George?"

He turned to his wife, who lurked in the background, her expression worried as Leighton started pounding on the door behind him.

"Smialek, I want to talk to you!" came his muffled demand.

"Tough!" In a softer voice, he said, "Don't worry your beautiful head, Ida, I got rid of 'em."

Her gaze shot to the door. "He's going to cause us big trouble."

"Let him try. He'll be sorry."

George kissed his wife, then drained the can of beer and stalked to the kitchen for another, ignoring the continued pounding behind...as well as the locked door between.

Leighton would be sorry, all right.

He'd get the bastard where it would hurt him most.

KEELIN FOLLOWED TYLER into the temporarily abandoned renovation site. He'd voiced the need to visit the building, as if it would somehow bring him answers about his daughter. Keelin had seen no reason to object.

As she gathered her long skirts to climb the open rear stairs, she thought about the boy who had died there. About the father who lost himself in drink to forget. And as they entered the interior with its sharp smell of new paint and varnish and the more subtle fragrance of cut wood, she tried to determine whether or not there was some connection between Harry Smialek's death and Cheryl Leighton's kidnapping.

"I don't know," she admitted a short while later, when they stood at a newly installed fourth floor window that opened an entire vista all the way to the city proper. "He was drinking ale like the man who kidnapped Cheryl..."

"Hard to pin a crime on a man over a fondness for beer."

She nodded in agreement as she scanned the surrounding rooftops that lay below them. "If only he hadn't closed the door on us before I could see inside, perhaps I could tell better."

"What did you feel?" Tyler urged, "Take a shot at it."

Keelin shook her head. "I can only say what I sensed through Cheryl in the dream," she told him once again. "I don't have the power to read peoples' minds."

"She's so close...I can almost feel her." His voice was raw with worry. "Out there somewhere...in one of those buildings we can see...sick with fear. A father should be able to keep his child from harm. I would give everything I own to have her safe beside me. Damn it!"

Tyler whipped away from the windows and slumped against the newly exposed brick wall, shoulders rounded in a gesture of defeat.

"No one has the power to keep another safe always," Keelin assured him. "We can only do our best for those we care about."

Light filtered through the glass, revealing bits of him. Just as he only revealed bits of himself at any given moment. But Keelin could see his unguarded expression. She needn't have any special powers to recognize the grief of disappointment that he could no longer hide inside.

Her need to heal was greater than her hesitation at getting too close to a man whom she knew could hurt her at a very deep level.

Keelin stepped into Tyler's personal space and placed a quieting hand over his heart, as if she could mute its thunder, could absorb some of his pain unto herself. She would take all gladly if she could. His warmth captured her even as his fingers closed around her wrist and tightened like a vise, threatening to keep her fast until he willed otherwise.

Her pulse quickened and her breath caught in her throat.

Then he stared down at her, and she could see that his pale eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He was hanging onto her lest he break. Unable to help herself, she reached up with her free hand and threaded her fingers through his thick hair.

Stroking him.

Soothing him.

Feeling her own insides tremble from the force passing between them.

For a moment, they stood frozen, staring at one another as if seeing each other for the very first time. The moment was magical. A turning point from which they could not retreat. Keelin felt this in her very soul.

Tyler groaned. "I need..."

"What is it you need, Tyler Leighton?" she whispered.

His brow furrowed as if he were fighting with himself. "It's not...right...not when Cheryl..." He voiced the objection so low she could hardly hear.

"Tell me," she urged.

He gave it up with a sigh. "You, Keelin McKenna. I need you."

The invitation too great to resist, Keelin stood on tiptoe and softly brushed her mouth across his, the light contact searing her lips. Breath quickening, he drew back, his expression self-accusatory. And though she'd protested the ability to read minds, she sensed he was thinking he should be concentrating on Cheryl. She also sensed the truth of his words that he needed her...or at least the comfort she offered.

KEELIN WONDERED IF IT HAD BEEN LIKE THIS between Moira and Seamus...this dance between anger and tenderness...doubt and faith...antipathy and yearning.

She had never before experienced such a whirlwind of conflicting feelings about any man. Fondness at best. Irritation at worst. Certainly not these seething emotions that made her feel alive in every thread of her being.

Emotions that threatened to overcome her.

She wanted to be overcome, Keelin realized...like Juliet had been by Romeo...Guinevere by Launcelot...Heloïse by Abelard.

Like Moira surely had been by Seamus.

Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart.

Her grandmother's legacy stood before her.

They had nothing in common, not even a country. They might not be together next week, or even tomorrow. But they could be together now. She'd waited all her life for this, and she refused to let the chance at love, no matter how brief, slip away because of doubts.

"If you need me," Keelin said, her voice trembling. "Then know you have me."

Tyler fisted her hair and drew her head back as if to see the truth of her words. Her breath caught in her throat and she wondered how life could be so confused. How two people so far apart could want to be so close. And then his mouth covered hers and he drew any doubts from her. His tongue filled her as she wanted to be filled in a more tender and aching space.

Her chest rose and fell against his, their heartbeats seeming to match the same too-quick rhythm. He slid his hand down along her neck and captured the fluttery beat through the fullness of her breast. Groaning, he stroked her tenderly, his mouth never leaving hers.

Her breasts tightened and her nipples hardened even before he traced their outline through the cloth. Heat seared her and her head went light. She clung to him desperately, her arms winding around his neck, fearing that she might fall if she let go.

Breaking the kiss with an audible groan, Tyler held her cradled against his chest, both hands winding around her back, pulling her closer. It seemed as if they couldn't be close enough for him.

Keelin tucked her head in the space between his jaw and shoulder, let one hand drift down his throat. His pulse thudded against her fingers and when her palm flattened against his chest, her palm captured the uneven beat of his heart. She knew he wanted as well as needed her, just as she did him.

But the time was not right. Not when emotions at another disappointment over his daughter were running so high.

Content to wait, Keelin gave him what she could and hoped that, for the moment, the comfort of her closeness and caring would be enough to see him through the terrible hour.

FOR THE SECOND TIME IN HIS LIFE, Tyler felt emotionally snared. The first time, Helen had nearly destroyed him. Money had presented a half-assed solution. He'd never really resolved her betrayal, and he'd vowed never to get so close to another woman that he left himself exposed.

Now he'd gone and done it again.

Not that Keelin was anything like his ex-wife.

He cared about Keelin McKenna, Tyler realized in amazement. A woman he'd only known for a few days. How had it happened? How had things changed so quickly?

He slid a look over at her.

Head resting against the car seat, she seemed to be asleep, her face in repose. A dapple of sunlight played over her features, and he found himself memorizing them. He wondered that he'd ever categorized her looks as ordinary when they were in fact uniquely lovely.

But her looks were not in question here, Tyler reminded himself. Any future between them was. Once they found Cheryl and Keelin completed her family business, she would be heading home to Ireland, he was certain. He would lose her as quickly as he'd found her.

A hard truth to swallow. How many losses could one man endure?

His daughter's innocent face haunting him, Tyler turned his attention back to the busy street. He should be concentrating on Cheryl, not on his own needs. He couldn't fail her. Not again.

Realizing they were nearing his office, he regretted that he hadn't insisted on taking Keelin to her hotel. He was finding it harder and harder to focus on what he had to with her so near him. A flash of her remembered sweetness stirred his insides, and he shifted in the driver's seat.

From the first, he'd experienced a restlessness around Keelin that went deeper than the physical and at times threatened to consume him. Somehow, he'd convinced himself this was the result of his combined distress and animosity and suspicion. He'd really believed Keelin either had something to do with his daughter's kidnapping, or that she was trying to take advantage of his grief.

Now he knew different.

And almost wished he didn't.

SHE COULDN'T BELIEVE IT. Surely they didn't mean to leave her here like this forever.

Tied up.

Gagged.

A prisoner to game shows on the television he'd left on real loud to cover any noises she might make.

Ever since he'd hauled her back to the apartment, they'd kept her locked up in her room. No more pretense. Not after she'd tried running. Not after she'd told them she knew about the ransom.

Since then, he'd been the only one she'd seen and darn little of him, at that.

And now she was alone for who knew how long. He'd told her they couldn't trust her without a guard, not even behind a locked door. So he'd tied her to a chair in the living room. Her hands were already going numb. And the cloth tape across her mouth threatened to choke her.

If she barfed, she'd suffocate – she'd seen that happen in an action movie once – so she wouldn't throw up. She would sit very still and breathe slowly through her nose.

She would pretend that everything would be all right. That they would come for her and take her to her dad. That he'd pay anything to get her back.

She prayed hard that he would as hot tears escaped her eyes and blurred her view of the church steeple across the street.

A SENSATION ROVING OVER HER FACE and lingering at her mouth made Keelin open her eyes and meet Tyler's gaze. For the first time since they'd finished the greasy fast food they'd purchased and had nearly swallowed whole before leaving the Wicker Park area, she was fully awake. She stared at him, wondering at his odd expression. When she realized he noticed, she let her lids drift half-closed, then placed a comforting hand on his thigh.

"Don't fall asleep again," Tyler said, his voice a bit gruff. "We're here."

He turned the Jaguar into the garage across from L&O Realty and waved to the attendant.

Hesitant, she murmured, "I...had another dream."

"Cheryl?" He sounded anxious. "She's all right?"

"I do not believe they've hurt her."

"What did you see?"

"The television." She hoped he wouldn't probe more deeply. She couldn't tell him the circumstances. He would go mad if she revealed that Cheryl was bound and gagged. She couldn't do that to him. "Some game show."

"She hates game shows."

"I know."

"What else? Was anyone with her?"

"She was alone." Waiting. Trying not to panic. Keelin couldn't tell him that, either. "Tis a pity I could not see more."

"Nothing?" he asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

Nothing she could tell him.

Or was there?

The thought fled as her stomach twirled when Tyler sped up the ramp too fast and jerked around the corner to his assigned parking spot. She suspected that he was taking out his inner frustration with his vehicle. By the time he cut the engine, Keelin was wide-eyed and sitting up straight. She wanted to comfort him again...if only she knew how.

They left the car and made for the stairwell.

"So what now?" she asked softly.

"What is it you think should happen?"

She gazed at him with empathy. "I know what I wish would happen. I would like to be able to see the faces of the people holding Cheryl hostage."

"Yeah, but you're awake, and like you said, you only see through dreams," he said, stirring a memory in her.

"Unfortunately, I can't fall asleep on command or even guarantee a vision when I do." She was reminded of her disappointment when she'd awakened that morning.

Curbside, Tyler waited for a break in traffic. "We're amateurs at this. Too involved to be objective. Damn Jeremy Bryant! What good is having a private investigator if he's going to be elusive just when I need him. Maybe Pamela's reached him by now. I'll check on it first thing."

He placed a hand in the middle of Keelin's back and set across the street. Distracted, she was thinking of the time Moira told her about lucid dreaming. Dreaming when she was awake. Controlled visions. Too bad she'd never explained how to go about it, Keelin thought.

As they entered L&O Realty, Tyler returned if didn't initiate greetings with his employees. And once upstairs, he ducked into his assistant's office but came right out.

"Alma, have you seen Pamela?"

The middle-aged woman shook her head. "She left like a whirlwind a short while ago. Maybe she went to lunch. She usually lets me know, but not today."

Tyler shrugged. "Tell her I want to see her the moment she returns. Keep anyone else out," he added. "We're not to be disturbed until I tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Mr. Leighton."

Glancing from him to Keelin, the receptionist wore a knowing and somewhat smug look. Keelin's face flared with color and she was glad to escape into Tyler's office. What she suddenly wanted was for him to lock the office door and take her in his arms again. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so badly about not telling him all of the dream. She almost got up the courage to approach him and make the first move when a commotion outside the door stopped her cold.

"I tell you he'll want to see me," came a familiar female protest.

"He said not until he told me otherwise," Alma returned firmly in a raised voice.

But Keelin heard the clack of high heels directly outside his office. She exchanged looks with Tyler. Heaving a sigh, he opened the wooden panel. Vivian Claiborne teetered and nearly fell inside.

"Tyler, there you are," she cooed.

He looked over her shoulder – the receptionist was coming after the woman – and said, "That's all right, Alma. I can give Miss Claiborne a moment of my time."

"A moment?" Vivian pouted. "I remember when you gave me all afternoon and then some." Suddenly, as if just noting Tyler hadn't been alone, she told Keelin, "Oops. Pretend you didn't hear that, dear," and waved her off as if Keelin were a hired servant.

Alma gave Tyler a look of disgust and went back to her desk. Likewise, Keelin turned away and wandered over to the windows. Her shoulders stiff, she chose the view of the park over the green-eyed blonde, hoping to keep herself calm. First the dream she couldn't work up the nerve to tell Tyler about...and now this intrusion.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, barely hearing Tyler's "What do you want, Vivian?"

For below her, she saw Pamela Redmond rushing into the park, topknot bobbing, looking over her shoulder as if she feared being followed.

"I thought it only right that I be the first to give you my condolences," Vivian was saying.

Keelin watched Pamela approach a bench where a man turned to greet her. Brock Olander. Keelin supposed they must be going to lunch together.

When Tyler asked, "You've heard something about Cheryl?" she tried to keep her attention on the conversation in the room, but below, Pamela seemed to be yelling at Brock.

"Not your brat, Tyler. Your business."

"Say what you came to say and leave."

Brock grabbed Pamela by the shoulders and drew her down to the bench. She tried wresting herself away, but he pulled her to him for an intense kiss.

"TESTY." VIVIAN RAN HER FRENCH-MANICURED FINGERNAILS up Tyler's tie in a gesture of intimacy. "Though it must be difficult for a man with your determination and drive to lose. And so big."

"Lose what?" His patience, for one, Tyler thought.

Then Vivian gleefully dropped the bombshell. "Why the North Michigan Avenue project, of course. Nate Feldman was awarded the contract this morning."

Tyler started. He hadn't thought the matter would be decided so soon. Perhaps there was some mistake...not that he had the energy to do anything about it.

Staring at the woman who had been his lover for nearly six months, he was disgusted with himself that he'd been such an idiot. He hadn't been able to see exactly how mistaken he'd been until he compared her with Keelin, of course. Vivian had always sworn she liked his daughter, but he'd seen through that particular act. That should have been a big clue as to her nature.

"You do enjoy being the harbinger of bad news."

"Only for you," Vivian stated, her smile nasty. "You might not have properly appreciated me when you had the chance, but Nate certainly does."

"You and Nate?" Now there was an interesting development.

"Jealous, darling?"

"Hardly." When he said, "I'll give the man my condolences the next time I see him," he watched her complexion pinken. "Wake up, Vivian. Nate undoubtedly thinks he can get information on my business from you, but when he realizes how slim the pickings are, he won't have any more use for you."

The pink deepened to an unbecoming ruddy tone. "I won't be made a fool of by any man!"

"Don't make statements you can't live up to," Tyler suggested. "Two ex-husbands have already put the lie to those words."

Her expression wreathed in fury, Vivian spat, "I'll make you regret that, Tyler, if it's the last thing I do!"

The blonde aimed a hateful glare over his shoulder at Keelin before spinning on her high heels and tromping out of his office, slamming the door behind her.

And Tyler wondered how he'd been fooled into believing Vivian had been even a little bereft when he'd broken it off.

"Sorry about the interruption," Tyler said, turning to Keelin.

When he noted her expression, however, he didn't continue. She was staring at him as if she were looking at something unpleasant.

"How could you speak to her that way?" she asked in a subdued voice.

Maybe he had been a bit hard on Vivian, but the woman had asked for it, coming here to gloat. "She's not worth your sympathy, believe me. Vivian takes care of Vivian first. I'm not even certain if anyone comes second."

"You said something similar about Helen."

"So I have rotten taste in women." The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think. "Keelin, I'm not including you –"

"Don't." She raised a hand as if to ward off any advance.

He considered for a moment. He could force the issue, assure her she was different. Or he could let it go. Let her go. Maybe that would be for the best. To let go now.

That's the coward's way out, a small voice inside his head insisted.

Undecided, he wavered for a moment, then finally said, "I have to make a few calls."

"Yes, your business, of course," she said, her expression unsettled, her tone flat.

"Calls about Cheryl," he clarified, thinking he'd also better talk to Brock.

Maybe he could make a deal, agree to split the company as Brock wanted if his partner would give him or at least lend him what he needed in return – the part of the ransom money he hadn't yet been able to raise.

Seeing that Keelin had already started for the door, he asked, "You're not leaving?"

"I need some fresh air." Her gaze unflinching, she said, "I have some thinking to do. I shall return, however."

Tyler watched her go, then, rather than immediately picking up the telephone, he sauntered to the windows facing the park and waited for her to show. When she did, his insides twisted, for he imagined she appeared too vulnerable. A few hours ago, that's the last word he'd have used to describe Keelin McKenna...but now everything was different.

Or would be if he'd let it.

Only Tyler wasn't certain he could.

KEELIN NEEDED TO RENEW HER COMMUNION with nature. She also needed to force Tyler Leighton from her mind for a while. Unfortunately, her approaching Lincoln Park accomplished neither. She stared ahead at the flower beds and trees, but rather than taking pleasure in them, she could think only about the way she'd thrown herself at Tyler earlier.

A man who openly declared he had rotten taste in women.

And the way he'd spoken to a woman he had once kept company with...slept with...

Keelin shuddered.

The sense of unease followed her straight into the park. She felt as if someone were physically pursuing her down the sidewalk, when she knew the only thing wrong was that her unprecedented actions were preying on her mind. Still, she clutched the strap of her shoulderbag.

All these years of waiting for the right man...Moira's legacy wanting to be fulfilled...and she'd gone and chosen a man who either didn't respect women...or didn't like them.

The scene with Vivian had reminded her of what Tyler had done to his ex-wife, of how he'd kept Helen from her own child. She'd conveniently forgotten about that for a while.

What was she to do now?

The sensation of being followed grew stronger. Thinking to see Pamela or Brock, she glanced over her shoulder.

But the only people behind her were a woman pushing a stroller, and behind the young mother, a man wearing a windbreaker, his capped head bent as he adjusted the portable radio clipped at his waist.

Nothing to concern herself over.

The man jogged past her at an easy clip. Keelin didn't give him a second glance as her thoughts strayed back to Tyler.

Tyler had shown a different, appealing side of himself earlier...strong yet tender...vulnerable yet commanding.

He had enticed her as no man ever had.

What to do?

The dream drifted back into her thoughts, undoubtedly because she was feeling a bit guilty at not having told Tyler. But what purpose would it serve to worry him further? Poor Cheryl tied up and gagged...

She came to a foot tunnel that would take her under a street that cut through the park. A large lagoon supporting both paddle boats and wildlife lay on the other side. Perhaps she could find some answers there. At home, Lough Danaan had soothed her more times than she could remember.

Keelin turned and made her way down the dark, dank tunnel. Walls covered with graffiti. Lights broken. Litter underfoot. Halfway to the other side, she looked to the opening ahead. An archway of sunlight. A frame for the large brick building that sat before the lagoon.

Her feet slowed.

For a second, the opening was a window, the building a church...

Her concentration was broken by feet beating the path behind her. A jogger. She moved to one side to let the person pass and so was startled when a body rammed her, knocking her down. Her shoulderbag went flying.

"Pardon me!" she said, getting a glimpse of sunglasses below a billed cap and a portable radio clipped to the man's waist.

She didn't see whatever smacked into the side of her head.

Chapter Nine

"THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING," came a gravelly and obviously disguised male voice as Keelin noticed the man wasn't wearing jogging shoes. "Stop trying to help Leighton unless you want to end up food for the fish in Lake Michigan."

Attempting to rise, she reached out and grabbed his wrist, then pulled herself up until he shoved her hard with his free hand. Something gave. She flew into the cement wall, the object clutched in her hand. Too dizzy to stay on her feet, she sank back to the ground. And though she tried to get a better look at the man as he tore down the dark tunnel, she could hardly focus.

Dazed, her heart beating too fast, she leaned her head against the wall and took deep breaths. She was going to have one grand headache. Slowly, she recouped her shoulderbag which lay several feet away. Then she worked herself back up to her feet. Her surroundings whirled and her stomach churned. She was definitely both dizzy and queasy, so she stopped moving. Wondering how she was going to get herself back to Tyler's office – crawl, perhaps? – she thought she was hearing things when her name reverberated down the tunnel.

"Keelin!"

"Tyler?" Bile rose to her throat and she instantly regretted trying to speak at all.

"Are you all right?" he demanded, twirling her around.

The motion was too much for her head and stomach. Keelin couldn't help herself. Doubling over, she lost her greasy lunch...all over Tyler's expensive leather shoes. To his credit, he didn't even utter a sound of disgust, merely supported her weight. When her world stopped spinning, she carefully inched herself into a standing position.

"Are you all right?" Tyler demanded in a low, urgent voice, his arms cradling her. "What did he do to you?"

"Hit me in the head with something," she said with a groan. "How did you know?"

"I was watching from my office window. The bastard was acting suspicious. I could tell he was watching you. I got down to the street as fast as I could. Apparently not fast enough. He was disappearing into the tunnel before I could even cross to the park."

"I could use some air."

With care, he guided her back the way they'd come. Once on the other side, he led her to a bench and made her sit. Only then did he try scraping the left-overs of her lunch off his shoes with a plastic bag he pulled out of a trash can.

"I think I owe you a new pair of shoes," she said.

"I'd rather have a description of your mugger to give to the police."

"He was not a mugger...didn't try to take my shoulderbag," she said, gripping the

leather strap. "He must be the man who has Cheryl."

"What?"

"He said..." She thought hard to remember. "...that this was my only warning to stop helping you."

Tyler threw the plastic back into the trash and said, "Don't move!" while heading back for the tunnel.

Keelin held her protest. She watched him disappear, figuring he was on a fool's errand. Her attacker had too good a head start and there were several directions to choose from on the other side.

Sure enough, Tyler quickly reappeared.

"He's long gone. Did you get a close look at his face?"

Keelin shrugged. Everything was fuzzy. "His hat was pulled low and he was wearing sunglasses. And street shoes."

She had the feeling there was something else...something that Tyler would want to know...but the thought was elusive. Her head was starting to pound. She looked down at the object still clutched in her hand.

"This is his," she said, showing him a watch with a broken gold band.

But there was more, wasn't there? Thinking about it only made her head hurt worse.

Taking the watch from her, he said, "A Rolex." He looked at the back. "'Darling,'" he read, "'to our future.' No name or initials. But whoever was wearing this must have money."

"Not George Smialek, then," Keelin said. What she'd seen of his apartment hadn't reflected the money it would take to buy a Rolex. "Oh, Tyler, I'm sorry I cannot tell you more."

"No, I'm sorry," he said, slipping the watch into his trousers' pocket. "This never should have happened to you. My letting you help only put you in danger."

"Let me? I would have tried to find Cheryl with or without you."

"I believe you would have," he said, something like awe in his tone. He looked down the street. "Where's a taxi when you need one?"

"Your office is barely a block away."

"But the emergency room is a bit farther."

"No hospital. I'm fine." But the moment Keelin stood, she felt weak-kneed. "Perhaps I could use a place to lie down for a few minutes..."

"You could have a concussion. First the emergency room, then the lie down."

Keelin knew arguing wouldn't do any good – besides, which, she didn't have it in her – so she let Tyler hail a taxi and take her to nearby Grant Hospital. Fortunately, a lump on her head and a headache were the only things the intern who checked her over could find wrong with her. He gave her an analgesic for the pounding and a frozen gel-pack for the goose-egg. He suggested she get some rest, but that Tyler not leave her alone. Someone needed to check her on a regular basis to make certain her pupils stayed evenly dilated and that she could be roused every so often.

Just in case.

After bundling her into another taxi and giving the driver the L&O Realty address, Tyler said, "I hope you don't mind resting for a while on one of our couches. I have a few things to take care of before leaving for home."

"About Cheryl," she said knowingly.

"I have to get my hands on that money. This guy means business."

Something he didn't have to tell Keelin. Her aching head said it all. If the kidnapper would hurt her to keep her out of the way, what would he do to Cheryl if Tyler couldn't gather together the million dollars fast enough?

AS TYLER SETTLED KEELIN ON THE COUCH in the conference room, he couldn't help but regret her involvement in his problems. But that would have to end.

"Keelin, from now on, I want you to stay out of the line of fire."

"I'm in this with you, Tyler."

"But you shouldn't be."

"I must."

"I won't have you getting hurt...or worse."

"I will not have you telling me what to do," Keelin returned, rising to her elbows. "I must see that Cheryl is safe...so that I can be at peace."

"That sounds pretty ominous."

"Sit." Keelin carefully swung her legs to the floor and straightened, then patted the cushion beside her.

Tyler complied.

And she went on. "I told you about the first time I had one of my night terrors."

"The friend you lost."

"I vowed then never to involve myself again. For a decade I wasn't even tested. Any such dream-visions were not of the desperate sort."

Tyler had the feeling he knew where this was going. He swung an encouraging arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Go on."

"I was still living with my family at the time. A traveler by the name of Gavin Daley did some chores for us. I fed him a good meal and gave him some of Da's old clothing, then saw him on his way. That night, I dreamed through his eyes. A true nightmare," she whispered.

"You said he was a traveler? You mean a visitor?"

"A person whose only home is his horse-drawn caravan," she explained. "Many don't like the wandering people. They chase travelers off their land...break up their camps...sometimes hurt them."

"And you saw someone trying to hurt this Gavin Daley?"

Keelin shuddered. "Aye, that I did. A group of lads coming home from a night at the local pub full of drink and meanness overturned his caravan. They were laughing when Gavin escaped. When he saw what they had done to his home, he grabbed one of the young men and threw him. The lad's head hit the wheel and he sank to the ground unconscious. The others went after Gavin. Out for blood, they were, they chased him down to Lough Danaan. I could see their black looks, hear their shouted curses. I could feel the terror in Gavin Daley's heart." She was trembling as if she'd just experienced the whole thing when she said, "And then I awoke...and did nothing. I did not want to play the fool again, you see."

He squeezed her and gently stroked her hair. "And later you were sorry you didn't."

"The next morning, they found Gavin Daley in the shallows of Lough Danaan. After they beat him, they held him face down until he drowned. I knew he was in desperate trouble...and I did nothing. That poor man's death is on my soul."

"You're not responsible," Tyler said, turning her so he could look into her face. How could she possibly take such a burden unto herself? He stroked her cheek. "You

didn't hold him under the water. And even if you had called the police, they might not have arrived in time to save him."

"But what if the constable had been quick?" Her expression desperate, she demanded, "Do you not see? I chose to hide from my responsibility and now I have a man's death on my conscience. For years, I thought there was no way I could ever forgive myself, but perhaps there is. I did not know your daughter or you, Tyler Leighton. So why did I dream through her eyes but for fate giving me another chance? By making certain your daughter is safe, perhaps I can redeem myself. I truly cannot live with another such burden on my soul. Do you not see?" she asked again.

He saw too much. A woman who was afraid. She'd told him so. He hadn't really believed her until this moment. She was a woman who most feared failing others. Feared that she would be unable to carry the burden of responsibility her grandmother had lain across her tender shoulders as a young girl.

And yet she was truly the most fearless, selfless woman he'd ever had the good fortune to know.

"I see," Tyler agreed, silently vowing that if he couldn't stop Keelin, he would find a way to protect her. He brushed her lips with his and stroked her cheek again. "I do see."

Her expression lightened. "Good. Good, then."

Tyler untangled himself from her and rose. "Now you get some rest while I do what I must to raise the ransom."

She nodded and stretched out on the couch again. "Don't forget about me."

As if he ever could.

Tyler followed up with his broker and banker and real estate staff, checking on Keelin in-between. He even called in a few favors, asking for personal loans. No matter which way he added up the liquid assets available to him, however, they didn't come to enough. He was short more than two hundred thousand dollars. He neither had a serious prospect for the Barrington property nor could second-mortgage the North Bluff estate until the next week at the earliest. He was certain a week would be too late.

It was the business, then.

Swallowing his pride and his anger with his partner, he went to see Brock. The office door was open and Brock was busy going over some contracts. Tyler knocked on the wooden panel and stood in the doorway until the other man glanced up, his expression immediately darkening.

"Can we talk?" Tyler asked. "About the business."

"You've actually thought about it, then?" his partner asked, sounding surprised.

"I've been forced to..."

Brock's features went blank. "What do you mean?"

"I need to know how much getting out of our partnership is worth to you. Above taking half of the company's assets and clients with you, that is."

Brock indicated Tyler should come in and take a seat. "So make me an offer."

Tyler didn't fancy it up. "I need a quarter of a million in cash. Fast."

Brock didn't even blink. "How fast?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"You have the rest of the ransom money?"

"I will by tomorrow."

How did Brock know about the ransom when he'd asked Pamela to keep the information to herself? Tyler wondered. She must have told him anyway. But why? She knew he and Brock were at odds. Then he remembered the scene between his partner and assistant at the end of the hall. Pamela had brushed off his concern...

"The kidnappers want a cool million for Cheryl's return," Tyler said, in case Brock didn't have all the details. "I don't know when. I don't know where. I only know it's going to be soon."

"And you're not bringing the police in on this?"

"I won't risk my daughter's life."

His soon-to-be-ex-partner sprawled back in his chair. A moment's hesitation and he said, "I think we can work something out...especially if you're willing to hand over the Uptown renovation to me."

And Tyler took his first deep breath in days.

"YOU HAVE COMPANY," KEELIN SAID when they reached Tyler's North Bluff property just after sunset.

Two other abandoned vehicles were parked under the carport. One she recognized as belonging to Helen.

"Either my ex-wife stole a spare set of keys the other night or she broke in," Tyler muttered, cutting the ignition.

Keelin didn't react to the caustic remark. He hadn't, after all, given Helen Dunn the keys to his home.

After a few hours of rest – she couldn't exactly call her time on his sofa sleep since Tyler had checked on her every half hour – plus a shower at her hotel and a fresh set of clothes, Keelin felt decidedly better. As long as she didn't touch the left side of her head carelessly, she reminded herself. Washing and combing through her hair had been especially unpleasant.

Tyler raced around the Jaguar before her door was half open. Continuing to be solicitous, he helped her out. "If you like, you can go right upstairs."

"I would not sleep," she cut in. "Besides, you need me." When he gave her a questioning look, she kept her gaze steady with his. "Well, is that not what you told me earlier?"

"It was," he said. "But I don't need you to protect me from my ex-wife."

As he opened the front door, she returned, "You are more certain of that than I."

Laughter carried into the foyer from the living room. Tyler stopped short in the double-doorway, Keelin at his side. She saw that his ex-wife was entertaining a muscular young man who looked to be in his mid-twenties. Thick golden brown hair brushed a high forehead and topped perfect features that could belong to a model or actor. Half-empty drink glasses sat on the coffee table and the two appeared to be enjoying each other.

Tyler's tension was palpable. And Keelin suspected old, harsh memories were surfacing.

Before he could announce his presence, Helen spotted him. "Ah, there you are, Tyler. I was beginning to think you would never come home." She shot a significant glance at Keelin and raised her eyebrows. "Have you heard anything about our daughter?"

"My daughter is none of his concern."

"Why, that's where you're wrong, darling," Helen stated. "Mr. Weaver is an associate of Jeremy Bryant, the private investigator you hired."

"Jack Weaver," the young man said, getting to his feet and crossing the living room with hand outstretched. "Jeremy had to leave town unexpectedly. The case was one he'd been working on for weeks and something important broke. He asked me to cover for him here."

Though Tyler seemed reluctant, he shook the young man's hand. "And when was that?"

"A while ago," he said vaguely. "You'd already left your office. Naturally, I assumed you were headed home. So here I am."

"And isn't it fortuitous that I was here to let Mr. Weaver in," Helen said.

"Fortuitous," Tyler echoed. "Question is, how did you get in?"

"I was married to you for several years, Tyler. Long enough to know where you like to keep things. Finding your spare keys was a snap."

"Well, snap them over here," he insisted, holding out his hand.

"Don't be a bore."

"Don't make me take them from you."

Giving him a dark look, Helen removed the keys from her pocket and threw them at him. "This doesn't mean I'm going anywhere. I already brought my bag upstairs."

"Why are you here, Helen?" Tyler asked as he had last time.

"I made one mistake turning my back on my child. I'm not about to make another."

They glared at each other long enough to make Keelin uneasy. She tried to smooth things over. "Would anyone like something to drink? Tea?"

"No!" came the unanimous answer.

"What I would like," Tyler said, seating himself in a wing-back chair, "is to know what Bryant came up with about my daughter before leaving town."

Weaver shrugged. "Not much. Her friend Tiffany said Cheryl had been upset about something for the past few days. Your daughter wouldn't say what...only that it involved you."

Keelin felt Tyler's ache as if it were her own. And her curiosity on the subject was renewed.

"What did you do to our daughter to upset her enough to make her run?" Helen demanded.

"Nothing!" Tyler insisted, yet Keelin heard the uncertainty in his denial.

Keelin perched on the other vacant chair and turned to the private investigator. "What about a reference to someone Cheryl knows who happens to live in the city?"

"Jeremy didn't pass on any such information."

"Then why are you here?" Tyler demanded.

"To offer my services to take up where he left off." Weaver pulled out a notebook and pen. "Have you heard from your daughter since you last spoke to Jeremy?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

Tyler told the private investigator about the ransom notes and about the aborted telephone call. Without explaining how they figured it out, he also told Weaver about the Wicker Park location.

"That narrows it down. What about the Chicago Police Department? Are they on it?"

"Two detectives asking questions. Patrols on the look-out. We need someone going door-to-door, Weaver. I was hoping Bryant could round up a team."

"I don't have his resources. But I could get on the case myself." Weaver made as if to check his wrist, then stopped himself. "I have a couple of hours to work before it gets too late."

Throughout the conversation, Helen had remained quiet, Keelin noted. For all her protestations to the contrary, she seemed oddly removed from the emotional involvement a mother should have at knowing her child was in trouble. She covertly continued watching Helen as Tyler gave Weaver a photograph of Cheryl. The man took down more specifics about the exact streets he should canvass and left.

Tyler warmed up one of those dinners the housekeeper kept in the freezer for him and Cheryl. Helen made no move to leave, but since Keelin didn't have much of an appetite, the meal for two stretched far enough. The table was a hostile environment, with Tyler and his ex-wife doing a good deal of glowering at each other if not actually trading barbs. Directly afterward, Helen volunteered to retreat to the bedroom she'd chosen.

Leaving Keelin and Tyler alone.

"Would you like some fresh air?" he asked.

Still able to sense the left-over tension in the room, Keelin said, "I would love that."

The night was heavenly. In a clear starlight sky, a nearly full moon shone on them as they picked their way down the wood stairs to the narrow strand at the base of the bluff. Two Adirondack chairs awaited them.

Tyler pulled the wooden chairs closer together, so when they sat, they were side-by-side if not actually touching. Keelin lay her head back and stared up at the sky. Listening to the water lap almost at her feet, her face caressed by a sharp lake breeze, she could almost imagine she was home in Éire, sitting on the bank of Lough Danaan.

"Ah, tis a wondrous night," she murmured with a sigh.

"And I feel wondrously guilty that I'm not doing something to find Cheryl."

"Don't." Keelin moved her hand from her armrest to touch his. "You've done all that you could."

"I should be knocking at doors in Wicker Park myself."

"You're not a professional," Keelin said. "Jack Weaver is. Perhaps he will earn his fee."

"I hope so. Even if I get the whole million together, that's no guarantee..."

That he would ever see Cheryl again, Keelin silently finished for him.

"You must keep your thoughts more positive," she murmured.

An elusive image reached for her, hovering just beyond her conscious mind. But every time she tried to concentrate on it, her head ached.

"If only we could figure out why this is happening, what the villains have against me," Tyler said, turning her attention back to what she could say for certain.

Keelin ticked off the facts as they had them. "A man and a woman are working together. They have an intimate relationship. And they want you to know what it's like not to be in control."

"And the man used to wear a Rolex watch until today," Tyler added.

"Does Nate Feldman wear a Rolex?"

"Knowing Feldman, he probably does."

"And he and Vivian Claiborne are now involved..."

"Vivian sure as hell was thrilled about Feldman getting the Michigan Avenue contract," Tyler muttered. A moment's thought and he continued. "Then there's George Smialek and his wife Ida. They have the strongest reason to want revenge and they live in Wicker Park."

"Mr. Smialek would never be able to afford a Rolex watch, though," Keelin reminded him. Hesitating only a second, she added, "But your partner could."

"I haven't noticed what brand watch Brock is wearing these days, but I can't believe he'd do anything to hurt Cheryl. He's always been so fond of her."

"And she, no doubt, always trusted him."

Tyler swore under his breath. "No! He's so desperate to break up our partnership that he's willing to give me part of the ransom money."

"That doesn't eliminate him." How odd that a man so given to doubt refused to suspect his partner.

"A kidnapper would supply part of the ransom to himself?"

"Wouldn't he have some idea of how much cash you could raise in a short time?"

Tyler swore again, yet still loyally argued in his partner's defense. "I know what you're getting at. Don't you think I've considered Brock myself? True, he could be playing along because he'll get what he wants – a clean split and a new chance to prove himself. Maybe that's worth a quarter of a million to him. But the kidnappers are a couple, remember. Brock's not currently married. And none of the myriad women he's dated has any reason to resent me."

"Not even Pamela?"

Tyler's hand tensed under hers. "What are you talking about..." His words trailed off. "I have seen them in a few intense huddles lately."

"And I have seen them kissing."

"When?"

"This afternoon, when Vivian came by," Keelin said. "I was staring out at the park when I spotted Pamela. Brock was waiting for her. If he is the one, he would throw suspicion from himself by offering to help you raise the ransom money."

Silence. Keelin sensed Tyler was taking her seriously.

"Brock was in the park today shortly before you were attacked?" he suddenly asked.

A thrill shot through Keelin. She hadn't made the connection herself. Could Tyler's partner have tried to warn her off?

"He couldn't guess that I would take a walk, though."

"Maybe it was a fluke. He saw his opportunity and took it. He could have parked nearby, could have had a windbreaker and cap inside the car. How long would it take to pull them on?"

"The man was wearing street shoes," Keelin admitted. It was possible.

"I know it's reaching," Tyler admitted. "Besides, Pamela's loyal to me."

"But maybe she's committed to your partner personally."

Tyler exploded. "Why is it I can't ever trust a woman?"

Remembering the suspicion he'd met her with, Keelin was saddened that one woman had so clouded his view of life. "You can trust me."

Tyler turned his hand so that it was cupping hers. "You're the exception to the rule," he said, giving her fingers a squeeze.

Keelin's heart skipped a beat. "You didn't think so at first. Do you look at every woman you meet with the same misgiving?"

"Maybe I do."

"A terrible way to go on through life, Tyler. More than a decade has passed. Do you not think you could forget whatever happened between you and Helen?"

"Not as long as I live."

He fell silent again, and Keelin wasn't certain he would say more on the subject. Her heart hurt for him. A terrible thing, not being able to trust.

"I suppose you'd need to know more to understand," he said. "And I suppose it's time I told someone. Someone I've come to trust," he added.

Knowing how much that concession cost him, Keelin linked her fingers through his in a gesture of solidarity. "Sometimes, a dark secret can be more of a burden than a person can bear." She knew of what she spoke.

"Helen had an affair," he said bluntly. "I imagine you've guessed that."

"You are a bit transparent there."

"When I met her, she was a moderately successful model. I was in the park on a day she was shooting an ad for a local paper. Like an idiot, I fell instantly in love with the image she was projecting rather than the real woman. And for reasons of her own, Helen decided she wanted marriage to me, despite her ambitions."

An easier way to become rich if not famous? Keelin wondered, though she did not put words to the hurtful thought.

Instead, she leaned toward Tyler across the chair and rested her forehead on his shoulder. His arm slid around her back, his touch thrilling her, making her want to get even closer.

"At first she seemed happy," he went on. "I encouraged her to keep working if that's what she wanted. Maybe everything came crashing down because she became pregnant too quickly, effectively ending her modeling career."

Keelin splayed a hand across his chest, felt his heart thrum against her palm. "But after the baby was born, she could have gone back to work."

"At first she didn't want to be pregnant. She was downright hysterical when she found out. We argued...and she appeared to accept the situation. After Cheryl was born, she even seemed to be a good mother. For a while."

"Until the affair started?"

"Going off with another man would be bad enough," Tyler said grimly, "but she brought Cheryl with her along on her trysts. Or brought her trysts into our home. And one day, she was too involved with her own pleasure to realize that her two year old child had wandered off. That's how I learned about the affair. I came home to a police car at the curb."

"You must have been frantic." Even more so than he was now, she imagined. "What about Cheryl?"

"I'm the one who found her, blocks from home. She could have been killed. It was a miracle that she wasn't even hurt. But after Helen tearfully confessed the sordid details...I wanted to kill both her and her lover. I remember wrapping my hands around Helen's throat..."

Keelin swallowed. He must have exerted some superhuman control to resist harming Helen. She herself had felt the tightly leashed ferocity in him more than once. Then, again, his daughter was lost to him again, as she had been so long ago.

"I couldn't stay married to Helen any longer," Tyler was saying.

"So her affair and the neglect of your daughter are the reasons you were able to secure custody."

Tyler wrapped an arm around Keelin's back and pulled her out of her seat as if he needed closeness for courage to finish the story. She gladly settled on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and touched her forehead to his temple.

"Helen swore she would fight me," he went on, his tone low. "Considering the circumstances, I didn't think she could win. But she at least would have had visiting privileges as she so clearly reminded me. Helen demanded an absurd settlement, and a yearly stipend that wouldn't end even if she married. If I didn't agree, she said one day Cheryl might just disappear...and I would never see my daughter again. I was furious that she would use her own child as a pawn, but I agreed to give her what she wanted. She would get the money...but only if she agreed to be dead to her daughter."

Keelin sensed how painful the admission was for Tyler. And yet his confession gladdened her. He had to feel something special for her if he was willing to share the sordid details that he'd kept locked up inside him all these years. And she was glad, for now she understood. He was no monster.

"I never wanted Cheryl to find out what kind of a woman her mother was," he whispered. "I feared it would destroy her. Helen took all of thirty seconds to agree to the deal. I made a pact with the devil and have had to live with the guilt for twelve years."

Suddenly the import of what he'd just admitted hit her. "So Helen threatened to kidnap her own daughter?" Keelin asked, her mind already whirling.

"I guess you'd call it that."

"And now someone has. Why not your ex-wife?"

"Someone Cheryl trusted," Tyler reminded her.

Keelin pulled back slightly, so she could look into the pale eyes that were for once open and vulnerable.

Why did he do it?

Why?

Now that I know, everything is ruined.

His daughter's remembered thoughts spinning in her own head, she asked, "Are you certain that Cheryl didn't somehow find out about her mother?"

He sighed. "I can't be certain of anything. Something was wrong between us for a few days before she ran. We even argued the night before. Cheryl made accusations...but she wasn't clear about what I'd done. I thought maybe someone had put an idea in her head that Harry Smialek's death was my fault or something. But underneath..."

He didn't have to say that he thought Cheryl might have suspected her mother was alive. But how to know for certain?

"At one time you knew Helen better than anyone in the world. Could she actually hurt her own child?"

Tyler tightened an arm around her and slid long fingers around the back of her neck. "I don't know. I don't seem to be certain about much of anything any more."

Their mouths met in a kiss filled with repressed passion and infinite tenderness. Keelin was moved. Filled with longing, she at the same time wanted no more than this gentle melding. This proof that they were closer than she ever suspected was possible. Tyler broke the kiss and sighed her name.

"Ah, Keelin."

She pulled his head to her breast. And though his physical warmth stirred her, the emotional bond they were forming was far more potent. He had opened up to her with his deepest, darkest secret as she had to him earlier. Their mutual trust had to mean something.

The words of her grandmother's legacy drifted into her mind.

Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.

Love was that legacy, Keelin knew – the unexpected love she felt for Tyler Leighton – though she worried that she had not truly acted selflessly as Moira had advised. She had nearly as much at stake here as did Tyler.

He had his daughter.

She had her very soul.

How long could a love born in the desperation of the human heart last? she wondered. If not for Cheryl running away, they would never have met. If not for Tyler's grief over his missing daughter, he would not be so open.

What about when the child of his heart was returned to him? Would he have room for her, as well, Keelin wondered?

Not that it mattered, for as she had told herself before, they were worlds apart.

And yet, sitting in the dark, the lake breezes curling the thin material of her dress up along her legs, wrapped in arms that she never wanted to leave, Keelin couldn't quite see that anything mattered but love.

SOME TIME LATER -- TYLER COULDN'T SAY how long for certain – he realized that he had dozed off cocooned around Keelin, dazed by her warmth. With awakening came the remembrance that he no longer had any secrets. Uncomfortable at having opened up so completely to the woman in his arms, he felt the need for some space.

And yet, he said, "Keelin, we'd better get inside," as softly as if they'd just made love.

The mental comparison betrayed him and he grew increasing uncomfortable as she stretched and wiggled her bottom against him as she slid to her feet. Splashed by moonlight, she seemed dreamy-eyed...and yet her smile was a bit distant, not quite reaching her eyes.

He followed her up the stairs to the top of the bluff. They crossed the lawn side-by-side, and he was careful not to touch her. She seemed equally tentative. An awkwardness hung between them even as they entered the house in mutual silence. As she glided through the dining room, he busied himself locking up the French doors.

"I'd better check the front," he said, brushing by Keelin in the foyer.

He'd snapped the dead bolt in place when he happened to look down. The breath caught in his throat. A plain white envelope sans postage but bearing his name was caught beneath the door. Like a madman, he ripped it free and tore it open.

"Tyler?"

As he unfolded the sheet of pasted letters, he glanced up and their gazes locked. He swore he could feel strong emotions pour from her to him, as if they were psychically united. He felt her support...and something far deeper.

Discomfited, he focused on the third ransom note.

The fireworks will go off at Navy Pier at 10:15 Friday night. Wait at the north end of the Crystal Gardens with the goods in a backpack for a trade. Come alone if you don't want anyone to get hurt.

"What does it say?" she asked anxiously.

"Forty-eight hours."

Taking the threat seriously, he refolded the ransom note and slipped it into his pocket. He would have to go alone. That meant he couldn't divulge the details lest Keelin take it into her head to follow him. She was desperate to redeem herself for something that wasn't even her fault.

Better that she live with her past not fully resolved than not live at all.

Chapter Ten

ANOTHER DREAMLESS NIGHT LEFT KEELIN praying that Cheryl had merely been sleeping soundly. The other possibility, that some real harm had come to the girl, was too terrible to contemplate. She rose, staring unseeing at one of the windows where the morning light poured into the bedroom.

Gradually focusing, she stared at the square of brilliance and at the massive tree trunk beyond.

And suddenly another window took shape in her mind.

Tied and gagged, Cheryl had nonetheless been able to see the last time Keelin had tuned into her. And she'd been staring at what lay outside the living room window.

A church steeple!

The image that kept eluding her the day before.

Keelin flew out of bed, pausing when the room shifted slightly, but she quickly regained her equilibrium. Her head barely hurt any more.

Freshening up in record time, Keelin dressed with a renewed sense of purpose. Tyler couldn't keep her from returning to Wicker Park with him! She almost felt like going it alone, taking a taxi and letting him wonder what she knew.

Almost.

It still galled her that he'd refused to show her the ransom note the night before. Had refused to divulge any information other than the Friday night deadline. He knew she was committed, for heaven's sake. Nevermind that he swore he was only trying to protect her from herself.

She'd believed him when he said he trusted her. So why couldn't he have proved as much?

The smell of fresh coffee assaulted her nose when she left Cheryl's room. Normally a tea drinker herself, Keelin occasionally indulged in a cup of the stronger stuff. And so she swept into the kitchen and made straight for the mug tree, noting that not only was an exhausted-looking Tyler at the table, but his ex-wife, as well. Nursing a mug of coffee, a belligerent expression detracting from her beauty, Helen was still in her bathrobe.

"Have you heard anything from your Mr. Weaver?" Keelin asked, her voice tight with irritation left over from the ransom note issue.

She filled a mug for herself. Tyler's eyebrows shot up as he watched.

"He's not my Mr. Weaver and yes, he checked in," Tyler groused. "He found a woman who maybe saw Cheryl but couldn't remember where."

Keelin softened when she realized how frustrated the man sounded. Perhaps he did have her best interests at heart by not wanting her along on the ransom drop. Only she didn't happen to agree with the decision.

Leaning against the counter where she'd stacked the wine bottles the day before, Keelin said, "The apartment is across from a church."

"What?"

"The apartment where Cheryl is being kept."

"You know where my baby is?" Helen demanded.

"Not exactly. Not yet." Keelin looked to Tyler. "But now we can find it."

"What are we waiting for?" Taking the mug from Keelin's hand, Tyler set it down on the counter and turned her toward the front door.

"What about me?" Helen asked, getting to her feet. "I can't go dressed like this."

His expression cold, Tyler said, "You weren't invited."

"She's my daughter, too!" Helen screamed. "I may have been at fault letting her get lost the first time, but she was in your custody when she ran away and got herself kidnapped. What kind of a parent does that make you?"

Helen's emotional outburst struck a responsive chord in Keelin and she regretted suspecting her. No matter what mistakes the woman had made, she did seem to care about what happened to her daughter. Still, she didn't try to convince Tyler that they should take his ex-wife along. No more wanting to be in Helen's company than he did, she kept her peace as they started off.

They were well on the road before Tyler opened up the conversation. "We had it out this morning. I told Helen that when we found Cheryl, I planned on telling her that her mother is alive...if she doesn't already know."

"Then Helen won't be able to blackmail you any longer."

"No. She's off the gravy train. She'll have to take me back to court to get another penny out of me. I won't make things easy for her. Or for myself."

No wonder his ex-wife had appeared so truculent. Her source of income was gone. And Keelin had imagined all that concern was for Cheryl. More fool she.

"So tell me about the dream."

"I didn't dream last night," Keelin said. "I woke up remembering the church steeple from the dream I had when we were returning from Wicker Park."

"What about other details?"

He didn't need the ones about Cheryl's being tied and gagged, Keelin assured herself. "She was looking at the television, then out the window. That's all."

She wondered if he noticed the color stealing up her neck. Burning, Keelin shifted and sank lower in her seat, grateful that Tyler didn't pursue it. To her everlasting gratitude, he didn't say much the rest of the way to the Wicker Park area.

After crossing the six corner intersection, he said, "I'll turn at the first side street and drive straight. I'll stay methodical unless one of us spots a church."

The first church they encountered stood across from old mansions and two-flats. Several more blocks of zigzagging the area, and they spotted a second church. Keelin looked to the other side of the street.

"A six flat," she murmured. "And it has a stoop!"

Tyler immediately pulled the Jaguar into the only available parking spot on the block.

Keelin's pulse lurched as they approached the building. The church's steeple lay directly across from the third floor apartments. Tyler held the outer door open for her. When she saw the chipped marble stairs in the vestibule, her excitement rose.

He quickly inspected the mail boxes and bells. "Look, no name on 3B."

"That must be it."

The inner door didn't close properly, so they walked right in. With each step upward, Keelin's heartbeat accelerated and she sensed Tyler's tension increase. When they rounded the second landing, she put a hand on his arm. His features were set in a grim line and yet somehow his glance told of so much more. Hope for Cheryl. Gratitude toward her.

Upon reaching the second landing, Tyler held a hand out, indicating she should stay back. Keelin complied. She tried to breathe normally, but each intake of air was forced.

And when Tyler knocked on the door to 3B, she forgot to breathe altogether.

No response.

Tyler knocked again, harder.

Nothing.

His third set-to shook the wooden panel in its frame, but still it roused no one.

"Damn!" His fist shot into the door. "We've got to find someone with a key."

Just then, the door across the way cracked open. Behind the chain, an elderly lady peeped out. Keelin recognized the woman even as she said, "Go away before I call the police!"

"I saw her before," Keelin whispered to Tyler. "I mean Cheryl did when she tried getting away."

"I don't mean anyone harm," Tyler assured the neighbor. "I'm just looking for my daughter."

"No one there. Left earlier."

"Maybe Cheryl is inside alone." Tyler raised his voice. "Cheryl, baby, are you in there?" he called, putting his ear to the panel.

Keelin strained but heard not the slightest sound. Disappointment filled her until Tyler tried the knob and the door opened readily. He stepped inside the apartment. She followed directly behind him.

"You can't go in there!" the elderly neighbor called after them.

Keelin looked around, recognizing the shabby furniture in the unoccupied living room. The doors to the bedrooms and bath stood open. They were unoccupied as well.

"Damn!" Tyler exploded. "They've moved her!"

"We were getting too close," Keelin proposed. "Or perhaps Jack Weaver did last night."

Tyler didn't try to hide his disgust. "Let's get the hell out of here!"

Keelin wanted to put her arms around him, but the stiff way he held himself was anything but an invitation. Comforting him could wait a while. She followed him into the hall and noticed the elderly lady was still peering out at them. No doubt she paid attention to anyone coming or going.

Keelin caught Tyler's arm to stop him from running off. "This man is looking for his child," she told the woman. "The people who rented that apartment are holding her against her will. We need to find them, but we don't know their names or what they look like."

The silver-haired head shook vigorously. "I can't help you."

"You must have seen something. Think hard," Keelin pleaded. "We're talking about a fourteen year old girl."

"Don't wanna get involved," the neighbor muttered, though she appeared torn.

"Please."

The woman looked them both up and down as if judging the veracity of their story before making up her mind. "Don't know any names. They were only there maybe two weeks. In and out a lot. Never got a good look at him, though."

"But you did get a good look at someone," Tyler urged.

"The girl, once. And the woman. She didn't belong in this building."

"Why not?" Keelin asked.

"Her clothes. Too fancy."

"Can you describe her?"

"Pretty girl with a good figure. Blonde. That's all I gotta say."

"Wait a minute." Tyler objected too late. The woman closed the door in his face. "I could use the name and number of the management." When his raised request received no response, he said, "Come on."

"Should we ask someone else?"

"It's probably not necessary."

She didn't understand until they exited the building and he checked the side. High up, a plaque announced the building was being managed by Damen Realty.

A moment later they were on their way out of the neighborhood and heading for his office. Tyler used the cellular car phone to call the authorities. He demanded they go over the apartment with a fine tooth comb and check out the identities of whoever rented the place with the realty company, as well. Keelin could tell he didn't like whatever response he was getting.

Dropping the cellular, Tyler confirmed her suspicion. "They need a court order to get into the place and might need the same for the realty."

"The authorities must abide by the law."

"If you ask me, the law is too slow."

"That they are," Keelin agreed. "Why did you not give them the woman's description?"

"Maybe I should have given them her real name, as well," Tyler said caustically. "Except that, without absolute proof, I doubt the police would believe Vivian Claiborne was mixed up with something as sordid as kidnapping."

Frustrated that they were stopped cold after such a promising start, Keelin wondered if Skelly might be of some help in getting the information on the kidnappers his way.

The Jaguar was soon crawling in the heavy traffic of Lincoln Park West.

"I can't wait for whatever the authorities come up with, Keelin. I'm going to spend my day seeing to the ransom money. My gut tells me I'm going to need it if I want her back."

"So you won't need me."

He glanced her way, his expression astonished. "That's not true. I do need you, Keelin. I told you so."

"Then take me with you when you deliver the ransom," she said stubbornly.

"But I won't put you in unnecessary danger. The last note was very specific about being alone if I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

Keelin didn't continue to plague Tyler as she was tempted to do, merely waited until his vehicle was settled in the car park and they exited onto Clark Street.

"I shall leave you to your money gathering," she said.

Tyler already seemed distracted. "What about you?"

"I'll ring you later."

He gave her shoulders a squeeze and brushed her temple with his lips. "I'll miss you."

Keelin wouldn't let him soften her so easily. "You'll be too busy."

"Never too busy to think of you."

Never was an interminable amount of time. Knowing they didn't have that long to be together, Keelin wriggled free of his arm. "You have currency to collect, remember?"

She waited until he'd disappeared inside the L&O Realty offices before heading for the corner and the bus stop. She counted out exact change and slipped the coins into her pocket, then fished for two more quarters to buy a newspaper from a box. She was about to drop the money into the slot, when she spotted Brock Olander on the street.

Furtively glancing over his shoulder as if afraid of being caught – by Tyler? – he then flagged down a taxi going south, and she caught a glint – a watch? – on his wrist.

He didn't see her.

Instinct and another convenient taxi waiting for the light to change convinced Keelin to find out where Tyler's partner might be headed. She raced across the street, waved over the yellow vehicle and hopped into the back seat.

"Follow that vehicle," she ordered her driver, a young Hispanic whose hair was shaved in lightning patterns around his head.

"Follow that cab." He pulled down his meter flag and gave her a gap-toothed grin.

"Pardon me?"

"In the flicks, they always say, 'follow that cab.'"

Amused despite the intensity of the situation, Keelin said, "Very well, then. Follow that cab."

Her vehicle lurched and shot forward. She sat back and kept an eye on Brock's taxi now nearly a block ahead. Several cars had cut between them.

"You a spy or something?" the driver asked, skillfully maneuvering his taxi so that they'd passed two of those cars by the following intersection.

"No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?"

"You got a accent. You're followin' someone." His eyes shifted from the traffic to the rear view mirror so he could get a better look at her. He smirked. "Ah-h, I get it. Boyfriend or husband trouble?"

"Both," Keelin impulsively lied. Her cheeks warmed.

"Don't worry. A pretty lady like you deserves a break," the driver said, gaining on another passenger car.

Fortunately, Brock didn't go very far and Keelin's driver stayed with him. A few blocks from her hotel in the Gold Coast, he alighted from his taxi and disappeared into an elegant old building. Her taxi slid to the curb, the driver keeping the vehicle a discreet distance back.

Handing him more money than the meter required, Keelin said, "Wait for me," and slipped out of the back seat.

"I'll keep the motor running," the driver promised with another grin.

Keelin approached the building cautiously lest Brock spot her. But when she peered through the front door's glass insets, he was nowhere in sight. She entered the brass-trimmed wood and marble vestibule, thinking to look for a directory that might give her a clue as to whom he'd come to see. But the offices beyond held only a single tenant.

Nathan Feldman Associates.

NATE FELDMAN SPRAWLED BACK in his leather chair, tempted to put his feet up on his marble desk and shout Hallelujah! But he held himself in check – wouldn't do to show how much this deal had meant to him – and lit a fresh cigar instead.

"Help yourself," he told Brock between puffs, indicating the fancy hand-carved cigar box that he'd picked up in Rio.

"Thanks."

Brock didn't look so good. His skin was pasty. And his hand trembled slightly as he took the cigar. He didn't even light it, rather stared down at the rolled tobacco as if he didn't know what to do with it.

"Congratulations. I wasn't convinced you were up to the task. You even got the Uptown project. Good show!"

Brock's expression spelled guilt. "Tyler's had everything his way almost from the beginning."

Was that justification or regret he heard in the other man's voice? Nate wondered. Too late for him to back up now. Regret wouldn't fix things. Wouldn't bring that Smialek kid back to life, either.

"I expect you'll be out of L&O Realty first thing next week."

"So soon," Brock muttered, now sounding uncertain.

Nate figured he'd better boost the man's ego before he had a change of heart. "I understand a man has professional needs, Brock," he said heartily. "Our partnership will give you exactly what you deserve.

Brock nodded. "Your believing in me the way Tyler never did means a lot."

What a patsy! Nate thought.

More to the point, their temporary partnership would give him the satisfaction of getting even. Of gaining clients that Leighton would hate to lose. Hopefully Smialek's law suit would drive the nail in Leighton's coffin, put him out of business completely and for good.

"Listen," Brock said, stuffing the cigar into the breast pocket of his jacket. "I'd better get back before Tyler suspects something."

"He's too preoccupied thinking about the kid."

"Still..."

Nate nodded. He lifted the briefcase and placed it on his desk. Then he slid a contract toward Brock.

"Sign on the dotted line and it's all yours."

Hesitating only a moment, Brock signed and took the briefcase. "Here's to success."

Nate wouldn't argue with that. The moment the door closed behind the chump, he put his feet up on his desk.

"Hallelujah!"

Success in ruining Tyler Leighton had been his goal all along.

BROCK SET THE BRIEFCASE on Tyler's desk and opened it. Neat stacks of bills filled half the interior.

"A quarter of a million in cash like you asked for. Now, about that agreement..."

Tyler handed Brock a written guarantee that he would cooperate in dissolving the partnership. It also listed the assets that each would take with him, including the Uptown renovation that had been Tyler's baby.

"I wish you'd rethink things," he said, even though he needed the money for Cheryl. "I meant it when I said we could work this partnership out. You could consider this money a loan."

Having done some soul-searching, he guessed Brock had been right to be dissatisfied. He only wished he'd come to his senses sooner, or that Brock had insisted on having a serious discussion about the situation, before things had come to a head.

"I've done enough thinking. I just want to get this over with." His face pasty, Brock skimmed the signed agreement and nodded. "I expect we'll get the ball rolling first thing next week."

Tyler couldn't believe it. He didn't even have his daughter back. What had happened to Brock? When had he become so hard-hearted?

"Next week," he promised.

Agreement in hand, Brock left, not looking nearly as happy as Tyler might have expected. He wasted no time in opening his office safe and securing the briefcase. He would personally pick up the rest of the money the next day. He'd no sooner locked the safe when Alma buzzed him. Fearing that she would tell him that Helen was insisting on speaking to him again – she'd interrupted him twice so far – he was relieved to learn that Jack Weaver was in the reception area.

"Send him right in, Alma."

When the private investigator stepped foot through the door, he was wearing a satisfied smile. "I'm pretty sure I found the building where your daughter's being held."

Not having expected such luck, Tyler started. "Where?"

Weaver's "It's a six-flat about a block off North Avenue" tempered his excitement, and when the investigator gave the address, he was totally deflated.

"We already knew that, but she's been moved. The police have someone watching the place." Tyler checked his watch. "By now, they should have the court order to get inside and search. Not that I think it'll do any good."

"So the cops beat me to it. Sorry. But if I'd been on the case in the first place..." Looking chagrined, Weaver shrugged and turned to leave. "I'll send you my bill."

"Wait. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Stopped in the doorway, the investigator said, "Nothing I can't change."

"Good." Tyler wouldn't put Keelin in jeopardy, but Weaver was a professional. "Close the door a minute."

After ascertaining that the investigator had access to a handgun, he told Weaver what he had in mind.

KEELIN BARELY GAVE JACK WEAVER a second glance as he left Tyler's office. Rather than waiting to be announced, she rushed right in and closed the door, bursting to tell him what she'd learned. To her frustration, Tyler was on the telephone.

"Hang up," she demanded, not trying to hide her urgency. "I must speak with you."

A quick apology to the person on the other end and he dropped the receiver back into its cradle. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

"Has Brock been here yet?"

"A little while ago. He brought the money."

Keelin took a deep breath. She'd known it! "Did he tell you where the money came from?"

"I didn't ask. Why?"

"I followed him."

"You what?" Tyler launched himself out of his seat.

"After you returned to the office earlier, he was on the street, looking over his shoulder...as if he didn't want to be watched...and he flagged a taxi. So I went with my instincts."

"And him. Where?"

"The Gold Coast." She lowered her voice. "Nathan Feldman Associates."

"You're saying he got the money from Feldman?"

"He entered the offices empty-handed and came out carrying a briefcase. Black leather."

With the vilest curse she'd heard pass his lips to date, Tyler yelled, "He's got some explaining to do!" and made to rush by her.

Keelin practically threw herself in front of the door to stop him. "You cannot face him with this now."

"Why not? I'll break his damn neck!"

"If Vivian Claiborne was the woman in the apartment, chances are she was in on the scheme with Feldman. And if Brock is working with Feldman..."

Tyler stared. "You don't think Brock knew? Christ, he could put Cheryl's life in jeopardy with a phone call!"

"Exactly."

He backed off and paced the length of the office. "Wait a minute. This doesn't make sense. If Feldman has my daughter, why would he give part of the ransom money to Brock to give to me? So he can get his own money back?"

"Think. What is it Feldman wants of you more than money?"

"My class," Tyler joked, his voice bitter.

Keelin didn't feel like laughing. "Perhaps you have a point."

"Afraid I can't give him that, not even in exchange for my daughter."

"But Brock is an extension of you."

Tyler's brow furrowed, but he quickly followed her lead. "And if Brock went over to Feldman, he'd be bringing half our clients with him. And the Uptown theater renovation that Feldman so desperately wanted. That added to Smialek's lawsuit..." He fell silent for a moment, then said, "Looks like they've been conspiring to ruin me, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid so."

Tyler sank into a sofa, for the moment appearing utterly defeated. Keelin quickly crossed the short space and tried to comfort him, even knowing that the only thing to truly salve his wounds was to have his daughter returned to him unharmed.

Believing with all her heart that she would not be seeing through Cheryl Leighton's eyes unless she had the means to save the girl, Keelin knew she would have be present at the ransom drop, no matter Tyler's objections.

But how to learn where the exchange was to take place?

STRUGGLING WITH THE KNOTS for what seemed like hours, she finally loosened the rope that bound her hands together. Her heart soared with hope as she pulled them free and the charms on her bracelet tinkled as if applauding. Next, she ripped the foul gag from her mouth, then worked on the rope binding her ankles.

In minutes she was trying to stand, trying to see. Her head swam and her stomach lurched with all the trying.

The space was pitch dark. Confusing. No, terrifying.

Which way? Which way?

Stumbling forward, hands out to catch the wall, she felt the faint pulse of the building under her palms, could swear she heard the thrum of its heartbeat. Blindly, she stepped wrong. The floor pitched beneath her feet and when she went flying, the building rumbled with muffled laughter.

"Please!" she squeaked, her voice so dry it was nearly gone. "I promise I won't tell. Just let me out of here. I want to go home! I want my dad!"

But no one was around to hear.

Only the building.

And it wasn't going to let her go!

CHERYL LEIGHTON WOKE WITH A START, heart hammering, almost certain she wasn't alone.

She whispered, "Hello? Anyone there?"

Then she realized it felt more like someone had been inside her nightmare with her than in this space. A feeling not altogether unfamiliar. She shuddered and the skin along the back of her neck rose in bumps. Impossible. The dark was making her imagine things. Making her lose her mind.

She never wanted to be in a dark space alone again.

Tears seeped from her eyes and threatened to choke her.

He'd moved her, brought her here that morning, had left her for most of the day. A building in the process of renovation. A big building. Familiar. Empty. No one to hear her scream, even if she weren't still gagged. But she heard plenty.

A couple in the alley getting in on.

A fight out front on the street.

The tick-tack of claws inside. Rats?

She trembled and worked at the ropes binding her hands together. Her wrists were raw, her fingers sore. She paused, grasping onto one of her charms for comfort. Somewhere outside, an el rumbled by. She had to get free. She had to get out.

But something told her she wouldn't succeed.

Because the building wouldn't let her go.

"TYLER?" KEELIN STOOD IN THE CENTER of his room, shaking so hard her teeth were clacking. "Are you awake?"

He mumbled an unintelligible answer, and she realized that he was in twilight land, halfway between wake and sleep. The full moon swept its beams through the open windows and across his bed. She saw him stir. The night sighed and a breeze swept into the room, with it the distinctive smell of the lake. She took comfort in her senses, in her freedom, in knowing she was not trapped as was Cheryl.

Hesitating only a moment, she flew to the edge of the bed and climbed under the sheet, seeking Tyler's solidity for comfort. He'd wanted her here with him, but Helen had taken the room next to his, and Keelin had been uncomfortable accepting the invitation. And so she'd insisted on sleeping in Cheryl's bed.

And had dreamed Cheryl's dream.

Rather had been trapped in the girl's nightmare.

She shuddered, and as if he sensed something was amiss with her even in sleep, Tyler wrapped his arms around Keelin and pulled her closer. Wide awake, she huddled against the man she loved, knowing his daughter was terrified, knowing she couldn't tell him so. Tomorrow he had to have his wits about him. Equally important, so did she.

Keelin let her eyes drift closed and listened to the steady beat of Tyler's heart. She could imagine herself falling asleep with him every night. If only their situation weren't so complicated. If only Tyler weren't so opposed to lasting relationships. If only he loved her as she loved him. He'd said he trusted her, but enough to give her his heart?

One of his hands wandered along her waist and cupped a breast. Her tender flesh swelled against his palm, perhaps for the last time.

Swallowing hard, Keelin knew she would never sleep for thinking of it.

"Tyler," she whispered, giving him a gentle shake, "make love to me as if we might never have another chance."

"Mm, is this a dream?" he murmured.

"A grand dream."

Suddenly he was awake and awakening her body, murmuring her name softly, tenderly. Kissing her. Laving her neck. Suckling at her breast through the cotton of her gown. He slid a hand down to her hip where his fingers gathered the material and edged it up with aching slowness. In return, she smoothed her hands along his naked chest and down the flat of his stomach. Explored all his hollows and curves as she had not been able to do before. Wrapped her fingers around him.

His hand slipped from the side of her thigh to the front. His fingers brushed her lightly, stroked her until she felt a damp flow that laved him. Her fingers stroked him until he was hot and heavy.

She joyfully opened to him.

Keelin moaned as Tyler stroked the delicate flesh that burned for deeper exploration. She drew him to the entrance, then slid a leg up and around his thigh to provide him easier access. Resistance made him hesitate and lift his head from her mouth at last, but Keelin couldn't wait any longer. Ignoring his questioning expression, clinging to his neck, she lifted her other leg and let her weight slide her where she wanted to be, one with him.

"Keelin..." he murmured in her hair. "... why..."

"Sh-h-h."

She rocked her hips to quiet any uncertainty, and Tyler responded, first with a shudder, then by moving with her. Waves of pleasure washed over her, and at last Keelin knew what it was to feel complete. She grasped at his back, nails digging into his flesh silently urging him to do something, anything to help her find what lay just out of reach.

Like a man possessed, he drove into her. Giving her more pleasure than she thought possible. And when she was certain there was no more to give, he finished her with a last thrust that sent her spiraling out of her body to some other world.

Her cry was joined by his shout.

Tyler collapsed on her. That he might crush her was of no consequence. Keelin didn't want this moment to end, for she feared that once he released her, she would never know this feeling again. He was panting, his heated breath against her neck making her melt inside. She held him desperately, willing this moment to last forever.

Cradling her, Tyler backed his weight off and took a big breath. His chest heaved, then quieted. Keelin unwound her legs from his hips and let them drop to the bed, the nightgown flowing over her thighs, the feeling as sensuous as the one inside her.

Tyler murmured, "The first time shouldn't have been like this."

And Keelin was stricken. "You're disappointed?"

"No, of course not." He captured her face in his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. "I mean it should have been better for you."

"It could have been better?"

Keelin couldn't imagine being the recipient of more pleasure than Tyler had already given her. He'd brought her to the stars and back. Even now, she was pulsing with the afterglow of their union. Unsure of what lay ahead for them, she treasured the lingering sensation.

His expression lightened. "I guess I meant nicer. Flowers. Champagne."

Relieved, Keelin smiled at his romantic concern. "I have no complaints."

"Nor do I," he said, brushing his lips gently across hers.

Tyler held her quietly, his hand tracing the column of her spine. For a few moments, she put aside all thoughts but the memory of their joining and the love she had for him. Her climax had been an afterthought, physically exciting and yet not as intense as the passions he aroused in her heart and soul.

Even as she drifted in the luxurious aftermath, snatches of Cheryl's nightmare pulled at her, uncertainty tearing at her momentary bliss. If things went wrong and his daughter was lost to him for good, Keelin knew Tyler would be destroyed. Now it was more than her own redemption for Gavin Daley's death that mattered to her.

What if, despite her determination, she failed the man she loved?

Chapter Eleven

KEELIN AWOKE ALONE IN TYLER'S BED. Awake most of the night, she'd finally fallen asleep just before dawn. And now the morning had progressed without her.

She slipped back to Cheryl's room where she hurriedly pulled on a dress and ran her fingers through her hair. Barefoot, she raced downstairs. And just in time.

She caught up with Tyler in the foyer – he appeared ready to leave.

"You're up." He sounded surprised but not displeased. "I left a note in the kitchen. Good. I'd rather say good-bye in person."

Good-bye?

The thought registered even as Tyler reached for her and drew her to him. Keelin resisted.

"You were going to leave without me?"

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to wake you."

When he brushed his lips over hers, she pulled her head away, unable to hide her disappointment. "Are you certain you aren't trying to be rid of me?"

Irritation crossed his features. "I've got a lot to do before –"

"And I can help."

"No. I want you out of this, now." He softened his tone when he added, "I need to concentrate on Cheryl. I don't want to have to worry about you, too."

He sounded as if he cared, Keelin realized. But if he really cared he wouldn't shut her out knowing what he did about her past mistake. About the guilt that had followed her for years. Or maybe he didn't really believe that she had it in her to set things right this time.

"You cannot do this without me," Keelin said, as certain of this as she was of anything.

"I can and I will." Tyler backed off, and a flash of regret washed over him before he opened the front door. "And I hope you have the good sense to stay put until it's all over."

Good sense?

Keelin stood frozen to the spot until she heard the Jaguar pull out of the drive. Then she ran to the door and threw it open in time to see the bottle green vehicle disappear.

"God bless," she whispered after him, hoping the good-bye was only temporary.

Taking a deep breath, she looked around. Helen's car was gone, as well. She was well and truly alone. She slammed the door and locked it.

Stewing over such heartless treatment, Keelin put the kettle on to boil and fetched some tea from her kit. The mixture of chamomile, vervain, peppermint, linden, lavender and lemon balm was a restorative mix meant to improve well-being and happiness and to lift the spirits. She could certainly use a good dose of spirit-lifting so she could rationally decide what to do next.

By the time she'd had her tea and toast and had chosen not to feel sorry for herself, it was after eleven. Bringing a mug of tea to Cheryl's room, she finished dressing and fixed her hair properly.

Then, as she sipped at the last of the brew, she found herself standing before Cheryl's shelves, pulling out the scrapbook with the photos of the girl and her dad at the fair. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she stared at the two of them. Even in this glossy still-life she could see how much they meant to one another.

She touched the girl's image, wishing she could see through Cheryl's eyes at will.

Thinking she might need to show someone a picture of Cheryl later, Keelin looked for a shot of the girl alone. The last series in the album was of Cheryl's graduation. She chose a five-by-seven blow-up and carefully pulled the edges free from the stays that held the glossy in place on the page.

And something dropped from behind the print.

Wondering what the girl had secreted, she hesitated only a second before unfolding the note.

Tyler –

Our arrangement is no longer satisfactory. Call me to work out the details. 317-555-4362.

Helen

Keelin stared at the missive.

Tyler's ex-wife.

Why hadn't he told her about the note? She had no doubts that Helen had been asking for more money. And Cheryl...how had the demand found its way to her...and what had the girl done about it? Cheryl must have guessed Helen was her mother or she wouldn't have hidden the note in her scrapbook.

Can't stay here any longer.

Not one minute.

No more lies.

Cheryl's thoughts came back to haunt her. Now they made sense. Had she contacted Helen? How to know? Keelin wondered. Cheryl didn't seem to keep anything in writing.

Unless...

Her gaze strayed to the computer. Skelly had given her a quick introduction to his when she'd been looking for those articles. She vaguely remembered him keeping his phone numbers and notes in different files.

And Tyler had talked about Cheryl navigating through cyberspace.

Keelin approached the electronic beast. "Please God, that I may tame you," she whispered, drawing out a seat and finding the Power switch.

The computer energized as did the monitor. Messages and colors flashed across the screen. Dread built in Keelin. What foolishness was this? She had no idea of what she was doing. But when the computer settled, boxes that Skelly had called windows were on the screen, and in each box, small figures with names. She found one such figure labeled Notebook and clicked the mouse pointer on it.

She spent a frustrating fifteen minutes before managing to find the few file names and open the first on the list. She worked by trial and error. Nothing of value.

Terminal was equally unhelpful.

Cardfile was next. She was getting a handle on this process. Files were labeled Friend, Relative, Business and Other. She opened Relative and found a number for Tyler's mother in Florida and his sister in Kentucky. She tried Other. Only a single entry: Helen.

Keelin recognized the telephone number as being the same as that in the note. Cheryl knew, then. Furthermore, she must have used the number, or why would she have entered it into her computer.

But Helen hadn't said anything about her daughter contacting her...

Thoughtfully, Keelin stared at the entry, wishing it could give her some answers.

Then she carefully backtracked, closing the file, then the program, then the operations.

"Good beast," she said, patting the computer before shutting off the power.

Her next stop was the room Helen had been using. She had no qualms about entering. The bed was unmade. Towels were strewn across the bathroom floor. So Cheryl had inherited her mother's untidiness. But not one item that she could identify as belonging to Helen remained anywhere to be found. Not even a tube of toothpaste.

Helen was gone. For good, Keelin suspected.

That cinched it. She rang L&O Realty.

"Sorry, Miss McKenna," Pamela told her. "But Mr. Leighton stepped out."

Did his assistant sound nervous, or was it her imagination? Keelin wondered.

"What time will Tyler return?" Keelin asked.

"Uh, I'm not sure...but he said not to expect him until I see him." Pamela added, "He'll probably be in and out all day."

Making Keelin wonder if Tyler's assistant knew why. More important, was Pamela aware of Brock's involvement with Nathan Feldman?

Every time she considered the situation, the resolution seemed more and more complicated, as if they were dealing with a large conspiracy of which Cheryl was only a small part.

Grand.

And she could not even speak to Tyler. He was out collecting the ransom. For all she knew, he could so avoid her calls the entire day.

Frustrated beyond belief, she dialed Skelly's number at the station, but his taping was already in progress. She left a message for her cousin, asking that he ring her at her hotel later.

And then she searched Tyler's bedroom, hoping he'd been foolish enough to leave the ransom note for her to find. Some clue as to where he was to make the exchange.

No luck there or in his study, however.

After completing her search, Keelin leaned back in Tyler's office chair and gazed at the framed photograph of Cheryl on his desk. So young to be hostage to some revenge scheme. Part of the girl's innocence – her faith in her fellow man -- would be shattered. Noting Tyler had set the charm they'd found at the bandshell near the picture of his daughter, she snatched it up. Staring at the perfectly crafted tiny fairy, she only wished the charm bracelet had the power to protect its owner...

About to replace the charm, something made Keelin hesitate. She rolled the tiny bit of silver between her fingers and couldn't quite force herself to let it go. She slipped the charm into her pocket. Perhaps the fairy would bring her good luck.

For the fates seemed suddenly to have turned against her, Keelin mourned.

Not that fate would stop her from being part of the night's dramatic events. If she had to, she would lie in wait for Tyler at L&O Realty. As Pamela had suggested, he would be in and out all day. Undoubtedly, he would be depositing each large amount of cash he collected in his safe. No doubt he would proceed to the exchange point directly from his offices.

And Keelin hoped to have the perfect opportunity to follow him.

"TOO BAD YOU CAN'T DREAM through the kid's eyes while you're awake," Skelly said after she'd explained her dilemma later that afternoon. "Then you could see where the bastards who are holding Cheryl take her."

Keelin was curled on the sofa in the sitting room of her suite, while her cousin paced the room's length, as if the outcome of the night's events were as important to him as they were to her.

"Being able to do so would simplify things. Too bad Gran never taught me how."

"Whoa!" Skelly skidded to a halt. "You mean Moira indicated it's possible?"

"She spoke of having lucid visions," Keelin agreed, once again wishing she knew more about the process. Maybe then things would never have gotten to this point.

"But you've never tried it?"

"I regret not. I have no experience in the area of self-hypnosis."

"I got into self-hypnosis for a story." Sounding excited, Skelly perched on the sofa next to her. "That's how I quit smoking."

"Not quite the same task," Keelin pointed out.

"No, but the principle's got to be similar. You relax, first your body, one part at a time, then your mind. You give yourself a suggestion to do whatever it is you want, but you package it in fancy wrappings."

Keelin frowned at him. "I'm not certain that I understand."

"Like I had to think of something that would make me feel good if I wasn't smoking. Imagining a beautiful spot where I could swim for miles. Or climb mountains. Or run through fields. Things that took a lot of deep breathing. Things I couldn't do with nicotine-corroded lungs. See what I mean?"

"I...think so." Though the same methods might not help her unlock someone else's mind. "Perhaps we should keep to the original plan."

"Following Tyler?" Though he appeared a bit disappointed, he said, "Your call, cous."

Keelin gave Skelly a big hug. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you properly."

"Hey, no big deal." While Skelly seemed somewhat embarrassed, he returned the hug and patted her on the back. "Hopefully we'll get good news all around." To her questioning look, he said, "Dad's flying in tonight, remember."

Dear Lord, the reunion. She'd been so preoccupied that she'd forgotten the reason for coming to the United States in the first place.

"Aileen will meet him?" she asked.

"That's the plan."

"I hope your sister has as much influence with your father as you imagine."

Something had to go right, Keelin thought, trying to be positive. And surely Raymond McKenna couldn't be as stubborn as Tyler Leighton.

NERVES ON EDGE, KEELIN started when Tyler finally left L&O Realty, loaded backpack in hand, shortly after nine p.m. She grabbed Skelly's arm. "There he is." Having lucked out, they'd been able to get a parking spot just down the street from the realty office more than an hour ago. "Wait. He's not crossing to the car park.

Skelly started the engine. "He's hailing a taxi."

Keelin didn't take her eyes off Tyler who was barely a hundred yards away. She only wished she could see him better to judge his frame of mind.

She only wished she was with him.

"Follow that cab," she told Skelly with a grimace.

As the taxi pulled away, so did they, only two vehicles in between. Keelin's sense of urgency pressed in on her, increasingly so as they continued in the same direction. Rather than turning west toward Wicker Park as she'd suspected they'd be doing, the taxi was continuing south on Clark.

"Where could he be headed?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Skelly said. "All kinds of places loaded with people between here and the Loop."

"I was imagining an area a bit more deserted," Keelin admitted.

They'd gotten within blocks of her hotel before the problem of keeping up with Tyler began. Heedless of traffic, two couples raced across the street in the middle of the block. Skelly threw on his brakes. Several more vehicles inched in between them and Tyler's taxi, including a van.

"I can't even see him now," Keelin complained as they came to an intersection where a group of burly young men who could be rugby players crossed against the light. "Try to catch up, could you?"

But by the time the crossing was clear of pedestrians, the light had turned red.

"Damn!" Skelly's hand crashed into the steering wheel. "We've lost him."

Dismay filling her, Keelin said, "Perhaps you can find him again."

Skelly did his best. The light changed. He raced through the intersection and around several vehicles with the same expertise as had her taxi driver the day before. Ahead, she spotted several yellow cabs, any one of which could be Tyler's. The problem was compounded when two of the taxis turned off Clark, one in either direction. Skelly stayed with those that continued south, but when they drew closer, Keelin could see a couple in each back seat.

"We really did lose him," she cried. "Now what?"

"Now it's time for you to develop a new skill," Skelly said, making a turn and racing down a darker side street. He pulled into the curb at a fireplug and cut the engine. "Think you can convince yourself to relax?"

Realizing what he expected of her, Keelin opened her mouth to protest. But what choice did she have?

"Ready?" he asked.

She fumbled with her dress pocket. "I shall have to be."

"I'll talk you through it. Start by taking some deep breaths...in through your nose...out through your mouth. That's it, only slower."

Following Skelly's voice, Keelin stared down at her palm. The ghostly illumination of a nearby streetlight allowed her to see Cheryl's fairy charm. She concentrated on it.

"Close your eyes...let your body relax. Start with your feet...feel a little tingly sensation...then your ankles...your calves."

Eyes closed, charm pressed into her closed hand, Keelin felt her body grow lighter and lighter as Skelly helped her find the path she so desperately needed.

"You're drifting. Now clear your mind of all thoughts but Cheryl. Concentrate on her...on her smiling face. She's happy, Keelin..."

For a moment, she envisioned a pretty young girl with light brown hair being twirled around and around. Cheryl threw her arms around Tyler's neck, the motion setting the bracelet on her wrist to tinkling.

"I see her," Keelin whispered. "With Tyler...the fair last summer."

"Good. You're on the right track. Look for Cheryl wherever she is now," Skelly was saying. "She's somewhere close-by. Concentrate on her thoughts...her emotions...what she's seeing..."

Keelin's hand flexed around the charm and in her mind, she raced through the darkness.

She stared out into blackness as her sore fingers played over her bracelet for comfort. At least her wrists weren't tied anymore. They didn't have to be. She knew what would happen if she tried anything.

She'd seen the gun.

"Dear God," Keelin whispered, the image dissolving instantly. "I believe they've threatened to shoot her if she doesn't cooperate."

"You did it?" came Skelly's voice from somewhere beyond her new consciousness. "Don't let it go, Keelin. Don't lose her. We can deal with the gun. Stay with Cheryl. See through her eyes one last time. We've got to know where they're headed!"

Heart pounding, Keelin did as Skelly urged. Desperately, she clung to the charm in her hand and let her mind re-enter the cosmos.

She was scared. More scared than she'd been in the apartment or the abandoned building. More scared than she'd been on the streets. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip so she wouldn't cry like some baby.

Her dad was giving them lots of money for her, but what if he tried something brave to save her and they shot him anyway?

Then she'd have no one.

"Don't be scared, Cheryl," Keelin whispered. "You're not alone, I promise. I won't let anything bad happen to you or your dad."

Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes flashed open as she thought she heard something weird...something inside her head.

Not the first time, either.

"We're almost there," came a voice from behind her, raised to be heard over the loud drone of the motor.

Their direction changed and they hit some rough bumps. Cold water sprayed her. Shivering, she glanced over her shoulder, past the city's skyline, her eyes drawn to the bright, moving lights that were coming closer...

"What are you seeing, Keelin?" came the voice outside her head.

"A Ferris wheel." The lit circle and spokes clear in her mind's eye, she said, "They're drawing closer...coming in from the lake. I think...they are in a motorboat!"

"Keelin, let the image go for now. Let Cheryl go," Skelly urged, his voice excited. "You're back in the car with me. You can feel your body again. Your hands, feet and everything in between."

The unnatural darkness receded and Keelin blinked her eyes open. Felt the weight of the tiny charm in her palm. She uncurled her fingers and stared at it.

"I found her," she whispered, even as Skelly started the car. "I saw through her eyes...a giant Ferris wheel."

He nodded. "It's got to be the one at Navy Pier! You did good. And we're only a few minutes away."

The longest few minutes that Keelin had ever experienced even though Skelly drove like a madman, careening through the night, somehow managing to avoid several traffic-engulfed intersections for quieter ones.

Finally, the crowds couldn't be avoided and their progress slowed. Keelin glanced at the car clock – almost ten – and then straight ahead at a long pier swarming with people where several tourist boats were docked.

The Ferris wheel seemed to grow larger as they approached.

"I believe we don't have much time," she told her cousin, her eyes glued to the lights.

"I'll let you off and park the car. Don't worry, I'll find you," he promised.

Keelin nodded and drew herself together. She was prepared for whatever was to come. This was it. Her chance to redeem herself. She only hoped that she could look forward to more. A future, for one. And, God willing, a future with Tyler. Heaven only knew what hand fate had dealt her, for uppermost in Keelin's mind was her solemn promise to Cheryl Leighton.

She would see that the girl and her father were both safe if it was the last thing she ever did.

BACKPACK SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER as casually as if he were carrying a change of clothing rather than a million dollars in cash, Tyler entered the Family Pavilion. Trying not to let his worry about Cheryl dull his senses, he dodged a passel of running kids while keeping out an eye for anyone too interested in his progress. If he were being watched, he couldn't tell. Finally, rounding a half-hazardly parked baby stroller, he reached his objective – the escalator that would take him to the upper level Crystal Gardens.

Weaver should already be in the big, flashy building whose main feature was a mini-forest of Arizona palm trees. Meant to be an oasis for winter fun-seekers, the space was a greenhouse with a view in every direction – transparent wall and ceiling panels supported by towering grids.

The moment he entered, Tyler searched the busy area for the private investigator. Black wrought iron tables and chairs were mostly occupied as were seats around the palm trees. But no Jack Weaver.

Tyler checked his watch. Nearly ten. The fireworks display was set for ten-fifteen. Even now, couples and whole families were drifting to the outside upper level deck to find a spot from which to watch.

Unsure of how things would go with the exchange, he wanted back-up. Someone other than Keelin. He couldn't be put in a situation where his attention was split. He knew he'd hurt Keelin earlier by excluding her, but he would make it up to her. She had to forgive him. He'd never known such a woman existed before.

A woman who was a true innocent.

No one waited any more, he thought, dazed by the unspoken revelation he'd come to while making love to her. At least not that long. Why had Keelin?

The answer was all too clear. Undoubtedly, she'd been waiting for the right man. Tyler could hardly believe it, but there it was. Keelin had waited to share herself with someone special.

Special sure as hell didn't describe him.

He took a deep breath. His romantic desires would have to wait. First things first. Cheryl.

Not liking firearms himself, especially not around so many innocent people, he suspected Feldman or Brock or whoever would deliver his daughter for the trade would be armed. The private investigator's having a handgun was supposed to be insurance, just in case something went wrong. Tyler wasn't going home without his daughter.

So where the hell was Weaver?

The knot in Tyler's gut loosened a moment later when he saw the investigator stroll into the Crystal Gardens through a southeast door. Wearing a glow-in-the-dark plastic necklace and carrying a cotton candy like a tourist, Weaver barely looked his way before finding himself a seat. Relieved, Tyler strolled through the oasis toward the north end to wait as he'd been instructed.

He checked his watch.

Ten o'clock.

The next fifteen minutes would be the longest of his life.

Chapter Twelve

KEELIN JOGGED A THIRD OF THE LENGTH of Dock Street, pushing her way through gathering crowds, avoiding a couple on bicycles and several younger people on in-line skates. Further down the south side of the pier, a mime was entertaining a group of teenagers and a clown was twisting balloons into animal shapes for some small children. Families were swarming onto one of the tourist boats, while two other vessels were just pulling away from the docks. People were taking seats and watching out to the water as if expectant.

She knew they were gathering for the fireworks the sign at the west entrance of Navy Pier announced in flashing lights. Pounded by loud rock music from above, she stopped, breathless, and glanced upward at what looked like a weird-shaped white parachute, but what was, in fact, the roof of an open-air concert arena. She'd already passed beneath the lit Ferris wheel and Merry-go-round. Hordes of people on the upper level gathered at the railing to stare out over the water.

She hadn't realized how big Navy Pier was. Cheryl could be anywhere.

What to do?

The Ferris wheel drew her.

Climbing over disgruntled visitors who were using the steps as seats, Keelin reached the upper level, gaze continually roaming the crowd. Hundreds of people in line for the Ferris wheel made the going slower and limited her line of sight.

How would she ever find Cheryl and her captors? An impossible situation, Keelin feared.

Unless...

Praying she could produce just one more lucid vision, that just one more time she could will herself to see through Cheryl Leighton's eyes, Keelin found a bit of unoccupied railing and pressed her back into the metal. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she grasped the fairy charm. Closed her ears to the rock music and the raucous voices pummeling her. The constantly changing lights of the giant Ferris wheel that towered overhead mesmerized her.

Keelin willed herself to relax.

Legs...arms...body...mind.

She breathed deeply, in through her nose, out through her mouth. She concentrated on the pattern of changing lights. Envisioned the pretty face and long brown hair she'd only seen in photographs. Her eyes grew tired, her lids heavy. She let them flutter closed.

At first her mind wandered through a dark space.

Then it raced faster and faster until she crashed into a million flickering lights.

Even with her eyes closed, she was still seeing the Ferris wheel, Keelin realized, though from a different angle...

CHERYL'S HEART POUNDED WILDLY as she was dragged along, bumped and jostled by tons of happy people. She glanced back past the Ferris wheel at the Skyline Stage beyond. She'd been to a concert there once, with her friends. They'd all loved the place and had been looking forward to the next time.

After tonight, she never wanted to step foot on Navy Pier again.

For a moment, the Ferris wheel mesmerized her, and she got that sensation again, like someone was inside her head, looking around. She must be going nuts.

Wanting to scream, she instead gasped, "Who are you?"

"You know very well who I am." The grip on her wrist tightened. "Stop dragging your feet."

"I'm not," she answered sullenly as they passed the Merry-go-round and the now-familiar sensation receded as quickly as it had come upon her.

She might have to do as she was told, but she didn't have to keep making things easy. All her fault. What a jerk! What a stupid jerk she was believing all those lies the woman had told her.

How could she have trusted a stranger over her dad?

"Remember, there'll be a gun aimed at your father. You do exactly as you've been instructed if you want him to stay alive."

Afraid she might screw up again, Cheryl wanted to cry. "I trusted you. I wanted to be with you. Why did you have to turn out so awful?"

Through her tear-filled eyes, Cheryl thought the woman actually looked like she might be sorry...but, as she was roughly shoved inside when she resisted going through the doorway leading into the garden, she figured that had to be her imagination, too.

TYLER'S NERVES WERE ON EDGE waiting for what felt like forever. He sat at the base of a palm tree, the backpack nonchalantly dropped at his feet. The Crystal Gardens had emptied out in anticipation of the coming fireworks. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly quarter past ten. Only another few minutes, then.

He'd figured on them being exactly on schedule, and so he was looking directly at the girl who stood at the other end of the garden for several seconds before realizing he was staring at his own daughter.

"Cheryl!"

He bounded up and took a few steps toward her before caution intervened. Her eyes were wide and she was visibly shaking, obviously scared and nearly in tears. His gaze flew over the few people who were not already outside for the fireworks. No one he recognized except his own private investigator, who was now on the alert.

"It's all right, Cheryl. Come to me, baby," Tyler urged, spreading his arms. His heart was in his throat.

He started toward her until her gaze shifted to somewhere over his shoulder. She

pressed her fist into her mouth as if stopping herself from crying out. Tyler slowed and glanced over his shoulder to see a fair-haired woman pick up the backpack.

But it wasn't Vivian who straightened and looked him straight in the eye.

"You should have called me like I wanted, Tyler," his ex-wife said. "If you would have been reasonable, adjusted our monetary arrangement like I asked, this wouldn't've happened."

Not having the slightest idea of what she was talking about, Tyler was stunned. Then his mind raced. She hadn't done this alone. She'd had a male accomplice. Feldman or Brock?

"Take the money and run," he told her, turning back to his daughter.

But Jack Weaver was already jumping up from his table and grabbing Cheryl.

"Weaver, what the hell are you doing?" Tyler yelled as he started toward them.

The investigator whipped out the handgun he'd assured Tyler he owned. "I'd stay right there if I were you."

Realizing how stupid he'd been – he'd played right into their hands by believing Weaver really was Jeremy Bryant's replacement – Tyler stopped in his tracks, half the width of the garden still between him and his daughter. He felt sick inside.

"No, Jack, let her go!" Helen yelled from behind him. "Cheryl wasn't supposed to get hurt!"

"She won't if your ex-husband co-operates." To Tyler, Weaver said, "We're going to use your daughter as insurance that we get out of here alive and with the money."

From the corner of his eye, Tyler saw a bystander move toward the main pavilion door. To get help, he hoped.

"Jack, leave her be!"

"Helen, get out of here now with the backpack or I swear I'll shoot the kid!" Weaver threatened.

"I'm going." Helen's voice was shaky. "Don't hurt her, please."

Tyler heard her retreat even as his attention was distracted by a door opening behind the bastard. His heart lurched as a woman slipped through and slid back into the shadows.

Keelin!

"Leave Cheryl," Tyler told the so-called private investigator. "All I want is my daughter. I promise I won't come after you." Though he'd use all his clout to get the authorities to do so later.

"No deal, Leighton. I don't believe you."

Tyler felt impotent as Weaver backed up toward the door, Cheryl in tow. This couldn't be happening! But what could he do without endangering his daughter's very life?

Suddenly Keelin made her move, closing the gap between her and them. Before a frantic Tyler could think of a way to stop her from doing anything foolish, a burst of sound reverberated through the building, an explosion of red and blue light reflected in the transparent panels all around them.

The fireworks seemed to fill the hall, effectively distracting Weaver. His gun hand swung out as he turned toward the source of the threat.

And Keelin lunged forward, grabbing his wrist.

"Get away, Cheryl!" she screamed. "Now!"

Tyler was already running as Cheryl screeched and struggled and somehow loosened Weaver's grip on her. And then she was flying toward him blindly, tears pouring from her eyes, her flight backed by a series of green flashes that built one upon the other.

"Dad, oh, Dad, I'm sorry."

Throwing his arms around his daughter, Tyler hugged her tight. He was speechless with gratitude. His thankfulness was tempered by the scenario before him, however – Weaver freeing his gun hand and striking out, clipping Keelin in the chin with the muzzle. Dazed from the hit, she tottered. And the bastard took the advantage, replacing one hostage for the other. Before Tyler could free himself from his daughter's tight grip, Weaver had hooked an arm around Keelin's neck.

"Stay right where you are, Leighton, or she dies." The muzzle of the gun was snugged in the halo of her hair.

"Let her go when you get outside." Tyler's order was backed by the blasts of a series of rockets that trailed white against the dark sky.

"I'll let her go when I'm damn well ready!"

"I shall be fine, Tyler," Keelin assured him, though she didn't sound convinced of it. "See to your daughter."

Weaver changed direction, heading for a north door. Keelin stumbled and was jerked hard for her clumsiness.

Tyler sweated inside his suit and tightened his grip on his daughter. If anything happened to the woman he loved, it would be on his conscience. He'd trusted the wrong person to help him. He'd excluded Keelin. No. The problem was including her in the first place. If he hadn't, this wouldn't be happening now. Self-deprecating thoughts raced through his mind as fast as the fireworks burst in the sky.

He should have known Keelin would find a way to put herself in the middle of things. But how to get her out? He didn't trust Weaver to allow her to live when he was done with her. But how could he go after her without leaving Cheryl alone?

Before he could think of what to do, yet another person burst into the garden, backed by the sound of whining rockets.

Wild-eyed, the disheveled man took in the scene. "Leighton, where's Keelin?"

Tyler took a breath of relief. "You must be Skelly."

"Forget the introductions. Where is she?"

"In big trouble. Stay with my daughter while I go after her."

Cheryl clung to him. "Dad, don't leave me!"

"You'll be safe with Skelly," Tyler assured his daughter, pushing her toward the other man. "Keelin trusts him and that's good enough for me."

He started off.

"But, Dad, wait!" Cheryl wailed.

Tearing another hole in Tyler's heart. He stopped and faced his daughter. "I can't let anything happen to the woman I love any more than I could to you," he said, praying she would understand.

Cheryl hesitated only a second. She sniffed and dashed a tear from her cheek. "They have a boat. It's tied up on the north side of the pier. Hurry before they hurt her!"

Like they'd hurt Cheryl? Tyler thought grimly.

Wondering that a fourteen year old could be worried about someone else after what she'd been through, he ran out to the open upper deck under a canopy of blurred color, half-blind for the emotions affecting his vision.

"SHE'S THE ONE, ISN'T SHE?" Cheryl asked, wiping away her tears as her father disappeared.

She didn't like his going after her mother and her awful boyfriend, but she didn't want the woman who'd helped her to be hurt, either. Somehow she just knew her dad would make everything all right.

"Keelin's the one what?" Skelly asked against another series of explosions.

Embarrassed, she couldn't quite meet the handsome man's eyes. "Um, you wouldn't understand."

Skelly lifted her chin. "Women usually find it pretty easy to talk to me."

Cheryl bit her lip. "She was...at least I...you'll think I'm crazy.

"Try me."

"I swear someone was inside my head." The words spilled out so fast they were nearly one. "Her."

Skelly smiled. "My cousin Keelin is an unusual woman. You're not crazy," he assured her as four uniformed police burst into the garden from the main hall.

"Hands up and get away from the kid," one of them yelled.

Skelly immediately complied. "I'm afraid we have a lot of explaining to do," he told Cheryl. And in a lower voice, added, "Uh, I'd suggest we keep what you just told me between us, though."

"Right. They'd think I was nuts for sure." Though she'd never been so happy to see cops in her entire life.

"Are you all right?" a fatherly type asked her.

Cheryl nodded. "He's okay," she said of Skelly, who still had his hands raised. "But his cousin and my dad..." She nearly choked saying, "They could be hurt bad. Help them, please. The people who were holding me are real dangerous." She couldn't call Helen Dunn her mother. "Their boat is tied up on the north side of the pier."

"Giordano, stay with these two and get the whole story," the fatherly type said. He motioned the other two uniforms to follow him and raced for a door.

Giordano was a pretty dark-haired woman with sympathetic brown eyes. "If the kid thinks you're okay, you can lower your hands," she told Skelly. She pulled out a notebook and indicated they should both sit. "Now, about that story."

Cheryl began with her finding the note and deciding to meet the mother she'd been told was dead.

KEELIN TRIED TO KEEP HER HEAD, but under the circumstances, doing so wasn't easy. His gun pressed into her side, his other arm around her as if they were lovers – no doubt in case anyone noticed them – Weaver had hauled her around the back end of the stalled Ferris wheel. Nothing was moving during the fireworks display. And since everyone's attention was glued to the south lakefront, no one paid them any mind when he forced her down the ramp toward the dock level.

"Did Jeremy Bryant put you up to this?" she asked, pushing the question past the lump lodged in her throat.

"The geezer doesn't have a clue. Cheryl's grieving mother sent Bryant on a wild goose chase to Indianapolis to get him out of the way."

The sky lit with a myriad of trembling colors, and Weaver popped her inside the dock-level building, this time to cross through the car park. The explosives rang hollowly through the poorly lit, dank garage. Keelin thought fast, wanting to get as much information as possible out of the man. Helen's taking Cheryl at the same time Feldman was trying to ruin Tyler was too convenient to be mere coincidence.

"Were you working with Nate Feldman all along?" she asked, as they dodged a couple of cars parked too close together and hurried through an empty slot.

Weaver seemed surprised at her acuity. "Feldman sent me to find Leighton's ex."

Eureka! Gathering her courage – she would rather think of anything but the gun he held – Keelin doggedly kept on in the belief that Weaver would want someone to realize how clever he'd been.

"How could Feldman know Helen Dunn was alive?"

"That blonde broad he's been showing around, she found Helen's demand for more money to keep playing dead. It didn't take much to seduce Leighton's ex," he bragged. "Not that I'm complaining. Didn't take much to get Helen to spill her guts about her ex and what he owed her. Took even less to convince her that if we snatched the brat, Leighton would pay anything to get the kid back."

So Vivian had only a minor role in the drama, and Helen had been duped, probably didn't even know anything beyond her own involvement.

As Weaver shoved her through a door to the north side of the pier, Keelin asked, "How did you hook up with Nate Feldman in the first place?"

"Did some work for him on one of Leighton's buildings. Feldman didn't want it to meet city inspection."

Horrified, Keelin said, "But that's the building where the Smialek boy died!"

"Shame about the kid." Not that he sounded sorry. "Shame you put it together, too."

Keelin recognized a threat when she heard one. Though the gun was still pressed into her side as they approached the boat where Helen already waited, the idea of her dying somehow seemed surreal.

While a series of fireworks rent the sky above the pier's buildings, Keelin calmly asked, "Do you plan on shooting me?"

"Won't have to," Weaver said with a brutish laugh. He pushed her forward so that she went flying down into the boat. "I can take this baby far enough out that you'll never be able to swim back."

Keelin heard the last through a daze of pain. Crumpled on the floor where she'd landed between the middle and back seats, she saw him jump down after her.

"What are you talking about, Jack?" Helen asked nervously. "We only planned to get Tyler's money, not kill anyone."

"Plans change," Weaver said grimly, cranking the engine to life. "Here, hold this on her. You let her go and it's your neck."

"Jack, please..."

Still stunned, Keelin pushed herself into a sitting position and noted that while the gun was pointed her way, Helen seemed distracted. Truly upset. Her hands were shaking. Perhaps she could capitalize on the fact.

"He's using you, Helen," Keelin said as Weaver leaped up to the dock and began untying one of the lines. "He was paid to find you."

"Shut your mouth, bitch!"

Wide-eyed, her face cast a sickly green by the mercury vapor lights, Helen said, "That's not true, is it, Jack?"

"Of course not, baby. She'd say anything to turn you against me."

The bastard was so arrogant that when he lied he didn't even look at the woman he'd duped, Keelin realized. Nor did he notice the movement in the shadows mere feet from where he worked, his attention focused on untying the last line.

Heart thrumming with sudden hope, Keelin pulled herself to her feet and pressed Helen. "A crooked businessman named Nate Feldman put Weaver up to finding you and seducing you to get at Tyler."

"I said shut your damn mouth!" Weaver spun around, his attention now directed on her. "Or maybe I won't wait to let the fish get you."

Another burst of twinkling blue and white lights revealed a figure running toward them even as Weaver hurled himself into the craft and took the wheel. Keelin nearly fainted with relief when she realized the man was Tyler. The explosion of accompanying sound covered his footsteps as the craft slowly turned, its prow headed straight out toward the middle of the lake.

And then Tyler leaped.

"Jack!" Helen screamed too late.

Keelin's heart was in her throat as Tyler flew through the air. His foot touched the side of the boat; his momentum kept him sailing. Even as the villain turned, Tyler was upon him, the thud on contact audible.

The men went down in a heap, Tyler on top. But Weaver was a decade younger and undoubtedly stronger considering his massive physique. Keelin held her breath as they rolled in the confined space, arms flashing, the sound of fists contacting flesh more imagined than heard beneath the increasing cacophony of the fireworks display. Rockets were bursting in the sky as fast and furious as the men were hitting each other.

Suddenly Tyler flew back, arms flailing. And Weaver was instantly on his feet and after him. Forgetting Helen for a moment, Keelin looked around wildly for something loose that she could use as a weapon. Her gait was unsteady as the boat slowly continued moving out into the lake.

Keelin was wondering if a loose flotation cushion could do any damage when Helen ordered, "Just stay put," as her lover pounded her ex-husband with his fists.

"Is that what you want?" Keelin asked, revolted by the brutality. "You want to see Tyler dead because he divorced you?"

"He stole my child from me!"

"He paid you to stay out of your child's life because he wanted to protect her. And you readily took his money."

The gun wasn't even pointing at her anymore, Keelin realized. Helen's heart wasn't in this. Cheryl's mother might be greedy, but she obviously wasn't given to violence. This time, she'd chosen the wrong man to partner.

"Weaver's been working for Feldman for a while." Keelin yelled to be heard. The fireworks display was coming to a dramatic climax, layers of color building on one another. "He made a few adjustments in one of Tyler's buildings that was being renovated. The result was a child's death."

"You're lying!"

"He would have killed Cheryl if he'd had to!"

Helen's mouth gaped, but she couldn't seem to force out a denial.

"Perhaps he'll kill you for the money."

Suddenly Weaver cried out. Keelin saw his head snap back and his body jerk. Tyler took the advantage, grabbing the man by his shirt front and heaving him into the windshield. A panicked Weaver scrambled over the glass and onto the hood of the prow. Tyler vaulted onto a seat and followed.

Keelin held her breath as the men tightly circled one another around the confined space. Tyler found an opening. He clipped Weaver in the jaw, stunning and pummeling him until the younger man fell prostrate over the bobbing prow.

Appearing ready to pass out himself, Tyler stumbled toward them.

"Are you all right?" Keelin yelled worriedly, rushing between the seats to meet him.

Tyler leaned forward, hands against the windshield, gasping for breath. "I'll survive."

She reached up and touched his bruised and bloody face. "Foolish, foolish man."

"I wasn't about to chance living without the woman I love," he said, the unexpected declaration thrilling her.

"She may have to live without you!" came a raspy voice from behind him.

Under a canopy of colored brilliance combined with smoke that shadowed the sky as far as the eye could see, the scenario played out in slow motion before Keelin's horrified eyes.

Weaver was on his feet, hand raised and grasping something gleaming and sharp. His energy spent, Tyler obviously had to force himself to turn around to face the aggressor once more. He exposed his chest even as the man's arm began its downward arc.

Suddenly Jack Weaver jerked and froze, a surprised grimace distorting his features. His chest bloomed dark against his lighter shirt. His fist opened and the weapon fell, clattering and slipping into the lake.

And, like a felled tree, Weaver followed.

Keelin didn't even hear the splash.

Then her gaze flew to a dazed Helen, still pointing the gun straight where her lover had stood.

"OUR FINAL REPORT IS AN UPDATE on the disappearance and recovery of North Bluff teenager Cheryl Leighton," Skelly McKenna told his television audience. "A fantastic story of greed and violence. A complex and far-reaching plot was allegedly hatched by businessman Nate Feldman, seen here as police arrested him early Sunday morning."

Snugged in the crook of Tyler's arm at his home, Keelin watched The Whole Story with him, nervous about his reaction to her cousin's coverage. Skelly focused on Feldman himself, leaving out the exact details of Tyler's twelve-year monetary arrangement with Helen as well as Keelin's own paranormal connection with Cheryl. His discretion surprised and pleased her, though Keelin knew at least some of the details were bound to come out during Feldman's trial. Helen had already pleaded guilty to kidnapping and extortion, but also pleaded self-defense to her lover's death. Lake Michigan's waters still cradled Weaver's body.

As far as anyone had been able to tell, Vivian and Brock had only been involved peripherally, and while in love with Brock, Pamela had remained professionally loyal both to Tyler and L&O Realty, so Skelly never even made reference to them.

"In a bizarre twist," Skelly went on, "Feldman is also allegedly responsible for the unsecured porch railing that caused the death of Harry Smialek, the Wicker Park boy who died on an L&O Realty renovation site..."

Tyler had already received apologies from the Smialeks and had learned that their lawsuit against L&O Realty had been instigated by one of Feldman's lawyers.

To Keelin's relief, Cheryl was more resilient than she imagined. The girl hadn't invaded her dreams at all since the rescue. And, even now, Cheryl had insisted on being with her friends since everything was back to "normal." Keelin knew Tyler had made an appointment to take Cheryl to a family therapist, but instinct told her the teenager would fully recover.

"At least this story has a happy ending," Skelly was saying, the visual a shot of Cheryl wrapped in a battered Tyler's arms.

And for her a new beginning, Keelin thought, at last free of the guilt that had haunted her. She had finally put the ghost of Gavin Daley to rest.

Skelly was on camera once more. "Tomorrow, a story on Lily Lang, The Blonde Bombshell, who, convicted of murder, escaped from prison thirty years ago this week."

Tyler pointed the remote at the television and turned it off. "Maybe your cousin's not quite the sleazoid I accused him of being."

Equally pleased, Keelin agreed, "I think there's hope for Skelly yet." He'd even asked for their blessing before doing the follow-up.

"What about us? Is there hope for us?" Tyler asked, the question making her heart leap.

Though they'd professed their love for each after their night terror had ended, the last two days had been divided up between the police and sleep, Cheryl's well-being and Keelin's family matters. While Uncle Raymond had greeted his long-lost niece with enthusiasm, Aileen had suggested she wait a bit before broaching the subject of the reunion.

And, amidst all the chaos, she and Tyler had not gotten around to discussing them.

We do come from different worlds," she reminded him.

"But not different planets. I'm sure you've heard of jet travel."

She frowned. "You would be happy with a long distance relationship?"

"Certainly not." He kissed her nose and tightened his grip on her. "The closer the better. I meant we could be an international family with two homes if that would make you happy."

Her pulse raced and familiar yearnings filled her, yet Keelin argued, "Then there are more personal differences."

His eyebrows shot up. "You mean because you're a woman and I'm a man? I believe that's the way it's supposed to be."

Not smiling at his attempted humor, she said, "I come from a Catholic country."

He immediately grew serious. "I'm open-minded and flexible. Isn't it possible to work something out?"

Before meeting Tyler, Keelin had never considered she might fall in love with someone outside of her country, no less someone outside of her faith. Her Aunt Rose had faced the same dilemma, and her determination to marry the man she loved had caused the initial rift between the McKenna triplets. But Keelin understood exactly how her aunt felt, for she was of the same mind. Tyler was a good man – for herself, she could find none better.

"Two people who love each other can always find a solution," she said solemnly.

"Like marriage?"

She softened in his arms. "Are you asking me to marry you, Tyler Leighton?"

"I am, Keelin McKenna. Cheryl has already given her approval."

Keelin's heart soared and the differences were forgotten. "Then we must hurry. Make plans immediately–"

"Whoa." Tyler laughed. "I believe the red tape might take more than a few days. And what about your family? Don't you want to give your parents and siblings enough time to get here?"

Suddenly dreading what Da would have to say on the subject, not wanting to spoil the moment by discussing his possible wrath, Keelin murmured, "Tis nearly a month after my thirty-third birthday now. I cannot wait if I am to accept my grandmother's legacy."

"And what legacy would that be? If it's money you're worried about–"

"Money is the last thing Moira McKenna would have worried over for her nine grandchildren." She quoted, "'I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday – enough time to know what you are about – you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.'"

"A lovely thought."

"Moira was a lovely woman."

"And has an even lovelier granddaughter."

With that, Tyler kissed her so lovingly that Keelin realized that the dreams born in her own heart had already come true.

The McKenna Legacy

Book 2

Tell Me No Lies

Patricia Rosemoor

Copyright © 2010 Patricia Pinianski

Tell Me No Lies was previously print-published by Harlequin Intrigue

In memory of my late husband, Edward Majeski

Feeling that justice is all too rare in real life, Patricia Rosemoor drives her characters to seek an equitable resolution, no matter the personal sacrifice. Her fascination with "dangerous love" – combining romance with danger – has led her to write various forms of romantic suspense and paranormal romantic thrillers, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills and romance to each book. She believes strongly in breaking down barriers to write crossover fiction that appeals to a large and varied audience.

The McKenna Legacy

To My Darling Grandchildren,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday-enough time to know what you are about-you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good, lest you destroy yourself or those you love.

Tell Me No Lies

Prologue

LILY LANG STARED OUT at the fog blanketing the river valley as the church clock below struck eleven. With a shrug of her shoulders, her dinner dress slithered down her full hips and puddled around her sling-backed high heels.

A fog of unhappiness was choking the very breath from her.

How had it come to this? Her life was in the dumper. Her divorce from Noah was to be finalized within the week. No matter how much she still loved him, she couldn't put it off any longer. His monstrous jealousy was too frightening. And news of the public fight she'd had with Frank earlier that evening was undoubtedly already spreading like wildfire.

What else would she expect? The citizens of her home town had always been hypercritical of her, no matter how highly she was regarded by the rest of the country.

Maybe she never should have left Hollywood.

But if she'd never left, Claudia wouldn't have been born.

Thinking about the pretty, shy daughter who – to her constant amazement – was a budding young woman, brought a bittersweet smile to her lips, anguish to her heart. Noah had threatened that unless she gave up on what he called her crazy divorce idea, he would seek sole custody of their only child. With his old family money and social position, no doubt he would succeed. He would name every man she'd ever been seen with during their several separations. And the courts would believe the worst of her, even as he did. Even as the town did.

Once notorious, always notorious.

Who was she to be a role model for an impressionable thirteen year old?

Claudia's mother, that's who, Lily reminded herself.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she crossed to the dresser in the dark, finding her brush and stroking the long tresses for which she'd become known. Her nearly waist-length silver-blond hair was not only her vanity but had made her famous.

Perhaps if it hadn't...

Lily threw the brush down to the dresser. She needed a good cry. She deserved one. About to indulge herself, she went all wide-eyed instead when a sharp noise emanated from below.

A gunshot?

Heart pounding, she rushed to the bedroom door and threw it open even as a second shot rang out.

Fingers curling into the hand-carved landing rail, her mouth too dry to call out, Lily looked down to the first floor. She could see nothing from where she stood. The staircase and foyer below were as dark as her bedroom had been. Only half-considering the advisability of facing someone with a loaded weapon dressed as she was in a satin slip, Lily tore down the stairs, her treacherous heels making her stumble as she neared the bottom.

Catching hold of the banister to steady herself, she noted a light shone from beneath the pocket doors of the front parlor.

Holding her breath, Lily crept forward and listened intently. Through the wooden panels, she could hear nothing but the tortured sound of choked sobs. With shaking hands, she slid open the double doors...

...unprepared for the horrific sight on the other side...

Chapter One

Chicago

"THIRTY YEARS AGO TODAY, Lily Lang, better known as The Blonde Temptress to her fans, escaped the Dwight Correctional Center for Women."

Rosalind Van Straaten paced before the television set. “Can you believe this atrocity?" she asked her father, who calmly sat watching from the cream-on-cream sofa in the day spa's office. “After all these years, someone had to go and dig up the old scandal."

That someone being Skelly McKenna of The Whole Story, a televised tabloid news program. His office had contacted her, requesting an interview – one she had turned down in no uncertain terms – so at least she had been forewarned. She glared at the image of the too-good-looking, too-assured dark-haired man.

"People don't care how old a story is," Rip Van Straaten said, “as long as it's juicy."

"A pleasant if not great talent, Hollywood starlet Lily Lang earned her fame and nickname during World War II, when she became a poster girl for our boys overseas."

The on-screen shot was the infamous black and white photograph of a stunning blonde reclining on a chaise, satin tap shorts and a sequined halter top hugging her lush curves. Her waist-length hair curled along the right side of her face and waterfalled over her shoulder. A mole at the left corner of her mouth punctuated full lips that were parted, as if in invitation to a kiss.

"Amazing how very much you look like your grandmother," her father mused, irritating Rosalind further.

"Sh-h!"

"After the war, Lily returned to her home state of Illinois only to reveal that she had married Lieutenant Noah Lang in a secret ceremony before he was shipped off in 1943. Lily retired from movie stardom and with her Winnetka-based husband, founded a hair product and cosmetics empire – none other than Temptress."

"I can't believe it!" Rosalind cried. “Not only is he dragging our family through the muck again, but his spotlighting the company is bound to ruin my day spa before it has a chance to get off the ground."

"Don't complain. Free publicity."

"Publicity's fine, Father. Notoriety's not."

"While Temptress flourished, the Lang marriage did not," Skelly McKenna went on, his expression serious, as though he had a personal stake in the union. “After years of upheaval, the Langs first separated in 1959. Lily took their daughter Claudia, then nine, back to her home town of Galena."

Rosalind clenched her jaw and only hoped no one had been distasteful enough to suggest her mother tune in. Claudia Van Straaten never talked about that time in her life, acted as if nothing untoward had ever happened.

"Lily and Noah tried reconciling several times, but four years later in 1959, divorce was imminent on that fateful day when State Senator Frank Sullivan entered the Langs' Galena home for the last time."

Rosalind stared at the photograph of the politician and his aide, a young man whose face was strikingly familiar. When the image dissolved to lurid shots of a bloody Sullivan sprawled across the parlor floor, she glanced away, unable to stomach the sight.

"Frank Sullivan was shot to death just before midnight. Lily Lang herself called the authorities and confessed to the heinous murder of her latest lover."

Her grandfather had told Rosalind that despite the confession, his Lily had been innocent. And she'd always done her best to believe him. Rosalind didn't want to have any doubts for his or her mother's sake. Or for her own, she had to admit. Even though she'd only heard from her grandmother a few time in her life – and that years before – she felt an inexplicable bond with the now elderly woman.

"Her sentence...life imprisonment. Lily accepted her punishment without objection. But on the third anniversary of her incarceration, The Blonde Temptress staged a daring escape. Working in the laundry, she stole a black and white striped dress that belonged to one of the employees. She waited until dusk, at which time she went over the twelve-foot fence topped with barbed wire, changed into the dress and wrapped a scarf around her famous hair.

"So disguised, The Blonde Temptress hitchhiked a ride, the then unsuspecting driver of the car taking her nearly one hundred miles south of the prison."

Rosalind again focused on the so-called reporter, wondering if he derived real satisfaction from digging up muck that could still hurt several people she loved.

What kind of a human being was this smooth-tongued devil who played word games with other peoples' lives for ratings and profits? A three decade old murder was entertainment, not hard news. Did he have a conscience – would he even care if he realized he might be re-opening old wounds? Why couldn't he have left them in peace?

"The escape was executed thirty years ago, and to this day, Lily Lang has eluded authorities..."

Rosalind took the satisfaction of zapping off the television on a close-up of Skelly McKenna's pretty face. “This could kill Grandfather," she said, her voice shaky.

"Noah's a crusty old devil."

"With a bad heart."

"He'll survive."

"And what about Mother?"

"I'm certain whatever Claudia thinks, she will keep her opinion to herself."

The change of inflection in his tone wounded Rosalind. An only child, she wanted to be part of a real family, an impossible wish when her parents had slept in separate bedrooms, lived separate lives, for as long as she could remember. They were achingly polite to one another. They never argued, for heaven's sake. But they might as well be strangers.

The only time Claudia Van Straaten seemed to remember she had a husband was when she accompanied him to obligatory business functions. Rosalind knew her father had seen other women from time to time, and, as much as she hated the very notion of infidelity, she could hardly blame him.

She sank down into the chair behind her desk. “How to handle this?"

"I'd advise you ignore the whole thing. If anyone brings it up, tell them it's ancient history, nothing to do with you. Say it with a smile. No one will hold this against you, sweetheart. Or against your pet project here. So cheer up and take me on that tour you promised."

Rosalind knew her father was trying to distract her. A warm, supportive man, always quick to smile or laugh, he was the very opposite of her mother.

Humoring him, she rose and crossed to the door, forcing a half-smile. “Sure. Let's start with the wet areas." She led the way, her pride in her accomplishment wiping away her distress for the moment.

Taking her into the business the day after she'd earned her M.B.A., Rip Van Straaten had made Rosalind his personal assistant so she could quickly learn Temptress inside and out. The company gave them more than a comfortable living, but she'd soon realized her father was far better at employee relations than innovation. He hadn't made any significant changes in product lines or services since her grandfather had retired.

Young and ambitious, Rosalind had decided the day spa was the very thing to move the company into the future. The new venture would give her a chance to expand Temptress, to build a niche that was uniquely hers. Her concept was to make pampering accessible even to women of moderate means. Services would range from hair and nail care to facials, various massage encounters to eucalyptus inhalation and water therapy. The beauty products used in the spa would of course be manufactured by Temptress.

The Gold Coast site was the first of three planned Chicago-area locations and was barely two weeks away from its grand opening – workmen were still seeing to critical details.

Rosalind was aware of more than one male head turning in her direction as she and her father arrived at the ceramic-tiled area. The attention embarrassed her. She might look something like her notorious grandmother had at the same age, but she certainly was no Blonde Temptress.

"Whirlpool...sauna...inhalation therapy rooms," she said as they passed a painter, who was adding another cloud to the sky-blue walls in the wet area. “The wooden planters will be filled with tropical greenery and a couple of tables will be equipped with colorful umbrellas."

Her father was inspecting the freeform whirlpool that reminded Rosalind of a miniature lagoon. “I'm sure it'll be very lush and classy. Very you." His warm smile was catching.

"You always know how to make me feel better."

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “You really shouldn't worry about old scandals, honey."

"But I am worried," she admitted, her smile fading. “Thanks to Skelly McKenna."

He was the one who'd dredged up the past.

Therefore, Rosalind decided, he was the one who would have to fix things.

SKELLY LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR, feet up on his black-lacquer desk. He was editing copy for the next day's show, wishing for a story to end all stories that he could personally bring home. His network had a new prime time magazine format show in the works, and he was under consideration for a promotion. The other candidates had one up on him because they were all part of legitimate news teams.

Prime time.

Respect.

His father's approval.

Skelly was wondering what they would feel like when his office door opened to reveal a welcome visitor – his cousin, Keelin McKenna.

"Hey, cous, do all brides-to-be look as beautiful as you do?" He set his feet on the floor and rose to greet her with a big hug.

"You're full o' the blarney, Skelly McKenna," Keelin said, her lilt more pronounced than usual.

"Not this time."

In truth, his Irish cousin looked radiant. Soft color flooded her cheeks. Her gray eyes sparkled. And her cloud of auburn hair appeared positively fiery against the yellow of the gauzy dress that floated around her, its long skirts brushing the tops of her ankle boots.

"Tyler sends you his greetings."

Tyler Leighton being Keelin's fiancé. He held out a chair for her opposite his own. “So how are things with Cheryl?" he asked of Tyler's daughter, who had gone through a terrible ordeal the week before.

"She acts as though the kidnapping was nothing. But Tyler's taking no chances. The two have already started family therapy sessions together."

"She's okay with the wedding? I mean, considering how fast it's all happening."

Keelin was determined to stick to the schedule defined by what Skelly thought of as The McKenna Legacy – Moira's bequest to her grandchildren being lifelong happiness to be achieved by the thirty-third day after their thirty-third birthday. Not that Skelly believed in such prophecies.

"It seems Cheryl has accepted me," Keelin was saying. “She's a very loving fourteen-year-old. And she's needed a woman in her life for a very long time."

"She couldn't get a better stepmom, cous."

"I shall try my best."

Skelly shook his head. What a delightful surprise his sweet, soft cousin had turned out to be. She'd certainly taken his heart by storm. He hadn't even known her two weeks before, and now he felt as if they'd been fast friends forever.

"So how are the plans for the wedding coming?"

"Your sister is a wonder. She's helped me arrange everything."

Skelly laughed. “Aileen does get things done when she sets her mind to it."

"The only thing we still need is a best man."

"I suppose Brock Olander is out of the question."

Keelin heaved a sigh. “Tyler's business partnership with Brock is being dissolved even as we speak...or he would be here to ask you himself."

"Ask me what?"

"To be his best man, of course."

Skelly started. “No of course about it. I was under the distinct impression that Tyler's got a pretty low opinion of tabloid journalists."

"He considers you an exception after the restrained way you handled the follow-up story about Cheryl's kidnapping."

"Listen, about that story – the network execs were pretty impressed. I'm being considered for a huge promotion. An anchor desk on a prime time magazine. Your cous may go legit yet."

Keelin's smile lit the room. “Skelly, congratulations. If that's what you want."

He'd never planned on working in tabloid news – the fates had merely pushed him in that direction. Not that he was ashamed of what he did, but he was ready for a change, and he had neither the guts nor the heart to resurrect old dreams.

"It's the best opportunity I've ever had. You bet I want the job."

"Then I'll pray you succeed."

"Thanks. Now, about the best man thing. Are you sure you didn't coerce Tyler into the invitation?"

"Oh, Skelly, Tyler will never forget all the help you gave me in trying to find his daughter. Asking you to be his best man comes directly from his heart. From both our hearts."

"Then how can I refuse?"

The cousins grinned at each other.

"Good," Keelin said. “That's settled, then."

"So who's going to give the bride away?"

Skelly assumed Keelin hadn't yet informed her family in Ireland that she was about to be married. Their aunt's rebellious marriage to a man who wasn't Catholic had caused the beginning of a thirty-some-year rift in the family – a rift Keelin was determined to heal. Skelly knew Keelin feared her father's reaction when he learned that she, too, chose true love above the religious strictures of her church. Not that she herself would ever be anything but Catholic.

"I called them, Skelly. It took a great deal of courage, but I could not marry without them knowing."

"And?"

A small cloud passed over her visage. “Da didn't take it well. And even if he did, he's in no shape to be traveling. My mother will stay to take care of him, but she wants what's best for me. Curran's most valuable horse is racing next weekend, so he cannot come, either. Flanna will be here, though, as my maid of honor."

His sweet cousin certainly had the courage of a giant. “So you're giving yourself away?"

"Truth be told...I've asked Uncle Raymond to escort me. I thought him the appropriate choice to stand in for Da."

Especially since his father and hers and Aunt Rose were triplets. “Good. Maybe giving you away will soften him up for the reunion idea."

Keelin grinned again. “What better thing to ask as my wedding gift?"

"What a clever con artist," he said admiringly.

She sobered. “Only because I want our families to be reunited, for Da and Uncle Raymond and Aunt Rose to forgive one another and be truly happy."

Skelly knew the impetus for Keelin's quest had been his Uncle James's heart attack. Keelin had told him her father had asked for Raymond and Rose on what he'd thought was his deathbed. The man must be as stubborn as his own parent, though, for once he knew he would survive, James had denied wanting any such thing. Healer of the spirit as well as the body, Keelin had been compelled to act, in secret, of course. She'd told her family she was coming to the United States on business when really she'd come to see Raymond and Rose.

Skelly suspected Keelin would have a lot to account for to her father, her judgment day being not too far off. He only hoped her life didn't blow up in her face. If history were to repeat itself...the consequences didn't bear considering.

Besides, she would at least have Tyler, Skelly reminded himself. “I'm happy for you, cous."

"Thank you, Skelly. Now I must go. I promised to take Cheryl shopping. She insists I need a new look, though I cannot for the life of me fathom what is wrong with the one I have." Still smiling, she shrugged and stood. “Tyler will ring you with the details about the wedding. And Skelly...about Moira's legacy...”

"What about it?"

"Believe in it, Skelly. You cannot have much time, either. If I remember correctly, your birthday didn't fall far behind mine."

Though he had recently turned thirty-three himself, Skelly merely laughed. As if he had time to worry about romance when a career opportunity was on the line. “I'll keep my antennae out for Ms. Right."

"You do that. You deserve a woman who can make you happy."

Giving him a swift kiss on his cheek, Keelin swept out the door, leaving Skelly staring after her. What an innocent his cousin was. What a wishful thinker. Her meeting Tyler right now had been sheer luck, nothing more. No hocus-pocus. No magic. Just dumb luck that it had happened within their grandmother's time frame.

Even as he stared at the copy he was supposed to be editing, Skelly couldn't quite put Keelin's admonishment from his mind. He'd never put much thought into finding Ms. Right. He'd been too busy working, building a career. He'd assumed it would happen to him some day, though he'd never put a timetable to starting a family life. But suddenly he wondered if he were missing something.

Keelin's happiness made him feel...empty.

Another knock at the door made him think she'd forgotten something. “That you, cous? C'mon in."

When the door opened to reveal the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, Skelly went slack-jawed with a sense of dèjá vú.

"Skelly McKenna?" No uncertainty in her husky-voiced query.

"That'd be me."

"Good." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Silver-blond hair pulled back in a soft twist revealed perfect features, sky blue eyes dusted by dark lashes, and a tiny mole punctuating the left corner of her luscious mouth. Dressed in a powder blue business suit, the skirt short enough to reveal the extraordinary length of her legs, she was a knockout.

And too incredibly familiar for her appearance to be coincidence...

When she held out her perfectly manicured hand and said, “Rosalind Van Straaten," he wasn't in the least surprised.

"Lily Lang's granddaughter," he mused. “What can I do for you?"

"Retract your story."

She was certainly direct, he'd give her that. “Retract the truth. Hmm, now there's an interesting concept."

With a placid smile, she said, “I'm not certain you would know the truth if it bit you."

Smothering a laugh, Skelly sat and indicated Rosalind should do the same. She stood where she was, feet seeming rooted to the spot, and crossed her arms over her chest. Those baby-blues were glaring at him.

"All right, what do you take issue with?" he asked. “My calling your grandmother The Blonde Temptress? Documenting the troubles between her and your grandfather? Or recapping the murder, her conviction and subsequent flight?"

"Yes."

Skelly threw up his hands. “But all of the above is true."

"Tarnished truth," she argued. “And you didn't have to rehash any of it. Besides, you don't really know what happened in the Galena house that night."

"I do my research."

"No one ever proved my grandmother killed anyone."

"They didn't have to. She voluntarily confessed."

"That's not the same as the authorities looking into Sullivan's death. They took her at her word."

"Sounds reasonable to me. Why should they have turned elsewhere? And what motive would Lily Lang have had to lie when her freedom was on the line?"

"I don't know." The husky voice was tight with emotion. “We all have our own motivations for doing what we do. Yours is money, isn't it?"

Skelly suspected he should be insulted, but he couldn't quite work up the steam. He was too intrigued by Rosalind Van Straaten. “I get paid for what I do."

"Doing another piece on my grandmother...one more favorable than the last...at least offering reasonable doubt as to her guilt...how much would that take?"

His eyebrows shot up. “You're trying to bribe me! “he said with mock-indignation.

She made an impatient sound. “I'm simply offering to pay you for what you do. What do you care what copy you read as long as someone writes the check?"

Now he was insulted. He didn't fabricate stories. He didn't knowingly perpetuate lies. “Let me see if I have this straight," he said, fighting his clenching jaw muscles. “You want to pay me to whitewash your family's dirty laundry."

Though she flushed, Rosalind persisted. “How much?"

"Not interested, Roz." He deliberately allowed his gaze to wander up the length of her long legs. “Taking money from you wouldn't be ethical."

Her berry-tinted mouth gaped. She drew herself up to her full height. “Your telecast wasn't ethical."

"I didn't embellish on the facts. They've all appeared in print for everyone to read."

"But how much personal research did you do?"

"The murder happened more than thirty years ago–"

"Exactly!"

"So I did what I could," he continued. “Used documented knowledge. Oh...and I had my assistant contact you, as well as others germane to the case. I'm sure you'll remember you turned down her request for an interview with me. No one wanted to talk."

She paled and sat in the chair he'd offered earlier. “Who else did you contact? Surely not my mother."

"Your own mother didn't tell you about our offer? Curious. What about your grandfather?"

Her breathing was as unnatural as her color. She didn't answer immediately. She appeared almost ill...and as if the wheels in her head were wildly spinning.

Finally, as if to convince herself as well as him, she said, “Undoubtedly they thought to spare me."

His momentary irritation with her fled. “I don't understand. You weren't even born when this all happened. What's your stake?"

Her blue eyes widened. “My family's reputation and standing in the community is my stake. And what about the innocent people involved here? My grandfather and mother are flesh-and-blood human beings, you know, and they have been hurt enough."

Her eyes had to be the most beautiful in the world, Skelly thought, mesmerized by their transparency. In them, he read pride. Resentment. Determination.

She wasn't going to let him alone until he agreed to do something – but why? To soothe some emotional hurt he might have caused? She wasn't the naive type. She couldn't believe that journalists based professional decisions on personal feelings – not even on their own. Could be she knew something he didn't about the case...

A thought that intrigued him.

The brass had been impressed with his personal involvement with the Cheryl Leighton case. That had led to his being considered for the promotion. He'd been wishing for a ripe story and this could be it. Should he grab the opportunity and it panned out, his career would get another boost and in a direction that might make him happier...might even make his father proud.

Skelly decided he might enjoy being badgered by Rosalind Van Straaten. Contrary to her assumption as to his character, he couldn't be bribed. Though he worked in a segment of the television industry that sometimes played fast and loose with hard news, The Whole Story never knowingly ran an untruth.

Besides, he had his own brand of integrity.

"Give me something significant to run with," he said, “and I'll consider doing a follow-up."

"That's your job. You're the reporter. For once in your life, give your audience the real 'whole story.' Give them the unvarnished truth."

Rather a version of the truth that she wanted to hear, Skelly thought cynically.

Skelly figured he was in a win-win situation. He might get the story that would make his career. And if not, at least he would spend some quality time with a woman who was as interestingly strong-willed as she was beautiful. Both attributes turned him on.

"I'm a reasonable man." He stared into that stunning face, and a weird feeling washed through him. Part of him wished The McKenna Legacy was more than fiction even as the cynic in him resisted believing it might be. Keelin had gotten to him good with her not-so-subtle romantic prodding. “I'll dig for the truth, but only if you'll cooperate."

"How?" Her expression grew immediately cautious.

"You'll have to work with me. And not censor me. That could very well mean opening your family and its past to even more unfavorable public scrutiny."

Chapter Two

ROSALIND FORCED HERSELF to breathe normally. She obviously hadn't thought through the situation carefully enough before going to see Skelly McKenna. Browbeating and bribing him into reporting a more favorable angle on the story hadn't worked, so she'd somehow found herself challenging him to dig up the unvarnished truth. She only hoped that hadn't been a big mistake. How else could he proceed without involving her family further, perhaps to everyone's detriment.

As for working with him...

"I hardly think you need my input," she said, trying to circumvent a direct, negative response. It wouldn't do to provoke the reporter again, not when she almost had him where she wanted him.

"Getting cold feet?"

"That's not the issue."

"Then what is? That you would rather not soil your pretty hands–”

"I work hard, thank you very much."

" –or your social position by associating with a tabloid personality?"

"My reputation is above approach."

"Then it must be something else that's stopping you." He arched his eyebrows. “I do tend to be a little intimidating at times."

His slow grin forced a dimple in his right cheek, giving him a roguish air. Rosalind started and blinked, for a moment forgetting they were opponents. Skelly McKenna was a devastatingly handsome man. Black hair tousled onto a high forehead. Intense blue eyes. Wicked smile. And though she wore three inch heels, he was still a bit taller, seemed athletically built.

Realizing where her thoughts were headed, she steered her wayward mind back on track. “I'm rarely intimidated, Mr. McKenna."

More often, she was irritated with men like him. Cocky. Mocking. Seemingly unflappable.

"Skelly. And I'll call you Roz." Before she could object to the wretched nickname, he rolled on. “Being so formal is a little ridiculous when two people are working closely together, don't you agree?"

"I never agreed to–"

"And if you want a more positive follow-up soon enough to counter whatever you deemed disagreeable about the original story, we need to get moving immediately."

Even knowing he was keeping the upper hand, Rosalind stilled any further objection. She did want that follow-up. Enough to chance what Skelly might find.

Irritated with herself now – how much more damage could be done to her family, after all? – she promptly buried any vague doubts that lingered at the back of her mind. However, she did admit her being part of the investigation would be a smart move. Alongside Skelly, she would learn everything he did, when he did. He couldn't gloss over anything he found that might point away from her grandmother.

And on the slight, unthinkable possibility that he dug up information that could

be construed as damaging, she'd be there to stop him from capitalizing on it.

"All right, “Rosalind acceded. “You win. So we'll start first thing tomorrow?"

She didn't supervise the day-to-day work being done on the spa, merely checked every nuance at intervals. Knowing how to delegate authority meant she could afford to take time off when necessary.

"Actually I'm taping two shows tomorrow morning. I'm off Monday, since Tuesday is a holiday." If he spent it with her, the Fourth of July wouldn't be just another day as usual. “I had this evening in mind. We can start over dinner. Dress casual."

Noting he was staring at her legs again, Rosalind decided she would wear a pants outfit. “Where and what time?"

"I'll pick you up at six-thirty.” He poised a pen over a notebook. “I'll need your home address."

"I'd rather meet you at the restaurant."

While Skelly gave her another of his wicked smiles, he didn't taunt her as she expected he might. “Make it seven, then. Six Shillings on Lincoln Avenue. Do you know it?"

"I know where it is. I'll be there."

With that, Rosalind swept herself out of Skelly's office and kept going until she was out on the street where she hailed a taxi. It wasn't until she slipped behind the driver and gave him her New Town address that she allowed herself to think of the commitment she'd made.

And to hope that this was one time she wouldn't regret sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

HAVING AN HOUR TO KILL before having to be at the restaurant, Skelly turned on the television and kicked back in his favorite leather chair, beer in hand. Feet propped on the hassock, tuned to nationwide news anchored by one of his competitors for the promotion, he watched without anything registering. A few slugs of the lager quenched his thirst.

If only he could assuage his other needs as easily.

Damn Keelin for provoking him. Damn Rosalind Van Straaten for showing up before he'd had the time to forget his cousin's visit.

Rosalind Van Straaten. The name as classy as the lady. Definitely as strong. Nearly as beautiful. Unfortunately, he doubted the beautiful, strong, classy lady had any kind thoughts for him.

Still, it was weird how she'd shown up right after Keelin had gotten him to thinking about his future.

Exchanging his bottle for an envelope that he'd laid on the coffee table, he turned and touched the thick cream-colored paper as though he could discern some magic inside. His name and address were written in a distinctly foreign hand. The stamp proclaimed the delivery to be from Éire. And though he was familiar with its contents, he pulled the letter from within and re-read his grandmother's heartfelt wish

for him.

To my darling Skelly,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday – enough time to know what you are about – you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good lest you harm yourself or those you love.

Cynic that he was, Skelly had thought the letter so much nonsense when he'd first received it, had even suspected the grandmother whom he'd never met had been a bit out-to-lunch. After all, she had been ninety-plus when she'd written the missive.

But something made him keep her last letter to him.

And something made him read it, over and over again, until he knew the words by heart.

His cousin Keelin certainly believed in the legacy, was its staunchest promoter after having met and fallen in love with Tyler Leighton. Both of his siblings and his other cousins – nine of them altogether – had each received an identical letter from their grandmother.

Smoothing his fingers over her signature, he softly asked, “So, Moira, my dear, what do you have in store for me?" half-hoping she would answer.

He had no visitation, heard no voices in his head. Moira was keeping mum for the moment.

Skelly shook his head at his detour into fantasy and carefully slipped the letter back into its sheath. Then he checked his watch and realized he now had little more than fifteen minutes to get over to Six Shillings. His future awaited him. Professional future, he reminded himself as images of Roz flitted through his wayward mind.

He'd already traded his professional wear for a pair of jeans and a chambray shirt, its sleeves rolled to the elbows. He slipped his feet into worn running shoes and, with his fingers, combed back the hair spilling onto his forehead.

Locking the door of his townhouse behind him, he could hardly wait to see Roz...and whatever it was the cosmetics heiress considered casual wear.

NOT KNOWING WHAT TO EXPECT either from Skelly McKenna or the place they were to meet, Rosalind entered Six Shillings with a sense of trepidation. She was pleasantly surprised, at least by the restaurant. The wainscoted walls and hand-carved bar were remnants of the last century. Classical music played softly in the background, while video footage of art pieces rather than some rough-and-tumble sporting event played on the monitors suspended in each corner of the room.

"Can I help you?" asked a young woman in cotton walking shorts and a camp shirt.

"I'm looking for...oh, there he is." She spotted Skelly. “I can seat myself."

Skelly was sprawled across a booth in an alcove lit by a brass wall-sconce. His attention for the moment was on his notebook. He was scribbling an entry. An enticing blue-black lock of hair caressed his high forehead. As if sensing her presence, he glanced up, his suddenly wide-eyed, subtly-amused expression making her check her royal blue silk tunic and pants and matching nubuck sandals to see if something were amiss. She shrugged. Everything appeared to be intact.

And when she raised her gaze to Skelly's, it was to recognize male appreciation.

Rosalind was appreciative herself. The reporter looked better in chambray than he did in starched linen – virile and somehow more appealing – but hoped he couldn't tell what she was thinking. She was seeking justice for a grandmother she'd never met, not a date.

She slid into the booth across from him. “Am I late?"

He checked his watch. “Mm, about fifteen seconds."

"I'll do better next time."

"Why, Roz, is that a promise...or do you actually have a sense of humor?"

"Only when I'm not worked up about something.”

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do." Wondering how she could discourage him from abbreviating her name, Rosalind noticed the approaching waitress, as well as the menus Skelly had discarded to the side of the table. “Did you have a look?"

"I probably know the list by heart. I only live a few blocks from here."

While she barely lived a mile away. In a city the size of Chicago, that practically made them neighbors.

"So what do you recommend?"

"A big, fat, juicy burger with fries."

Which translated to greasy. “I think I'd better give the menu a look myself."

In the end, Rosalind chose a grilled chicken breast sandwich with a salad and a glass of spring water with lime, while Skelly went for the burger – rare, yet – and a lager. With a promise to deliver their drinks shortly, the waitress departed to place their orders.

And Skelly consulted the scribbling in his notebook. Rosalind tried to read upside down the notes he'd made to himself, but either his penmanship was atrocious, or he was operating in shorthand. She could barely make out a word here or there.

Suddenly nervous now that they were getting down to it, she asked, “So how do we begin?"

"By talking." Skelly sprawled back against the padded booth. “You telling me what you know about the murder that I don't."

"I doubt anything."

"Try me. You must have picked up some hearsay from your parents over the years. Claudia was in the Galena house when Frank Sullivan died."

She shook her head. “Mother was a child."

"She was thirteen years old. Hardly a child, Roz."

Rosalind flushed and admitted,” She simply doesn't talk about that night."

"What about Grandpa Noah?"

"Grandfather wasn't there."

Skelly gave her a look that sent a chill up her spine, but before he could pursue a direction she didn't want to take, the waitress arrived with their drinks.

"Thanks," he said with a wink, making the waitress flush and grin.

"Your food will be up in a few minutes, Skelly."

When the waitress turned to another table, Rosalind noted, “She knows your name."

"I told you I was a regular."

And a popular one, at least with the young women, she decided, caught again by his wicked smile and dimpled cheek. Annoyed, not wanting to notice anything personal about the man, not wanting to humanize him, Rosalind reminded herself of her mission.

He held out his glass toward her. “To the truth...no matter what it happens to be."

The truth. Rosalind picked up her fancy water and tried to hide the uneasiness that flashed through her. “To success in clearing my grandmother's name," she murmured, adding to herself, And all her family members.

Rosalind sipped at her drink to relieve her suddenly dry mouth. She watched Skelly over the rim of her glass and assured herself that she had not opened a Pandora's Box. She figured he would pursue the line of questioning about her grandfather's whereabouts the night of the murder. And was surprised when he didn't.

"So what does Noah Lang have to say about Frank Sullivan's death and about your grandmother's incarceration?" he asked instead. “Off the record, that is."

"Exactly what he told the press at the time. Grandfather insists his Lily didn't do it, that she wasn't capable of murdering anyone."

"And you believe him?"

"I believe he's a good judge of character. I assume you'll remember he demanded the authorities scrutinize the people around Frank Sullivan carefully. Any number of people might have had motives. But, of course they didn't. As far as they were concerned, they had an open-and-shut case. Maybe that's where we should start."

"Did Noah ever mention any specific person he suspected?"

"If he has an opinion, he's never shared it with me."

Rosalind noticed Skelly was doodling in his notebook. Underlining what she discerned as names and drawing arrows and other symbols in the margins. As if he were talking to himself in code.

But Skelly looked directly at her when he said, “Noah Lang was also in love with his soon-to-be ex-wife."

So he wasn't letting it go. She said, “They had their problems. Every married couple does."

"Every married couple doesn't separate several times before applying for divorce."

"My grandmother was a warm, giving woman. Too warm and giving to others, I think. Grandfather wanted all of her attention for himself."

"You mean he was jealous."

"I wasn't there."

"But you have opinions."

Her grandfather could be controlling, as she personally knew, but Rosalind didn't want to get into this. “Any man would be possessive of a woman he loved."

"And Lily was amazingly beautiful," Skelly said, gazing at her intently. “She rated scads of attention from other men. She and Noah Lang were married during the war. She used his name when she went to Hollywood, yet she kept her marriage secret. Thousands of men in the service must have been drooling over her photograph. That was no secret. How do you think it made your grandfather feel?"

"How would you feel if you were in a similar situation?"

"I've never been madly in love with a woman. What about you?"

Her voice tight with her growing tension, she tried to make light of an uncomfortable subject. “I've never been in love with a woman, either."

Skelly laughed. “Hm, you do have a sense of humor. Great avoidance technique. But you do know what I mean."

Of course she did. And she had been in love before. Once. Rosalind still didn't understand her own actions, but she knew that she'd been the one to sabotage the relationship. She'd always been more comfortable keeping men at an emotional distance.

"You're being a bit personal. “Part of the reason Skelly had agreed to follow-up on Lily's story, she was certain. She wasn't oblivious to his interest. But she had her own agenda, one which did not include sharing anything of herself with a tabloid television reporter. “My feelings have nothing to do with our investigation."

"Your feelings have everything to do with it. “His expression turned serious. “If they didn't, you wouldn't have stormed into my office, ready to bite off my head."

"Granted."

Their food arrived. While they ate, Rosalind simply went over anything she'd ever heard that related to Frank Sullivan's death, but as she'd predicted, she was able to add nothing new to Skelly's information bank.

And when the check came an hour later, Rosalind insisted on paying, quickly whipping out her Gold Card. God forbid she let him pay, lest he think of their dinner as being more than a business meeting.

"Trying to bribe me, again?" Skelly asked after the waitress disappeared.

"Making certain we understand each other," Rosalind clarified.

"I already got the picture, Roz."

"That's Rosalind."

Raising her eyebrows, she silently dared him to argue the point. He didn't. Finishing the last of his lager, he merely stared at her, his expression amused.

Or was it smug?

Rosalind was relieved when the waitress returned with her credit card slip and receipt.

"About little Claudia," Skelly mused, as she placed the loose items in her purse. “Sometimes children are aware of more details than adults give them credit for...or want to know about."

Rosalind's heart skipped a beat. “So what are you suggesting?"

"That we pay your mother a visit."

"When?"

"Now."

"It's late."

"It's not even eight-thirty," Skelly argued. “We can be in Winnetka around nine. Unless you don't want me to talk to your mother."

"No, of course not." She ignored the thrill that shot through her at the half-truth.

"Good. I live a few blocks from here. Let's go. “When she hesitated, he added, “To get my car."

Rosalind let Skelly take the lead. For the moment, she'd lost control and would have to be satisfied going along for the ride.

WORKING ON AN UPCOMING FUND-RAISING EVENT for Be Kind to Kids, the charitable organization she'd helped found a dozen years before, Claudia Van Straaten was sorting through the papers strewn the length of her twenty-foot dining room table when the doorbell rang.

Now who could that be?

Not pleased at being interrupted, she removed her reading glasses and rose. The stained-glass panels hung before the mullioned windows of the cathedral-like sunken dining room blocked her view. A second buzz quickened her step up the three stairs to the foyer and the front door. A glance through the glass inset revealed her daughter with a stranger.

Puzzled, she swung open the heavy wooden panel. “Rosalind, did I forget you were supposed to be here tonight? Your father's not home."

"No, Mother, we didn't have anything planned."

Claudia offered her cheek for her daughter's kiss. “I must look a fright."

"You look wonderful, as usual."

Nevertheless, Claudia fingered a few loose strands of the light brown hair precision-cut into a youthful style and wished she'd changed out of her leggings and knee-length shirt after working out. Not that she wasn't proud of her figure, as slim as a girl's. She merely liked to be presentable, especially when meeting a stranger.

"And who might this young man be?"

"His name is Skelly McKenna."

Rosalind made the pronouncement as if she should recognize the man. Claudia didn't even know any McKennas. “A new beau? How nice."

"No, Mother, he's not. We need to talk to you about something important."

Frowning, Claudia looked back on the work that was her life these days. She supposed she could spare a few minutes for her daughter.

"Well, let's sit for a moment, then."

Larger than the dining room, the living room was L-shaped and divided into three distinct seating areas. Claudia led them to her favorite, a grouping of couch and two chairs right outside the conservatory whose myriad plants provided her with some distraction from her more important daily pursuits. She sat in one chair and noticed that her daughter made a point to take the other. The young man settled in the middle of the couch.

Curiosity piqued, she asked, “What is it, then?"

Rosalind exchanged glances with her companion. “Skelly is a television reporter, Mother. You know what day today is, don't you?"

The word reporter sent Claudia into a tizzy. Her breath quickened even as her head went light. Of course she knew what day it was. She wasn't senile. Not that she wanted to be reminded.

"You know I try not to think of anything unpleasant," she snapped at her daughter. She glared at the dark-haired young man. “And I do not speak to reporters."

"Then talk to me, Mother," Rosalind begged. “The Whole Story did a segment on Lily's escape from Dwight, but Skelly has agreed to do a follow-up. Something more favorable. But he needs some information."

"How would I know about her escape?"

"Not the escape, “the reporter said. “The murder. The circumstances surrounding Frank Sullivan's death."

Her blood ran cold. “I couldn't tell you anything even if I wanted to."

"Wouldn't you like to see your mother's name cleared?"

"But she confessed."

"The case was never investigated," Rosalind reminded her.

"And your daughter feels there's some doubt as to her grandmother's guilt."

The room began closing in on her. Claudia tried not to panic.

"I cannot help you. I don't remember anything." She aimed an accusatory glare at her daughter. “You know that. I've told you that many times before."

"But, Mother–“

"How dare you bring this jackal into my home? Haven't I suffered enough?" Claudia's pulse was racing. She could feel the panicky rush throughout her body. “His kind doesn't care about the truth."

"You don't know me well enough to generalize," the reporter interrupted. “I don't make up my stories. I don't tell lies, at least not purposely. If there's more to know about the murder – something that will put things in a new light for Lily Lang – then I want to set the record straight."

"You prey on the weak. On the young, who can't defend themselves!"

"Mother!"

Claudia realized she was on the verge of ranting. She tried swallowing, but her throat muscles didn't want to cooperate. Her heart was banging painfully against her ribs...just like it did every time she thought about that horrible night more than thirty years before. And she'd broken out into a cold sweat.

This wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all.

Claudia took a deep, slow breath and visualized as she'd been taught to do.

Mere seconds later, under control, she said, “I'm sorry, Mr. McKenna. If Rosalind vouches for you, then of course you must be above the crowd." Though her breath was still shaky, she was feeling a bit better. More like herself. “But I simply have nothing to tell you."

He persisted. “Perhaps if we re-created the events leading up to that murder...”

Claudia's laugh was brittle. “A well-known psychiatrist prodded and probed, but he couldn't get inside my head. You're an amateur, my dear." Phantoms racing through her mind, pretending as if nothing were wrong, she stood. She gave her visitors her most practiced smile, her smoothest voice, both meant to assuage.” I am sorry, but I must get back to my work. Now. Be Kind to Kids is holding a fundraiser next month and I'm in charge."

"Of course you are." Her expression blank, Rosalind rose and gestured for the reporter to do the same. “I'm sorry we bothered you, Mother."

But Claudia's thoughts had already drifted back to the dining room and her proposal. She had to keep focused. Keep in mind who she was and what she was about.

Then she would remain safe from the demons of the past that had for so long threatened to smother her.

"I DID WARN YOU MOTHER WOULDN'T be able to tell you anything," Roz said shortly after they drove away from her parents' Winnetka property.

"That you did."

Though Skelly wasn't certain that her mother had been completely truthful with them. In his experience, a person often buried what he or she didn't want others to know about. And from the physical signs – changes in her respiration, pupils and skin tone – Claudia Lang Van Straaten certainly had been hiding something from them.

Not that he would say as much to Roz. Not now. He needed her cooperation if he was to delve straight into the past for a journalist's dream of a story...and to get closer to the woman herself. He was beginning to think both objectives were equally important. His interest in the thirty-three year old murder was piqued...as was his growing attraction to Roz herself. He didn't want to put her off by sharing suspicions that might have no basis.

He turned the conversation away from her mother. “I seem to remember someone else was staying in the Galena house. Your Aunt Hilary."

"She wasn't home at the time of the murder."

"So she said."

He could feel Roz's gaze bore into him when she asked, “Are you naturally suspicious?"

"Suspicion is a key weapon in a journalist's arsenal."

"A famous quote?"

"A personal observation. “Skelly waited a mere beat before pressing the issue. “So tell me about your Aunt Hilary."

"She's a warm, kind woman. A bit eccentric but completely loyal." Roz sounded defensive. “She's devoted her life to this family."

Giving Skelly the impression that she was devoted to Hilary Lang in return...and making him wonder exactly how close they were. Family loyalty. His cousin Keelin had it. So did Roz. Another thing he'd missed out on.

"So Hilary took care of your family rather than having one of her own?"

"Not every woman wants to marry and have children."

"What about you?"

"We're not talking about me."

"We are now."

He glanced at her. She was staring out the side window as if inspecting the properties they were passing. Too dark to see anything beyond the pools of golden light cast by the old-fashioned street lamps. He'd pushed her buttons and she was avoiding an answer. Because she didn't know? Or because she didn't care to share anything of herself with him.

He couldn't help himself.

"So, what about you, Roz?" he prodded, vaguely aware her answer was more important to him than it should be to an almost- stranger.

"I haven't decided."

"What's the hold up?"

"I have my reasons."

"Now you're really making me curious."

"Not suspicious?" she asked, her gaze finding him in the dark once more.

Skelly glanced her way with a rueful smile. “They do go hand-in-hand." He wasn't going to wring any personal confessions out of her at the moment, so he got back to business. “Where does Aunt Hilary say she was when Frank Sullivan died?" For, if he'd come across the information in his research materials, he hadn't retained as much.

"She was out for a walk."

"At midnight?"

"Frank Sullivan died before midnight," she reminded him.

She was splitting hairs. “How long a walk did she take?"

Roz was beginning to sound a bit exasperated when she said, “You'd have to ask her."

An invitation he was eager to accept.

"Good idea. She doesn't claim any lapses in memory, does she?" He didn't have to look Roz's way to sense her immediate displeasure. “I was only asking."

"I'm sure Aunt Hilary will be happy to tell you whatever she can. She's a night owl, so we could call her when we get back to the city."

"I was thinking about talking to her in person."

"That's impossible. She lives with Grandfather in Galena, at least a three hour drive."

"I didn't mean tonight. But I can get away tomorrow, as soon as I'm done taping. As luck would have it, I'm free for the entire holiday weekend."

"I don't know.”

He swept through her half-hearted objection. “Galena is the murder site, after all. Investigating long distance could prove...unrewarding."

He could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea. Was she afraid of what he might learn? Or was it the thought of being alone with him so far from home. The second option both titillated and amused him.

"So what about it?" he prompted.

"You're not thinking of taking a camera crew, are you?"

"Not now. Not until I'm certain there's reason. For the present, it'll just be you and me. “To lessen the impression that he wanted to spend some time alone with her, which of course he did, he added, “Unless your mother wants to come along," perfectly aware that Claudia Van Straaten would never agree.

Roz seconded that notion. “I'm sure she won't. Though I will call and tell her what we're doing. After which, I'd best call Grandfather. He would pitch a fit if he was the last to know what was going on. I, uh, don't know how he'll feel about a reporter coming to stay."

"Even if he knows my intentions are to help you clear his darling Lily's name?"

"That might make the difference," she admitted.

To devil her, he said, “Then, again, we don't have to stay at the family homestead."

"That's right," she returned smartly. “You could get a motel room."

Touché.

"What's the matter, Roz...does being around me make you nervous?" he teased.

"Of course not." Her voice was tight. “Irritable, perhaps, but not nervous."

Skelly laughed. So he did have some effect on her. “That's a start."

"For what?"

"A promising relationship."

"You must be joking."

"Working relationship," he clarified, gratified when she shifted in her seat. “Although you never know what could come out of it. Take my friend Gary. He was partnered on an advertising campaign with the last woman in the world he wanted to work with. He and Cynthia had been rubbing each other the wrong way for months."

"And their supervisor didn't notice?"

"Their boss was taking a chance those sparks would electrify the campaign," Skelly explained. “He was absolutely correct." He thought to pull Roz's leg a bit and see where it got him. “And in the process, Gary and Cynthia found some personal electricity, as well."

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

"Not in their case," he fibbed. “It's five years and two kids later and they're still in love."

"What's the point?"

"That sometimes you find the unexpected in the least likely places."

Roz smothered a choked sound but didn't come up with a return. Having finished the story with a whopper – Gary would kill him if he ever learned how he'd been defamed, for he still detested Cynthia – Skelly grinned, content to keep silent as they whipped along.

Once back in the city, he said, “I'm not a mind reader. You'll have to give me your address unless you want me to leave you at a bus stop."

Her reluctance to comply was palpable, as if he would have power over her merely because he knew where she lived.

"Don't worry," he assured her, “I'm not the type of guy who drops over whenever he feels like it."

"You wouldn't get past the doorman if you did.” A short pause and she said, “Sheridan and Diversey."

"We're almost neighbors."

Roz ignored the observation. “Tomorrow, I'll drive."

"Uncomfortable with me at the wheel?"

"There's nothing wrong with your driving. I know the route. I know the town. I'm being practical. So I'll pick you up at the station at one sharp."

Practical, his Aunt Fanny. Biting back a retort, Skelly let her have her way. It was obvious that Rosalind Van Straaten, cosmetics heiress, was used to control, and he'd bet that trait wasn't limited to her professional life. He had a strong feeling that she didn't like surprises much. His enthusiasm for the long weekend growing, Skelly decided he'd have to teach her different, hoping that all the surprises would be pleasant ones for her, of course, and therefore pleasant for him.

He'd never met anyone quite like Roz. Not that he hadn't been with his share of beautiful women. Smart ones, too. But something more – her complexity, the challenge she represented – set her apart from the others. And then there was the family loyalty that reminded him of Keelin.

Enough reasons to want to know Roz better, Skelly decided, even if the investigation turned out to be a bust.

Chapter Three

"YESTERDAY, WE UPDATED YOU on the thirtieth anniversary of The Blonde Temptress's escape from the Dwight Correctional Facility for Women," Skelly said at the close of Friday's show. “As a result, I received a tip that, contrary to her voluntary confession, Lily Lang was innocent of State Senator Frank Sullivan's murder."

He turned to his close-up camera.

"I plan on investigating this claim first-hand. If there's a story, I'll find it," he promised. “And whatever I learn about Frank Sullivan's untimely death, you'll get it here, on The Whole Story, next week. Stay tuned."

Skelly froze until he got the all-clear signal from the floor director. The first taping of the morning complete, he relaxed. The show would air early that afternoon. He'd already be on the way to Galena with Roz.

A sound man removed his wireless microphone, and as Skelly rose, he stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He'd have to change for the second program. As was typical in the industry, he never wore the same clothing on camera twice.

"Good show, people," came the director's voice over the studio speaker. “Go mainline some caffeine."

Knowing he had an hour before they began taping Monday's show, Skelly headed for his office where he could relax in private and do some thinking about the long weekend ahead. He hadn't been able to get Roz out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time. He grinned when he thought of her reaction to the nickname that suited her better than the prissy-sounding Rosalind. Truth be known, he'd been walking around with a smile all morning. He couldn't remember when he'd looked forward to seeing a woman with such enthusiasm, even though this one wasn't exactly under his spell.

The challenge definitely excited him.

"Hey, Skelly, wait up."

The research assistant he'd grabbed first thing that morning ran after him, waving a sheaf of papers.

"Results so soon? I'm impressed."

An attractive young woman right out of journalism school, Heidi was more ambitious than most. Skelly could always count on her to get what he needed.

"Frank Sullivan wasn't exactly a retiring politician," she said. “He seemed to thrive on photo ops. I found more than a dozen articles covering his political activities in the months before his death." She handed him the fruits of her research. “Hope this helps."

"It's a start. I'll probably need more."

"I'm with you. I'll be in town all weekend. My business card's right there," she said, indicating that she'd clipped it to the top of the stack. “I scribbled my home phone

number on the back. Feel free to call any time."

Skelly had the distinct impression that Heidi would welcome his call...business or not. “I may have to take you up on that."

Before he could retreat, she said, “Hey, congratulations on the prime time spot."

"I don't have the inside track yet."

"You will. I have a feeling this story is going to push you right over the top. And, uh, when you do get the promotion, I assume you can hand-pick your staff..."

"If any of this happens, I'll keep you in mind."

"Thanks." With a thousand-watt smile, Heidi backed off, her gaze glued to his face.

Skelly turned away, his mind already on the possibilities in hand.

A few minutes later, settled in his office, sucking up some thick black coffee, he scanned the headlines, looking for any topic that might jump out at him. Sullivan had been involved in the usual stuff.

Budget...school crisis...zoning.

Heidi had been right about the photo opportunity thing. Sullivan's good-looking mug highlighted nearly every article. One picture particularly caught Skelly's attention – the state senator accompanied by one of his aides, who looked oddly familiar. Skelly remembered using a similar shot of the two of them in yesterday's broadcast. But the sense of recognition went beyond that.

Skimming the story for a name to go with the youthful face, he did a double-take when he found it: Walt Rogowski. No wonder the young aide looked so familiar. Having been a state senator for more than twenty years, Rogowski had retired from politics a while back, supposedly to concentrate on his law practice. No one had been much surprised when he'd announced his candidacy for the upcoming gubernatorial election.

So the would-be Governor of Illinois had gotten his start with Frank Sullivan, Skelly mused, quickly putting pieces together. Rogowski had been working for the state senator at the time of his demise. And within a half-dozen years, he'd taken over Sullivan's old seat.

A fact that was definitely of interest.

On impulse, Skelly grabbed the phone and punched in his father's home number. Currently a U.S. Congressman, Raymond McKenna had been involved in politics since emigrating from the old sod.

"Top of the morning," came the familiar voice with its slight Irish lilt.

"Dad, it's Skelly."

"Ah, boyo – calling about your cousin's wedding?"

"Actually, I need some help with a story I'm working on."

Something he'd never before thought of asking of his father. But, as much as he disliked running up against his only parent's disapproval, Skelly knew that his father might have or be able to get an inside track through his political cronies.

"And what might that be?"

"What do you know about Frank Sullivan's murder?"

A short pause was followed by his father's denial. “Probably not as much as you do, I'm guessing. I was barely off the boat from Éire when the man died."

Then he did know something, Skelly figured. And for some reason was reluctant to get into it.

"I was born in 1963, the same year Sullivan died. That means you were here for a year, Dad. Weren't you working for the Ward Committeeman?"

"Aye. Running errands. I didn't have a say in any of the party's doings, especially those outside the city. I never even met Frank Sullivan."

"But I'm sure you kept your ears open between running errands. Scandals don't die as easily as a man. Being that you hung out with Sullivan's colleagues, I thought you might have picked up on the talk..."

"You mean rumors? Sensationalism is your business, not mine."

Skelly's hand clenched around the receiver. He should be used to that critical tone after thirty-three years. Nothing he did ever met his father's exacting standards, but the old man still had the power to wound him.

"There's usually a basis to rumors," he said more calmly than he was feeling. “I don't report anything that I can't check out."

"I haven't so much as heard the man's name in decades," his father insisted. “Not until you dragged it out."

Skelly started. He hadn't been aware his father even watched his show. He'd never admitted as much before.

"What about Walt Rogowski?"

An uncomfortable pause was followed by his father's “What does Rogowski have to do with your story?"

"Maybe nothing. He was working for Sullivan at the time of his death, though. He had to know what the senator was up to...who his enemies were."

"If he'll tell you."

"What? You don't think he's honest?"

"Now you wouldn't be hearing that from me, boyo."

A round-about confirmation, Skelly realized. “Listen, I know you've got to have party loyalty.”

"In truth, I can't fathom why the party is supporting Rogowski for governor."

His father's statement put Skelly on alert. “You don't like him, do you?"

"A man doesn't need to like everyone he works with."

"Why? What do you know?"

"Nothing that has to do with Sullivan's murder. Now, about your cousin's wedding. I've agreed to give her away, and I hear you're to be the best man."

Frustrated but knowing he wasn't going to get anything more from his father at the moment, Skelly caved in and let him change the subject. Congressman Raymond McKenna was obviously impressed with his niece. More impressed than he was with his own son, Skelly realized bitterly.

His mind only half on the conversation, he was relieved when a production assistant poked her head in the office and asked him to report to Wardrobe. He promised his father he'd call when he got back to town.

And wondered if Walt Rogowski still called Galena home.

Before leaving his office, he called Heidi and asked her to find out.

ROSALIND HAD TAKEN THIS ROUTE to Galena so many times she could practically drive it blindfolded. All except for the last stretch, that was, when the flat land and boring straight road suddenly exploded into rolling green hills and dangerous curves that engaged all her senses.

"Almost like we've been transported out of Illinois," Skelly commented.

"That's the way I feel about this corner of the state. And this is my favorite part of the drive...as long as it's daylight."

"The dark scares you?"

"No, but the fog does. And there's plenty of it around here at night."

Rosalind shifted back to second as her Thunderbird rolled through a big dip and down an incline. Even so, a little thrill shot through her, and she had to keep herself in check so she didn't throw caution to the wind and accelerate as she felt like doing. She sensed it would behoove her to remain cautious in all things while she was around Skelly McKenna.

"So what does scare you?" he suddenly asked.

She could feel his gaze on her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that awareness.

"Getting too complacent." Not wanting to give him an opening to interrogate her as he seemed wont to do at every opportunity, she took the offensive. “So isn't your family going to miss you this weekend?"

"My sister always moans about our not spending more holiday time together, but she'll be with her mother's people." He clarified, “Aileen is my half-sister."

"At least you have a sibling. Being an only child isn't all that it's cracked up to be."

"Two siblings, actually. We have a half-brother, as well. Same father, yet another mother. Donovan never particularly cared for me or Aileen."

Or Skelly for Donovan – that implication was clear. “What about your parents?"

"My mother died when I was born. Dad has always suspected it was my fault."

A revealing statement, Rosalind thought.” Sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am."

Always having known she was well-loved by her father, grandfather and great-aunt – even by her mother who was too-often withdrawn – Rosalind really did feel a little sorry for Skelly. He made it sound as if he'd never had a sense of family or the kind of closeness that had prompted her to do something about his Blonde Temptress story. If the day spa had been her only concern, she might have let it alone.

"So, do you use your job to fill in the blank spaces?"

"Spaces in what?"

"Your life."

"What makes you think there are any?"

"You don't exactly have a big, loving family. You're not married.” Or so she assumed. “You're not, are you?"

"Not at present."

"Divorced?"

"I've never been so much as tempted."

But he was staring at her again, in a way that made the delicate skin along her neck bump. She couldn't help but be reminded of the story he'd spun the night before. His telling her about Gary and Cynthia turning negative sparks into positive wasn't reassuring.

A bit agitated, she said, “So, no serious lady, either. What's left?"

"Friends."

"You spend a lot of time with them? Doing what?"

"Suddenly, you're awfully interested in my personal life. Am I missing something here?"

"I'm merely trying to have a reasonable conversation."

"Or maybe you think I'm the most fascinating man you've ever met," he suggested in a low voice that sent her hormones scrambling.

Rosalind sniffed. “Don't flatter yourself."

"Challenging, then."

She didn't disagree.

Skelly's smothered laughter got to her. Rosalind glanced his way, caught for a second by the sparkle in his blue eyes. His wicked grin sent a flush straight through her. His dimpled cheek invited her to reach out and connect with him. She forced her gaze back to the road just in time to take another switchback curve.

"I once read a story about a woman who was a lot like you," Skelly said.

"How so?"

"She was beautiful, smart, talented. Kept herself busy all the time so she didn't have to deal with her real problems."

Annoyed at the last, Rosalind said, “That doesn't sound like me at all." Did it? Hesitating only a moment, she asked, “What problems?"

"Distrust. Fear. Loneliness."

"Definitely not me."

"You are definitely distrustful," he argued. “And everyone has secret fears."

She tried turning the tables on him. “So what are yours?"

But he wasn't biting. “And everyone is lonely at times, some more than others."

She wondered if he was thinking of her...or of himself. No mother. Distant father. A half-sister whose loyalties were split between two households. She imagined him spending too much time by himself.

Certain he would never admit to being lonely, she asked, “So how did the woman's story end?"

"She met a man–“

"–who solved all her problems?" She should have figured where he was going with this.

"Who was there for her when she needed him. She grew to trust him, count on him. Her fears grew less important. And as she let herself grow closer to him...become attached...her life felt fuller. More satisfying."

Now why did this story sound like something Skelly made up? Did he really think she'd see herself in this fictitious woman and open up to him? She wouldn't put it past him to try a head trip on her.

Rosalind glanced his way, expecting that he would be smirking at her, but, to her surprise, his expression was quite serious. Thoughtful. A strange feeling she couldn't identify shot through her, leaving her a little breathless. She swallowed hard and tried concentrating on the road ahead.

Skelly McKenna confused her. When she'd stormed into his office, she'd assumed he was arrogant and unscrupulous. Now she suspected he was far more complex than the cliché tabloid reporter she'd expected. She shouldn't like him, didn't want to like him, but it seemed her rational self had no say in the matter. Despite her initial animosity toward him, Skelly was getting to her on a very primal level, something she couldn't seem to control.

A fact that made Rosalind decidedly edgy.

GALENA WAS A HILLY TOWN divided by a ribbon of river. At the foot of one of the steepest inclines, Roz turned onto busy Main Street where couples strolled hand-in-hand and parents rushed their children along.

"Tourists are already out full force for the holiday," Skelly said, noting the decorations – bunting and flags galore.

"It's pretty much like this every summer weekend. I'm going to stop at the drug store before heading up to the house. Need anything?"

"Not that I can think of." And so, when she pulled into a parking spot, he said, “I'll stay here to make a call." He fetched his cellular from his briefcase.” Handy little things."

"Personally, I wouldn't have one. Life is already too rushed and stressful. So you'll be here?"

"Or browsing shop windows."

"Don't go too far."

"I don't think I can get lost."

"I meant that I'll only be a minute."

Remembering the exchange in his office, Skelly arched his brows and checked his watch in challenge.

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Do you have to take things so literally?"

She left the car, slipped a coin into the meter and hurried toward the drug store. Grinning after her, he realized she turned a few heads, no doubt because of her stunning looks.

Skelly called his Audix at work. Only one message. Something he could handle next week.

He decided to browse.

Strolling down the street, he admired refurbished buildings home to shops selling antiques, art, jewelry and souvenirs. He'd visited Galena before, and so he was acquainted with its history. Galena once had been a major commercial center, fortunes amassed in the 1840's through mining, smelting and steam boating. Ulysses S. Grant and eight other Union Generals of the Civil War had called the area home. Then, with the arrival of the railroad and the Galena River becoming silted in from soil erosion, the town declined. By the turn of the century, Galena suffered complete economic shock. Only over the past few decades had the charming town recovered, renovated and become a popular tourist spot.

Skelly stopped before a window display that attracted him, Yesterday's Treasures being one of Galena's many antique stores. Intricately designed old jewelry and other accessories – painted fans, beaded bags, lace gloves – were laid out in charming disarray across the top of a mirrored vanity of inlaid wood. Wondering if Roz ever wore such trinkets, he realized he was being scrutinized. He looked up.

Several yards behind the plate glass window, a rugged man with craggy features crowned by a too-obvious toupee stared at him intently. But the moment their gazes meshed, the other man turned his attention back to his clipboard. Skelly assumed he was the owner in search of a potential customer.

"There you are," Roz said, sounding breathless. “You lose."

"It's been more than a minute."

"That's because I had to come looking for you." She was stuffing a small paper bag in her purse. “Ready to go?"

Though he could stand there indefinitely fencing with her, Skelly nodded. And as they walked off, he glanced back into the antique shop. The owner was staring again as if he recognized them.

Once back in the car, he asked Roz, “How much time do you spend in Galena?"

"Not all that much. I haven't had the time since I was a kid. I always manage a weekend here and there, though. I know the town pretty well, if not many of the people."

A few minutes later, they were overlooking Main Street from the intersection of Hill and High Streets. Below rose several church steeples and dozens of homes in a variety of old styles, including Greek Revival, Federal and Italianate.

"We're here," Roz said, turning into a diagonal parking space at the foot of another incline below Lang House.

Skelly alighted from the Thunderbird, beating her to the open trunk. He scooped up both their bags and started up the stepped walkway, Roz quickly catching up. He admired the mansion's Queen Anne architecture, the cream, rose and federal blue trim of the wrap-around porch, windows and turret, as well as the stained-glass and beveled windows. Even though the structure was mostly brick rather than wood, Skelly thought the finishing touches made Lang House a painted lady in the very best tradition.

As his foot hit the first step, Skelly said, “You're certain I'm welcome to stay here."

"Grandfather and Aunt Hilary are expecting you."

Which sounded like an evasion. He figured the elderly brother and sister had agreed only under pressure from Roz. That made him uncomfortable, but he knew he didn't have much choice of where to bunk, considering this was a holiday weekend. Roz had said something about the town's tourist facilities being maxed out.

Before they could cross the porch, the front door swung open to reveal a short, generously rounded woman who squealed in delight as she flew to greet them. “Rosalind!" She threw her arms around her much taller grand-niece for a big hug.

Skelly could hardly believe Hilary Lang was in her late sixties. Her warm brown hair scattered with only a few threads of gray was pulled back in a modern twist from a barely-lined, still-pretty face. He found no clouding in the alert blue eyes that turned to inspect him.

Her arm slipping possessively around the older woman's shoulders, Roz said, “Aunt Hilary, this is Skelly McKenna. Skelly, my Aunt Hilary."

"How nice to meet you. What a fine looking young man." Hilary gave Roz an arch look. “About time you got some sense into that hard head of yours and found an interesting man to keep you stimulated."

"Aunt Hilary, I told you–“

"I know. I know. You're here to do research." Her forehead creased. “Well, what are we doing standing out on the porch when I've put the kettle on for some tea?"

Hilary scurried inside, Roz following, Skelly bringing up the rear. He left their bags at the foot of the stairs and followed the women through the antique-filled foyer and dining room. As he went, he glanced into both front and back parlors, wondering which had been the crime scene.

"What would you like with your tea?" Hilary asked Skelly when he entered the modernized kitchen. She was already pulling mugs from a wooden tree. “Cookies or scones?"

"You don't need to go to any trouble."

"Pish-tosh. I enjoy doing for others."

"A scone sounds great, then." In truth, Skelly's stomach was growling since Roz had shown up before he had a chance to grab lunch.

"Rosalind?"

"Have I ever turned down your homemade scones?"

Hilary put three in the toaster oven to warm.

"Where's grandfather?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, honey. We watched The Whole Story after lunch." Hilary turned her bright-eyed gaze on Skelly. “After you divulged that you were following up on the murder and that you would share whatever information you found with your viewers, Noah was seething."

Skelly noticed Hilary herself didn't appear any too happy.

"Skelly, you didn't!"

He turned to find Roz glaring at him. “That's what you wanted from me, to do a follow-up piece on your grandmother. Isn't it?"

"You didn't have to make some big announcement that'll have people salivating for the details beforehand." She sucked in her breath. “Not to mention the press. We don't need them descending on us and interfering."

Suspecting her problem really was that, if what they found wasn't to her liking, Roz might not want him doing a follow-up after all, he said, “I doubt you have anything to worry about with the press at this point."

"Really. I was worried about you after I turned down your assistant's request for an interview. And I was right...wasn't I?"

Unable to argue with her logic, Skelly didn't try.

"Grandfather is all right, isn't he?" Roz asked, forehead furrowed.

"I'm certain he is," her aunt reassured her. “But he's in one of his moods. He raced out of here, mumbling to himself. Hasn't even called to tell me what time he'll be home for supper."

Hilary set the mugs, small plates and a pot of tea in the center of the table. “So how long have you two kids known each other?"

"I met your charming niece yesterday."

"She is charming," Hilary agreed. “Smart. And a knock-out. You could do worse."

"Aunt Hilary!"

Skelly smothered a grin at her obvious matchmaking.

Hilary ignored her niece's outrage. “If there's anything you want to know about Rosalind, feel free to ask me," she continued, fetching fresh lemon, a pitcher of cream and an assortment of preserves from the refrigerator. “I raised her, you know."

"You did?" The first he'd heard of it.

"I mean, I helped Claudia," Hilary quickly amended. “For years, we all lived in the Winnetka house together – Noah and me, Claudia, Rip and Rosalind. I know my niece's faults as well as her virtues, though the virtues outweigh everything else, of course."

"Can we change the subject?" Roz pleaded.

Skelly noted she was avoiding looking at him.

Hilary sighed. “If we must."

"My aunt is a confirmed romantic," Roz muttered through her teeth.

"What's wrong with that?" Skelly whispered. “She's very sweet. Besides, I wouldn't mind hearing more about those faults of yours."

Her blue eyes widened and connected with his. A becoming flush stole up her neck. Skelly decided he liked putting her off-balance.

As if Roz could read his mind, she muttered, “Oh, stuff it!"

Clucking to herself, Hilary fetched the scones from the toaster oven and joined them at the table. For a few moments, everyone concentrated on the refreshments. Pouring tea. Preparing their scones. Skelly took a big bite and washed it down with hot Earl Grey. His complaining stomach thanked him profusely.

He noticed that, while Hilary went through the motions, she didn't put a thing to her mouth.

"So, you really think you can find some evidence to exonerate Lily at this late date?" she asked.

She was running her forefinger around and around the rim of her mug as if she were bothered by something.

"At least to cast some doubt on the verdict," Roz piped in, her voice muffled since her mouth was half-full.

"What do you think?" Skelly asked the older woman. “Was Lily telling the truth when she confessed?"

"My sister-in-law might have been a lot of things, but to my knowledge, she was not a liar."

Hilary was hedging...and something in her eyes put Skelly on alert. He wondered what she meant by a lot of things. “What were you doing staying in Lily's house?"

"Lily's house? Oh, no. Noah bought and renovated this place after he came back from the war front. Lily'd had a difficult time here as a girl, and Noah wanted the people in her past to sit up and take notice of what she'd become. She visited once, made a big splash, then didn't feel the need to return...not until years later when she wanted some distance from her marriage. At any rate, after he and Lily were reunited, Noah didn't need me the way he used to."

"So you moved from Winnetka to Galena."

"Why not? There was no room for me in Lily's household. Figuratively speaking. She was still the star Hollywood made her even if she had retired from movie-making. Besides, I loved it here."

Roz said, “So you were living here permanently when Lily left Grandfather," as if she hadn't realized it before.

Hilary nodded. “And I stayed through all of her comings and goings, dragging that poor child with her, when she couldn't make up her mind about the divorce."

Skelly mulled over the information that was new to him, duly noting the undercurrent of animosity Hilary had for her sister-in-law. Roz had told him that after Noah's retirement, he'd insisted on moving to Galena – to be closer to Lily's memory – and Hilary had naturally accompanied him. She'd never mentioned her aunt's love of the place, possibly because Hilary never had revealed it before. How curious.

And the fact that Hilary moved from Winnetka to Galena because of Lily, then back to Winnetka after Lily was incarcerated, said a lot about their relationship. Skelly figured Hilary couldn't have been too happy when her sister-in-law chose to invade what she must have thought of as her territory.

He backtracked a bit. “So Lily was poor before she met Noah?"

Hilary nodded. “And a bit wild or she never would have gone Hollywood while he was off fighting a war. Small-town people don't approve of wild."

And Skelly had the distinct feeling that Hilary included herself in the consensus. Aware of a noise coming from the front of the house, he asked, “What do you remember about the night Frank Sullivan died?"

"I made dinner for me and Claudia while Frank and Lily ate at a restaurant in town. After Claudia went upstairs to bed, I took a long walk. She was thirteen and very mature," Hilary added, as if she'd received criticism from someone about leaving the girl alone.

"Why a long walk?"

"I had some thinking to do." Her voice quavered. “About personal things. I didn't return until after the sheriff's men arrived."

Skelly wondered. Hilary now had a death-grip on her mug. Because the memory of what she'd found was so upsetting? Or could there be something more...

"Did you notice anything unusual?" he asked. “Out of place?"

"I didn't usually have a dead body sprawled over my parlor floor –“

A thunderous voice interrupted. “What's going on here? Why are you giving my sister the third degree?"

Skelly turned to the doorway as Roz shot out of her chair.

"Grandfather, there you are!" She stood on tiptoe to kiss his weathered cheek.

While Hilary looked younger than sixty-something, Skelly decided Noah Lang looked every bit of seventy-five. White-haired. Old-age thin. A back too stiff to be natural. Arthritic hands.

But continuing to be the focus of Noah's angry glare, Skelly chose not to underestimate the power of this man, no matter his advanced years.

"WE'RE DOING ONLY WHAT we came to do," Skelly said, rising. “I thought you were in agreement."

Noah tightened his jaw. He never would have agreed to anything if Rosalind hadn't been so convincing. She'd assured him she and that so-called newsman would research other people who'd known Frank Sullivan to see if they could dig up possible suspects or motives for his murder. Rosalind said all she wanted was to place reasonable doubt in the minds of Skelly McKenna's audience if not in the authorities. How could he have refused her without arousing her suspicions?

"I didn't agree to a circus, young man, and that's what you're turning this story into. We've already been through that once."

"You're being unfair, sir. All I did was alert my viewers that I was taking another look into the facts."

"Bah!" Noah waved Skelly off. “Sensationalism is sensationalism. I should have known better."

"Grandfather, Skelly did agree to research the story personally on my urging." His granddaughter looked up at him with a worried expression. “I thought that would make you happy."

"The only thing that'll make me happy is having my darling Lily at my side for whatever little time I have left on this earth."

"If we can find the real killer, that might be possible," the reporter said. “That is...if she's actually innocent."

"You can count on that. Lily never killed anyone, no matter what foolishness she spouted."

A pang of regret stabbed him in the heart for the millionth time. He hadn't had his wits about him or he wouldn't have gone along with it. He would have figured some other way out. He never should have let Lily plead guilty.

He never should have let her be locked up for something that he knew she didn't do.

Chapter Four

ROSALIND HOPED SHE HADN'T MADE a mistake in pursuing the past, that her convincing Skelly to investigate wouldn't cause her grandfather more heartache than if she'd ignored his story about Lily. They got through an early dinner in a civilized manner. Taking her lead in keeping the conversation away from the reason they were here, Skelly kept to questions about the Galena area. He might have been a curious tourist.

Afterward, they gathered in the front parlor...the scene of the crime.

Rosalind had never found anything sinister about the room, perhaps because, shortly after the murder, her aunt had ordered it stripped and totally redecorated. The room had been repainted since, but not much else had changed, at least not that she could remember. Nearly forty years old and reminiscent of a much earlier era, the cream, blue and rose decor remained timelessly elegant.

Her grandfather sat in the wing-back chair closest to the fireplace, which could only be fueled by coal. Skelly made himself comfortable in the matching chair, while she and her aunt shared the couch facing both men.

And within a matter of seconds, Rosalind saw Skelly change from affable guest to dogged reporter.

"We need to get back to the reason we're here," he told her grandfather. “If you really believe Lily didn't murder Sullivan, did you try to convince her to change her story?"

Bony hands gripping the arms of his chair, Noah said,” She was utterly determined in her path."

"Did she give you a reason for killing him?"

"No."

"My grandmother never explained her actions to anyone," Rosalind said.

"Because she didn't do it!"

"Noah, calm down," Hilary pleaded. “You know too much excitement isn't good for you."

"Bah!"

Her aunt's warning sent a renewed wave of worry washing through Rosalind. Her grandfather put on a good show, but she wasn't sure he was as healthy as he would like people to believe. He'd retired not because he was unable to run Temptress, but because he'd had a heart attack. A mild one, but who knew how serious the next one could be.

"Grandfather, we're on your side." At least she was. Skelly was a loose cannon, though she wouldn't say so in front of her elderly relatives. “Please remember that. We need your help if we're ever going to get to the truth."

She noticed her grandfather's fingers tightened around the chair arms.

And Skelly continued.” You obviously still cared for your wife even though she was determined to divorce you."

"I loved Lily. I'll love her until the day I die."

"Then surely you hired a private investigator in an effort to clear her name."

"No."

"I don't understand. You're a man of means–"

"Lily didn't want me to interfere. She insisted I leave well-enough alone."

"But a man in love would go to any lengths to prove his lady innocent."

"A man respects the wishes of the woman he loves."

The line of questioning was making Rosalind uneasy. This wasn't like him. He'd bullied her into line often enough while she was growing up. Her grandfather never gave up when he wanted something. And, more than anything, he'd wanted his Lily...

Attempting to turn the conversation in a less disturbing direction, she asked, “Is there someone in particular you suspected of the crime?"

"I wasn't here much, so I didn't know many of the locals. But it could be anyone," her grandfather said. “Political enemies. Someone in Sullivan's own party who was jealous of him. And then there's the widow."

Hilary quickly added, “Diane Sullivan remarried real fast, a few months after the trial – Perry Nesmith, antique shop owner. They still run the shop together. A person could get the impression Diane didn't grieve at all for her husband's death. Then, again, if she knew Frank wasn't faithful to her..."

"Why should she be loyal to him," Rosalind finished.

Skelly asked her aunt, “Were there any signs of a break-in that night?"

“None. Most of the windows were open, but that wasn't anything unusual."

Rosalind looked at the bay windows that were even now wide open. “Was there a screen missing?"

Her aunt shook her head. “The man I occasionally hired to do chores kept promising to put them up, but he never got around to it."

"Open windows. No screens. Easy entry and exit." Skelly ticked off the points on his fingers and nodded. “That gives us opportunity for practically anyone. By the way, Mr. Lang, when did you arrive on the scene?"

"Got into Galena first thing in the morning. A little after six."

"That was approximately a half-dozen hours after the body was discovered. Fast work. Who put the call in to you?"

Rosalind shifted. What was Skelly's point?

"The sheriff, of course."

"In the middle of the night?"

"I was still her husband." Noah rose. “If you don't have any other questions..."

For a moment Rosalind thought Skelly was going to object. Then his expression changed subtly. “They can wait."

"I'll come up with you, Noah."

And Rosalind couldn't help but note the subtle change in her aunt as Hilary joined her brother...almost as if she were nervous about something.

"Before you go," Skelly said as they moved to the doorway. “It's not too late to visit the widow if one of you can give us the Nesmith address."

"As far as I know, they still live in the limestone mansion Frank Sullivan bought for Diane shortly before his death," Hilary said. “On the other side of Route 20. “She gave them directions if not an exact address.

"We'll find it," Rosalind assured her aunt.

She fetched her purse, and a few minutes later, they were on their way.

"So what do you expect we'll get out of Diane Nesmith?" she asked Skelly once they were in the Thunderbird, with her behind the wheel again.

"Information about any cronies who might have been jealous or had a grudge against Sullivan."

"If she remembers after all this time. Besides, he may not have brought his work home with him."

"If nothing else...a reaction."

She pulled the car out of the parking spot and nosed it south. “Nearly forty years later?"

"Trust me. If she's been hiding anything, her nerves will tell."

His statement sent yet another wave of uneasiness through Rosalind. Surely Aunt Hilary wouldn't hide anything from her. Nor would Grandfather. Going over their every reaction to the situation since they'd arrived that afternoon, she wasn't focused on her driving.

"A stop sign."

She stomped the brake pedal which had more give than usual. The car slid to a stop in the middle of the intersection.

"I guess you shouldn't have bothered."

"We should have stopped sooner.” Accelerating, Rosalind glanced at the dash. “The brake light is on. I must be a little low on fluid."

"I assume gas stations are open this late, even in a small burg like this one."

"You're not worrying about your safety in my hands, are you?" she joked.

"If I was actually in your hands...”

A glance at Skelly made Rosalind flush. He was leering at her, but the sparkle in his eyes told her he was teasing. Or was he? Conscious of his continuing gaze on her, she noted they were approaching the next corner.

She stepped on the brake, but the pressure on the pedal diminished. It seemed like forever before they came to a complete stop. Still, she was confident that she could get as far as the gas station on Route 20, or she never would have accelerated again.

Her mistake.

The rest of the ride was downhill all the way, the incline one of the steepest in Galena. From a distance, she saw another vehicle's lights sweep the cross street. She applied her brakes in what she hoped was plenty of time.

Her foot went straight to the floor.

And rather than slowing, the Thunderbird picked up speed on the downward pitch.

"Omigod! The brakes are gone!"

She stomped on the pedal hard to no avail. Her only reward was a sharp twinge across her foot and ankle.

"Throw the car into a lower gear, “Skelly said more calmly than she was feeling.

Rosalind shifted into first. The other vehicle came to a stop at the intersection. The Thunderbird bucked, slowed a bit, but kept right on rolling.

"Don't move. Don't move!" she implored. As if she were close enough for the other driver to hear.

"Whatever you do, don't panic," Skelly said grimly.

But now Rosalind could make out the small car holding a woman and several kids. A sick feeling filled her. The other vehicle crept into the intersection. Even in first, the Thunderbird accelerated because of the steep grade.

"Oh, get moving, please!"

She flashed her brights rapidly. Like a wild animal mesmerized by the unexpected, the other car stopped dead, the driver staring their way. And Rosalind's short life flashed through her mind. She yanked the wheel and swerved to the right. As if goosed, the other car suddenly shot off. The Thunderbird cleared its tail if only by inches.

Screaming voices followed her.

"You did it." Skelly placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed. “Now keep your head and we'll be all right."

Hard to do when they were shooting down the steep grade, the speedometer still climbing.

"The emergency brake," she muttered.

"We're going too fast."

"Tell me about it. What choice do I have?"

Stomach churning, her left foot found the pedal. She shoved down hard. Again the Thunderbird lurched and slowed. Then a heavy metal smell permeated the car and the great thunk accompanied by another lurch that followed told her the cable had snapped. Though the hill was leveling out to flat ground, the Thunderbird's speed was barely affected.

"Damn!" Straight ahead at the end of the incline, she could see bright lights and traffic. Her adrenaline shot up another notch. “The highway!"

"You can do this."

Skelly was no longer trying to disguise his anxiety. Rosalind had the distinct suspicion that more than anything in the world, he wished he could take control of the car as easily as he had her. She gave him credit that he didn't try to wrest the steering wheel from her grip.

"I'll turn right and aim for the shoulder," she told him.

"Good thinking."

To give herself the best shot possible, she steered into the opposing traffic's lane. Sweat prickled her skin and her stomach twisted itself into a big fat knot.

The highway fast approached.

Trying to breathe normally, Rosalind inched the wheel to the right, nosing the Thunderbird at an angle across the street so the speedy turn wouldn't be so sharp. Close enough to hear the highway traffic, she chanced a quick look over her shoulder. A sixteen-wheeler whizzed by. The next vehicle appeared to be some distance behind.

"You've got enough room to maneuver," Skelly confirmed.

As the Thunderbird's nose shot across the stop line, she aimed for the shoulder and, because she couldn't slow down, prayed they wouldn't take the turn on two wheels.

"You've almost got it," Skelly said, voice tight.

The car careened around the corner, then straddled the line dividing the right lane from the shoulder. The flat ground being in their favor, their speed decreased discernibly. Rosalind checked her rear view mirror and noticed the driver of the fast approaching vehicle was flashing his brights as he closed in on her. A little fancy steering and the Thunderbird wove a bit...then settled onto the shoulder just in time.

"Thank you," she whispered, suddenly drained.

A pick-up shot by them, horn blasting repeatedly, driver leaning toward the passenger side to aim an obscene gesture her way. Anger added to fear, Rosalind wished she could tell him what he could do with himself.

"Idiot!" Skelly muttered.

A small upward incline cut their speed even more. She threw the transmission into neutral. Within seconds, the Thunderbird was barely rolling, so she shifted into park. They jerked to a stop.

"We made it. Thank God."

She cut the engine. Then, both hands gripping the wheel, heart in her throat, she tried to get her breath.

"Good driving, Roz." Skelly sounded like himself again. “Ever think of turning pro?"

Considering the hilly, winding approach to Galena that always tempted her to let it all out, she returned, “Not any more."

Adrenaline leaving her in a rush, her head suddenly spinning, her body hot and clammy, Rosalind rested her forehead against the steering wheel. A wave of nausea washed through her, and she had to keep taking deep breaths and swallowing hard so she wouldn't lose it.

"Hey, you okay?" Skelly asked.

Rosalind heard his seat belt release and was aware of him scooting closer. “I'm trying not to be sick," she groaned.

He reached across her and released both her seat belt and door. Turning her shoulders toward the opening, he said, “Get it over with and you'll feel better."

His touch calming, she was starting to feel better already. The nausea was receding as quickly as it had come over her. “I'll be all right."

"You're shaking."

Skelly pulled her to him and gathered her in his arms. She wasn't even tempted to push at him and move away. The experience had jolted the sense out of her, she supposed. She allowed her body rather than her head do the thinking. Somehow, leaning on Skelly, a man she wouldn't normally give the time of day, seemed right.

He stroked her hair, rubbed her neck, trailed his hand down her spine. She nestled closer, inhaling the scent that lingered along his jaw line – after-shave mixed with a trace of fear – and wondered if he weren't holding onto her for his own comfort as much as hers.

"What a freak thing to happen," she murmured.

"Freak. Right."

But he didn't sound like he thought so.

ALL DAY, SKELLY HAD WANTED to get his hands on Roz, but not like this. Not because she was upset. Thank God she wasn't hurt. That neither of them had been killed. Freak occurrence? He only hoped so.

He gave her one last hug, then reluctantly released her and gazed into her shadowed face. “Nerves steady?"

"Much better."

"Unfortunately, I left my cell phone at the house. “Wanting some answers from a professional mechanic, he said, “So we'll have to walk to the gas station."

Roz nodded and slid to the other side, leaving Skelly feeling as if he'd misplaced some important part of himself. Upon stepping outside, she made a muffled sound and grabbed onto the door.

He popped out of the car. “What?"

"My foot and ankle." Grimacing, she faced him, closing her door in the process and leaning against the car's body. “I stomped on the brake too hard and felt kind of a zing. I guess I twisted something."

"Are you sure nothing's broken?" Skelly asked, slamming his door and rushing to her side. “Does Galena have a hospital?"

"You're getting ahead of yourself. I probably aggravated a tendon or something. I'm not going to see a doctor, when all I need is some ice."

"Still...you'd better wait for me here, while I go for help. The driver of the tow truck can bring you home before dealing with the Thunderbird. Don't worry, I'll stay with him and take care of everything."

He reached for the door handle, intending to help her back inside, but she put a hand on his arm.

"No. I'd rather stay with you. It isn't far. We can see the gas station from here, for heaven's sake."

Even in the dim light of the highway, he could see Roz's face. Her too-wide eyes and clenched jaw told him she was afraid to be alone. Against his better judgment, Skelly caved in.

"Stubborn woman." He snaked his arm around her waist. “At least lean on me, then."

"If you insist."

Roz shifted her weight. Skelly was aware of every soft curve pressed against him. They started walking. Rather, he walked while she limped along. Despite the hazardous situation, or, perhaps because of it, he was having trouble thinking clearly and remaining alert to any other possible dangers. He was too intent on the woman at his side. She slid an arm around his shoulders and adjusted herself, drawing even closer, loose strands of her silky hair caressing his neck and cheek. Wild imaginings raced through his head, all having to do with him and Roz in some intimate situation.

"I can't believe the brakes giving out like that," she said, jolting him out of the fantasy. “Not on a vehicle that's barely a year old."

"Cars are full of surprises." Skelly kept his tone neutral. He didn't want to worry Roz until he was certain they had something to worry about. Thinking he knew how to distract her, he said, “Kind of like women."

Immediately reacting, Roz demanded, “Are you comparing me to my car?"

Skelly deliberately inspected her. “Let's see. Eye-catching. Long, sleek lines. Quality workmanship. Exciting when the motor's revved up. “Unable to help himself, he stared down at her foot and added, “But not so perfect that you don't break down once in a while."

Roz smacked him in the chest. “Beast." But she was smothering a smile.

Making his heart beat faster. “It could be dangerous to mistreat your crutch."

She laughed aloud and Skelly was lost. He'd been playing games with her from the first, testing her reactions, seeing if he could get under her skin. The joke was on him. At that moment, he knew he wanted Rosalind Van Straaten too much for his own comfort.

They were nearly opposite the gas station. Skelly watched for a break in traffic, then balancing more of her weight on himself, hurried Roz across. She clung to him, nails biting into the flesh of his arm, stirring him yet again. He was glad when they landed on the other side and he could all but let go of her. He couldn't take much more close contact without doing something about it.

"Hey, Limp-along, any damage?"

"No new nicknames, please. Roz is bad enough."

"Roz suits you." Skelly pulled a face. “How much do you hate it?"

"I'm adjusting."

"Good thing, because I wasn't planning on changing my tune."

"What a surprise," she muttered, as they moved beneath the station's lit canopy.

Moments later, Skelly gave Jarvis Wiggs, the owner, an abbreviated version of their plight. After aiming a puzzled look at Roz, the man immediately led them to the tow truck. Skelly helped her into the cab and slid in beside her, while Jarvis hopped up behind the wheel.

"So how long do you think it will take to fix my car?" Roz asked.

"Can't do nothing but haul it in tonight."

"Could you at least give the brakes a look?" Skelly asked. “We'd like to know the extent of the damage."

"Yup. I can do that."

Which relieved Skelly immensely. That way, he'd know if he needed to be on guard.

The tow truck nosed to the edge of the highway. A break in traffic sent them careening directly into the left lane. Skelly quickly glanced at Roz, fearing the motion would make her sick again, but she seemed to be holding up.

"You folks from around here?"

"We're visiting for a few days," Roz said, pressing her elbow into Skelly's ribs, giving him the distinct impression that she didn't want the man to know more. “We're staying with my relatives."

"Holiday weekend. Good time for a visit. From the big city, huh?"

"We had to get away."

Thunderbird in sight, Skelly said, “There's the car."

Jarvis nodded. “So it is. Be sure not to miss the Main Street parade on the morning of the Fourth. Everyone turns out for the festivities." He whipped the tow truck into a U-turn, pulling up directly in front of the Thunderbird. “Walt Rogowski will even have his own float. You know, he's running for governor. Local boy."

"So I've heard," Roz said.

Heidi had already informed Skelly that Rogowski not only still lived in Galena, but that his main campaign office was located in the heart of town. He hadn't yet shared any information he'd gathered about the man who'd begun his political career as Sullivan's aide with Roz. Now wasn't the time to do so, either.

That particular revelation could wait.

Chapter Five

FINISHED INSPECTING THE THUNDERBIRD, Jarvis wiped his greasy hands on his cover-up and lumbered toward them. Rosalind noticed his forehead was furrowed. Her stomach flip-flopped.

"Brake line was damaged."

"You mean it was cut," Skelly said, putting her even more on edge.

"More like punctured. Curious. Most of the line's still intact. You folks musta left a trail of fluid behind you."

She asked, “How exactly was it damaged?"

"Couldn't say for sure." The station owner rubbed a grimy hand through his thinning hair. “Coulda been something sharp flying off the road, I reckon."

But he didn't sound convinced, Rosalind decided. And Skelly certainly didn't look convinced. They both thought...She didn't want to face the truth until she and Skelly could talk privately.

"So, will you be able to fix both the brake line and the emergency tomorrow?" she asked, mind whirling with the implications.

"Your car'll be ready in the afternoon, Miss Van Straaten. Can't say what time for sure. The auto parts store here in town don't always have stock for newer cars. Might have to send someone over to Dubuque to get what I need."

Rosalind nodded. “If you run into any problems, you can reach me here." She scribbled her grandfather's phone number on a piece of notepaper.

"Will do." Jarvis took it from her and secured it to the clipboard with her paperwork. “Now hop back in the truck and I'll run you home."

Throughout the five minute drive, Jarvis and Skelly kept up a running dialogue, Jarvis being something of an unofficial if enthusiastic guide to his home town.

Rosalind couldn't concentrate on their conversation. Her thoughts were spinning with the possibility that someone could have purposely booby-trapped her brakes. Never before having been a target, she was having difficulty accepting the concept. Surely it was equally possible that no one but the fates were responsible.

Wasn't it?

When Jarvis stopped the tow truck in front of Lang House, he peered out at the mansion a moment, then stared at her intently, his bushy eyebrows arched in surprise. She figured he now knew who she was and probably was doing some quick calculating. Hopefully, he wasn't on the local grapevine, or the entire town would hear about the incident by morning.

And they barely had started their investigation.

Rosalind wished she dare ask the gas station owner to keep whatever he knew or assumed to himself lest he set off warning bells among the very people she and Skelly meant to question. Forewarned was forearmed, after all, and Galena was a small town. Undoubtedly more than a few of its citizens watched The Whole Story. If people figured out what they were up to in advance, they might close ranks and shut her and Skelly out.

In the end, she merely said, “Thanks, for the lift," and, with Skelly's help, slid out of the truck.

"See you tomorrow." With a wave, Jarvis drove off.

Rosalind limped up the sidewalk, Skelly's arm again supporting her. The house was dark and she guessed both her grandfather and aunt were asleep. She pulled keys from her trouser's pocket and unlocked the door.

As they stepped inside, she announced, “I need a stiff drink."

"What you need is ice."

"That, too."

They proceeded to the rear parlor where the liquor was kept. She turned on a small table lamp with a lovely stained glass shade. Golden light pooled around them. Enough for her to see Skelly's expression grow deadly serious when he stared into her eyes.

Her skin pebbled and her head went light. “What?"

"Sit while I get some ice for that foot."

Not in the mood to argue and relieved at the momentary reprieve, Rosalind settled into the room's most comfortable chair and put her feet up on the matching ottoman. She was facing the coal fireplace, above which hung an oil portrait of a young Lily that had always dominated the room.

"There's an ice bag in the cabinet above the refrigerator," she said.

"Back in a minute."

Skelly headed for the kitchen, leaving her alone. Her and Lily and the shadowy mental image of a murdered man. Never having been afraid in the old house before, Rosalind suddenly found herself scanning the shadows. Listening for unusual noises. Not a pleasant pastime.

"What really happened in this house that night?" she asked the painted Lily.

Her grandmother didn't seem to be in tune with her thoughts, however, for she received no answer.

Good to his word, Skelly was back in a flash. Twirling the ice bag, he stared down at her foot. “This isn't going to do much good through leather."

"I wasn't thinking...” She started to reach for her shoe, but he stopped her.

"Allow me." Sitting on the edge of the ottoman, Skelly loosened the laces and removed the shoe. “Maybe I should take a better look." Carefully, he rolled down her sock and slid it off her foot, his fingertips then gently exploring her ankle. “A little swollen, but not bad," he pronounced. “Does it hurt to the touch?"

Surprised by the sensation that shot up her leg from the spot where fingers met flesh – definitely not pain – Rosalind shook her head and made an incoherent sound that she covered with a forced cough.

She couldn't take her eyes from him.

Never having debated that he was a handsome man – though she had thought of him as a pretty face – Rosalind took a moment to savor Skelly while his attention was focused on his ministrations.

The lock of blue-back hair splashing his high forehead.

Lashes thick and long brushing his strong cheekbones when he blinked.

His mouth.

The mouth caught her. A very sensual mouth that easily turned up into a wicked smile. An irresistible mouth that tempted her into fantasizing...

"How about here?" Skelly's low tone broke into her unexpected imaginings.

He drew his palm over the top of her foot. Tingling blossomed into a more urgent sensation that threatened to overcome her.

"It's fine," Rosalind choked out. “Uh, the ice – maybe you'd better put it on and get us that drink. The cart's over there." She pointed to the corner of the room, where it stood directly in his line of sight.

Flashing her a smile that made her insides curl, Skelly coiled the ice bag around her ankle and over the top of her foot, then snugged it in place by wrapping all with a dishtowel that he'd brought from the kitchen.

"How does that feel?"

As if she were being tortured by his touch, Rosalind thought, relieved when he finally removed his hand from her leg. What she said was “Cold."

"Then I've done my job." He rose. “What's your preference?"

"Brandy. And don't be stingy."

For a moment, Skelly had made her forget about everything but him, but now her mind careened back to the hellish ride that could have killed them both. When he handed her a bulbous glass holding more than a generous splash of brandy, she took a large swallow, grateful for the instant, steadying warmth that soothed her nerves, if not her growing fear.

"I'm afraid it was my fault," Skelly said, expression again sober. “If I hadn't announced my intentions to personally investigate the Sullivan murder on The Whole Story, I wouldn't have forewarned whoever messed with the brake line." He set himself down on the ottoman facing her. “If Grandpa Noah and Aunt Hilary caught the update today, you can bet a lot of other people around here did, as well."

Having already come to that conclusion, Rosalind admitted, “Gossip is a favorite pastime in a small town.” Another swallow of brandy helped her face the probable truth. “You think the miscreant and the person who killed Frank Sullivan are one and the same."

"Maybe. Or a person trying to protect the real murderer, even a potential suspect." Skelly was leaning forward, cupping his drink with both hands. He was staring into the goblet as intently as if the glass were a crystal ball that would give up the perpetrator's identity. “Loyalty is more important to some people than justice."

"Important enough to put innocent lives in danger?" Thankful the brandy was oozing its way through her entire system, brain included, Rosalind murmured, “Unbelievable," in a perfectly calm voice.

Skelly flashed her a look that spoke more volumes than his terse “Believe it."

Which shot a chill through her. “But how? When? The car was parked right in front of the house in the open."

"Open to whose view? Not ours, certainly, not if we were on the first floor."

True, the hill itself half-hid parked cars. “But we have neighbors –“

"Whose houses aren't exactly cheek-by-jowl like in a big city. All the trees, bushes and fences in-between preclude a straight line-of-sight. Whoever tampered with your car would have figured that out."

Though she knew he had a point, Rosalind hadn't given up on playing devil's advocate. “All right. Let's agree the word of your follow-up today did get around. The Whole Story was televised only a couple of hours before we arrived in town. Who actually knows you're in Galena, not to mention your being here at Lang House with me? My grandfather...my aunt...and now Jarvis Wiggs...none of whom could possibly have tampered with the brakes."

She disliked whatever it was about Skelly's gaze that made her feel he thought her naive. Warmth stole up her neck. Surely he couldn't really believe either of the people she loved so dearly was capable of hurting her. So Grandfather had sounded a bit defensive...and Aunt Hilary had seemed a little nervous. Bringing up old hurts couldn't be easy for them. They'd gone through hell with Lily once, and that when they were younger and in good health.

"Can you be so sure either Noah or Hilary didn't spill the beans to someone?" Skelly asked. “They've known we were coming since last night, right?"

"Yes, but they wouldn't tell anyone what we were up to. Not even good friends. The situation is too sensitive."

Skelly finished his drink and leaned forward to set the glass on a decorative table, his hip and thigh brushing her leg provocatively. For a moment, as another measure of warmth stole through her – this one not brandy-induced – Rosalind lost track of the conversation. But if Skelly had any like awareness, she couldn't tell.

"Are you forgetting the stop we made in town?" he continued. “Anyone could have seen us on Main Street and could recognize me from The Whole Story." He twisted around and she knew he was staring at the portrait. “And if you aren't the spitting image of Lily..."

He could have something there. She had noticed a few people staring both in the drug store and on Main Street, though she hadn't given them another thought until this moment. She often received more attention than was comfortable.

"So we can assume your presence is no secret," she agreed. “That someone who wanted to stop you knew where to find you through me."

"The same someone who messed with your brakes."

Rosalind took an uneasy breath. So what now?

The next step was clear enough, but only with a great deal of reluctance did she say “I guess it's time to bring in the authorities."

Skelly gave her another of those don't be so naive looks. “How wise would that be when we can't even prove the brakes were tampered with?"

"Jarvis thought they were."

"Though he wouldn't commit himself," he reminded her.

"Maybe if he were pressed to give an opinion..."

"Which would open a whole can of worms. The authorities will want to know who could possibly have it in for you. You'll have to explain the reason we're here. And then we'll probably be told to cease and desist any private investigation, even though the official inquiry will probably go no further than their dusting the car for prints and talking to the neighbors for witnesses. In the meantime, someone will be bound to leak the information to the press."

"And the tabloid reporters will be down on us like the vultures they are."

Skelly's expression blanked and Rosalind realized he'd taken the criticism personally. A pang of regret at being so loose-mouthed washed through her. There was no denying she had thought him less than ethical at first...but her getting to know him personally confused the issue.

As did her attraction.

When Skelly had held her in his arms after their narrow escape, she'd melted inside. He'd been so tender. So comforting.

So unlike the image he'd projected while doing his story on her grandmother.

Avoiding his eyes, she said, “I wasn't generalizing. Not everyone associated with tabloid news fills that description. I'm willing to judge a person on his actions." The best she could do for an apology considering she still had some doubts about him. She waited in vain for a response. “Well. I guess we ought to sleep on whether or not we involve the authorities." She took the last sip of brandy and set her glass next to his on the table. “Maybe we'll have a whole new perspective in the morning."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, not sounding convinced. “But first let's see to your injury. You've been iced long enough, at least for now." He unwound the dishtowel and removed the ice bag. “So how's the foot?"

She carefully tested. “Numb."

"Then I'd better give you a hand." He stood and did just that.

Rosalind's fingers engulfed by his, she carefully rose. The room danced a bit, an aftereffect of the brandy. And when she took a step, her shoulder barely brushing against Skelly set off warning signals. She wished she could blame the liquor for that, as well.

Proceeding into the foyer without so much as a twinge, she headed for the staircase. “It's feeling pretty good." And kept going, up several steps.

"It's looking pretty good, too."

Unable to ignore the smooth tone that told her Skelly was appreciating something other than her foot, Rosalind glanced back at him while continuing to climb. Her mistake. The foyer whirled around her and she suddenly found herself clutching the railing.

He rushed to her side, his arm hooking around her middle. “I had no idea you were such a cheap date."

She blinked him into precise focus. “Excuse me?"

"You know. A woman who can only handle one drink is considered a cheap date."

"You poured me a double."

"And you're definitely flying."

Irritated at his teasing, especially with him breathing down her neck, she said, “I am not flying," with as much dignity as she could muster. “My feet are firmly planted on the ground – rather the stairs – thank you very much."

"Not for long."

Before Rosalind knew what he was about, Skelly slid his other arm under her legs and, with a grunt, hoisted her like a sack of potatoes.

"I can walk!" she protested.

"Not up two flights, not in your condition," he argued, breathlessly conquering one step, then another. “If you lose your balance again, you might hurt that foot. Or worse. You'd have to see a doctor and would probably end up on crutches or confined to bed. Then who would help me conduct this investigation?"

He was exaggerating, of course, but she couldn't help herself. Choosing to accept his logic despite her good sense, to stay right where she was for a little while – as close to Skelly as she dared – she slid her arms around his neck and settled against his chest. Eyelids drifting half-closed, she allowed her head to gravitate toward his until their foreheads touched. He sucked in his breath but didn't say anything.

Something was happening to her, Rosalind thought hazily, something she neither understood nor wanted. Skelly's appeal for her was growing, making her forget about being cautious. Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, she was content to remain in his embrace. Reality receded, including their reason for being there. The only thing she could think of was the man cradling her against him. She was vaguely aware of their moving past the landing and onto the darkened staircase that led to the only bedroom not on the second floor.

Lily's attic sanctuary.

When visiting, even as a girl, Rosalind had always made the turreted bedroom her own.

They reached the upper level, and she expected Skelly to set her down. Instead, he opened the door and carried her into the spacious hide-away, dark but for the moonlight that shone through myriad windows. He kept on going until he reached the edge of the bed, and though he released her legs, he continued to hold fast to her waist.

Feet connecting with the floor, Rosalind made no move to unwind her arms from around his neck. She merely turned within his shelter, better to see him. The friction of her body moving against his provoked a disturbing throb that quickly spread. Her breath caught in her throat and remained trapped there when they came face-to-face.

Moonshine silvered Skelly's mysterious expression. His eyes were half-closed, focused on her through taut slits and thick lashes. From what she could see, they appeared to be filled with a blend of confusion and yearning that mirrored her own mixed feelings.

Seconds multiplied and still he didn't put her from him. Only his labored breathing broke the silence between them. Was he winded from the climb? Or from anticipation?

Seconds spilled into moments. Her pulse raced faster and faster. She recognized its insistent throb throughout her body, all the way to her fingers and toes. Senses heightened, she imagined his heart beat in rhythm with her own.

All thoughts not having to do with Skelly receded until she was surrounded by him, filled with him.

His strength. His heat. His scent.

"Roz," he whispered.

His husky voice sending a thrill through her. “Mm." She pressed closer, sliding a hand along the nape of his neck, threading her fingers through his thick hair.

"I should leave. Now."

"Not yet. Stay a moment." Long enough to kiss her. What would it hurt to compare reality with fantasy? “Just a tiny moment."

"You don't know what you're doing."

"I always know."

"But you're tipsy."

"Not really."

As she raised her chin, offering him her mouth, her head swam, though not from the brandy. He hesitated only a moment, then with a groan, accepted. His lips parted hers, his tongue thrusting, a sensual invader. Welcome. Exciting. Making her yearn for more.

The reality won over the imagining by a mile.

Swamped by sensation, limbs turned to mush, Rosalind hung onto Skelly for all she was worth. Breasts crushed into his chest, hips against hips, she felt more alive than she could remember. She fisted his hair and nipped the inside of his lip, then trembled when he deepened the kiss. His hands crept downward, cupping her derriere and pulling her more tightly into him. Excitement escalated.

Halfway to nirvana, she recognized his need and realized he was as electrified as she.

A little voice inside her head told her to cool down. To stop before she let things go too far. She'd only wanted a kiss, and that to satisfy her curiosity. Or so she'd thought.

Now it seemed she didn't know what she wanted.

Wondering how to harness enough energy to be sensible, she was surprised when Skelly settled the issue, a groan tearing from his throat as he grabbed her arms and pushed her a safe distance away from him.

For a moment, they stood frozen, panting, gazes locked.

Reality check!

Rosalind was more than a little shocked at her own outlandish actions. What had come over her? Was still over her? She'd never, ever played the seductress. Even now, she yearned for the feel of Skelly's arms anchoring her to him...was tempted to continue enticing him.

Until he said, “I'd better let you get to bed." His voice was tight. Distant. “That whole episode with the car was more emotionally draining than you probably realize...and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

He sounded so damn rational that she took a big step back and not only physically. “Of course." She tried to sound as casual as he did, as if the kiss hadn't shaken her up good. “And we need to get an early start."

"The earlier the better. Good night."

She watched him go, watched the dark swallow him, heard rather than saw the door close. If only she could leave her churning thoughts behind as easily as he'd left her...impossible.

For heaven's sake, she'd thrown herself at a man and couldn't even blame the brandy, because she really had been sober if a little too relaxed. And yet she'd acted totally out of character. No wonder Skelly had assumed she was in an emotional state over their nightmare ride. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps mortal danger made her bold enough – or vulnerable enough – to succumb to ridiculous fantasies.

She turned on a night stand lamp, willing its soft golden glow to open her eyes and bring her back to her senses. Skelly might be attracted to her, Rosalind conceded, but all he really cared about was getting the story behind the murder.

As did she, of course.

Moving to the turret, she stared out the windows overlooking the river valley and began unbuttoning her shirt. The night view was glorious. A moonstruck sky sparkling with a million stars above. Warmly lit houses perched on every hill. A glowing aura running the length of Main Street below. And a tentative fog lazily rising from the river to caress its banks.

She removed the shirt. The silk swishing over her skin made her breasts ache and her belly tighten. She was still aroused. That single kiss persisted in tormenting her in a dozen ways. No big deal, Rosalind told herself. It didn't mean anything, not in the context of male-female relationships. She'd merely been celibate too long.

More than two years too long.

The blouse puddled to the floor, followed by her single shoe and sock, then her belt and trousers, leaving her in a lacy satin camisole and tap pants...and with memories she'd rather not consider.

Shortly before graduating with her MBA, she'd ruined her relationship with Timothy Hayes, the only man she'd ever loved. The man she'd thought she might marry. Tim had asked her. Rather than accepting right off, however, she'd begged for time, saying that she wanted to be sure she was ready. He'd been wonderfully understanding.

But the marriage thing had unglued her. She'd lain awake nights in a sweaty panic. She'd seen Tim differently, her view of him enveloped in a haze of fright.

To feel better, she'd begun making demands of Tim – their purpose, to convince her of his devotion. He'd taken her unusual behavior in stride for a while until those demands became unrealistic, impossible for him to meet and still remain the person he was. He hadn't stayed the distance, hadn't called her bluff. Instead, he'd retreated.

No big surprise.

No secret that life was easier and safer without romantic entanglements.

To hear him tell it, Grandfather and his darling Lily had loved each other madly, yet they'd managed to break each other's hearts. She'd always seen beyond his smile to his sadness. Aunt Hilary had once admitted to being in love with a man for many years, and yet she'd never married him, though she hadn't said why. And her parents had lived separate lives ever since she could remember, while pretending to be devoted in public for the sake of his business and her charities. Now there was a fine example of what a marriage should not become.

Rosalind wondered if all the women in her family were doomed to inherit some cursed gene that denied them life-long, loving relationships.

Not that any of her genes had a thing to do with Skelly McKenna. He was merely a catalyst, she assured herself. A sexy man who'd nudged her slumbering libido awake. Since Tim had walked out on her, she'd been so careful about choosing escorts who were safe that she'd become complacent when it came to recognizing a potential problem.

She'd underestimated Skelly.

She hadn't seen him coming.

Pulling pins from her hair, Rosalind shook the mass free so that it cascaded around her shoulders. Absently, she finger-combed knots out of the long tresses.

And made a vow that she wouldn't mistakenly confuse physical hunger with anything even faintly serious.

THE GOLDEN GLOW FLITTING through the tower room that threw Rosalind into silhouette had clarified her every move as she'd stripped to her undergarments before the windows. Now she was fussing with her cloud of long blond hair.

Just as Lily had that fateful night.

Rosalind...Lily. Lily...Rosalind. They might be interchangeable.

Like seeing a vision from the past.

So what did one do with a nosy, flesh-and-blood spirit if she refused to be scared off?

A haunting question.

Chapter Six

AFTER STRAIGHTENING UP THE MESS they'd left in the parlor, Skelly set Roz's shoe and sock at the bottom of the staircase. Now what? Too revved up to sleep any time soon, he was thinking of calling Keelin. But involving his cousin in another dangerous situation when she had imminent nuptials on her mind didn't quite sit right.

He struck his hands in his pockets and wandered into the shadowy front parlor where his thoughts roamed back to the attic room and Roz. Though he'd realized she'd been warming up to him, he'd been unprepared for her capitulation.

Skelly paced to work off his subsequent frustration.

He could hardly believe Roz had seduced him into kissing her. He could still feel the imprint of her lush body against his, could still taste the sweetness of her mouth. And his imagination wouldn't give him any peace about what might have happened if he hadn't abruptly stopped them both.

So why had he?

Skelly couldn't put a name to what he felt for Roz. That he wanted her was clear enough. But he wouldn't take advantage of any woman not in her right mind. Roz had claimed she wasn't drunk, but he was certain she'd been high on the adrenaline of a near-death experience.

Seeking a distraction, Skelly noted the old brass telescope mounted on a wooden tripod. Drawn to the instrument that was set before a window, he hunched over to see through its single eye. Shards of light exploded through the magnifying lenses. He focused, then shifted to check on the source – a security light attached to someone's home a few blocks away.

Who would ever guess a town this size needed security lights?

Then, again, who would ever guess someone would try to hurt him and Roz,  if not worse, just because he'd publicly run off at the mouth about investigating the past? Lily Lang was looking pretty innocent to him at the moment, Skelly conceded, at least of Frank Sullivan's murder.

Before he could resume his pacing, a furtive movement from across the street caught his attention. Someone seemed to be lurking amongst the trees and bushes. Dwellings on that side were a ways downhill, so it was highly unlikely that the person was doing anything but keeping watch on Lang House. The shadowy figure was too distant and the night too dark for him to make out any details.

Skelly quickly tilted the telescope in the new direction, but by the time he refocused, there was nothing to see. And he began to wonder if the person had been any more threatening than a neighbor walking his dog, waiting for the animal to catch up with him.

Shaking his head in disgust, Skelly hoped he wouldn't be seeing potential murderers in every shadow. Thinking about someone plotting against him and Roz would keep him up all night unless he talked to someone with a calming influence. It didn't take long to decide to call Keelin, after all, if only to hear a friendly voice.

In the rear parlor, he found an old-fashioned phone behind the stained glass lamp. Snatching it, he plunked himself down on the ottoman and dialed her hotel. Sensitive to the feelings of Tyler's teenage daughter Cheryl, Keelin wouldn't move in with the man she loved until after the wedding. No sooner had he snapped off the light in hopes the dark would relax him, the hotel clerk answered and put through his call.

His cousin picked up on the first ring. “The hour is late," came her lovely lilt. “Speak your piece."

"Hey, cous, it's me."

"Ah, Skelly, I'm truly sorry if I was rude. Tyler was supposed to call earlier, and I thought I would vex him a bit for being so negligent of his bride-to-be."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"No, not at all," she assured him cheerfully. “Um, you sound a bit odd."

"Could be the phone or the connection," he fibbed. “I'm not at home."

"The connection is grand, but I'm hearing something desperate in your voice..." She paused, obviously waiting for an affirmation, but when he gritted his teeth and held himself back, she quickly changed the subject. “So, where have you taken yourself to?"

"Galena. That's in northwestern Illinois," he explained, figuring she wouldn't have a clue. “Guess who's investigating a murder?"

For the next few minutes, he got her up to speed on the prospective story that brought Roz into his life and the two of them to Galena. He still hesitated unfolding the evening's main event.

“I did catch part of The Blonde Temptress the other day," Keelin admitted. “So...this Lily Lang may not have been guilty. Interesting, but...don't you normally leave research up to your staff? Unless you have some personal interest in the story that's worth giving up your holiday weekend for," she mused.

Laughing, Skelly insisted, “I really am here because of the story. If the outcome's good, it could cinch my promotion to a prime time spot with the network and take me out of the tabloid game."

"I knew you had it in you." Then, in a sly tone, Keelin asked, “Now what about this Roz?"

"Well...Roz isn't too hard on the eyes," he hedged. “She looks a lot like Grandma Lily did at the same age."

"Ah-ha! So a romantic involvement is a possibility."

Envisioning the kiss they'd shared, Skelly couldn't deny it. “How did you learn to read me so well in such a short time, cous?"

"'Tis a gift."

A little envious of her true gift, Skelly sighed. If only he, too, had inherited one of Moira's special abilities in addition to her heartfelt wishes. Though Keelin had insisted he'd acquired his storytelling talent from their grandmother, it wasn't quite the same as having a little paranormal help if he and Roz found themselves in another potential tight spot.

But Keelin had it.

He'd been skeptical about her self-professed ability to see through another's eyes in dreams until he'd personally witnessed her using the gift to rescue Cheryl Leighton from her kidnappers. He might as well tell her everything – he couldn't help himself. In a way, she'd brought up the subject. And he really did need someone other than Roz with whom he could talk freely.

"Speaking of gifts...you wouldn't have had any weird dreams about me lately?"

"About you? Skelly, now you have me worried. Tell me, for heaven's sake!"

He took a big breath and rapidly said, “The brakes on Roz's car went out tonight and fate didn't do the dirty work. Someone punctured the brake fluid line."

"Dear God, you could have been killed! Why would someone do such a thing?"

"To interfere with our investigation. We'll keep on, of course. Cautiously. The up side is that I now know for sure I didn't come all this way on a fool's mission."

"Merely a dangerous one. What did the local constable have to say?"

"We didn't alert the authorities. We don't need interference."

"But you could use the protection."

"That's where you come in. If you have one of your dreams, you can do something, get help right away."

He didn't want to acknowledge his darkest thought, that if the worst happened to him while Keelin was tuned in, she would be witness. Not that anything that dire would happen to him.

"But, Skelly, you know my dreams don't foretell the future. They merely allow me to see through another's eyes at a time of crisis. If you find yourself in trouble, I will not know until it happens. What if I'm too late? What if whoever I call does not believe me? What if I don't see anything at all?"

"Cous, whoa! I didn't mean to get you crazy. “Nor load her with guilt. She'd had enough of that. “I figured someone ought to know what's going on here."

"You said you're staying with the young woman's family. What about them?"

"Someone I trust," he amended.

For in truth, after talking to Noah Lang, he had some serious doubts about the old man.

"God in heaven, if anything happens to you...I shall never forgive you."

Skelly grinned. “I know it'd be tough finding a new best man at the last minute."

"'Tis not my marriage I'm thinking on, Skelly McKenna, but your well-being," she said irritably.

"I love you, too."

He spent the next few minutes getting Keelin to talk about plans for her wedding the following weekend. Everything on that end seemed to be running smoothly, courtesy of his sister. Aileen always had been able to charm her way through life's little curves.

By the time he hung up, the tension in Keelin's voice had dissipated, though he knew he hadn't lessened her worry. Still, he couldn't help but feel better that she was aware of what was going on. She'd proven herself to be a woman a person could not only trust but could count on in a crisis. He only hoped it wouldn't come to that.

With some of the burden off his shoulders, Skelly was about to head for his bedroom at last. What sounded like a soft shuffle of footsteps on the porch delayed him. Listening intently, he thought the sounds died at the front door.

Had someone been watching the house, after all, and was now ready to break in?

He silently rose and flattened himself against the wall even as the lock jiggled. His mind raced, searching for something he could use as a weapon if he needed one. The fireplace poker. Peering around the edge of the doorway, he could see through the front parlor to the entryway as the door opened and the foyer light snapped on.

Allowing an amazed Skelly to watch Hilary Lang slip inside, carefully lock the door and tiptoe up the stairs.

THE NEXT MORNING, ROSALIND felt like her old self, in complete control. Her summer pants' suit reflected her strictly business mood. Skelly appeared for breakfast dressed a bit more casually, a silk T-shirt beneath his lightweight sports jacket. They managed to avoid the topic of car brakes in front of her aunt. When Hilary inquired after the night before, Rosalind merely told her they hadn't yet succeeded in talking to Diane Nesmith. Skelly's look of relief both surprised and puzzled her.

"I'll get the dishes so you kids can be on your way," Hilary offered. “Will you be home for lunch?"

"I doubt it." Rosalind kissed her aunt's cheek. “I'm not certain about dinner, either."

"Make sure you don't get so caught up in this investigation business that you don't eat. You know how you get on an empty stomach."

Skelly's eyebrows arched. “And how is that?"

"Let's get going." She pushed him into the dining room. Then when she heard the water running from the kitchen, she whispered, “We can walk down to Main Street."

"Your foot –"

"Is fine. If we ask to borrow a car, we'll have to explain ourselves, something I don't intend to do."

A few minutes later, they were outside, making their way down the steep incline to the street below. With her being extra careful, going was slow.

"It'll be easier when we get to the steps." She indicated the long, steep staircase that would take them close to the heart of town. “When we get to Main Street, I'll head for the widow's shop." Having awakened with the first streaks of dawn, she'd had plenty of time to think things through and plan a course of action. “You see what you can find in the newspaper morgue."

"Now wait a minute–"

"Anything before the murder," she went on, her mind made up. “Lily was certain to have been featured on the society pages a few times while she was here. And maybe you'll be able to dig up something new on Sullivan, as well."

"I appreciate your telling me how to do my job, but –“

"You're welcome."

" – I think we should stick together."

"That won't be necessary."

"After what almost happened last night?"

Starting down the staircase that clung to the side of the hill, she considered both what had happened to her car and what had happened between them...and couldn't make up her mind which was the more dangerous for her.

"Last night took me by surprise." Meaning both incidents. “Now I'm warned." Splitting up at least for a while would serve several purposes, including giving her some breathing room. “Besides, it is broad daylight and there'll be hundreds of people on the streets." Many of whom were already strolling in and out of open shops.

"That doesn't mean something couldn't happen to you."

His words sent a shiver of unease through her. “Please don't appoint yourself my guardian. I've been taking care of myself for quite a while now. I'm merely being logical, trying to make up for the time we lost last night."

Relieved when he didn't continue arguing, Rosalind wondered if Skelly's giving in hadn't been too easy. But if he was up to something, she couldn't tell from his expression. Whatever might be rolling around in that devious mind of his, he wasn't giving her a clue.

They took the last of the stairs and headed into the growing crowd of tourists.

"The Clarion office is about a block and a half north," she said, pointing past the red, white and blue bunting that cut across the street.

"Aren't you going to march me to the door?"

When Skelly aimed one of his wicked smiles at her, he rendered her speechless for a moment. That she'd convinced herself to straighten up her act and keep things between them strictly business didn't seem to matter. She cursed the hormones that didn't give a fig about being sensible.

"I trust you'll find the newspaper office on your own." Her tone was purposely clipped. “And I'll find you after I talk to Diane Nesmith."

Skelly gave her a mock salute and left. Rosalind set

off in the opposite direction, glancing over her shoulder when she was halfway down the block. She caught sight of him weaving through the crowd, still headed in the right direction. Good. Breathing more easily now that she was on her own, she zeroed in on the antique store, whose address she'd gotten from a local directory that morning.

An admiring glance at the display of old jewelry and accessories in the window and she gazed beyond the plate glass. At the far end of the store, a lone woman was busy working at a handsome buffet. An old-fashioned lace-trimmed dress covering her too-thin body, light brown hair fluffed out and sprayed so that a tornado couldn't muss it, she appeared sixtyish, the right age for Frank Sullivan's widow.

Taking a deep breath to calm her suddenly jangling nerves, Rosalind entered Yesterday's Treasures.

DIANE NESMITH WAS REARRANGING a display of cut crystal to make room for a newly arrived pitcher and matching stemmed glasses when the tinkle of the bell at the door alerted her. A glance to the front of the store disclosed a woman's indistinct form, the blur caused by the thick prescription lenses she needed for close-up work.

"Perry, we have a customer."

Her husband was in the storeroom, unpacking a crate of items from the 1890s that he'd recently bought at an estate sale. He didn't answer. As usual when involved with something that fascinated him, he was tuned out to everything else, even her. Not wanting to interrupt her own task lest she forget her plan for rearranging the pieces – her short-term memory was already failing her – she called out again.

"Perry!"

But her raised voice was for naught. He still didn't answer. And, as she had hundreds of times before, she reminded herself that a woman could do worse than be married to a man who disappeared into his own world once in a while.

A pleasant if husky female voice directly behind her said, “Excuse me, but I'm looking for Diane Nesmith."

Affixing a smile to her lips, gingerly cradling a stemmed water glass in one hand, Diane turned. “You found her. How can I help..."

The polite greeting died on her lips and her fingers went slack. Crystal shattered around her feet. For a moment, Diane hoped something was wrong with her glasses, for her eyes seemed to be playing tricks on her. She blinked and refocused, but the image, while a bit distorted, remained the same.

Long silver-blonde hair...perfect figure...mole dotting the corner of her mouth...

The room started spinning. Diane swayed and clutched at a highboy for support.

"Are you all right?" the Lily Lang look-alike asked, grasping onto her arm.

Her face practically in that of the other woman, she opened her mouth to speak, but no words would form.

"Here, you'd better sit down. “The young woman gently guided her to a nearby upholstered chair.

Once seated, Diane tried to regain her breath. She was still a bit light-headed and her ears were buzzing. Worse, blood was pumping far too rapidly through her body. She had to calm down. She had to.

"I could get you some water."

"Please. In the back..."

But just then, Perry wandered into the shop, proclaiming, “What an incredible find! You won't believe it, my dear." As he focused first on the customer, then on her, his eyes went round. “Diane?"

"Dizzy," she forced out.

"Your pills! I'll get them." He flew back the way he'd come.

The blonde's forehead was furrowed. “I didn't mean to startle you. I'm Rosalind Van Straaten."

"I can see who you are...that woman's kin."

"Lily's granddaughter."

Now that the initial shock was wearing off, Diane drew her scattered thoughts together. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"To talk."

Obviously about the murder. She'd assumed the past was dead and buried with Frank. That displeasing memories began crowding her mind angered her. Why couldn't she forget the past instead of the things that were important to her in the present?

"We have nothing to talk about, Miss Van Straaten. Your family has done enough."

"I have reason to believe my grandmother didn't kill your husband."

Rosalind had picked up a silver hairbrush and was running her fingers over the design on the back. Fingers that shook slightly. Realizing that Lily's granddaughter was nervous put Diane more at ease. Undoubtedly she merely needed to hear the story first-hand. Not that Diane would ever admit the trouble had started because she hadn't been able to conceive Frank's child. Heartbroken, she'd turned her husband away from her bed when she could no longer tolerate trying.

What she said was” I have good reason to believe Lily did kill Frank. I knew he was cheating on me for years – I even suspected with her – but I tolerated it because he was discreet." Frank hadn't gone without his comforts for long, she remembered bitterly. Less than a year. Whenever the urge took him, he'd slipped away for the night. “Those last several months, though, he saw Lily openly. Didn't care who knew about it."

"He was unfaithful for years?" Rosalind set down the brush and folded her arms over her chest. “And you stayed with him all that time?"

"He wouldn't agree to any kind of separation. His political career. Voters wouldn't have it. Getting a divorce wasn't so easy in those days, especially if both parties didn't agree. Nothing like it is now."

And she'd asked first for an annulment, then a divorce after realizing Frank was only going through the motions of caring about her in public for the voters' sakes. They'd had nothing tender left between them. A woman needed tenderness from a man. Even a barren woman. She'd begged him to let her go. His continuous refusals had made her turn to Perry. She'd assumed Frank's male pride would come before all – that, once he figured things out, he'd change his mind.

Only he hadn't.

"You think your husband's unwillingness to divorce is the reason my grandmother killed him?"

The sickening memories threatened to choke her, but Diane wouldn't let on. Because of Frank, she'd learned to hide her true feelings to the world. She'd become expert at it.

"Lily was making a clean break from your grandfather at last. Everyone knew it. I guess she finally made up her mind which man she wanted. My husband. But when Frank didn't agree to leave me for her..."

"That's all your assumption, though, isn't it?" Rosalind asked, sounding aghast.

"What's going on here? Can't you see my wife is ill?" Perry boomed as he rushed back into the shop and to her side. “Here, my dear, take your medication." He handed her a pill and water, which he watched her take. Then he glared at Rosalind. “My wife has high blood pressure that's very difficult to control. Are you trying to kill her?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I suggest you get out of here. Now."

Rosalind nodded and backed away. “I'll go. I didn't mean for you to be so upset, Mrs. Nesmith. I really am sorry."

That's what Lily had said to her all those years ago, Diane remembered, watching the granddaughter leave. Frank had committed the ultimate betrayal by telling that harlot about the disaster of their private lives. And then Lily'd had the presumption to speak to her about her inability to conceive.

To feign sympathy.

"Are you feeling any better now, my dear?"

"Yes, thanks to you, as always."

She stared up at Perry, his craggy features stark with worry under that salt and pepper toupee he'd taken to wearing. Silly man. Always trying to look younger – for her, he said – when she was already content with him. But that was Perry. He'd always done what he thought essential for her happiness ever since the day she'd turned to him.

Diane never doubted how much this husband cared about her.

The reason she'd never regretted Frank's untimely death.

THOUGH SKELLY HAD FOUND several references to Lily in the year before the murder, mostly on the society pages as Roz had expected, he still hadn't come across any information that raised his reporter's antennae. No matter. He kept at the task, scrutinizing one microfiche after another. Time consuming work, but the owners of the Clarion had only fully embraced computer technology a few years ago, the reason Heidi hadn't pulled any of her research from the Galena weekly.

Trading one microfiche for the next, Skelly wondered if Roz was doing any better than he. If she was trying to control Diane Nesmith as she had him earlier, he doubted it. What had gotten into her? Either she'd rolled off the wrong side of the bed or she'd had trouble sleeping.

If the latter, Skelly certainly hoped he was to blame.

His grin faded when he remembered seeing Hilary sneak inside right after he'd imagined someone was watching the house. He hesitated telling Roz. He knew she wasn't ready to suspect either of the elderly Langs.

His musing was interrupted when Sara – office manager, columnist and proofreader – poked her head into the small back room that served as the morgue. With her light brown pony tail and her freckled nose, the young woman didn't look mature enough to handle so much responsibility.

"How's it going, Skelly? Making any progress?"

She'd not only recognized him but had been aware of his purpose in town. He'd immediately received the red carpet treatment and an unsolicited promise that his visit to the Clarion would remain confidential.

“Only a few issues to go."

"I have a little free time. If you tell me what exactly you're looking for, maybe I can help."

"Thanks, but it's one of those 'I'll know it when I see it' predicaments."

"Gotcha. Yell if you need anything."

"Will do."

Skelly scanned through the next microfiche so quickly that he almost passed up the story covering the Historical Society Ball. He backed up. The annual fundraiser had been held barely a month before the murder. From the spread of photographs, he gathered the whole town had turned out. On closer inspection, one of the shots in particular piqued his interest.

Lily being very friendly with a man who wasn't Frank Sullivan.

Skelly took stock of the burly man in his expensive-looking tuxedo. Most others had settled on suits. He appeared to be fortyish, sported a receding hairline and was chomping on a cigar. While his arm was wrapped possessively around Lily's waist, she was leaning into him, wide-eyed, her smile dazzling. The caption identified the man as Anthony Cavillo.

Centering the photo in the frame, Skelly made a copy, which he took to the reception desk where Sara was focused on her computer until she spotted him.

"Recognize this guy?" he asked, setting the copy on her desk.

"Anthony Cavillo." Her eyebrows shot up. “Sure, everyone knows the owner of River Bluff. That's a combination resort and vacation housing development."

"Where?"

"A few miles southwest of Galena, along the Mississippi bluffs. Take Blackjack road and follow the signs. Oh, and he's part of a syndicate operating River Star, a river boat casino operation."

Skelly's antennae went on alert. “Thanks."

Sara handed him the photo copy and said,” Anthony Cavillo has helped boost the local economy for decades. People around here like him. A lot."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Skelly figured he was warned. He'd better be cautious when sniffing around for information about the eminent businessman. He couldn't help but wonder about the syndicate running River Star, so the first thing he did back in the newspaper morgue was to pull out his cellular telephone and Heidi's card. He called her home number, but her machine answered.

"Skelly here. I need whatever you can get on one Anthony Cavillo from the early sixties up to the present."

He shared the little he already had and asked her to get back to him as soon as possible. Hesitating only a moment, he decided to give her the Lang's number as well, in case he couldn't be reached on his cell phone.

Then he returned to the microfiche. Unfortunately, the next few issues of the Clarion revealed no pearls of information other than details of Lily's arrest, confession, subsequent trial and incarceration.

When he found the name of the man who'd been sheriff at the time, he scribbled it into his notebook. He assumed Orville Galt had been long retired. A local telephone directory gave him Galt's number and address. Talking to him might shed some light on a few things, not the least of which was whether or not he'd alerted Noah Lang of Lily's arrest in the middle of the night as the old man had claimed.

He'd barely recorded the information when he heard Roz in the reception area. Not wanting her to know he was checking on her grandfather's story, he slipped the notebook into his pocket and hurriedly replaced the directory. When she found him, he was straightening up the desk around the microfiche machine.

"Looks like my timing was perfect," she said from the doorway.

"Yep." Still stinging from her impression of a prison commandant, he couldn't help needling her. “I was almost ready to come looking for you."

A deep line appeared between her eyebrows. “Why? I told you I'd find you here."

"Told as in dictated. And to make sure you could keep the upper hand, you chose not to tell me where you were going."

"You knew I was planning to talk to Diane Nesmith."

"But you withheld the name of her shop."

The frown deepened. “An oversight."

"Then you won't mind telling me now."

With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Yesterday's Treasures."

Giving Skelly a gut-wrenching start.

Chapter Seven

TENSION LAY THICK BETWEEN THEM as they traded the cool newspaper office for the late morning heat. Skelly's questions concerning her whereabouts had annoyed Rosalind, but his tight-lipped silence put her on edge. She was debating whether or not to leave it alone when he took the choice from her.

Hooking her arm and pulling her around a corner onto a side street where they were apart from the crowd, he demanded, “So why the hell didn't you tell me the name of Diane Nesmith's shop earlier?"

His delayed reaction astounded Rosalind, as did his irate expression. He was truly angry. Not having a clue as to his point – other than his being ticked because she had taken charge of the investigation – she resented his trying to make her feel culpable.

"I don't get it," she protested, extracting her arm from his grip. “What's your problem?"

"When you came looking for me after your detour to the drug store, I was standing directly in front of Yesterday's Treasures."

"If you say so." She shrugged and settled against an iron railing that protected the stairway to a basement entrance. “I wasn't really paying much attention to anything but finding you. As for this morning, I may have been assertive in delegating tasks, but if you think I purposely withheld information from you, I didn't."

To her relief, some of the tension drained from Skelly and his features softened from angry to concerned. Another surprise, one she didn't want to examine too closely. Remaining annoyed with him was infinitely more comfortable.

"While you were there," he calmly began, “did you happen to run into an older guy wearing an odd-looking toupee?"

She waited until a couple passed by them before quietly saying, “Perry Nesmith, Diane's husband."

"I was right, then," he muttered, jaw clenched. “Nesmith saw us yesterday afternoon, and he recognized us, Roz. So at least one person who could know something about the murder was aware that we were in town."

Unease replaced annoyance. The man hadn't indicated he knew who she was, not even when they'd been face-to-face. “Are you certain?"

"I was admiring the goods in the front window when I felt someone watching me. I caught Nesmith at it, and he suddenly got real busy. Then you found me. As we walked off, I glanced back inside and caught him staring after us. By his face, I'd swear he knew exactly who we were."

Finally, the reason Skelly was so troubled hit her. “The brakes!"

"Perry Nesmith is definitely a candidate," he agreed. “What did he say to you?"

"He ordered me to leave. “And he'd been pretty hostile, Rosalind remembered,

her pulse surging. She waited for more people to pass by. “Diane nearly had a stroke when she took a good look at me. Literally. Perry was being very protective of her."

Skelly swore under his breath. “So you didn't get anywhere with the widow."

"I didn't say that. Diane did some talking while her husband was in back, fetching her medication. “But Rosalind felt unsettled, vulnerable, continuing the conversation in the street. She pulled away from the railing. “Let's finish this inside somewhere."

He canvassed the area as if making certain no one was observing them. “Okay."

A nearby bakery provided tables and chairs for hungry shoppers who wanted a fast energy boost. A peak through the window assured Rosalind the place wasn't too busy yet, so they could have some privacy...if they managed to keep their voices down.

Entering, she directed Skelly to claim a table off in the corner while she went up to the bakery counter. The bear claws were calling her name, so she bought a couple to go with their coffees.

She'd barely slid the tray onto the table before Skelly asked, “So what did you get out of the widow?"

Wanting a moment to settle down inside, Rosalind sat, serenely unloaded their refreshments and placed the tray on an empty chair. She took a swallow of coffee for good measure.

By contrast, Skelly was a mass of impatience. His tight expression. His stiff posture. His fingers uncharacteristically drumming the table top.

Rosalind decided she liked bringing out this side of Skelly. His obvious frustration at not having the upper hand humanized him somehow, made him more appealing...if that were possible. She had to admit he certainly couldn't have been more appealing than he had been the night before. Though she'd like to pretend her tiny romantic digression hadn't happened, memories of that kiss kept nagging her at inopportune moments.

She pushed the mug and plate that Skelly had been ignoring closer to him. “Have some coffee while it's still hot. And these bear claws are to die for."

"Ro-o-oz."

Taking a hint from his warning tone, she figured it was time to stop pushing his buttons. “All right. Diane knew her husband had been cheating on her for years and wanted a divorce that he wouldn't even consider."

"Sullivan was looking out for his political career."

"She, of course, claims the divorce issue prompted the murder. Because Lily had finally decided to make her separation from Grandfather final, Diane figures she expected Frank to do likewise."

"Then killed him when he wouldn't agree to leave his wife for her?"

"In a fit of passion."

A thoughtful Skelly took a big slug of coffee, then shook his head. “Doesn't

make sense. If Lily loved Sullivan so much, why did she keep reconciling with Noah? Could be Diane killed her husband to get out of the marriage...or Nesmith did the dirty work for her."

"I'd say we have ourselves a couple of genuine suspects as Grandfather suggested," she agreed without enthusiasm.

Able to imagine all the years of misery Diane had gone through – not only knowing her husband was cheating on her, but having no way out – Rosalind felt sorry for the poor woman. If Diane had killed Frank Sullivan, the heinous act certainly had been one of desperation.

She took some comfort in her bear claw and coffee before changing the subject. “So, did you come up with anything from the Clarion?"

Skelly pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded and handed it to her. Though his fingers brushed hers only briefly, Rosalind was reminded of the way he'd touched her the night before. Immediately self-conscious, feeling her neck warm, she focused all her attention on the copy of the old newspaper photograph. Of course she recognized her grandmother if not the man.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"I thought you might know."

She read the caption. “Anthony Cavillo. Cavillo. I recognize the name...though not because it was linked with Lily's."

"He's a big shot around here."

Skelly told her about the resort and gambling boat. Rosalind had heard of both. She gathered he found some fault with Cavillo's second business. Gambling was always suspect, but the river boats were a fairly new venture begun long after Lily had disappeared. She didn't see what gambling had to do with her grandmother.

"So Lily knew him. What's the big deal?"

"Roz, wake up and take a closer look. Lily knew him." He arched his eyebrows at her. “And this photo was taken mere weeks before the murder."

Lily and Cavillo did appear to have more than a passing acquaintance, Rosalind realized, a lump settling in the pit of her stomach. A new scenario involving a love triangle occurred to her. She didn't like imagining one man killing another over Lily any more than she did believing Lily could be a murderess. She handed the copy back to Skelly.

"We can only guess whether or not they were having an affair."

"Or we could ask him," Skelly suggested, tapping his finger against the likeness of Anthony Cavillo. “I know you're not thrilled thinking the woman Grandpa Noah worshiped could have been involved with even one man outside of her marriage, but –“

She cut him off. “But I'm trying to be realistic. And non-judgmental. Lily's marriage to Grandfather had been rocky for several years." And perhaps her grandmother had destroyed it even as she'd destroyed her own love-relationship – though her grandfather had been more determined than Tim to hang onto the woman he loved. “Perhaps we should pay Mr. Cavillo a visit later, after we collect the Thunderbird. What do we do in the meantime?"

Only after posing the question did Rosalind realize that, despite her vow to manage the situation, she'd handed control back to Skelly. A quick look at him assured her that at least he wasn't gloating.

He said, “I think we should glad-hand the local candidate for the governor's seat."

"Walt Rogowski?" Starting to feel as if she were out of the loop, Rosalind had to remind herself that being a reporter made Skelly a professional investigator of sorts. His instincts were more finely honed than hers. “What in the world does he have to do with anything?"

"Rogowski was working for Frank Sullivan at the time of the murder. A few years later, he was sharp enough to win Sullivan's seat in the state senate. That's not the kind of man who misses things."

Rosalind agreed. “He would have known exactly what had been going on in the political arena around Sullivan."

Now if only they could convince the candidate to share any information he might have stored away in his memory.

WALT ROGOWSKI FINISHED PROOFREADING a new promotional flyer that was ready to be printed and distributed at the parade on Tuesday. He handed the clipboard back to Kim, a perky seventeen-year-old volunteer. Planning on being a political science major, she would work for his campaign the entire summer until she had to leave for college.

"Looks good," he said, meaning her as well as the copy. He wasn't too old to appreciate her dark beauty...or her youthful innocence.

"I'll take it to the printer personally."

Walt nodded, then dismissed her, after which he searched for Eddie Turner, the not-too-bright but brawny fellow he'd hired to see to his continued good health. He spotted his bodyguard in the midst of several winsome volunteers making paper flowers for the Fourth of July float. The incongruous sight of something delicate coming from those menacing hands amused Walt. Eddie was turning out to be a man of many talents.

The outer office abuzz with activity and noise, he retreated to his antique-lined inner sanctum to work on his Fourth of July speech in peace and quiet. He planned to make it a humdinger, one that would get the entire town behind him, get everyone's juices flowing. Not to mention a substantial amount of cash. He wasn't ignorant of the cost of the governor's seat, and over the years, he'd grown expert at finagling campaign contributions even out of die-hard penny-pinchers.

Opening the folder, Walt went over the bare bones he'd already written. He'd created his own version of family values that would be part of his platform. Not bad. He was recording some thoughts about where to expand and what to add, when a knock at his door rattled his focus.

Vexed, he said, “Come in," though he continued to write so he wouldn't forget anything.

Footsteps stopped directly opposite his desk. “Mr. Rogowski?"

"Call me Walt." He looked up to match the face with the unfamiliar if intriguing husky voice. Hiding his instant hostile reaction took every bit of the finesse he'd developed as a politician. “What can I do you for you folks?"

He aimed a winning smile at Lily's granddaughter and that tabloid scum who accompanied her. He'd been angry when he'd been informed of McKenna's first broadcast, furious when he'd caught the second himself. Forewarned was forearmed...but even so, he couldn't believe his luck. The past had finally come knocking at his door precisely when he was reaching for the pinnacle of his political career.

The blonde gave him a winning smile. “We'd like a few minutes of your time."

"I'm always available to my constituents," he said expansively, as if he didn't want to be rid of them both and the sooner the better. “Sit. Please."

As they took the armed chairs opposite him, Walt leaned his head against the padded leather of his chair back. He'd long ago perfected appearing relaxed even when he was fuming inside. He should damn well have received more than one Academy Award for Best Performance over the years. Though he knew why the couple had come to see him, it wouldn't do to show his hand. He waited for one of them to speak.

"This is Skelly McKenna," the woman began, “and I'm Rosalind Van Straaten. I believe you knew my grandmother. Lily Lang."

Since there was no point in being anything but truthful, he said, “You look like her."

"So I've been told."

"Not that I knew her well." He faced the lout whose visage was nearly as familiar. “McKenna...Skelly McKenna...hmm, where...I have it! You're on that afternoon news magazine show, aren't you?"

"The Whole Story. You also know my father, Raymond McKenna."

Now that took him by surprise. “You're Ray's boy? Well, now." Walt's mind spun wondering how he could use that information to his advantage. Ray McKenna had never quite warmed up to him, but they were connected by the same political party. That counted for something. “You give your daddy my best."

"I'll do that. And I hope you can do something for me, as well." The reporter glanced at Lily's granddaughter. “I mean for us."

"Name it."

"Roz is a little upset with me because I did a follow-up story on her grandmother's escape from prison."

"Follow-up?" So the reporter was keeping his inquisition low-key. Two could play the same game. “But that had to be some twenty-odd years ago."

"Thirty this week," Rosalind said.

Though he didn't appreciate being corrected, Walt gave her a rueful smile. “The years do get away from a person."

"Roz doesn't think Lily killed Frank Sullivan. “And with a casual shrug, McKenna added,” I promised I would take this weekend to ask around, see if I could dig up anything that justifies her position."

He said this like he was only playing at investigating to pacify the woman – because he wanted her? – but Walt wasn't so sure he believed that. As he well knew from decades of personal experience, reporters could be as crafty as politicians when it came to winning.

He steepled his fingers and stared down the other man. “And how does that involve me?"

"You worked for Sullivan. We thought you might remember some of his colleagues...and adversaries. Anyone with a grudge. Or a reason to be jealous."

"Thirty years is nearly half a lifetime."

"But a man was murdered," Rosalind reminded him, as if he could ever forget. “Surely you must have had some speculations of your own at the time."

"An ambitious man always makes enemies. Frank was no exception. But murder as a solution to political disagreement? If that were the case, I would hate to think of how many times I might have been killed over the years."

"Whatever you say stays with us," the reporter promised. “I protect my sources."

As if tabloid reporters had integrity. But determined to seem agreeable and cooperative, Walt frowned and struck a thoughtful pose.

"I do remember a couple of men who didn't like Frank for one reason or another. State Representative Richard Hardy, God rest his soul, was very ambitious, and always in Frank's shadow. And John Melling was relieved of a prestigious appointment after an investigation by a committee Frank headed. Melling made some vague threats when he left Springfield, but no one took him seriously."

McKenna was busy scribbling in a small notebook. “This Melling, is he still alive?"

"As far as I know."

"Where can we find him?"

Yearning to know what was in that little black book, especially any entries specifically about him, Walt had to force his attention on the conversation. “I believe Melling was originally from Rockford, but I'm afraid he's someone I've had no reason to keep up with."

"If we don't succeed here," the woman told the reporter, “on the way back to Chicago, we can stop in Rockford to track down John Melling."

Why couldn't the two of them go on a wild goose chase and get out of his hair now? Walt wondered, seething inside. Why had they chosen to open this Pandora's Box even as the gubernatorial race was gearing up? He was in the spotlight nearly every moment, for God's sake. He didn't need to deal with any more damage control.

Rosalind leaned forward. “How well did you know Frank Sullivan personally?"

"Frank was more than a dozen years older and a whole lot more sophisticated than I was way back then. We didn't run in the same social circles."

"You mean with my grandmother."

"I meant anyone with money."

"Then you wouldn't know whether or not he had any personal enemies?"

"Other than your grandfather?"

Rosalind blanched and fell back into her chair. That shut her up. And it brought out McKenna's protective instincts, Walt noticed. The reporter slipped a hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. A friendly squeeze? Or something more intimate? He made a mental to note to remember that.

"Any other thoughts?" the reporter asked him in a tight voice.

His own patience stretched, Walt spread his hands and shrugged. And when his interrogators rose, he took his first deep breath since the cross examination had begun.

"Thank you for your cooperation," Rosalind said. “Please call me if you think of anything else that might be helpful."

"Of course, my dear." A brilliant idea striking him, Walt let them get to the door before he said, “Wait a minute. I do remember something else." He gazed at Skelly McKenna. “Professional privilege?"

"You've got it."

"Frank did have an ongoing dispute with a local businessman over zoning."

"Someone who still lives in the Galena area?"

"Indeed. His name is..." Walt paused for dramatic effect, so he would seem torn about revealing the man's identity. Having done the bastard a big favor, he never had felt that he'd received equal compensation in return. “His name is Anthony Cavillo."

STILL STINGING FROM THE COMMENT about her grandfather, Rosalind waited until they were well away from Rogowski's office before asking, “So what do you think?"

"That we're on the right trail."

"What about Walt Rogowski himself? Do you suppose he knows anything he didn't tell us?"

"Hard to say. He's real slick."

"I didn't like him, either."

Skelly gave her a surprised look. “At least we agree on something."

She hadn't thought they'd disagreed on much since he'd consented to help her. Their squabbles basically reflected their continuing struggle for authority rather than on how to proceed or what to think about whom.

"I assume we're agreed that we need to get to Cavillo as soon as possible," she said.

"Okay. So we agree on two things."

Rosalind spotted a store that had a public telephone. “I'm going to find out if the car is ready."

When she picked up her pace, Skelly said, “You're limping again."

So she was. “But not badly."

"Not yet."

He put a hand on her arm to slow her, reminding Rosalind of the way he'd touched her in the politician's office. Her pulse quickened. Either Skelly was protecting her...soothing her...or seeing to her hurts.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

What kind of a business relationship was that?

Though she'd tried her best to put it out of mind, she recalled the way she'd gotten to her bedroom the night before. “Are you going to carry me up those stairs, too?" she asked, indicating the ones built into the hill.

"Depends on how badly you want me to." Skelly's wicked grin dimpled his cheek.

Ignoring the thrill that shot straight through her, she tartly answered, “Depends on how much you irritate me in the next few minutes."

Skelly snorted and their gazes met. Rosalind realized she was grinning idiotically. Worse, her heart was thumping for absolutely no reason...that was...no reason other than her locking wits with a man who'd wormed his way through her defenses. She was finding it difficult to remember they'd ever been adversaries.

"Here." He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and whipped out his cellular phone. “Make that call."

A nearby bench was available, so Rosalind took a seat and punched in the number. Jarvis answered. To her disappointment, he told her the Thunderbird wouldn't be ready for a couple of hours. The kid he'd sent to Dubuque to fetch a part was only on his way back now. Discouraged at being stopped cold for the moment – they'd been on a roll so far – she shared the bad news with Skelly.

"So we'll have lunch, then hang around Lang House."

Unable to think of a better proposal, she contented herself with choosing the place to eat. Barely an hour later, when Skelly suggested they call a taxi, she insisted on walking. A course she soon came to regret. Though she negotiated the steep staircase with care, barely feeling a dull ache in her foot, the ache eventually turned into an annoying twinge.

Which Skelly observed. “You really are limping."

Exhausted both by the climb and the soaring mid-day heat, she conceded her mistake. “I guess a taxi would have been the thing."

Skelly removed his jacket and hooked the garment over one shoulder. Perspiration glued his silk T-shirt to his chest. He might have been half-naked, Rosalind thought, mesmerized.

"Maybe you'll listen to me next time."

Expression intent, he shifted the jacket into one arm and came at her as if he meant to scoop her up in his arms and carry her uphill. She reacted by instinct, placing a hand square against his damp, hot chest.

"Don't even think about it," she warned. “You'll regret the hernia by the time we get to the front steps, and then you'll be blaming me for the demise of your manhood. It's only another block. I'll survive."

"Hey, you're the boss," he said with a straight face.

Feeling his heart palpating against her palm, not to mention the wet heat of exertion, she snatched her hand away, grumbling, “Remember that."

Grateful when they reached the grounds, Rosalind noticed no cars sat in the parking area. Grandfather and Aunt Hilary were both out for the day. She limped up the walkway, hobbled up the steps and threw herself into one of the flower-cushioned wicker porch chairs. Skelly tossed his jacket onto another chair, grabbed a third, twirled it around and sat facing her.

This time, a bit self-conscious beneath his gaze, she was the one to draw off her shoe and sock. Her ankle and foot weren't even half as puffy as they had been the night before. Carefully, she tested them, rotating and stretching. Barely a twinge.

"Not too bad."

"Let me see."

On alert when Skelly reached for her leg, she stiffened. He lightly grasped her calf and ankle and guided her resisting foot into his lap.

"Roz, loosen up."

How could she when warning signals were going off inside her head. “This is as loose as I get."

Glancing at her through thick black lashes, he murmured, “Now why don't I believe that?"

Rosalind grew even more flustered as his hand slid beneath her pants' leg toward her calf. The thrill of his touch didn't stop there, but kept traveling all the way up her leg. She failed to ignore the sensation. He gently massaged her calf muscles, and ever-so-slowly worked his way down to the heel of her foot.

"That's not where it hurts," she finally protested. Though he was creating an ache of a very different kind in her, it wouldn't do to elaborate.

Repeating the disturbing maneuver, he asked, “Haven't you ever had a massage before?"

"Of course. I'm opening a day spa in two weeks, for heaven's sake." Though she hadn't give her business a thought since she'd left Chicago. “I'm personally familiar with all the services we're going to offer."

"Then you should know how important it is to relax the muscles around the injured area first."

Theory was one thing, practice another. She wasn't relaxing at all. Now he was working on her heel. Squeezing. Pressing. Making her antsy.

Trying to sound natural, she asked, “What makes you such an expert?"

"My sister Aileen is a massage therapist. She taught me some of her tricks."

"And I'll bet you take every available opportunity to use them."

"If I can be of help...” He shrugged modestly and attended to her arch. “I remember that time last year when Ursula foolishly miscalculated the difficulty of a jump and banged herself all the way down..."

Down where? Rosalind wondered. Some ski slope? Visions of Ursula the bikinied ski-bunny intruded.

"No broken bones or anything," Skelly continued. His thumbs were probing the ball of her foot now – her weakness. “But it would have been a miracle if she'd come out of the accident unscathed."

Part of her was turning into a lump of putty in his hands...while the sane part had every intention of putting an end to his subtle manipulation. Somehow, she couldn't manage getting up and running into the house as she'd like.

Trying to retain a cool facade, she forced herself to say, “And you ministered to poor Ursula's needs."

"Of course. I laid her out on the table and went over her entire body, inch by inch. Her spine. The back of her neck. Her limbs."

Imagining him doing the same to her, Rosalind squirmed in her chair. “I get the picture."

"She especially liked it when I worked on her toes."

He demonstrated, one toe at a time, gently squeezing the tips and working his way down. Then he advanced along the sides of her foot toward her ankle. Finally, he arrived at the injured area, but when he touched her, the twinges were all pleasurable ones.

"Ursula was so pleased that she flipped onto her back and offered me her tummy."

An image she didn't want to conjure. “Don't hold your breath," she muttered.

Though each stroke was seducing her into an altered state of mind.

Rosalind felt as if Skelly were making love to her in full view of anyone who might pass by. Embarrassed as she might be, she was also glued to her chair.

"Yep, you should have heard her purr in appreciation."

Purr?!

"As in Ursula the cat?"

"Last time I looked. I was house-sitting for Aileen and took Urs outside for some fresh air. The poor darling got herself up onto a garage roof and came down the wrong way." Skelly's blue eyes twinkled as he innocently asked, “Why? What did you think I was talking about?"

"Exactly what you wanted me to."

Straightening in her chair, Rosalind pulled her foot free and glared into his fraudulent expression. At the moment, he was working on innocent. Ursula the ski bunny, indeed. He'd done it to her again, inveigled her with one of his stories. Undoubtedly the other tales, while having some grain of truth, had been twisted to suit his purposes, as well.

"Charlatan," she muttered under her breath, glad she was finally wise to him. Somehow, she'd find a way to give as good as she got. “I think I'd better get that ice."

"Need some cooling down, do you?"

Rosalind repressed the desire to eradicate that smug smile from his lips. “Oh-h-h...get over yourself!"

She swiped her shoe and sock from the porch floor, popped out of the chair and over to the door. Breaking the close connection gave her a sense of triumph disproportionate to the simple action.

After glancing at his watch, Skelly followed suit, retrieving his jacket, though he seemed to be heading for the steps rather than the door.

"We probably have another hour to kill," he said. “Why don't you lie down, get some rest?"

She realized he didn't mean to come inside. “What about you?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"You haven't stretched your legs enough for one day?"

"I thought about getting a good look at the neighborhood. While it's still light."

The simply-stated intention held sinister overtones. Hence, her “The door will be locked," came out sounding more like a threat than a point of information.

Skelly didn't seem to notice. He was already scoping out the area to the north and west. “I can manage the bell." He gave her a distracted smile and indicated the front door. “Well, go ahead. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't see you safe inside?"

Any retort died at his safe. He didn't think she was. Underneath all her bravado, she didn't think she was, either, Rosalind realized. Then again, neither was he.

"And who's going to watch over you?" she asked.

He parted his suit jacket, giving her a glimpse of the cell phone. “I can always dial 9-1-1, ma'am."

He made her smile. And relax.

"Don't get lost," she warned anyway.

But once inside, Rosalind realized the only thing that made her feel truly safe was being near Skelly.

Chapter Eight

"A MAN CAN'T EVEN READ his newspaper in peace," Orville Galt grumbled to himself.

Rising, arthritic fingers hanging onto the section containing the Police Blotter, he opened the door. A sultry summer breeze swept over him. The man on the other side appeared hot and winded, but Orville was glad to be wearing a flannel shirt.

Squinting over his dime store half-moon glasses at the familiar face, he asked, “Can I help you?"

"You can if you're Orville Galt, retired sheriff."

"Don't tell me I won some kinda sweepstakes." He poked his head out the door and peered around. “Nope. No Prize-mobile." Then he inspected the TV tabloid reporter more closely. “And if you're tryin' to sell me brushes, you forgot your sample case."

"I'm Skelly McKenna from The Whole Truth."

"Hm, so you are."

"Could you spare a few minutes to talk to me?"

"I'll prattle to anyone who'll listen. Keeps me from makin' friends with the walls. C'mon in if you don't mind the mess. Can't afford a cleaning lady more'n once a month and it's darn near that now."

His place was tired-looking like him, magazines and books stacked on every horizontal surface, but it was home. He closed the door and claimed his La-Z-Boy.

"Place hasn't been the same since Agatha died." Orville added the newspaper to the growing pile next to his recliner. “Keeping up with chores has never been my strong suit."

"But I gather law enforcement was."

"Forty-odd years." With a resigned sigh, he removed the magnifying glasses and set them down on a rickety occasional table. “But that's enough small talk. Sit and let's get down to business."

Springs squealed in protest and the middle cushion sagged alarmingly when the reporter took the couch. He slid to one side where he hung onto the arm to keep from being swallowed whole.

"How well do you remember the Frank Sullivan murder?" McKenna began.

"Figured that's what you were about." Orville couldn't help his resentment at the younger man's having free reign to dig into the case when his own hands had been tied. “Murder's a major event around here, not like in the big city. In all my years on the force, I had maybe a dozen homicides."

"I suspect this was your most prominent case."

"By far. So you believe Lily Lang was innocent."

"I'm beginning to. And I figured if anyone could help me make up my mind, it would be you."

A little flattered despite the bitterness, he grunted. “I gotta admit Lily's confession made the case easy on us. I've always wondered if it wasn't too damn easy."

"Regret?" McKenna jumped on that.” Then why didn't you hold off until you investigated other suspects?"

"Lily confessed! The highly experienced D.A. believed her. I was the new sheriff."

Orville clenched his jaw at having to defend himself. He was still ticked that he hadn't had the clout to run the investigation the way his gut told him.

"Were you at the crime scene?"

"First to arrive. Lily wasn't herself, granted. She was subdued...like the light had gone outta her. But she told me what she'd done...and handed over the gun nice as you please."

"And that made it too easy?"

"Not that exactly...it's not the only time a murderer stuck around and confessed. Seems a woman's more prone to giving herself up, especially when she's killed a man she loved because he was a threat."

McKenna started. “Are you saying Lily was roughed up?"

Orville shook his head. “Didn't look it. Darn curious, too. Signs of a struggle all over the room. A table knocked over. Broken lamp. Sofa outta line. But Lily...why, she was perfectly dressed, every hair in place...like she was gonna step in front of the cameras any minute...Not a sign of blood on her, neither."

"But Sullivan was shot. Why should Lily have had blood on her?"

"Didn't even think about it then. “Drawing on a memory, he frowned. Couldn't see 'em in that light, but the lab found traces of blood on the gun. “Sullivan's blood. Always did puzzle me how there could be blood on the weapon but not on her hands."

"She could have washed them."

"After wiping the gun clean...or trying to," he agreed. “But why would Lily go to that trouble if she planned to confess anyhow? And why would she claim she'd never left the room after shooting Sullivan...except to make the call from the other parlor, of course."

"You're certain she wiped the weapon clean?"

"Must've, 'cause the technician couldn't find no other prints, only the one set where she was hanging onto the gun when she turned it over to me. Funny thing, though. Whatever she used to wipe the danged thing clean...we never did find hide nor hair of it."

"Did you ask her to explain?"

"Asked her lots of things she wouldn't answer. Just kept on saying she'd killed Frank Sullivan over and over. No details. No motive. No regret."

"Can you remember anything else that didn't make sense?" McKenna asked with relish, as if his juices were flowing.

Orville started. Why should he lay out everything he knew or suspected for some reporter who meant nothing to him? He'd said too much already.

"I'd reckon that was enough to haunt me for a long time afterward, until Lily escaped Dwight, anyhow. Can't say I was sorry to hear she was free."

"One more thing about the night of the murder...after Lily turned herself in, who did she make her one phone call to?"

The question surprised Orville into answering. “Why, no one. Her sister-in-law arrived at the house to see to little Claudia before we took her mama away."

"What about a lawyer?"

"Against my advice, she refused to phone for counsel," he said, growing ticked at himself for continuing to blab. “Said she'd take a court-appointed lawyer. I believe she would've, too, if that husband of hers hadn't insisted on bringing in some hotshot. And him a step away from divorce court. Hiring that big city lawyer was a waste of his good money, though...considering..."

"That Lily wouldn't cooperate in defending herself," McKenna finished.

"If she would've furnished some extenuating circumstances, he mighta been able to get her a reduced sentence."

"So you placed the call to her husband."

"No sir, that I didn't."

"One of your deputies?"

"Not without orders from me. I imagine his sister let Lang know what was going on."

And that was all he was going to say. McKenna could dig for the rest. Orville was looking forward to seeing what a big city reporter could do with the rumors and innuendoes rife in a small town.

SKELLY LEFT THE RETIRED SHERIFF'S modest two-story frame house surrounded by older, grander neighbors with better tended grounds, certain that, before he and Roz were through with their personal investigation, he was going to have his hooks in the story of a lifetime. A damn career maker. The big boys at the network would definitely sit up and take notice.

The bonanza of information he'd never expected to unearth when he'd sought out Galt stunned him.

Self-defense was something he hadn't considered before. How could there have been a struggle with Lily showing no signs of it? And from Galt's description of her appearance...it almost sounded as if she'd prepared herself to give the performance of her life.

Something was wrong there, big time.

A conspiracy of silence surrounded Sullivan's death. The authorities had held back information from the press, while Lily had held back information from the authorities. Why? Had someone with connections in a high place had it in for her? And who had she been trying to protect?

If he'd had any doubts that Lily Lang was innocent of murder, they certainly had vanished, Skelly admitted.

He suspected that Orville Galt harbored a secret guilt in his own participation in the Sullivan case...rather in his decided lack thereof. He'd had plenty of years to forget the details, and yet he hadn't. If only the man would prove cooperative later, when he was putting together the segment for The Whole Story. Skelly could imagine the impact of a televised interview with the retired sheriff.

He picked up his pace, Lang House being only a few blocks away. What was he going to tell Roz? He hadn't wanted her to know he was checking on her grandfather, and Galt certainly hadn't corroborated the old man's story.

Noah had insisted the sheriff, not Hilary, had called him. Why would he have lied? And why had his sister gone along with him? Unless Noah had said the first thing that came to mind and Hilary chose to protect him from whatever truth he was hiding. For Roz's sake, Skelly wished he didn't have to acknowledge the only obvious conclusion he could draw.

That Noah Lang had already arrived in Galena before Frank Sullivan drew his last breath.

HAVING ICED HER FOOT for nearly twenty minutes, Rosalind wavered between worried and impatient. Where was Skelly? He didn't seem the type who would lose himself in Galena's past by taking in its diverse architecture on a foot-tour. Certain he'd chosen to investigate the neighborhood so he would be familiar with his surroundings in case they ran into more trouble, she couldn't believe how long he was taking.

The top floor turret windows would afford her a better view of the blocks adjacent than those on the first floor. She hurried upstairs to her bedroom. Disappointment pricked her when she saw no sign of the man. She whipped away from the windows and began to pace.

The bed reminded Rosalind of Skelly's suggestion that she get some rest, but she was too keyed up to continue doing nothing. Besides, lying against the coverlet's plush folds thinking about him might provoke fantasies she'd rather not have. Even now she imagined she could feel the mattress pressed into the back of her legs as she kissed him...

"No, you don't, Skelly McKenna," she muttered. “Stop sneaking up on me like that."

But what to do with herself? Neither Aunt Hilary nor Grandfather had returned home.

Her gaze wandered the room, stopping at an inside wall. A corner portion was actually a slanted door that would open to a storage area nestled under the eaves. Not having investigated the treasure trove since childhood, she wondered if Lily's things still waited there intact...even as Grandfather had so long ago mandated.

Only one way to find out, she thought, glad to have a distraction. Maybe Lily herself had left some inadvertent clue as to what had prompted her to lie that fateful night.

Why hadn't she thought of this before?

The wall separated easily and the light switch still worked, two bare bulbs illuminating a space that was a dozen feet long but only half as wide, the outer wall being slanted and making it impossible for her to stand upright.

A rod the length of the enclosure still sagged from hanger-upon-hanger of glamorous clothing, all sealed in zipped plastic bags. Boxes of all sizes and descriptions both below and lining a narrow shelf above held more of Lily's possessions. Halfway along the outer wall, a dormer window with a cushioned seat awaited. As a child, she'd spent hour after hour sitting there, sorting through boxes and albums of souvenirs from her grandmother's Hollywood days.

Everything looked exactly as she remembered, as if nothing had been touched in thirty years. But, of course, that was impossible. No dust. The place was obviously cleaned on a regular basis, undoubtedly Grandfather's doing. Heart hurting for him, she suspected he spent too much time alone in here with his beloved's things, immersing himself in the past.

She began by eliminating containers of shoes or other accessories as well as those filled with the movie star memorabilia she'd once been so fond of. What she dragged to the floor space around the window were several plain cardboard cartons, a flowered hatbox holding some loose black and white photographs and a small trunk.

Hatbox first.

Though she'd never done more than take a quick look at these particular photographs before, Rosalind instantly identified them as being a record of her grandmother's growing up years in Galena. Whether faded from age or in soft focus because the camera had been cheap, Lily was nonetheless recognizable because of her silvery hair and tiny mole.

Even as a toddler, she'd charmed the camera. A tomboy at age six or seven, she'd posed at the top of a narrow fence, tongue sticking out boldly at the lens. By the time she was twelve or thirteen, she'd turned self-conscious...yet the camera had gone on loving her. And as a teenager, she'd been absolutely breathtaking. That her clothes were cheap and often worn didn't detract from her natural charisma.

Or from boys being infatuated with her.

Spreading out a number of photographs like a hand of cards, Rosalind more closely examined Lily's companions. The same two dark-haired boys appeared in several shots taken over a period of years, the last of which had probably been taken at a prom. Lily was dancing with one of them – they were obviously caught up in each other romantically by this time – while the second watched on from the sidelines, his expression wistful. She could be wrong, but she thought the loner bore a strong resemblance to Frank Sullivan. As for Lily's dancing partner, he also seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place him.

Rosalind slipped the photo into her pocket and next sorted through the cardboard cartons, unfortunately finding nothing of interest. She quickly went on to the last item.

The small trunk was filled with keepsakes of a later time. An album of photos recorded the years of Lily's marriage. And of her own mother's childhood. Rosalind contemplated with longing the shots of her grandparents and mother, all so happy together. It seemed that Claudia Lang had been as loving and demonstrative a child as the grown-up Claudia Van Straaten was cool and distant.

What happened to make her change so?

A lump in her throat, Rosalind abandoned the reminders of what she'd missed growing up in a divided household. Despite hearing the muffled sounds of more than one car pulling up outside – her aunt and grandfather must both be home – she picked up a container whose wooden surface was intricately carved with tiny leaves and flowers.

When she tried to open the box, however, it thwarted her. The lid stayed firmly in place, and no matter how thoroughly she looked, she could find no visible latch.

Below, the front door slammed, but Rosalind wasn't ready to give up on the box yet.

The catch had to be hidden, so she ran her fingers along every carved surface, testing here, pressing there, searching for anything that would give. The box got away from her, bouncing off the trunk with a loud thunk. Saving it from hitting the floor, she tried again. She doubled her efforts, finally discovering that one of the tiny carved flowers felt slightly higher than the others.

Though she gave it her full attention, the carving wouldn't push. Nor would it slide in any direction. But, to her satisfaction, it did turn slightly...the subtle twisting movement followed by a click.

The lid popped open to reveal the box's contents, a leather-bound diary, 1963 embossed in gold on its cover.

The year Frank Sullivan died and Lily had been incarcerated.

A thread of triumph surged through Rosalind as she imagined the insights Lily's written thoughts might give her. Before she could even turn back the cover to take a peek, however, she heard her name yelled from below.

"Rosalind, are you home, honey?"

"Yes, Aunt Hilary," she returned. “I'll be down in a minute."

But her aunt's slow tread continued up the stairs. Frustrated, not wanting to share her discovery before she could give it a thorough once-over herself, Rosalind secreted the diary and replaced the wooden box in the trunk. She didn't have enough time to put everything back the way she'd found them, so she hurried from the storage area, making do with switching off the light and closing the door behind her. She left the bedroom even as her red-faced aunt puffed up to the landing.

"I thought I heard you rummaging around, but I didn't see the Thunderbird."

"That's because I left it at a gas station. The brakes needed some adjustment. “An understatement, perhaps, but better a grain of truth than an outright lie.

"Better safe than sorry, especially on these hills."

Her stomach knotting at the memory of the close call, she changed the subject. “I should come down to talk to you and grandfather."

"Noah's not here, honey. He must have gone out while I was at the supermarket."

Curious...Rosalind was certain she'd heard more than one car pull up.” Where is he, then?"

Her aunt glanced away. “He did one of his disappearing acts."

"Again?" Two days in a row?

"He goes off alone for a while when the whim takes him, usually a few times a week. His strike for independence, I guess. Nothing to worry about."

But Hilary herself sounded worried, Rosalind thought. And her aunt was acting as nervous as she had under Skelly's questioning the night before.

So when the older woman started down the stairs, she followed. “I'll help you unpack the groceries."

"You're such a dear. Are you certain I can't convince you to have dinner with us? I'm making your favorite."

"Roast pork and pan-roasted potatoes?" Mouth watering already, Rosalind figured she'd better consult Skelly before committing them in case he felt they needed to be elsewhere. “I'm not sure yet, but as soon as Skelly gets back... “Hearing the downstairs door open again, she didn't finish. “Maybe that's him now."

A breathy Hilary stopped at the second floor landing. “Actually, I believe that's Claudia coming in with more groceries. She arrived a few minutes after you and Skelly left this morning."

"Mother is here? You didn't tell me she was coming. “And why wouldn't her mother have mentioned it? Rosalind had called specifically to let her know what she and Skelly were up to.

"She took me by complete surprise. Said she decided to come at the last minute because she realized she needed a few days of rest and relaxation."

That didn't sound right. Her mother didn't have a spontaneous bone in her body. And she'd always maintained relaxation was for other people who didn't know what to do with their lives. Besides, she'd been so involved with the details of her upcoming charity event the other night that she'd hardly spared her own daughter a few minutes of her precious time.

No, if her mother were here, the visit had purpose.

Only Rosalind wasn't certain she wanted to know its significance.

SKELLY DECIDED DINNER AT Lang House was a fine idea until he learned that Claudia Van Straaten had arrived unannounced.

Having hoped he could drop some of the information he'd gathered from Orville Galt at the table to see how Noah and Hilary would react, he didn't feel comfortable doing so while Roz's mother was present. He couldn't forget how young Claudia had been at the time of the murder. The tragedy had affected her so deeply that even her psychiatrist couldn't trigger memories her subconscious had repressed.

Or so she'd said.

He also couldn't forget being convinced that she'd lied about what she did or did not remember.

Her unexpected appearance already suspect, Claudia compounded Skelly's distrust when she didn't say a single word to him. She even avoided looking at him directly. Roz wasn't faring much better treatment. It was as if Claudia chose to forget they were present...or at the very least to forget their reason for being here.

Provoking her hostility again would merely upset everyone, so Skelly chose to wait for a more opportune moment to see what he could get from Noah and Hilary.

Roz's grandfather was the one to bring up the investigation.

"So, was your day productive?" Noah asked her halfway through dinner.

"I had an interesting encounter with Diane and Perry Nesmith."

When Roz finished detailing her visit, Noah said, “I told you the widow was a likely candidate. Not that you can prove anything. And what would pointing a finger at her now serve? She'd probably have that stroke her husband must be worried about, and that would be that."

Skelly exchanged a look with Roz. From her expression, he figured she was as baffled as he. While her grandfather maintained Lily was innocent, while he'd included the widow among the possible suspects, he certainly didn't sound as if he really wanted them to do anything about it.

No more than he'd tried to prove his darling Lily's innocence before her incarceration, Skelly thought.

"We're not through by any means, Grandfather. “Finished with her dinner, Roz placed her flatware on her plate and set her napkin on the table. “As a matter of fact, we have another lead we'll be following up in a little while."

"Tonight?"

Noah's white hair seemed to bristle in disapproval. Hilary merely appeared troubled. And Claudia was picking at her food, acting as if she hadn't heard a word.

Skelly said, “That's when we might be able to find Anthony Cavillo over at River Bluff."

After they'd picked up the Thunderbird, he'd called the resort and had been informed that the owner wasn't around but would be later that evening. Roz had agreed they should head out directly after dinner.

"Cavillo?" Hilary echoed, now appearing puzzled. “He's never been involved in politics. What does he have to do with anything?"

"Cavillo and Sullivan were locked in a long term dispute over zoning, “Roz informed her family. “At least that's what Walt Rogowski told us."

Noah frowned. “You talked to Rogowski about this?"

An obviously distressed Claudia suddenly threw down her fork and popped out of her chair. “I don't know why you insist on ruining a fine dinner with this horrid topic, Rosalind! I certainly taught you better!" Trembling under the surprised stares her family gave her, she took a deep breath, and within seconds, her visage smoothed. Suddenly smiling as if she'd never been upset at all, she patted Hilary's hand. “Since you did all the cooking, I insist on handling the clean up."

What a turnabout, Skelly thought, even as he realized that the normally cool Claudia doted on her aunt. Hilary had claimed she'd practically raised Roz. He suspected she'd done the same with Claudia after Lily was imprisoned.

Expression strained, Hilary murmured, “How thoughtful of you, dear."

"I'll help clear," Roz volunteered, standing and gathering dishes.

"I am not helpless, Rosalind. “Claudia's frosty blue eyes focused on her daughter. “You run along with your friend and play detective if you must."

Mother and daughter locked gazes. Something subtle passed between them and Roz backed off.

"Fine."

While she didn't show it, Skelly knew Roz was hurt by her mother's uncaring attitude toward her. From her nonchalant demeanor, he also understood she was used to Claudia's indifference and had cultivated an uncaring facade in self-defense.

Heart going out to Roz, wishing like hell he could hold her in his arms and take away the hurt, he quietly suggested, “Let's get out of here."

Before he said something to her mother that he wouldn't be able to take back.

BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T NEED TO LEAVE for River Bluff immediately, Rosalind talked Skelly into visiting her attic room.

"You want to be alone with me, is that it?" he murmured in her ear as they reached the second floor landing.

Her heart thumped at his suggestive tone. “Down, boy. I'm not the diversion."

"Then what is?"

"Grandfather couldn't tolerate being without keepsakes to remind him of Lily." Excitement quickening her step, she raced up the last flight. “I went through her things, hoping to find some clue to help us."

"And?"

"How about a diary dated 1963..."

Skelly whistled.

"...which I haven't had a look at yet because Aunt Hilary interrupted me." Entering her room with Skelly right behind, she went straight for the closet and switched on the light. “Careful of your head."

One look at the half-open hatbox in addition to the bit of delicate material sticking out from under the trunk's lid made her stop cold. Skelly ran right into her.

"Roz?"

"Someone's been up here since this afternoon." Her chest tightened and she had trouble taking a normal breath. “This isn't the way I left things."

"The diary?"

Fear in her soul, she hastened to the trunk and flipped open the lid. A gauzy scarf she hadn't even noticed before sat on top. She dug down and found the carved box, which had been dumped on its side. Hands trembling, she picked it up and triggered the catch. Only when she saw the leather book inside did she allow herself to breathe normally.

"It's here."

"The perpetrator obviously didn't know what to look for."

"Then why?"

"To see what you were up to. If you were interested in Lily's things, you must have had a reason. Someone wanted to know what that was."

She was thankful he didn't further voice his suspicions. Her grandfather, aunt and mother were the only ones with access to her room, she conceded uneasily. Any one of them could have searched it while she and Skelly retrieved the Thunderbird from Jarvis Wiggs. But why? She didn't want to believe a person she loved had anything to hide.

Diary in hand, Rosalind slid onto the window seat where Skelly joined her. A tight squeeze. Too aware of his presence, she opened the leather cover and flipped through the initial entries – three or four per week – reading bits and pieces here and there.

"Lily and Grandfather were together at the beginning of the year." She flew through several more weeks, stopping at the Ides of March. Brow furrowing, she read aloud. “'Noah is driving me to the edge with his jealousy. He is certain all men desire me as much as he does. Maybe in my youth...Even so, why doesn't he trust me?'"

"That doesn't sound like a woman having an affair with another man," Skelly said.

"No." Rosalind skimmed the next few pages. “Hm. The pattern's clear. When Lily couldn't tolerate Grandfather's jealousy any more, she left him...this time, though, it was for good." She pointed. “'I know I must press the divorce. My heart breaks.' Poor Lily. She still loved him."

"Maybe she turned to Frank Sullivan in despair."

"But his widow said they'd been having an affair off and on for years," Rosalind remembered, scanning for any details about the dead man. “Here. 'I am disappointed in Frank. His actions are not worthy of the boy he once was. I've pleaded with him, but I doubt he will stop.'"

"Stop what?"

"She doesn't say."

"This could be it. Whatever Sullivan was into that she disapproved of could have gotten him killed."

Rosalind nodded, next reading from the middle of June, less than two weeks before the murder. “'Noah arrived in Galena unannounced once more. He keeps hoping to catch me with my lover.'" That her grandfather had been in the habit of showing up unpredictably made her uneasy. “'He means to have custody of Claudia. He says my low behavior is upsetting her. How is that possible when I have never betrayed him?'" The import hitting her, she caught her breath and locked gazes with Skelly. “Do you realize what this means?"

"She and Sullivan weren't lovers."

"No matter what his wife and everyone else believed." She read on from the same passage. “'It's true. Claudia has not been herself lately. Not since arriving in Galena. She won't tell me what's troubling her. When I broach the subject, she turns away from me. I seldom see the warm, happy girl I raised. She is becoming withdrawn. Unpredictable. Another worry on my heart. All my fault. Divorce must be terribly frightening to a child, even though I think of her as a very mature thirteen. A young lady.'"

Lily's self-incriminating thoughts haunted Rosalind. She'd seen the photographs showing her mother to be a normal, loving child. Here, Lily indicated that her daughter changed. Withdrawn. Unpredictable. She'd often thought of her mother in those same terms.

"Are you all right?"

Appreciating Skelly's concern, she admitted, “I'm a little sad. It never occurred to me that Mother was permanently scarred from the emotional upheaval between her own parents."

"Some children are affected more than others."

"I'm certain you're right."

Did that include him? She remembered Skelly hadn't had a secure upbringing himself, what with his mother dying in childbirth and his father holding his affections at bay in unfair retribution. Quickly skimming the final half-dozen entries that appeared to be more of the same, she closed the diary, glad to be done with it for the moment.

"We don't have to see Cavillo tonight if you don't want to," Skelly said, sliding a comforting arm around her shoulders.

She leaned into him as if it were natural to her. “Of course we do. The rest can wait."

Getting out of the house and forgetting the suspicions fomenting in the back of her mind was exactly what she needed.

...Noah arrived in Galena unannounced once more...keeps hoping to catch me with my lover...

Rosalind locked the diary away, wishing she could lock away the memory of those words with equal ease.

PERRY NESMITH HAD BEEN WAITING across from Lang House for what seemed like hours before Lily's granddaughter exited with that gossip monger. He pulled himself together and rushed across the street as they approached the parking area.

He yelled, “Miss Van Straaten!" hoping to give her as good a start as she'd given Diane that morning.

"Mr. Nesmith, what can I do for you?"

"You can damn well stay away from wife!"

"I appreciate your concern –“

"You couldn't possibly!" If anything, his anger had doubled since that morning. “Diane is very a sick woman. She doesn't need your kind stirring her up."

"Now, wait a minute!" the reporter growled, taking a step toward him.

The blonde put out a hand to hold him back. “Skelly, let me handle this." She seemed sincere enough when she said, “Mr. Nesmith, again, let me apologize for upsetting your wife. I only want the truth. My whole family's been upset for thirty some years."

"That was your grandmother's doing."

"She didn't kill Frank Sullivan. She had no motive."

He didn't argue the point. “Lily nearly killed Diane, seducing Frank with her Hollywood ways."

"My grandmother was his friend. Tell your wife she was wrong. They were never lovers."

"That's a damn lie!" he shouted, shaking inside.

It had to be...or how could he justify what he and Diane had done?

Chapter Nine

THE SUN DIPPED LOW IN THE SKY by the time they drove beneath the tastefully lit sign announcing the entryway to River Bluff. The private road paralleling the Mississippi River ran through a sparsely forested area.

Wondering how long Perry Nesmith had been waiting for them to leave the house, Skelly asked Roz, “What do you think Nesmith really wanted?"

She gave him a surprised glance. “A promise that we'd leave his wife be."

"If that's all, he could have come up to the house and rang the bell."

"Maybe he was working up his nerve."

Skelly noted a few vacation homes scattered amongst the foliage along the way. And additional side roads led through thicker woods, probably to more distant tracts of the development.

"Someone was watching the house last night, too," he informed her.

"What?"

"Could've been Nesmith. He saw us in town, remember." Skelly tried out a theory to see if it would wash. “What if Nesmith messed with the brakes, then waited outside the house later to see the results of his handiwork?"

"It sounds plausible," she admitted. “Why didn't you say something before?"

"I was trying to get a better look through the telescope when the person disappeared. I figured a neighbor could have been walking a dog."

And then Hilary had sneaked into the house, and he'd wondered if she'd had reason to skulk around outside. Another thing he wouldn't share with Roz, at least not yet. Though she put on a brave front, he knew some of the personal things she'd read in the diary had upset her. The last thing in the world he wanted was to make her feel worse. That was bound to happen, though, sooner or later.

For Skelly couldn't rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth every time he thought about Noah's certain antipathy for Frank Sullivan.

Nearly a mile from the entrance, the heart of the complex dominated the clearing. Sprawling along the river bluff, the massive lodge constructed of stone and timber was reminiscent of the edifices erected in state parks by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression.

"Check it out," Skelly said. “Pretty impressive."

"Exactly what I was thinking. Now I wish I'd made the effort to get out here under more auspicious circumstances."

The parking lot was nearly bursting at the seams, but Roz found a spot near a light standard. By the time they departed, Skelly figured it would be dark, and she was justifiably paranoid about leaving the Thunderbird where people could see it. Not that either one of them had figured a way to keep the car safe overnight.

Hopefully, lightning wouldn't strike the same vehicle twice.

Once out of the car, Roz complained, “I don't want to lug a purse around." She threw it into the trunk, then slipped the car keys into her trousers' pocket.

They started toward the lodge. Skelly gazed around, absorbing the incredible setting, until his attention was caught by a familiar figure leaving the building via the grand entrance. A tall, trim man wearing a two thousand dollar suit, slashes of silver enhancing his precisely cut brown hair, swept down the walkway.

"Whoa!" Skelly stopped. “That is who I think it is, right?"

"Walt Rogowski."

"Well, well, well."

"A little odd to find him here."

"Unless he's soliciting campaign contributions. Though I didn't get the impression that Rogowski considered Cavillo his bosom buddy."

"Me, neither."

The gubernatorial candidate disappeared into the rear of a Lincoln Towncar. A burly young man, his fair hair tousled with the breeze shooting off the river, closed the door and hopped behind the wheel. The tinted rear window slid open. Still some distance away, Skelly could barely make out Rogowski reclining against the plush interior...and yet he swore that, for a moment, the politician looked straight through them.

Then the window silently closed and the long, black car crept away.

Next to him, Roz shivered.

Skelly rubbed the middle of her back to soothe her, even as he said, “Why don't I feel good about this?"

He started off again, noting that Roz kept glancing over her shoulder. To make certain Rogowski's car stayed gone?

Distracted, she managed to bump into a timbered fence. She gripped the top rail to steady herself. Skelly followed her wide-eyed gaze and faced the descent to the wide river below. A soft incline was broken by a natural path about a dozen feet down. Then the pitch steepened dangerously, promptly becoming a sheer drop to the water.

Looking as if her stomach were doing a jig, Roz hurried him toward the lodge's entrance.

He held the door open for her. “Here's hoping Cavillo won't clam up on us."

"Let's think positive. Rogowski could have been here to see anyone."

Anticipation at meeting Anthony Cavillo quickened Skelly's step. He nearly collided with a little boy who was screaming and running away from his exasperated mother.

"Sorry," the harried woman said, grabbing her son's hand and pulling him back into the noisy throng milling about.

The lobby and the equally crowded restaurant beyond both matched the lodge's exterior. Timbered beams and two see-through stone fireplaces graced the open space whose peaked ceiling rose about forty feet high in the center. Couch and chair cushions encased in colorful materials of bold design complemented rough-hewn furniture.

"There's the registration desk," Roz said.

"Let me handle this...if that's all right with you."

"Knock yourself out."

Evidently she wasn't in the mood to bicker.

Though the lobby was packed, traffic at Registration was slow. As Skelly approached the brunette behind the counter, Roz fell behind him. He swiftly inspected the employee's identification tag.

"Good evening, Miss Jerina," he said smoothly. “I called earlier and was told Mr. Cavillo would be in his office about now."

He gave the woman a winning smile and her ruby red lips curved in response. Then her eyes widened.

"Aren't you Skelly McKenna?"

"Guilty as charged."

"I thought so." Seeming impressed, she leaned toward him across the desk in an intimate manner. “Mr. Cavillo was here, but you just missed him. Something important came up and he left in a hurry."

Before he could ask how long the owner would be gone, Roz piped up. “Will he be back tonight?" She'd obviously forgotten she'd agreed to let him handle the situation.

Miss Jerina blinked and stared at Roz as if she hadn't noticed her before. “Well, yes.”

"Good," Skelly interrupted. He gave her another smile, hopefully even more winning. “We can wait."

"Unfortunately, Mr. Cavillo said he didn't know how long he'd be gone."

"We'll check back in a while."

"We're having our fireworks to celebrate the Fourth tonight. They'll start as soon as it's dark."

Skelly winked at her. Then he took Roz's arm and drew her to the doors opposite the main entrance. Halfway across the room, she slowed and glanced around.

"What?"

"I have the oddest feeling, as if someone is watching us."

But when Skelly gazed through the crowd, not even Miss Jerina was looking their way.

Outside, a deck clung to the length of the building, and a wide stairway ran down to the dock and a busy outdoor café. It's name in flashing lights, the River Star navigated off-shore, and some distance from it, a fireworks barge was setting anchor.

"So, did Rogowski warn off Cavillo?" Skelly mused as a family of five passed them. “Or was he here on a fishing expedition?"

"Maybe business brought Cavillo to the casino." Roz's attention was glued to the river boat.

"Could be." Skelly took a leisurely look around. “With or without the gaming operation, Cavillo's got himself a gold mine here."

"The view alone would be worth the stay."

A burnished ball of fire, the sun quickly sank below the horizon, green-black vegetation growing along the far opposite bank of the Mississippi. Swirls of color skated along the moving waters which lapped at myriad foliage-covered sandbars. A picture-perfect setting.

The breeze kicked up from the river and Roz shivered. “Goose bumps." She rubbed her arms. “I could use a walk to stay warm."

Though Skelly welcomed the cool night after the heat of the day. He glanced down at Roz's foot. “Tempting fate?"

"A short walk," she clarified, “to someplace private. Besides, this time, I taped up my ankle for support."

Passing a group of oldsters jabbering about their wins and losses on the river boat, they descended the stairs to the first of several landings. An abbreviated wood-chip path led only as far as a fenced cul-de-sac that held several benches...one of which was occupied by a pair of lovers locked in each other's arms.

Immediately envisioning Roz in his arms, Skelly wondered what she'd do if he kissed her again.

The fantasy tortured him. He knew he should leave her be until this hunt for a murderer was finished, not because he had anything against mixing business and pleasure, but because he was holding back.

She wouldn't want to hear that Noah had lied, that he suspected the old man could have been in Galena to get rid of his supposed rival. Voicing his suspicions now would not only hurt Roz but put immediate distance between them. And he could only imagine how she would feel later if he pointed a finger at her grandfather.

"Feeling adventurous?" he asked her, indicating the natural path that he'd noticed earlier.

"Looks safe enough. Sure."

Skelly climbed through the rails of the fence and offered her a helping hand. At contact, his senses flared, and he was certain Roz felt the connection, too. Like a scared rabbit, though, she scrambled to the other side.

Dusk surrounded them as they started off, but the sky was clear and filled with swirls of stars that would grow brighter as the sky darkened to night.

Rather than letting go of her, he wrapped an arm lightly around her shoulders.

Rather than pulling free, she leaned into him.

Making Skelly want to forget about everything but a growing certainty that only Roz could fulfill Moira's legacy.

"I HOPE WE'RE NOT WASTING our time," Rosalind said as they put distance between them and the lodge. “What if we wait for Cavillo for nothing?"

"Then we come back tomorrow. Besides, I don't know what else we can do at the moment. I was counting on his giving me some new leads."

Skelly's determined tone was gratifying. No doubt about it, he was committed to smoke out the real murderer. Rosalind figured finding the diary had reinforced his commitment. Learning that Lily and Sullivan hadn't been lovers had eliminated her motivation for killing him.

Now if only they could figure out why her grandmother was upset with Sullivan.

What had the politician been up to? Maybe she'd better read the diary in more detail when she got home. If only she could figure it out, Rosalind was sure they'd have the motive for his murder.

"We are at a standstill," she admitted, appreciating Skelly's experience at digging for the truth. “The only suspects we have so far are Diane and Perry Nesmith."

She looked to Skelly for an affirmation. When he said nothing, her stomach knotted. Surely he couldn't suspect anyone close to her. Even as she formed the denial, she thought about the way her grandfather and aunt had been acting. About her mother showing up unannounced.

Pushing those ugly misgivings away, she said, “We have lots of bits and pieces of information with no way of sorting them out."

"Give it time. We keep talking to people and the information will sort itself out."

Skelly's promise made her feel a bit better. “I'm sure you're correct, though I feel as if I've led you on a wild goose chase."

"You don't hear me complaining."

"Not at the moment." Increasingly amazed by the turn their contentious partnership had taken, she murmured, “Funny how things change."

"As in?"

"You, for one. I thought I would throttle you before you agreed to investigate Sullivan's murder for yourself.“

"And I thought you would throttle me when I coerced you into working with me."

"I knew you wouldn't do a thing if I didn't agree. Honest,” she added, “I, uh, suspected you had designs on me."

"I did." His fingers tightened on the soft flesh below her shoulder. “I still do."

The intensity of his statement shook her, as did his expression. He was looking at her as if...

"But you're doing serious work here," she said, a lump in her throat. “That can't be merely to impress me."

"Truth is, I feel like a real investigative reporter again."

"Again?"

"I didn't start out wanting to sensationalize the news. Not that I have a problem with what I do for a living," he assured her. “I do have ethics, and I put in an honest day's work like the next guy."

"What did you want to do?"

"Actually, as a kid, I thought I'd be a different kind of writer altogether," he admitted. “I used to make up stories, tell them to my friends.“

"Even now, you have a flare for storytelling," she noted dryly, thinking of the fables he'd spun for her over the past few days.

Skelly grinned down at her, his dark hair fluttering in the breeze, his too-handsome face washed by moonlight. His appeal never stronger, Rosalind couldn't resist succumbing. Her pulse fluttered and her knees felt weak. If she were the kind of woman who swooned...

A loud pop was followed by a spray of color across the sky. River Bluff's fireworks had begun. Skelly removed his arm from her back, took her hand and pulled her toward a grassy area in the midst of a thicket.

"Looks comfortable enough." He dropped to the ground and gave her arm a tug so she joined him.

"I see." She gave him a knowing look. “You're the one who's done too much walking today."

On the way over to the resort, Skelly had informed her of his visit with Orville Galt. He'd used her hurt foot as his excuse for not sharing his plans beforehand. He'd feared she'd insist on coming along when she needed to take it easy. He was probably right.

Rosalind had been heartened to learn the retired sheriff doubted her grandmother's confession. And she'd been outraged that he hadn't had the gumption to speak up about the blood issue if nothing else.

Thinking about the unfairness of what her family had suffered made her tremble.

"Actually, I thought we could watch the fireworks." Skelly scooted closer so they were shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip. “Warm?"

"Plenty." Heat seeped through her everywhere they touched. Savoring the delicious sensation without knowing what she wanted to do about it, she asked, “Where were we?" as golden stars sprayed across the night sky. His intense gaze leaving her no doubt as to what he wanted, she swallowed hard and clarified, “You were saying something about the kind of writer you hoped to be."

"Oh, right." He sighed. “By the time I got to high school, I had dreams of writing short stories and novels for a living, spinning tales that would touch people. Keelin says I inherited my storytelling ability from our grandmother."

She knew about the Irish cousin who'd inherited her mysterious extrasensory sight from Moira McKenna. Somehow, Rosalind was reassured that Skelly had one of his grandmother's more down-to-earth qualities.

"I might have given fiction writing a serious chance...if I'd had any encouragement."

"So your father disapproved of your ambitions."

"Good guess. He convinced me fiction writing was impractical, that I could never make a living at it. I always tried so hard to please him...”

Even as she had tried in vain to please her own mother, Rosalind thought, empathizing. She shifted and rested more fully against Skelly, enjoying the columns of white shooting high above the river, followed by whining rockets and tiny bursts of additional light. When her hair brushed his cheek, he turned his head, his breath drifting down her neck. Savoring the sensation, she let her eyes flutter closed for a moment.

"I compromised and worked at a degree in journalism," he continued softly. “Then, for several years, I was employed by what even you would consider a legitimate newspaper. I worked the inner city on the crime beat, sometimes undercover. I made a bare bones living when I deserved combat pay."

"So you changed jobs for more money," she said, hoping she didn't sound disapproving. She wanted in the worst way to understand him.

"The choice wasn't mine. A story about a drug operation that I'd been working on for months went belly up. Given my not-too-cooperative attitude when I got a bone between my teeth, my editor decided that it was my fault. That I'd blown it. So he fired me. And writing for a tabloid was the only job I could find. I told myself I would only do it until I could get back into the mainstream."

"Did you ever try?"

"I found I was good at tabloid news. I was successful. Money can be seductive if you haven't had a lot," he admitted. “Not to mention how satisfying being in the spotlight can be. When opportunity knocked, I jumped at the chance to be an investigative reporter for a televised tabloid that's now defunct. That led to the anchor desk on The Whole Story. Not only did my current job put me in another tax bracket, but it was safe. No more pavement pounding. No more rubbing shoulders with the criminal element."

"Until now."

He ignored her reminder, saying, “The change felt good at first. I didn't realize how quickly safe could get old."

His confiding in her made Rosalind feel closer to Skelly. “You can always make a move in another direction if that's what you really want."

"I've certainly been thinking about it a lot lately," he admitted. “Would you respect me if I went legit?"

She glanced at him and was surprised by his perfectly sober expression. “I respect you now, Skelly." Staring at his profile limned by a bloom of sparkling red, she realized it was true. “You didn't have to help me. You could have told me never to darken your doorstep again. But you didn't. You agreed to look into my claim, unfounded as it might have been. Giving up your holiday and putting yourself out for something you didn't believe was pretty selfless."

He was staring straight out at the river, his jaw muscles clenched. “I only wish that were true."

She cupped his chin and turned his head so he was looking at her. “Maybe you took the challenge I offered because you needed to prove something to yourself. Whatever your motive, I don't care."

Skelly started to say something, then shook his head and remained silent. Rosalind examined his face lit by the layered colors of a series of fireworks. His expression mirrored his quandary. She couldn't decide which was the stronger of his warring emotions – hope or regret – but she had no doubt of the clear-cut desire that shone from his eyes.

An insistent inner voice warned her that she shouldn't succumb. Keep your mind on business!

"Oh, do be quiet," she murmured.

"I didn't say anything."

"Not you."

Though his forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, his gaze continued to hold her fast, and Rosalind braved a discomfiting truth.

Respect wasn't the only thing she felt for Skelly.

She wouldn't put a name to the longing that filled her. Neither would she beat it away by trying to control this connection growing between them...nor by trying to control him. She was weary of being too careful. And alone. And no matter her logic, no matter the cursed gene she imagined the women of her family had been bequeathed, she didn't feel alone with Skelly.

He drew closer. Unflinching, she sighed and parted her lips in invitation.

One he answered.

The first brush of his mouth across hers was light, undemanding, as if he were allowing her a chance to change her mind. Her fingers grazed his chin, slid around his jaw and stroked the length of his neck. He sucked in his breath and kissed her properly, if not with the same intensity he'd shown the last time.

Skelly's holding himself in check frustrated Rosalind. Thinking she'd entice him into showing a bit more enthusiasm, she playfully nipped his bottom lip and drew back so that he had to come after her. The maneuver gave him leverage, and before she knew what was happening, his weight shifted and pressed her to the ground. Grass prickled her bare arms as he lay half atop her, one hand tangling in her hair.

Another kiss, this one deeper.

He assaulted her senses every bit as sharply as the bright heat that lit the night sky.

The inside of his mouth tasted as sweet as any forbidden fruit. She inhaled his earthy, provocative scent. The low sounds he made deep in his throat struck a responsive chord inside her. And when he traced her curves ...hip to waist to belly...her flesh vibrated with expectancy. Eyes closed, she could nevertheless see them.

Together.

A growing ache filled her and clamored for attention. An agonizing eternity passed before he so much as palmed her breast. Immediately, her nipple tightened and her flesh swelled against his hand. The need for further intimacy made her restless and bold.

She explored him in the opposite direction...waist to hip to buttocks. Probing further, she stroked him so that he filled her hand.

But before they could be swept away to another dimension where they'd be at one with the fleeting colors that laved them with their hot brilliance, Skelly rolled to his back, taking her with him.

"You are beautiful, Roz," he whispered looking up at her, “and not only on the surface."

A compliment no man, not even Tim, had ever paid her. Touched, Rosalind experienced a rush of warmth and pleasure foreign to her.

"Maybe you bring out the best in me."

He laughed softly. “Mostly, I irritate you."

"That, as well," she admitted.

"You stimulate me, too."

Skelly shifted and rolled again. Laughing softly, she landed under him, their bodies sharing a more intimate connection. Even through double layers of clothing, Rosalind acknowledged his arousal against the inside of her thigh. Her response natural and spontaneous, she arched against him, a hiss of desire whistling through her teeth as a series of rockets burst behind him in increasing crescendo.

"What are we going to do about this?" she asked.

Sounding every bit as breathless, he teased, “Why, Miz Van Straaten, we are in a public place."

To emphasize his statement, a long series of blasts issued from the river.

"The River Star..."

The fireworks had ended and the floating casino was pulling into the dock. She couldn't believe such lousy timing. Not that they would have consummated their passion right there. But at least they could have shared their feelings about doing so at a more appropriate time.

Instead, Skelly was shifting away from her, his attention already refocused. “It's docking now."

The river boat left its berth every hour and a half, the short sessions designed for people who gambled on a limited budget. Nothing as unprofitable as passengers whose gaming allotment had already gone bust, Rosalind thought sardonically, rising also. She swiped at the bits of grass that clung to her bottom and for the moment appreciated the draft that cooled down her heated flesh.

"If Cavillo did board the River Star," she said, “he'll be back at the lodge soon."

"And we can be waiting for him."

They retraced their steps along the pathway and soon had a clear view of the stairs leading to the dock. Swarms of people were descending, and by the time they reached the area, swarms more would be making their way up to the lodge. In fighting the crowd, they might miss the very man they meant to confront.

"Maybe we'd better watch for a shortcut," she suggested, hoping for a feasible route to the walkway above.

"The slant softens ahead."

Giving the vicinity Skelly indicated a once over – they'd have to get past some pretty rocky places – she muttered, “Great trail for Big Foot."

The going was a lot easier than Rosalind feared, however, and Skelly helped her over the few tough spots.

An unexpected sound overhead, like the spray of pebbles beneath a careless foot, made her pause a moment. The skin along her neck crawled. Unable to ignore the creepy feeling of hostile eyes on her, she scanned their surroundings, but a cloud cover was settling over the night sky, methodically blotting out the moon and stars. Even so, she recognized the towering silhouettes of black-on-black as being trees.

The air around her suddenly kicked up and a chill whistled down her blouse. The wind, she realized with relief, rushing to catch up to Skelly.

Nothing more sinister.

A moment later, they climbed through the fence onto the walkway and stopped to catch their breaths.

"Just in time," Skelly said.

She followed his gaze. Disembarked passengers were already halfway up the lit staircase. “Do you see anyone who could be Cavillo?"

"Too far away to recognize him. Let's see if we can find him up close and personal."

But out in the open, the wind had turned insistent and the temperature had dropped several degrees. The air hung heavy with the threat of rain. And despite the exertion she'd put out, Rosalind was chilly. Gooseflesh spread along her bare arms as had happened earlier.

"Skelly, you go ahead." She easily located the Thunderbird beneath the light standard. “I'm going to fetch a sweater from the trunk."

"I can wait."

"And let Cavillo give us the slip? Don't be silly. I'll catch up to you."

After a second's hesitation, Skelly headed for the lodge at a trot. Rosalind veered in the opposite direction.

Trying to ignore the lingering notion that hostile eyes were following her.

EVEN FROM A DISTANCE, Rosalind's trepidation was evident from the way she kept glancing over her shoulder while cutting across the parking lot. Too bad she wasn't scared enough to run all the way to Chicago and never look back.

Her taking on a burden that didn't belong to her had been her big mistake. Foolish, foolish young woman. What had to be done was repugnant, yet her determination to get at the truth left no options.

No one could ever know why Frank Sullivan had to die...

Once at the Thunderbird, Rosalind shoved a hand into her pocket but came up empty. She checked the other pocket, withdrew what looked like a slip of paper, then thrust the thing back where she'd found it. Her frustration was evident. She must have lost her keys.

Seeming torn for a moment, she hurried back toward the bluff's edge.

The last mistake she would ever make.

THAT HER KEYRING HAD SLIPPED from her pocket while she and Skelly had been rolling on the ground was the only conclusion Rosalind could come to. Without the darned car keys, they would be on foot again. Exactly what she needed. Another S.O.S. to the gas station.

Though she'd prefer waiting until Skelly could come with her, she also knew that might be some time if Cavillo actually showed. And if it rained hard, the keys could wash right into the Mighty Mississippi never to be seen again.

She had no options.

Once again a weird sensation made her look behind her. People were now straggling through the parking lot toward their cars, though they paid her no mind.

Her imagination.

Rosalind hiked herself through the timbers of the fence. On the other side, she carefully began retracing her steps. Descending was a bit easier than climbing, though she had to sit her way down in several places...one danger reminding her of another.

But no one had sabotaged her car this time, she assured herself, even as a big fat rain drop splashed the tip of her nose. The problem was entirely hers. In the heat of passion, she'd managed to lose her keys.

So why couldn't she shake the ominous feeling that stuck to her like a shadow? Once she found the key ring, Rosalind vowed, she'd return the safe way, would take the stairs back to the lodge. Forget the sweater.

If only she could forget the impending rain. Drops hit her with increasing regularity.

She was thankful when she touched down on the open path and hurried toward the trysting spot. And yet her nerves wound tight as the sounds around her amplified. Leaves rustling. A stone shooting down the incline. Water lapping at the bluff's base. Sounds that had been there all along, she was certain. Being alone was scaring her.

Not wanting to lose her nerve now, she kept on while replaying bits and pieces of the moments in Skelly's arms to distract herself from darker thoughts. How weird fate could be. If he hadn't done the story on Lily, she never would have burst into his office to challenge him, and they wouldn't have ended up together in Galena.

They never would have met at all.

But they had met, and Rosalind knew her life would never be the same. A few short days and Skelly had become essential. He made her laugh. He turned her on. He banished her loneliness and made her feel safe.

If only she felt safe now...that creepy feeling was sneaking up on her again.

The sky had closed except for the steady drizzle that forced her into hurrying, the faint glow from the lodge and parking lot lights her only orientation. When she had a sense of the foliage on the rim side above becoming denser, she knew this was the place. She slowed, barely able to make out the familiar clearing against the thicket of bushes and small trees.

Exposed skin now slick with rain, damp clothes clinging to her flesh, Rosalind took the few steps to the wet grass. There, she dropped to her knees, hands blindly searching the ground, quickly covering the area where she and Skelly had shared those intimate moments.

Unfortunately, she came up empty-handed.

Sitting back on her haunches, Rosalind took a deep breath. “The keys have to be here somewhere. Don't panic or you'll never find them. Concentrate, damn it!"

For part of her continued to be distracted by something she couldn't see.

She began again, slower this time, more methodical, her senses attuned not only to the search but to her surroundings and that elusive shadow. The grass yielded no cache other than a few rocks. Could the keys have flown farther than she'd thought? She widened the search area to include the pockets of earth beneath the bushes. She even checked the base of several small trees.

All she got for her trouble was wet.

Wetter, she amended, getting to her feet even as she heard a sound she couldn't put a name to.

Chilled to the bone from both rain and nerves, she wrapped her arms around herself and backed off. No sense in denying the inevitable. She knew when she was beaten. Jarvis Wiggs to the rescue.

Better him than the bogey man she kept conjuring, Rosalind thought, hurrying.

The slippery mud caught her off balance, and she did a fancy dance to stay upright. In the process, her foot struck an object that shifted with a muffled sound.

Could it be?

Back on her knees, she felt the rain-soaked path around her feet with both hands. The muck oozed around her fingers until she grazed something unyielding. Something not a rock. Hooking the ring, she rescued her keys from the mud and shoved them deep into her pocket.

Triumph died an immediate death, however, when she heard a sucking sound behind her. Her heart skipped a beat. A shoe pulling free of the mud? Adrenaline-charged, she tried shooting to her feet.

Whoever was behind her was faster.

Hit hard in the middle of her back before she could straighten, a horrified Rosalind screamed as she shot out into nothingness.

Chapter Ten

HEART POUNDING WITH MISGIVING, he leaped down the slick incline, by some miracle avoiding the rocks and staying on his feet.

What could Roz have been thinking?

Instinct pushed him to speed up. And when he heard a woman's terrified scream, his blood ran cold. He ran like hell, trusting luck rather than sight...

KEELIN WHIPPED STRAIGHT UP in bed, fists locked around the covers, her body drenched in sweat.

"Skelly!" she whispered.

She'd been dreaming through his eyes. Her cousin was in desperate straits...rather the woman was.

Not knowing where they were or what to do, she closed her eyes, determined to see more. Normally the visions came to her without warning. Without welcome. Without involving someone she loved. Thank God she'd learned a bit about lucid dreaming.

Seeking a light hypnotic state, she concentrated...

FEAR THREATENED TO CHOKE HIM when he heard the sharp slap-slap of feet running away. His chest squeezed tight until a faint cry from the river side assured him that Roz was alive. He had to get to her and fast. Envisioning her in free fall and plunging into the Mississippi made his stomach twist in knots.

Nothing could happen to her.

Not to the woman he only just found.

He called out. “Roz, where are you?" Though she had to be close, he barely heard her over the heaving of his own breath.

"Can't...hang on..."

Bile welled in his throat. He pushed it down.

"You hang on, or so help me, the entire country will know what a wimp you turned out to be!"

He hoped to make her mad enough to want to hit him. Mad enough to hold on so that she could.

The rain was letting up and his eyes were adjusting. He got a vague impression of the clearing even as he heard a series of twig-like cracks followed by a swallowed scream coming almost directly from his left. Wasting no time, he threw himself down face first, his stomach skimming the ground as his head and shoulders thrust over the edge. Her pale shirt caught his eye – she was directly below him.

He could hear her panting...her body slipping...her fingers scrabbling to keep her tenuous hold.

He pushed forward as far as he dared – his shoulders and upper torso hanging over the edge.

"I'll get you!" he yelled.

But the clump of shrubbery she hung onto broke free of the wet earth. She started to slide. His arm shot toward her, his hand clamping around her wrist. Though he was bracing himself, he wasn't ready for the power of her weight jerking at him. Searing pain stunned him, and his shoulder felt as if it were torn from its socket, but he hung on to her for all he was worth.

"Roz, you've got to help me!"

"...trying...”

Though her body was flush against the slope, the pitch of the incline was so great that she might have been dangling free.He knew she was fighting gravity, valiantly seeking a hold of some kind. Gritting his teeth, he took a mental step beyond the pain. Finally her jerky movements subsided. For a moment, they remained immobile, panting in unison.

"Found a toehold," she gasped out. “What now?"

"Now I switch arms."

He wasn't certain how a limb could be both numb and throbbing with such pain at the same time. Tricky business, transferring her substantial weight from one hand to the other.

"Find something to grab onto above your head," he ordered.

He knew the last thing she wanted was to move, but she was no quitter. He felt her carefully adjusting, sliding. Heard her hand clawing, fingers digging in.

"It's more slippery mud than rock."

"It'll hold you," he assured her. It had to. “Do the same with your free foot."

More desperate noises. Not a particularly religious man, he prayed like he never had before. He vowed to go to mass every Sunday...participate in novenas...make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

Anything if only she would be all right.

Finally, she croaked, “Got it!"

"You push up and I'll back off. Together!"

He managed to retreat several inches, enough to give himself more leverage. Hope lent him strength he hadn't known he had. They repeated the process until he could grab both of her wrists and maintain his balance. Pain meant nothing as he dragged her up and onto him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she clung to him as if she'd never let go.

He'd never had such reason for thanks in his entire life.

THE VISION DISSIPATED and Keelin opened her eyes, feeling as if the burden had been hers in truth. Her heart was thumping, her breath short. The room was near dark, the glowing hands of the clock on the mantel reading half-past ten.

"Keelin?" came the sleepy voice next to her. “What is it?"

"A dream."

Tyler immediately sat up and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “What sort of dream?"

Though she was certain he didn't have to ask. A normal dream wouldn't upset her so. “Skelly."

"He's in trouble?"

"Aye. Desperate trouble. Though he's safe for the moment."

Certain that the woman hadn't merely fallen, Keelin had no way of knowing whether or not someone was waiting to finish them both off. The uncertainty was the hardest part to bear.

Tyler pulled her close and stroked her hair. Keelin snuggled into him, thankful she wasn't alone in her hotel room. They'd shared hours of passion before falling asleep. She wished he could stay with her, hold her all night, but she knew he had to get home for Cheryl's sake.

"When did the visions start?" he asked.

"This is the first." She'd already told her husband-to-be about Skelly's call of the night before. “He's been on my mind all day. I tried lucid dreaming to tune into him several times, alas to no avail." Because he hadn't been in danger then. Only the strongest of emotions made the connection. “But now I have...and I wish..." She couldn't say that she wished she hadn't seen through her cousin's eyes when she might make a difference. “I'm afraid for him, Tyler. And for the woman. He cares about her...as much as I do you."

"Moira strikes again," he said softly.

Gran's words were burned into her memory.

Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart.Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours...

Keelin wondered if part of the bargain was that all of them – her cousins as well as her own siblings – would be tested by great danger before happiness was within their grasp. She certainly had been. And now Skelly. What was to say they all would come out unscathed?

At the moment, she could take no comfort in The McKenna Legacy.

Glad as she was that Skelly had the dream within his grasp, she prayed God that his life wouldn't be forfeit. Once again, she felt the burden of her special inheritance weighing down her very soul.

What to do?

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, coming back here alone in the dark?" Skelly asked, his tone calm, though he was feeling anything but.

His good arm wrapped around Roz's waist as they took the easy route back toward the lodge, he kept glancing around, peering through the continuing drizzle, trying to spot anything untoward. Just in case.

"That if I didn't find my car keys, we'd be doing some serious walking tonight," she returned. “The next time you roll me around on the ground, we'd better check to see if anything is missing before you let me up."

Her voice was shaky, and yet she was trying to joke. He couldn't believe she had a sense of humor after what she'd been through. Or maybe she was clinging to anything that would prevent her from breaking down.

Aware that, had he arrived on the scene thirty seconds later, he might have lost this woman who'd stormed his heart, Skelly tightened his hold on her. Had he known of the real dangers awaiting them, he never would have agreed to investigate. At least he hoped he had that much sense. Her life for his promotion was not an acceptable trade.

What he'd like to do was tell Roz the deal was off and insist on driving her back to Chicago now, but he figured the gesture would be futile. With or without him, she wouldn't stop digging for the truth. At least if he stayed around, he might be able to protect her.

Thinking about driving made him ask, “Did you ever find those keys?"

Roz patted her pocket and let out a long breath. “Still there, thank goodness."

"Did it even cross your mind that you should have waited for me to come with you?"

Sounding defensive, she said, “I was trying to get to the keys before the rain got to them. We might never have found them later. How was I to know that someone would take the opportunity to help me over the edge?"

Skelly had already figured out what happened, though hearing Roz say the words made him sick to his stomach all over again. “I heard someone running away, but I couldn't see anything in this weather. What about you?"

"Afraid not. I'd barely found the keys and bam! There I went," she said, trembling renewed. “How did you know to come looking for me?"

Skelly held her closer, wanting in the worst way to take her in his arms and kiss away her remaining fears. But how could he when the villain was on the loose?

"I was waiting near the doors," he said, “keeping one eye out for Cavillo, the other on you. I couldn't believe it when you crawled through that fence. I waited a couple of minutes, assuming you'd be right back. Then I had this really bad feeling and came after you."

"Thank God for weird feelings. Now if only I'd listened to mine..."

Skelly remembered she'd thought someone was watching them in the crowded lobby. Perry Nesmith? A member of her own family? Anthony Cavillo himself? Though neither of them had seen a familiar face, anyone could have been hiding within the horde, keeping out of their line of sight.

A few minutes later, they climbed back into the now empty cul-de-sac. The rain had stopped but it had done its damage. They sloshed through puddles and huddled together against the chill of the wind. With its bright lights and aura of warmth and safety, the lodge beckoned to him.

He only hoped the place was safe.

For, being in no shape to go anywhere wet and filthy and as exhausted as they both were, Skelly insisted, “We should stay here for the night."

"If rooms are available, which I doubt," Roz agreed more readily than he'd expected. “I hate the thought of going home looking like this. Grandfather and Aunt Hilary would have heart failure if they saw us."

He noticed she didn't include her mother in the statement. He knew Claudia's reactions weren't necessarily what one might expect, but did Roz really believe her mother wouldn't care if she were hurt? As problematic as his relationship with his only parent was, Skelly couldn't imagine his father not being affected if something were to happen to him.

They dragged themselves up the stairway and into the lodge, arms supporting each other. Guests and staff alike stared at them as they made their way to the reception desk, yet the providence of Miss Jerina.

"My goodness, what happened?" the wide-eyed brunette asked.

"We had a little accident out on the bluff," Skelly told her. “We'll live but we need to get cleaned up and warm. You wouldn't have two rooms available?"

"I'm afraid not. We've been booked solid for...wait a minute. “Miss Jerina went to her computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard. A moment later, she nodded. “That's what I thought. One of our guests is very late...but it would be on my head if he showed up after I gave you his room," she said with an indecisive grimace.

Voice shaking with cold, Roz said, “Maybe we'd better leave. We can be home in half an hour."

Knowing she needed to get warm and dry quicker than that, Skelly fetched his wallet and pulled out a wilted fifty dollar bill, which he slid across the desk.

"Would you get in trouble if someone accidentally overbooked?"

Miss Jerina's sympathetic gaze shifted between them, then darted around the area before she covertly took the bribe. “All right, I'll take a chance," she said quietly. “I'll enter an extra reservation into the computer. Hopefully, no one will question it."

"Maybe the other guest won't show at all."

"That's what I'm counting on."

Pressed against him, Roz shivered. “Thank you."

Skelly asked, “Can you have someone see my friend to the room while I register?"

"Of course." Miss Jerina pressed a buzzer. “A bellboy will be right out."

He hugged Roz. “So you're going to get in a hot shower and stay there until you warm up, right?"

"Anything you say."

He arched his eyebrows at her. “I'll remember that."

A uniformed bellboy materialized from the back and grabbed the keys to their room. While his expression reflected his surprise at their disheveled appearance, he didn't say a word as he led Roz toward the north wing.

Skelly took care of the paperwork, then made arrangements to have their clothing picked up and cleaned. Miss Jerina assured him that housekeeping would have their garments ready to wear early the next morning and fetched a couple of thick terry cloth robes for them to use in the meantime.

Accepting both robes and room keys, Skelly hurried to check on Roz. The traffic in the lobby had lightened considerably, so it was easy to keep out a vigilant eye for any familiar face. Or someone unfamiliar who was paying too much attention to his actions.

Nothing alarming.

Even so, he was glad to duck inside their room and hear the shower running. He double-locked the door and checked to see that the windows were secure.

The lodge certainly didn't skimp on space. And while rough-hewn, the furniture appeared comfortable enough...especially the solitary bed. Thoughts of sharing the same mattress with Roz made his groin tighten painfully. His libido obviously didn't care what shape the rest of him was in. Terrific! With Roz so close and him not being able to touch her, he would never fall asleep.

Skelly breathed deep and wondered exactly how tough the carpeted floor could be on a sore shoulder.

Trying not to think about anything but the moment, he emptied his pockets, shucked his wet clothes and slid into the robe, only momentarily regretting that the fresh garment was clean while he was not. The thick material instantly warmed him.

And in the bathroom, the shower continued to run.

A bit concerned, he knocked at the door. “Are you all right in there?"

"I'm in heaven," Roz called, sounding more like her old self. “I may stay in here until the hot water runs out."

But someone from housekeeping would be by to pick up their things in a few minutes.

Flirting with danger, Skelly asked, “Then can I get in there long enough to haul out your wet things? I mean...without offending you?"

"You want me to run around the room naked?"

"Interesting idea." He couldn't help but grin. “A skimpy towel wouldn't be bad, either...unless you want the luxurious terry robe I brought you."

"You've thought of everything."

And then some when it came to her, though he didn't intend to elaborate.

"Do you want clean, dry clothing in the morning or not?" he demanded, fetching her robe. “Someone will be by to collect them any minute now."

"In that case...come on in. My things are on the floor right outside the shower."

Clouds of steam rolled over Skelly, practically blinding him, as he cracked open the bathroom door. If that weren't sufficient to keep him from playing Peeping Tom, the shower stall's textured glass provided an even more efficient barrier. He could make out no more than a vague if voluptuous silhouette, yet even the suggestion of Roz's nudity triggered his imagination.

Only half-joking, he asked, “Need someone to wash your back? I still have one good hand."

"Sorry. The management thought of everything, too, including a long-handled brush."

Mesmerized for a moment as Roz lifted her face to the spraying water and made a contented sound that shuddered through him, he cursed the staff's efficiency. Thankfully, he quickly found what he'd come for.

Protecting his injured shoulder, he retrieved her wet clothes with the other arm, then backed off fast, saying, “I'll hang the robe on the door. “And managed the feat without causing himself too much pain.

"Thanks. I'll be out in a minute."

The image of Roz stepping out of the shower, a gloriously naked Aphrodite, was more than Skelly could handle. He got the hell out of the bathroom.

After what they'd been through, sex should be the last thing on his mind, but making love to Roz was all he could think about. Skelly put it to the danger she'd been in. He'd almost lost her without ever having had the opportunity to hold her in his arms through the night. If the reality even half-matched his imagination...

A knock at the door dashed his fantasies.

"Be right there," he called.

The car keys already lay on the dresser. Thinking Roz might have been carrying a wallet, he checked her pockets, but all he came up with was an old, damp photo. Grabbing his own things, he used the peephole to make sure the person on the other side was in uniform before surrendering the mess.

Afterward, he picked up the faded, water-washed photograph. The young Lily was instantly recognizable, but what was the point of Roz's carrying around what had to be a prom shot of her grandmother? A better look at the two young men enlightened him. Standing to the side, a teenage Frank Sullivan watched the dancing couple with envy. And the dark-haired boy who held Lily in his arms?

Skelly stared for a moment, then retrieved the copy of the newspaper photograph that he'd pulled from his pocket. Unfolding the piece of paper, he smoothed it out and lay it on the dresser directly beneath the table lamp. Then he set the old photo next to the copy. A fast comparison convinced him of the young man's identity.

Lily had been dancing with Anthony Cavillo.

HEARING THE MUFFLED RING of a telephone coming from the other room, Rosalind figured the efficient Miss Jerina was probably checking up on them. Or informing Skelly the real guest had shown and they had to vacate the room. That wouldn't be so bad, she supposed, if only they had their own clothing...preferably dry, of course.

A long, hot shower and she felt as if she'd been reborn. Not that she'd given Skelly the same opportunity. Clean and warm, her body encased in thick terry, she wrapped a fresh towel around her head turban-style and left the bathroom.

"Skelly, is that...?"

He held up a hand that stopped her question mid-sentence. “I wish I could tell you what was coming next," he was saying. “Or better yet, that you could tell me."

While listening to the other person on his cell phone, he gave her an appreciative once-over. Who would have called him on a Saturday night? she wondered.

A friend? A female friend?

Telling herself she was not bothered by the possibility, Rosalind wandered to the dresser and, while pretending interest in towel-drying her hair, covertly watched him through the mirror. Stretched across the bed, his long legs bare, his chest half-exposed by the robe he'd so carelessly donned, Skelly was tempting enough to grace the cover of a romance novel. No matter that he was decorated with a little mud...she unashamedly wanted to see more of him.

And it piqued her that Skelly was so absorbed in his phone call until he said, “Thanks for tuning in, cous. I knew you could do it if you tried."

Cous. Another woman, but not what she'd assumed. The warmth of embarrassment flooded her cheeks and Rosalind covered by ducking her head. She worked the towel along her hairline so that it draped in front of her face without blocking her view of his mirror-image.

"If I get any bright ideas, I'll let you know." Skelly paused, obviously listening. He nodded. “I promise to be more careful." A shorter pause. “And I'll call you tomorrow."

He clicked off the cell phone and tossed it on a night stand, grimacing with the motion. Hurting, and all because of her, she knew. Rosalind stopped messing with her hair and perched on the edge of the bed.

"That was Keelin?"

Rotating his shoulder pulled another grimace from him. “She was out there on the bluff with us."

A shiver shot through her as she remembered his explanation of his cousin's gift – that Keelin could see through another's eyes in her dreams. “Spooky...and hard to believe.” And downright scary considering one of those dreams supposedly had left Keelin the only witness to a man's death.

"Spooky? I guess. But I'm glad she's able and willing to catch my wavelength. Until recently, she suppressed her ability rather than developing it."

"What made her change her mind?"

"I simply asked. I figured another pair of eyes wouldn't hurt. It's the first time she's forced the issue...at least in her choice of subjects."

"And she succeeded. You and she must have a special connection."

"Keelin's the special one. She has a bigger heart than anyone I've ever met. Except...maybe you."

Surprised by the unexpected homage, she said, “You'll make me blush."

He stroked her cheek. “I already have."

Flustered, Rosalind stared at Skelly expectantly. Her pulse thrummed, her flesh quickened. And then, when he rose from the bed, her growing anticipation foundered.

"My turn." He started for the bathroom. “I hope you left me some dry towels."

"There may be a hand-towel or two," she teased.

"Then I guess I'll have to air dry."

"Or you could use a hair blower for efficiency," she suggested, deciding to retrieve it and some other amenities the resort provided.

"Hey!" he exclaimed when she squeezed by him. “You've hogged the bathroom long enough."

Grabbing the dryer and a basket of after-shower hair and body products only took a second. “I'm out."

But Skelly was blocking her exit, his shoulder wedged against the doorjamb. Her breath caught in her throat and her pulse skittered with sudden tension. He gazed through half-lowered lids, as if trying to mesmerize her.

"And here I thought you were taking pity on me... “He indicated his sore shoulder. ”...and volunteering to wash my back."

Thinking she could be convinced, Rosalind was about to challenge him with a tart response when Skelly moved aside to let her pass.

"I know. The long handled-brush," he said with a resigned sigh. And when she didn't immediately leave, he added, “It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to let someone at Lang House know we won't be back tonight. Though I'd prefer you didn't announce our exact whereabouts."

Her mellow mood immediately tempered by the inference that someone at Lang House couldn't be trusted, Rosalind said, “Of course," and waltzed by him.

But she waited until the shower was running before picking up the phone. When no one answered at the other end after a dozen rings, she wondered if she should be concerned. Or suspicious.

Choosing to be neither, she hung up and concentrated on her hair, starting with a leave-on conditioner that would allow her to work out the tangles. Though she longed for her wide-toothed comb, her purse was locked in the trunk of her car, so she made do with finger-combing it.

When her hair was dry and swirling wildly around her shoulders, she turned off all room lights but the small one on the dresser. Exhausted, she should be ready to climb into bed, but instead she was wide-eyed. So, after turning down the covers, she crossed to the window and opened the drapes. Located on the floor above the lobby, the room had a great view, even at night. The rain had stopped and lights from the stairway and river boat gleamed through the dark.

Confused thoughts whirled through her head.

The attraction she'd felt for Skelly from the first had grown into something deeper. Brighter. Hotter. Not only did she respect him, and, yes, desire him more than any man she'd ever known, she owed him her life.

That someone like Skelly McKenna would ever be her hero had never occurred to her, but there it was. He hadn't hesitated to rescue her, though she might have pulled him to his death. That she'd ever believed she could keep him at a professional distance amazed her. That she'd only known him for days seemed inconsequential.

So, when his spell was not immediately upon her, when she had time to think as she did now, why did she instinctively want to hold herself back? She could conjure no reason other than fear that came from deep within.

The same fear that had made her drive Tim away, Rosalind supposed.

The bathroom door opened and Skelly emerged. Her heart skipped a beat and she stared blindly into the night. What to do? Reflected movements in the plate glass caught her attention. He was working the shoulder again. Her own bruises and aching muscles were nothing serious, but he might not be so lucky. A combination of guilt and gratitude wiped out any hesitation she might have about going to him.

Sympathetic, she asked, “Are you certain a doctor shouldn't take a look at your shoulder?"

"It'll work itself out."

Was he trying to mask his pain for her sake? Macho idiot.

"Maybe it could use some help. Sit and show me a little flesh," she said, then realized that sounded more provocative than teasing.

When Skelly's piercing gaze bore into her, Rosalind feared he could delve into her mind and read the longing she was trying to repress. And it seemed that he had when he untied and dropped the robe altogether. Her breath caught in her throat until she realized a bath towel hung low on his hips, leaving him a hint of modesty. He made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed, but not before she caught the feathering of dark hair that rose from the cloth to his flat stomach. A sudden inner warmth made her mouth go dry.

And her voice was a little shaky when she said, “The management did think of everything, even body lotion," while fetching the bottle from the basket.

"I wouldn't care if it was horse liniment."

She released a nervous laugh. “You might. Have you ever smelled the stuff?"

"I'll take your word for it."

Climbing onto the bed behind him, she squirted the freesia-scented cream into one palm, then rubbed it briskly against the other. Even so, his flesh quivered beneath her hands as she spread the warmed lotion along the muscles between neck and arm. Gently, she made a pass over his shoulder to his chest. With each stroke, she widened her area of concentration.

Nerves made her prattle. “If I do something wrong, tell me. I didn't have a sister to teach me technique." She couldn't help adding, “No Ursula to practice on, either."

"Trust me, you're doing fine."

He didn't sound fine. She thought she'd at least get a snort out of him at the Ursula remark, but he sounded as tense as his muscles felt beneath her fingertips. Knowing exactly what was happening to him, she was at a loss as to how to prevent it.

If that's what she really wanted.

"Work with me here, Skelly," she choked out. “Try to loosen up a little."

More warmed lotion on his upper arm and back didn't do the trick. With each stroke, his muscles grew tighter. And within seconds, every breath he took held a ragged edge. No sooner had Rosalind realized she wasn't immune to his response than Skelly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from continuing.

His back to her, he asked, “What is you want, Roz?"

"To make you feel better."

"You're driving me crazy." He glanced over his shoulder, lids hooded.

Licking her lips, she concentrated on his wing-bone. “Sorry."

"No, you're not. Are you?"

Swallowing hard, she met his gaze and slowly shook her head.

Skelly turned and threw his legs on the bed. Looping an arm around her waist, he gave her no choice but to come with him, as he stretched out.

"Now, what was it you wanted?" he asked again.

If she couldn't tell him, her body could. Her back arched, her hips tilted and her thighs whispered against his as she settled along his length.

A low groan was followed by his murmured, “That's what I was hoping."

Even as Skelly found her mouth and teased it open, he untied her robe and drew back one side of the garment so that her flesh was exposed to his hand. His kiss was slow and deep and dizzying. She had not the slightest urge to act coy as he rode every curve, explored every silken crevice. She did want this, had known it was a possibility from the moment he'd suggested they stay the night.

In his arms, making love to him, was exactly where she wanted to be.

Danger had made her reckless. And honest with herself. Anything could happen to one if not to both of them. This might be their only chance to be together.

If only Skelly weren't so excruciatingly slow. Rosalind knew she was ready for him within moments of his first touching her. She unfastened the towel, pulled it from his hips and tossed it away. Scraping her nails down his stomach, she urged him to take her.

But Skelly drew out the pleasure, tortured her with the waiting. When he dipped his hand between her thighs, she gladly opened to him, thinking that now was the moment. Though she stroked him seductively, he remained where he was, pleasuring her until she was completely fluid inside. Her pulse met each of his short thrusts, and soon her hips prompted a more demanding rhythm.

Tearing her mouth from his, she begged, “Now, Skelly, please."

He ignored her plea and intently watched her face as he explored deeper and faster until she clutched at him, no longer able to hold back her climax. Lights burst behind her eyes and she shuddered against him. He caught her cry with another deep, soulful kiss, and she arched high and hard against his hand. Only when her hips settled back to the mattress did he cover her, his sex hard and throbbing at her entry.

"Now you're ready for me," he whispered, easily slipping inside.

Caught unawares by the mind-shattering need that immediately renewed itself, Rosalind dug her nails into his back and arched again, as if she could go even higher.

"Work with me here, Roz." He teased her by echoing her own words. “Try to loosen up a little."

But from his intense expression, she knew that he wasn't far from the edge himself. She slid along his length, over and over, changing the tempo with every stroke of her hips. His breath ragged, he matched her. Tuned into every nuance of his features, she took him higher and higher, until suddenly, he rolled, taking her with him. She straddled his hips. On his back, he offered her complete control.

Despite the need to reach completion with him inside her, she drew out his pleasure as he had hers. She lifted herself high and slow, then lowered herself with equal precision. Again and again, she repeated the torturous motion.

Beneath her, Skelly found her breasts, first with his hands, then with his mouth. With him suckling at first one nipple, then the other, pressure built swiftly and urgently. He slid a hand between them and stroked, within seconds coaxing a wild response from her.

Their bodies shuddered together.

Pulling her down on him, Skelly held her fast, his face in her hair, and whispered, “I love you, Roz."

Making her fight the fear once more.

Chapter Eleven

Bright sunlight streamed into the room, reflecting Rosalind's upbeat mood as she combed and twisted her hair into a loose knot. Their clothes had been delivered first thing, nearly as good as new, and Skelly had fetched her purse from the car before jumping into the shower. His off-key voice rising above the sound of water made her grin.

Then, again, her misgivings laid to rest at least for the moment, his astonishing declaration of love echoing in her mind, she hadn't been able to stop smiling since she'd awakened in Skelly's arms.

He hadn't taken his hands off her all night.

A sharp ring startled her from further contemplating the love issue. Skelly's cell phone – she fetched it from the night stand. Expecting his cousin Keelin was checking up on him, she was a little unsettled when the woman on the other end identified herself as Heidi Neville.

Wondering what the woman's relationship with Skelly was, she said, “He's unavailable at the moment."

"Darn. I really need to talk to him and I'm leaving in a few minutes. Will he be long?"

"He's in the shower," Rosalind informed her, then realized that, in a not-so-subtle way, she was staking her claim.

"Oh."

"I can take a message."

"I suppose that'll have to do." Heidi sounded disappointed. “Tell Skelly that I spent last evening getting acquainted with Anthony Cavillo like he asked."

"Excuse me?"

"This is Rosalind Van Straaten, right?"

"Well, yes.“

"I just figured Skelly would have told you I was working back-up. I'm a researcher for The Whole Story."

Rosalind felt both foolish...and relieved. “I have so much on my mind that I wasn't thinking," she hedged. “Let me find something to write on." She pulled a pad of paper and pen from a drawer. “Go ahead."

"I found several more articles about Cavillo locking horns with Frank Sullivan over zoning for River Bluff. They certainly were adversarial. Some of the quotes were real personal and just short of being lawsuit material. I also dug up the name of the man who finally got the zoning pushed through several years later. Walt Rogowski."

"Rogowski," Rosalind echoed, immediately on alert.

"Right. And a few years back, Rogowski was responsible for influencing the legislature to give Cavillo's cartel an okay to start their river boat gambling operation."

Rocked by the implication, she said, “Heidi, I hope they pay you what you're worth."

"They don't, but I'm confident Skelly will come through for me."

"You deserve a raise."

"I'm hoping for a whole lot more. If Skelly can break the story he's after, his competition will fall by the wayside. Then that promotion to the prime time slot will be his, and he'll take me with him."

"I see." Though she didn't see why Skelly had never mentioned a possible promotion. Or Heidi. “Anything else?"

"That's it. Tell him to get in touch if he wants me to fax him the articles. Or to dig deeper."

Replacing the cell phone, Rosalind realized no shower sounds were coming from the bathroom. The door opened and Skelly exited, wearing only his trousers and towel-drying his hair. Desire flared anew deep inside her, and she wondered if she would ever get enough of him.

Hooking the towel around his neck, he indicated the pad of paper. “What's up?"

Unbelievable how easily he could distract her from something so important. “You had a call while you were in the shower."

She handed him her scribbles and relayed her conversation with Heidi in detail...all but the promotion part.

"Interesting," he said, “considering Rogowski led us to Cavillo."

"That's what I thought. Why would he have cooperated with the man in the past, only to point a finger at him now?"

"Maybe he's learned something about Cavillo that doesn't sit well. Something that, if he went public, might make voters question his judgment."

"But he might not be adverse to letting someone else do the dirty work."

Standing in front of the dresser, Skelly picked up the photograph she'd taken from the hatbox. “What if Sullivan blocked Cavillo's zoning request because he wanted to even an old score?"

"What kind of score?"

He flipped the photo around. “How about Lily?"

Then it hit her. “The boy she's dancing with is Anthony Cavillo."

No wonder he'd looked familiar – she'd seen the photocopy, though the mature Cavillo had far less hair.

"You didn't realize that before?"

"I'm afraid not. I did recognize Sullivan and meant to show the photo to you, though." Taking it from Skelly, she said, “Cavillo and Sullivan go way back, even before this. Lily kept photos of the three of them together from the time they were all kids."

"The Three Musketeers?" He pulled a face and nodded. “Our conversation with Cavillo should prove to be interesting, wouldn't you say? This could be the break we've been waiting for."

Or the break he'd been waiting for...

As he finished dressing, Rosalind flashed on her conversation with Heidi and the importance of Skelly's getting a hot story. He'd led her to believe he'd been intrigued by the challenge as well as by her. But he hadn't admitted to the whole truth – that an important promotion hung on the outcome of their investigation.

The omission filling her with doubt about the nature of Skelly's feelings for her.

ANTHONY CAVILLO STOPPED WATERING his maidenhair fern long enough to get a good look at the visitors his receptionist escorted into his office. What piece of misfortune led Rosalind Van Straaten and Skelly McKenna to his door? They had nerve – he'd give them that -  sticking around after what had gone down the night before.

"Sit."

Rolling the unlit cigar to the corner of his mouth, he indicated the modern leather couch indicative of his personal decorating taste. His office was a welcome refuge from the rest of the overly rustic lodge.

"Mr. Cavillo, how nice of you to see us on a Sunday," Rosalind said.

As they made themselves at home, he stared for a moment at the Lily Lang look-alike, conjuring memories of his first love, most of them good.

Ah, Lily, why'd you have to leave?

She'd been his kind of woman. So vibrant. Outgoing. Outrageous. Sexy. Irresistible. The Blonde Temptress . The moniker fit her perfectly.

The granddaughter seemed more reserved, not a flamboyant bone in her body. Yet he wondered if it wasn't her physical similarity to Lily that had prompted her to dig into ancient history that had nothing to do with her. She'd never even had a chance to meet her infamous grandmother, so why else would she be going to all this trouble?

Keeping a sharp eye on both of them, he said, “I hope the accommodations were to your liking."

Rosalind pulled a face. “How did you know we stayed here last night?"

Attending to his cup-and-saucer vine, he said, “Nothing goes on around River Bluff without my knowing. Not much in Jo Daviess County does."

"Good," McKenna said. “Then you should be a fount of information for us."

For the moment finished with his plants – the calming hobby helped keep his volatile temper in check – Anthony claimed the deep leather chair opposite the couch. He removed the cigar from his mouth.

"Can't even light one of these things any more. Heart attack." He dropped it into an ashtray on a nearby occasional table. “Don't get old if you can help it." Changing gears, staring at the other man, he asked, “What makes you think I intend to tell you anything?"

"Why wouldn't you cooperate...unless you have something to hide?"

Exactly the reason he couldn't have some damn reporter sniffing around.

Beating him to a response, Rosalind diplomatically stated, “Anything you can tell us about Frank Sullivan's death would be helpful."

Big surprise. “Thirty years is a long time."

"But you and he were friends."

Anthony regarded her. “Were we?"

"My grandmother's old photographs say so."

"As kids, we all hung out together."

"What ended the friendship?" She clarified, “Between you and Sullivan?"

"Lily left town. Frank and me decided we didn't have anything in common."

McKenna shifted impatiently. “Are you sure it wasn't because Sullivan was jealous of you and Lily?"

Shrugging, Anthony said, “Her and me, we were simpatico, maybe because people treated us both like we were worthless. White trash. Frank was from the other side of the tracks. He had whatever his heart desired. Except for Lily." Remembering the old days made him nostalgic. “We had drive, though. Both made something of ourselves. Lily was always a looker. Probably every red-blooded male in the county was jealous."

"But not every male had the opportunity to get even by trying to stop you from building River Bluff on state-owned land."

The corner of his eye twitched at the reminder of the devil's pact he'd made to get the clearance. “Only one small tract was state-owned."

"One small tract that split your land in two and kept you from building a commercial operation."

The reporter was ticking him off, but Anthony had learned to deal with rabble like him. “What's your point?"

"Just an observation."

Observation, his ass. McKenna was trying to rattle him, but he'd gone up against bigger, more powerful men and had come out the winner...one way or another.

Rosalind cleared her throat. “People believe my grandmother and Frank Sullivan were lovers."

"That's the problem with people," Anthony said wryly. “They open their yaps when they don't know what they're talking about." He barked a laugh. “Lily treated Frank like the brother she never had. That wasn't gonna change just because she decided to divorce her old man."

"And you know this...how?" McKenna asked.

Anthony envisioned himself in his conservatory, surrounded by flamingo plants, Italian bellflower and weeping figs in an attempt to neutralize the negative effect the reporter was having on him.

"Galena's a small town," he said. “Lily and me weren't strangers." He narrowed his gaze. “What was it you came to see me about again?"

The reporter's nostrils flared, like he was gearing himself up for something.

"Mr. Cavillo," Rosalind cut in nervously,” do you know of any reason my grandmother had to be upset with Frank? Something she was trying to talk him out of for some time, actually...probably the same something they argued about publicly over dinner the night he died."

"If Lily had a problem with Frank, she didn't confide in me. We weren't lovers, either."

"So you don't have a clue as to what the argument was about?" the reporter reiterated.

"You oughta get a hearing aid. I already said not."

"I talked to the widow," the woman went on in a rush. “She believes they were arguing over her. That Lily wanted Frank to leave Diane for her, but that Frank wouldn't do it because a divorce would hurt his career."

"Yeah, I heard that theory before. It holds about as much water as Lily killing Frank. More likely his career would've been ruined if anyone had investigated why a couple of kids quit their volunteer work for him."

"Kids?" she echoed.

"Teenagers." He couldn't hide his feelings of disgust on this one. “Underage girls. “Schoolmates of his daughter.

Their expressions stunned, she and the reporter stared at each other. Obviously, they hadn't had a clue. Not really surprising. A small town could be a hotbed of gossip...but it could also close ranks to outsiders faster than a speeding bullet.

McKenna asked, “Did these girls or their parents make official complaints against Sullivan?"

"Now, what do you think?" He hadn't figured the big city honcho for being naive. “Back then, you had no such thing as sexual harassment laws. A girl had a pass made at her – or worse – she hushed it up or it would be her reputation. Besides, money smooths out a lot of kinks."

"These girls," Rosalind said, her voice trembling, “do you know their names?"

"One of 'em I can't recall. But the other I couldn't forget. Barbara Pohl was the daughter of a real nice woman who worked for me."

A woman he'd had more than a passing acquaintance with. He loved his wife in his own way, but she'd never been what Anthony would consider exciting.

"Do you know what happened to the daughter?" the other man asked.

"Last I heard, Barbara was running a Bed and Breakfast in one of the smaller towns east of here. Took good care of her mother, too, until the poor woman died of cancer a few years back." He checked his watch and stood. “I'm afraid our social hour is over. I got business to attend to. “He gave the reporter a pointed look and added, “Business which does not concern you."

"Thanks again for seeing us," Rosalind said as she rose.

"You may be seeing us again."

Anthony glowered. “I don't like threats, McKenna."

"Threats? I was talking about the Fourth of July parade on Tuesday morning." His expression innocent, the reporter asked, “You will be there, won't you?"

Though he knew the other man was backpedaling, he let it slide. “Right in the middle of the parade. Now, if you'll excuse me...”

They finally took the hint. Grabbing his cigar from the ashtray, he shoved it in his mouth and ground down on it. Once the door closed behind them, he made for his desk and the phone where he quickly tapped out a number.

"It's me," he grunted when the other party answered. “You won't believe who just left my office."

"I CAN'T BELIEVE NO ONE MENTIONED those girls before," Skelly said as they left River Bluff behind.

The revelation had thrown him for a loop. That Sullivan had developed a taste for underage girls opened up a whole new bag of worms in their investigation. And new suspects.

"Obviously the situation was hushed up."

"In a small town?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Roz mused as she turned onto Blackjack Road. “Unless...”

"What?"

"People in the know were protecting someone."

"You mean the girls," he said.

"And possibly one of their parents. What if Sullivan did more than just make a pass at them?" Her voice was tight with disgust. “And what if there were others? Who knows how far a parent might have gone to revenge his or her child?"

He could almost hear her add, And who could blame them? An echo of his own thoughts.

Not that either of them would condone vigilantism in place of the justice system. But Cavillo had been right on about there being little recourse in sexual cases of any kind thirty years before. Without current legal protections, the accuser rather than the defendant would have been on trial.

Skelly wondered how they were going to follow up on this one. Unfortunately, Barbara Pohl's mother was dead. Cavillo hadn't said anything about a father, and they didn't even have the name of the second girl.

"Why would people who knew better let an innocent woman go to jail?" he murmured.

"A woman the whole town considered to be white trash."

Skelly knew Cavillo's frank remark had stung Roz. “I'd bet a dime to a dollar that all changed when Lily came back from Hollywood as The Blonde Temptress."

"Don't count on it. Most people have long memories. And opinions that don't change easily."

"Oh, I don't know. You changed your opinion about me."

He expected a humorous response, but Roz didn't react at all. Her mind was elsewhere. He gave her some space and did some thinking himself, especially about that entry in the diary that had stumped them. Lily had written that she was disappointed in Sullivan, that his actions weren't worthy of him. She'd also said that she'd pleaded with him to stop but doubted that he would.

Stop what? Hitting on his volunteers?

Nearing town, he said, “About those girls. I wonder what Rogowski could tell us."

Her expression hopeful, Roz glanced at him. “Working for Sullivan, he'd have to know what happened."

"And maybe give us the other name."

"If he remembers. And if she and her parents haven't died or moved to God-knows-where. It's worth a try."

When they approached his campaign office, the storefront looked deserted but for a dark-haired young woman who sat with her back to the window. At the sound of the door, she jumped and whirled around, dark eyes wide, mouth trembling.

"Can I help you?"

Skelly glanced at her name badge. “You sure can, Kim. You can tell Mr. Rogowski we're here to see him."

"Mr. Rogowski's not here right now. He's making an appearance in front of The Old Market House along with the rest of the staff."

"We'll find him," Roz said. Once they were outside, she glanced back through the window. “I hope she's okay."

"She's probably upset because everyone went off to have fun without her."

"Or maybe she's scared at being left alone."

"In broad daylight?"

He and Roz walked the few blocks to the Greek Revival building that was now a State Historic Site and a hub for visitors. Accompanied by the same fair-haired man who'd driven Rogowski away from the lodge the evening before – a bodyguard? Skelly wondered, noting the size of the man – the politician stood near the entrance. He was greeting as many tourists as would stop to shake his hand and take a piece of campaign literature from him.

To get to Rogowski, they passed one of his workers stationed on the adjacent street corner, handing out flyers.

"Ah, Rosalind Van Straaten and Skelly McKenna," the politician said with a heartiness Skelly figured could only be fake. “Eddie, you recognize Mr. McKenna, don't you?"

The fair-haired man flexed his muscles as he stepped to his employer's side. “Seen him on TV."

But Eddie was staring at Roz, a fascinated glint in his eyes. And Skelly had to take hold of himself so he wouldn't pop those eyes back in the too-large head.

"My associate, Eddie Turner. He sees to my welfare," Rogowski said as if issuing a friendly warning. “So, you're playing tourist today, are you folks? There's a wonderful Fourth of July exhibit inside, including flags that date back to 1776."

"We didn't come to see any flags," Skelly stated.

While Roz, as usual, was more diplomatic. “Could you possibly spare us a few minutes?"

"Of course. I always have time for my constituents." He broke away for a moment to glad-hand a couple of others. Then he turned back to Skelly. “What is it today, young man?"

"Away from here."

Annoyance crossed the politician's face so quickly that Skelly almost thought he imagined it.

"I really can't leave my post. My appearance here has been scheduled for weeks. But I can take a short break." He turned to the hulk and handed him the campaign literature. “Eddie, hold down the fort for a few minutes."

"Sure thing, boss." Eddie's eyes again strayed to Roz.

Only this time, Skelly registered the look he gave her. Rather than undressing her with his eyes as he'd imagined before, he sensed a different kind of tension. As if Eddie were sizing her up, but not in a sexual manner.

His thoughts were broken by Rogowski's “This way."

Skelly wrapped a protective arm around Roz's waist and followed the man around the side of the building to a less trafficked spot. They'd have at least a modicum of privacy, though behind the Old Market House, several floats for Tuesday's parade were being worked on.

Figuring there was no use beating around the bush, Skelly went right to it. “We've been to see Anthony Cavillo."

"Really." Rogowski's expression relayed only a subdued interest. “So you followed up on the zoning thing."

"And learned something even more interesting, something we weren't expecting." He watched the subtle change in the other man's features and wondered what the gubernatorial candidate feared they had learned. “It seems that Frank Sullivan had a penchant for a couple of young girls who worked for him."

"That." Pulling a disgusted face, Rogowski shook his head. “A terrible thing, especially for any man holding the public trust."

"Then you knew about it?" Roz asked, sounding shocked.

"Unfortunately."

"And helped cover it up?"

"You give me more power than I had at the time."

"But you didn't talk," Skelly rephrased.

A flare of something dark subtly colored the man's features. “We all make mistakes."

Roz said, “But it's not too late to correct yours."

"I appreciate your outrage, my dear. But you're referring to something that happened long, long ago. Too long to besmirch the name of a dead man who did this state much good." His temper was beginning to show when he asked, “For pity's sake, can't you two let Frank rest in peace?"

"Sullivan may be dead," Skelly stated flatly, “but his murderer is still free. No matter that she confessed, Lily Lang didn't do it. His molesting underage girls may be the motive we've been searching for –

Rogowski suddenly interrupted. “You're chasing your tail! You'll never get the proof you need. You'll never get anyone to talk to the authorities."

Meaning him, Skelly figured.

"Did my grandmother know about the girls?" Roz asked.

"I have no idea," the politician snapped. “Lily was Frank's friend, not mine."

"They were only friends," she emphasized, “not lovers."

"I never said they were."

The too-easily issued statement jarred Skelly. The last time they'd faced Rogowski, he'd indicated the only enemy he knew Sullivan had was Roz's grandfather. He'd implied Noah Lang had good reason to hate the man he'd considered his rival. And now the politician was backing off.

Wanting Rogowski's thoughts on the subject to be perfectly clear, he asked, “You're saying you don't believe Sullivan and Lily were lovers?"

"It never even crossed my mind, not when I knew Frank was in love with another woman and had been for years."

Skelly was remembering the politician saying that he didn't know his employer very well because of their differences both in age and social standing. And that he'd attempted to distance himself from any special knowledge where Frank Sullivan was concerned. While he was wondering how best to use the conflicting statements, an intense Roz beat him to it.

"The identity of the other woman...who was she?"

"You really don't have any idea?"

"Not a clue. How would I?"

Rogowski gave her a look of pity. “Because, my dear, the other woman was Hilary Lang."

TOO UPSET TO DRIVE, ROSALIND gave over the wheel to Skelly. Thankfully, he respected her feelings enough to give her a few much-needed moments of silence.

Aunt Hilary and Frank Sullivan...was it possible?

In all these years, the woman who'd been more of a mother than her own had never said a word. Not to her. Rather...not exactly.

Hilary had spoken of a man she'd loved with all her heart, though she'd never married him. Frank Sullivan? If that were true, why had she held back his identity, even now? Not that Hilary owed her that. But she did owe Lily. No public records indicated that she'd ever stood up for her own sister-in-law by countering the widow's accusations with the truth.

If truth it was.

Could she believe Walt Rogowski?

Rosalind certainly didn't want to. Acceptance would lead to other, more horrible possibilities. She'd have to consider her aunt a murder suspect. She'd have to believe her aunt could be responsible for the brakes...and her near-fatal fall from the bluff.

She couldn't.

Wouldn't.

And that's all there was to it.

Besides, she hadn't given up on Sullivan's murder being related to his penchant for teenagers. If only they'd gotten the name of the second girl before being distracted by Rogowski's astonishing revelation.

"Anything I can say to cheer you up?" Skelly asked as he parked below Lang House.

"I doubt it." Grandfather's and Mother's cars were in their spots, she noticed, but Hilary's was gone. “Not even one of your exaggerated stories would lighten my mood."

"How about a hug and a kiss and a declaration of my love and support?"

Tears that she refused to shed stung the backs of her eyelids. “I'd like that."

Skelly gathered her in his arms, gave her a sympathetic squeeze and stroked her hair. His kiss was filled with great affection rather than the passion she'd come to expect. Exactly what she needed at the moment, Rosalind realized, as if he could read her mind. She did feel better in the shelter of his arms.

Just as she always felt safer.

It suddenly came to her, that while she'd tried to avoid thinking directly about it, she had fallen in love with Skelly McKenna. And now wasn't exactly the moment to tell him so, not when her heart was heavy with other matters. He had to sense desire for each other wasn't the only thing they shared.

And she would tell him that she loved him...at the right moment.

Sighing, she said, “Maybe we should go in."

"Are you going to say anything to Hilary?"

"I'll have to. Eventually. I need a little time."

His head against hers, he nuzzled her hair. “Give her a chance to explain, too, Roz. One thing might not have anything to do with the other."

Meaning the fact that Hilary had been Sullivan's lover wasn't evidence that she'd killed him?

Rosalind nodded. “Of course."

"In the meantime, I'll make some calls and try to find out whether or not Barbara Pohl still owns a Bed and Breakfast in the area."

Skelly kissed her forehead and let go of her long enough to exit the car. Then he held her hand up the walk, fingers intertwined, until they'd entered the house.

"Rosalind?"

She followed the shaky voice to the front parlor where her grandfather sat staring down at the floor. More specifically, at the spot where Frank Sullivan had died. A shiver ran through her until Skelly moved close behind her, fingers gripping her upper arms. Drawing strength from his touch, she leaned back into him, glad for his support.

"What's wrong, Grandfather? “

"I must speak with you. Alone."

"Whatever you have to tell me...you can do so in front of Skelly."

Sitting half-hidden in the afternoon shadows, he appeared shrunken, less imposing. And though she could sense rather than see his eyes, she knew they were focused inward rather than meeting hers.

"What is it?" she asked when he didn't immediately respond. “Are you feeling well?"

"No."

Alarmed, she pulled free of Skelly's grip and made for the rear parlor. “I'll call the doctor."

He held out a staying hand. “I don't need medical attention."

"But if you're not feeling well.“

"I need you to promise me that you'll stop. Both of you. Now."

Her heart thundered in her breast. She didn't have to ask what he meant. A glance at Skelly assured her that he would let her handle this.

"We can't stop, Grandfather. Not until we get to the truth. That's what you want, isn't it? To clear Lily's name after all these years?"

"The truth." His laugh stung with irony. “You don't understand. The truth is part of a house of cards waiting to tumble. Pluck it out and..." He lifted his gaze to her and finally focused as if seeing her for the first time. “I warn you, Rosalind, if you persist, you'll destroy everything you ever cared about."

A sick feeling welled inside her and her throat didn't want to work. “What do you mean?"

Without answering, he rose and shuffled past Skelly toward the stairs, for once looking every bit his age.

"Grandfather?"

Useless. He didn't so much as glance her way.

"What could he have meant, Skelly?" she whispered.

He took her in his arms as if to brace her, then said what she already knew in her heart.

"That he's been hiding the truth from you all along."

Chapter Twelve

AFTER A MUTED DINNER, ROSALIND announced the first thing that came to mind, that she and Skelly were heading for nearby Appleton. He'd learned the location of Barbara Pohl's Bed and Breakfast. Not that they were actually headed there. They left the house with three sets of accusing eyes following them.

A conspiracy?

Anything was possible, a disillusioned Rosalind now knew. Therefore, she and Skelly had worked out a plan based on her suspicions. Not that she'd explained all to him. For once, he hadn't plagued her with questions or arguments. He'd chosen to cooperate blindly, to trust that she knew what she was doing, and for that she was grateful.

She drove the Thunderbird down the street, but once out of line of site of Lang House, pulled over and parked. The weeping willow overhead would help camouflage the distinctive car. That and the creeping dusk.

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" she asked, nerves twisting and turning.

"As long as it takes."

She felt hollow inside and who could blame her? Her grandfather had turned her world upside down.

...if you persist, you'll destroy everything you ever cared about...

"Why did he go along with my plan?" She been asking herself the same thing over and over and only one answer came to mind. “Why didn't he tell me to forget it?"

"Now that would have worked," Skelly said dryly.

She could hardly miss his sarcasm. “But I did this for him."

"Did you?"

"All right, for them. Grandfather...Aunt Hilary...Mother." When Skelly didn't respond, she asked, “Why else?"

"How about for yourself?"

"I never even met Lily...”  Rosalind decided she owed Skelly the truth. “...though she did write to me a few times."

"She what?"

"During my debutante season, she saw my photograph in the society pages and wanted me to know how proud she was of me. The letters came about once a year and always from a different part of the country. I felt her love...and her underlying sadness...” she said, remembering how those missives had always touched her.

"Nice of you to let me in on all the facts."

"I didn't trust you to begin with, remember, and it's not like I could have told you anything that would have helped," she added defensively. “The last time I heard from Lily was right before I started graduate school."

"That was what? Four years ago?"

"Nearly five. Suddenly, there were so many changes in my life. “Like Tim, another subject she was reluctant to broach, though Rosalind knew it was inevitable. “Grandfather had his heart attack and retired. Aunt Hilary insisted they move back to Galena. Father took over Temptress and planned for me follow in his footsteps even before I had my M.B.A." Not for the first time, she wondered if she'd done what she wanted with her life or what had been expected of her. “I didn't think much about Lily until your broadcast. And then I couldn't think about anything else."

"So you wanted to clear Lily's name because she touched you in those letters."

"Partially, yes."

Though deep inside, she was looking for explanations, Rosalind realized. And justifications. And hope for the future. She didn't want to inherit some cursed gene, to find unhappiness in love, to be cut off from her deepest emotions as were the other women in her family. Lily. Hilary. Mother. She didn't want to continue the self-destructive pattern she'd started with Tim. She'd been looking for another chance at love and life and she'd found it.

With Skelly.

Before she could put any of those feelings into words, he said, “Here comes a car."

She glanced into her rear-view mirror and confirmed it. “Grandfather."

Aunt Hilary had told her about his frequent disappearing acts. Having a good guess at his activities, Rosalind had figured he would steal off at the first opportunity. Well, he'd kept his secret long enough. She gave him a head start, then followed. At the highway, he turned west. Fifteen miles out of town, he crossed the Mississippi and drove through Dubuque.

She was beginning to wonder if he would keep going straight through Iowa when he turned north on an unlit county road. Fearing she would lose him in the dark, she sped up to close the gap between them. Several more miles and he turned again, this road gravel. Stomach knotted as rock spewed around them, she kept him in sight until he swooped onto a long asphalt drive, a lit house at its end.

"A farm," Skelly noted.

"Nothing else out here."

"But who...?"

Rosalind cut her lights and coasted onto the property. Nearing the house, she brought the car to a stop. Her heart was racing. She sat and stared at the neat white building, wondering if all her questions would be answered inside.

"Maybe I ought to check things out first," Skelly said.

But a rush of adrenaline was already urging her out of the car. Her long-legged stride quickly ate the distance to the house. Skelly flew up right behind her even before she rang the bell.

"What is it you expect to find here, Roz?" he murmured, tone ripe with suspicion.

Breath caught in her throat, she fought a surge of nerves as the door opened to reveal an older if lovely woman with stylish chin-length silver hair, pale blue eyes and a mole decorating the corner of her mouth...

Her grandmother, Lily Lang, in person.

LILY'S HEART NEARLY STOPPED. “Rosalind. “Without hesitating, she wrapped her arms around the unresisting young woman who could have been her reflection thirty years before and took measure of the man who was staring at her, looking decidedly unsurprised. “And you're Skelly McKenna." She released her granddaughter and stood back from the door. “Come in, both of you."

Rosalind seemed rooted to the spot, as if she didn't know how to act around her. Who could blame the child?

"Why couldn't you leave it alone?" Noah ground out. He gripped the arms of his chair and stared accusingly at his granddaughter.

As Skelly drew Rosalind into the living room, Lily softly said, “Noah, please. She had a right."

"He has no rights," her husband said of Skelly. “He wouldn't care what really happened unless he could squeeze a sensational story out of it."

But Lily sensed something more between her granddaughter and the young man who held onto her so possessively.

"Please, sit." She indicated the couch. “I was about to make a pot of tea."

"No tea." Rosalind spoke at last, and when she faced Noah, it was with a sad face. “If you didn't want me to investigate in the first place, why didn't you just say so?"

Swallowing hard, Lily was the one to answer. “You can stop now," she said, hoping. “Return to Chicago, content knowing that I am at peace."

"People believe –“

"I don't care what people think."

"But you didn't kill Frank Sullivan," Skelly stated, no doubt shading his voice.

"It doesn't matter any more."

"It does," Rosalind insisted. “If the authorities ever got wind of your being here, you'd be back in prison in a flash. Why did you lie? Who are you still protecting?"

And Lily knew that the secret was not hers to keep any longer. Hers and Noah's. Rosalind did have a right. And something in her granddaughter's fearful expression told her that the girl already suspected. Not knowing would eat at her, and in the end, she would force the issue because she was who she was. Her and Noah's grandchild – her looks, his temperament.

Aware that she had no choice, Lily took a deep breath and sat on the arm of her husband's chair, clasping his hand for courage. She would tell all.

Then their granddaughter would have to decide what to do with the truth.

"I was getting ready for bed when I heard a gunshot," she calmly began...

THE TORTURED SOUND OF CHOKED SOBS filtered through the wooden panels as, hands shaking, Lily slid open the parlor's double doors to a horrific sight...

"Claudia!"

The soft light from a table lamp illuminated her thirteen year old daughter, who stood over a body. Blood streaked her nightgown, her hands and the gun she awkwardly held.

"Claudia, what have you done?" Lily cried, rushing to the man's side.

He lay face down, perfectly still, a pool of blood seeping from beneath his chest over the floorboards. Only when she was on her knees did she recognize him. Frantic, she checked his vital signs.

There were none.

Frank Sullivan, her lifelong friend, was dead.

Lily stared up at her daughter through stricken, disbelieving eyes. Claudia had been jealous of Frank, had assumed he was responsible for the breakup of her parents' marriage, had refused to have him for a father. She had assured her child that none of this was true, that she still loved Noah but couldn't bear his possessiveness any longer, that Frank was no more than a good friend. But obviously...

Lily's thoughts scattered when she realized that, while Claudia's sobs had stopped, she was standing stiff as a statue...eyes lifeless...nightgown torn.

Her nightgown was torn! Around her were signs of a struggle.

Panicked anew, she flew to her daughter, touched her cold face. “Baby, what..." Remembering the rumors she'd heard about those young girls who'd worked for Frank – rumors she'd disbelieved – she was horrified all over again. “Claudia, did Frank touch you? Did he try to make you do something you didn't want to do?"

She gripped the girl's shoulders and gave them a shake. Her daughter stared at her as if hypnotized, through eyes devoid of any clarity. “Mama? What happened?" Haunted eyes that told her Claudia truly didn't remember anything. That she was in shock.

Standing between her daughter and the dead man who'd molested her, Lily sheltered the girl from the sight as well as from the memory. She removed the gun from Claudia's hand and set it down, cupped her daughter's head against her breast and led her from the room.

"It'll be all right, baby. You didn't do anything wrong. Whatever you think happened...it was a dream. All a bad dream."

She led Claudia upstairs and removed her torn nightclothes, nearly gagging when she imagined what Frank might have done to the girl. She smothered a cry of despair. Dear God, her fault. All her fault. She'd convinced Claudia to trust Frank. Guilt eating at her, she steeled herself against the tears that threatened to cloud her thinking. She cleaned up her daughter, helped her into a fresh nightgown and settled her in bed.

Then she sat with Claudia, stroking her daughter's brow and whispering, “It's good that you forget, baby. Forget everything that happened tonight. You went to bed early and had a bad dream is all. A bad dream..."

You never have to tell anyone about it...

You don't even have to think about it...

Nothing but a bad dream...

Over and over she whispered the bidding until her daughter's

brow cleared, her eyes fluttered closed and her breathing deepened. Claudia finally fell asleep.

Lily gathered the evidence and wadded it into a ball that she stuffed into a trash bag. Noting that she, too, was soiled by some of Frank's blood, she did the same with her owned ruined garments. Then she washed and dressed and applied her make-up as carefully as if she were appearing before the cameras...as if preparing to play the ultimate role.

For that's exactly what she intended to do.

"LUCKILY, NOAH SHOWED UP unexpectedly, even as I placed the call to the police."

Rosalind sat passively, aware of every word her grandmother had uttered, wondering how she could be so devoid of emotion now that she knew the truth. Her mother's attitudes over the years suddenly made perfect sense. Claudia might not be able to remember what happened consciously, but subconsciously...No wonder she'd been so content with a bedroom separate from her husband, that she'd turned a blind eye to his mistresses. No wonder she'd had mixed feelings toward her own daughter...conceived in an act she must have despised.

"I arrived too late to talk my darling Lily out of the scheme," her grandfather was saying, “but in enough time to get rid of the evidence."

"A little detail that might have tripped me up."

"Maybe you should have gotten rid of the gun while you were at it," Skelly said.

"What would have been the point?"

"It didn't belong to Frank."

"It wasn't registered to Frank," Noah corrected. “Buying guns on the street isn't a new phenomena."

"Especially if you live in a big city like Chicago."

Not seeing there was a purpose to the debate, Rosalind interrupted. “No wonder you didn't move heaven and earth to prove Lily's innocence, Grandfather. The two of you conspired to hide the truth. To protect Mother."

"But you did help Lily escape later, right Noah?" Skelly asked, ever the vigilant reporter.

"She wouldn't hear of it, not at first."

"I thought I could bear my sentence," Lily confirmed, “and hoped I would get off early for good behavior. That way, I could eventually be with the people I loved. I was wrong about the bearable part."

Noah pulled up her hand and kissed it. “Thank God I had the money to smooth the way."

"So you knew where Lily was all along?" Rosalind asked, not quite comfortable calling the near-stranger whom she resembled Grandmother.

"Of course. I made all the arrangements. Moved her from place to place every six months or so."

"Thank God you had the money." Skelly echoed her grandfather, an ironic twist to his words. “And that your company business trips were never questioned."

"I would have gone crazy without Noah," Lily admitted. “Even changing disguises with every move, I couldn't chance on getting too close to anyone in case I was recognized. So Noah was all I had."

"Ironic that Noah finally got what he wanted," Skelly mused.

Making Rosalind uneasy. She could hear him say You, all to himself. Expecting Skelly to follow up with some similar remark, she was even more unsettled when he sank into a thoughtful silence.

Trying to distract herself from drawing conclusions, she asked her grandmother, “When did you move here?"

"After Noah had his heart attack." Lily fondly stroked his hand. “He couldn't travel to see me the way he used to, so I came to him."

Though Rosalind had argued with her father that Skelly's broadcast would kill her grandfather, she'd known it hadn't been true. While any heart attack was serious, the doctor had assured them Noah's attack had been relatively mild, and that after a recuperation period, he could get back to business as usual. Only he hadn't. He'd retired and had moved to Galena instead.

"So what will you do now that you know the truth?" her grandfather asked Skelly.

"I haven't decided."

Oddly removed, wanting to accept things as they'd been given to her, Rosalind stood. “We have to go now."

"So soon?" Lily appeared rebuffed.

"But I'll be back. I've always wanted to know you better, and now I'll have the chance."

Lily flashed a look at Skelly, who was making for the door. She didn't say anything. Sensing her grandmother's uncertainty, Rosalind gave her a quick, awkward hug.

"I will be back," she promised.

But a pall of silence hung over the room as she left it. And when they drove off, Skelly seemed immersed in his own thoughts. She held her tongue until they were on the highway, through Dubuque, across the Mississippi and quickly eating miles toward Galena.

"What now?" she asked quietly.

"I need to think things through."

What was there to think about?

"Skelly, your job is done."

"Is it? Everyone in the country still believes Lily is a murderess."

"But she doesn't care."

"But I thought you did. Wasn't that the point?"

"For God's sake, Lily's protecting my mother!"

"Who was a child when Sullivan died," he said reasonably. “If Claudia pulled the trigger, it was because she was protecting herself."

If? Hadn't he been listening?” Playing devil's advocate has its place. This isn't it," Rosalind argued. ”Lily has taken the blame for thirty-three years.“

"Don't you think that's long enough? Isn't it time the truth came out so your grandmother can live a normal life again?"

"She is living a normal life!"

"Hiding on some farm? Depending on Noah as a lifeline to the real world?"

The thought bothered Rosalind, as well, but she rationalized that perhaps Lily liked what she had. “You're talking about pointing the finger at my mother, the very person Lily gave up a normal life to protect."

"Your mother won't be going to prison," he said tightly.

"She might as well be. If the truth comes out, she'll be smeared in all the tabloids!"

Sensing Skelly stiffen at the reference, Rosalind gripped the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles hurt. Only a few more miles, she told herself. She had to convince him. Though her remark had been insensitive, she rationalized that Skelly didn't have anything but a job at stake here. And while she'd always known her mother's moods were unpredictable, she now feared for her parent's mental health.

"What if Mother can't handle the truth? What if it pushes her over the edge?" When Skelly didn't respond, Rosalind swallowed hard, and her chest tightened painfully. “You're going to do it, aren't you? You've already made up your mind."

"My mind's not made up about anything yet," he assured her. “There are questions to consider."

But she didn't believe him. “You won't be able to resist. Not with a promotion hanging in the balance."

"How do you know about the promotion?"

"It doesn't matter. I thought I mattered to you."

"You do matter," he insisted, practically yelling, “I love you!"

"Then tell me you'll forget about doing the story."

"I can't."

"If you really love me, you can and you will."

"Don't go there, Roz."

"Where?"

"Don't try to control me. Trust me to do the right thing, instead."

"How can I trust you when you didn't tell me why this story was so important to you?"

"Because I'm telling you my priorities have changed."

"In less than a week?"

"How long does it take to fall in love, Roz? Maybe I should be asking how long it takes you to fall in love. You've never said how you feel about me."

"Of course I love you!" Not exactly the way she'd meant to tell him.

"No of course about it. How do I know you're not trying to manipulate me into dropping the story?"

"That's the most insulting thing anyone's ever said to me!"

"And your thinking I'm putting a promotion above you isn't? I've tried to tell you from the beginning that I have my own brand of integrity. That hasn't changed...although I admit I'm more willing to take responsibility than I used to be. Be proud of that, Roz, because it's your doing."

Close to tears, she said, “Then I wish I could undo it."

"You wanted the truth. You demanded I be ethical and find the truth and share it with the world. You forgot to tell me the 'only as long as whatever you say suits me' part. Remember my condition, that I wouldn't be censored. Now you're doing just that. You want me to suppress the truth...again, for you. Well, you can't have it both ways."

Furious, she yelled, “The only thing you care about are ratings and some damn promotion!"

"What about you, Roz? Do you care about how anyone else feels? What they want? Or is having control over every aspect of your life so damned important that you're willing to throw away the promise of a future together?"

"I'm not the one throwing it away."

An angry silence permeated the already close atmosphere in the car for the rest of the drive. Rosalind was relieved when they entered Galena. And calmer. Wanting to give Skelly another opportunity to be reasonable, she waited until after pulling into her parking space.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “You've had time to think, Skelly, and I'm willing to give you another chance.“

"Another chance at what?"

"To prove that you love me. “Though she kept her voice even, desperation filled her. “Please, tell me you won't involve my family in another story that would hurt the very people I was trying to protect."

"I love you more than life itself, Roz," Skelly said all too calmly. “I'm asking you to trust me to do what's right."

"If you can't agree, then you might as well leave," she choked out. “Get your things and go. Take my car." She tossed him the keys and threw open her door. “I'll arrange to have it picked up from the studio later in the week."

"Roz!"

She was already out of the car and running up the walk. Running away from Skelly. From another relationship.

No, that wasn't quite right, she assured herself. Even if he did love her, Skelly was pushing her away with both. He didn't love her enough.

The family curse had struck again.

BLIND FURY DROVE SKELLY through the dark along fog-laced curves and hills. At least there weren't many other vehicles. A few drivers heading west gave him wide berth and the car lights that had been behind him since leaving Galena stayed at a safe distance. All around, a growing quantity of eerie white stuff sucked the black out of the night. His high beams briefly illuminated a green sign announcing three miles to Woodbine. He remembered Roz saying she didn't like to drive this strip of road after dark because the fog scared her and there was plenty of it.

He remembered everything Roz had said to him from the first moment he met her.

Unbelievable!

First, she'd looked down on him and what he did for a living because she'd assumed he had no ethics. Now, after admitting that she was wrong and that she respected him – she wanted him to throw away those same ethics that had seemed so important to her. Though he'd known she was controlling, he hadn't considered she'd ditch a once-in-a-lifetime love if she couldn't come out on top.

If he was her once-in-a-lifetime, Skelly thought, doubt creeping over him.

To be fair, more than Roz's own ego was involved here. One of the things that had attracted him was her sense of family loyalty. He couldn't fault her for that. And Lily had put them in quite a predicament with her confession.

If Lily knew everything there was to know.

If only Roz had given him time to sort things out. What they knew for certain. What they thought they knew. What they suspected. At least what he suspected. As far as he was concerned, there was more to the big picture.

Like the brakes.

And the bluff.

And the identity of the person responsible for what could have passed for accidents if Roz had been killed.

A cold lump settled in his stomach. Now that he was thinking clearly again, Skelly realized what he'd done. He'd gone and left Roz alone. Vulnerable. And damn it all...unsuspecting! Whomever had started the job was bound to try to finish it.

Before he could find a pull-over where he could turn around and go back, his cell phone rang. He anticipated this would be Keelin, ready to chew his butt for not calling like he'd promised.

"Hey, cous, you get to hang me by my toes."

The answering Irish lilt was not the one he was expecting. “Ah, boyo, I've been doing some soul-searching."

His father's voice came as a shock. “Dad, are you all right?"

"Not after talkin' to your cousin. What a mess you've gotten yourself into. Keelin confided in me even if you wouldn't."

"I tried to.“

"We never did communicate well, did we, boyo? Not too late to be fixing that, though."

"No," Skelly said, a lump in his throat. “It isn't."

And listened in amazement to what his father had called to tell him.

ROSALIND STOOD BEFORE the front parlor windows long after Skelly had driven beyond the range of the brass telescope. Her hopes that he would turn around and drive back to her dashed, she felt numb.

And she realized that she'd done exactly the thing she'd feared most. She'd continued the pattern she'd begun with Tim. As she had with her college fiancé, she'd pushed too hard, had expected too much. She'd wanted tangible proof of Skelly's love. Something she could hold up and say, 'See, he really does love me.' She'd tried to force him to prove it in a way that was not worthy of either of them.

And if he had gone along with her, how would she have felt about him then?

He wouldn't be the man he was.

A good man, deserving of her respect, and who, God help her, could be trusted to do the right thing.

If only she could tell him...

"He's gone?" came a voice from the dark behind her.

"Aunt Hilary, you startled me." The first floor had been empty when she and Skelly had entered a while ago, and Rosalind had assumed both her aunt and mother had retired. “Yes, Skelly's gone. I'm afraid I drove him off."

And, as if she didn't have enough on her mind, she wondered when Grandfather would return. What he would say. How he would act. How she would act. Negative thoughts about her grandfather that Skelly had stirred with his questions kept surfacing.

Hilary drew closer and slipped a comforting arm around her waist. “He wasn't worth it, then, if he could be scared off so easily."

"Worth it?" Rosalind echoed.

"We don't really choose who we love, do we? Fate does that for us. But I have no regrets."

"You don't regret loving Frank Sullivan?" After what Lily had told her?

"So you know." Appearing only slightly surprised, Hilary shook her head. “Maybe that makes me immoral...loving another woman's husband. But Diane shouldn't have turned him away from her bed. He didn't care that she couldn't give him a child. But she made him into a lonely man who needed a woman's arms around him. My arms."

Wondering if her aunt was deluding herself, she asked, “Are you certain you were the only one?"

"He never slept with Lily!" Hilary insisted, her tone strident. “He loved me...if not enough to destroy his career with a divorce."

She was defending her lover rather than her sister-in-law, and Rosalind faced a fact that had been in front of her nose all along. “You disliked my grandmother, didn't you?"

"Lily was so judgmental where I was concerned." Hilary let go of Rosalind and wandered from the windows. “For years, she interfered with my life. More than once, she convinced Frank to stop seeing me so he could try to reconcile with Diane. That's what they fought about the night he...died. First she came between Noah and me, then did the same with Frank."

Uneasy at the implication of Hilary's possessiveness toward her own brother, Rosalind said, “But in the end, Frank wasn't worth it, Hilary. He did awful things." Remembering that her aunt had raised her mother after Lily's incarceration, she said, “Surely at some point you had to guess something was wrong." But if Hilary knew what had happened to Claudia, she wasn't admitting it, Rosalind noted, continuing to push. “At the very least, you must've heard about the teenage girls who quit working for him."

"Old lies! Who's fed you that poison?"

"I've heard it from more than one person."

Hilary shook her head. “I would have known. Here." Placing a hand over her heart, her voice ascending a notch, she insisted, “Frank was a God-fearing man! He would never have sunk so low. Someone wanted to destroy his good name. Someone set him up."

Rosalind felt sick that her grandfather came immediately to mind. His obsessive jealousy would have made him hate Frank Sullivan, because he'd no doubt assumed that the politician was having an affair with Lily.

But would he have tried to destroy the man's career...or worse...his very life?

"Why couldn't Frank have left Diane and married me?" Hilary murmured. “Then everything would have been different."

Her aunt sounded a bit delusional, reminding her of Grandfather when he started on Lily. He'd always made it sound as if he'd lost the most precious thing in his life even while he'd had exactly what he wanted...ultimate control over the woman he loved.

Control...

The same way she'd tried to control Skelly.

Sick inside at the comparison – she was too much like her grandfather for her own comfort – Rosalind wished she could take her demands back. She wished she could see Skelly face-to-face and tell him she'd been wrong. She would do that when she saw him in Chicago, she promised herself, even as unease stole over her. Skelly had wanted to think things over, had said he had questions to consider.

So did she.

"I thought I understood everything," Rosalind murmured. “But I don't. Aunt Hilary, are you certain Frank couldn't have molested those girls?"

"I knew him better than anyone, dear. He never would have touched a child. If I'd ever thought that was true," Hilary swore, eyes filling, “I would have killed him myself!"

A SHORT STOP IN APPLETON and Skelly was flying back to Galena through a glowing cloud of white. Adrenaline pumped through his arteries, urging him to go faster, even though the fog's tentacles had embraced everything in its path, swallowing objects whole.

Houses...trees...road.

All gone.

Though he'd switched on his brights, the high beam barely cut a swath through the cloying damp cotton. Considering the conditions, he was driving recklessly and he knew it, but he couldn't think about his own safety.

Not when he'd left Roz a sitting duck.

A thin beam caught him in the rear view mirror. Another car creeping up on him as he swerved around a bend that he spotted right at the last second. He wasn't the only one driving like a crazy man. Probably the only one who didn't know the road, though.

His stomach churned and a fist closed around his heart when he thought of the woman he loved alone and vulnerable, undoubtedly not even considering the danger she might be in. She'd been as upset as he. Maybe more. She'd been unreasonable, too...they would deal with that later. For now, he could concentrate on one thing only. Getting to her side as fast as possible.

If anything happened to Roz...

He'd never forgive himself, Skelly swore, noting the distance between the Thunderbird and the dark car behind him narrowed. Was the driver nuts? Skelly tapped his brake pedal lightly a few times in warning, but either the other driver wasn't aware of the flashing red lights or was ignoring them. Up an incline and around a curve, the other vehicle stayed with him until he pressed on the accelerator.

Gaining speed down the sharp incline did as much damage to his stomach as any roller coaster, but at least he'd put the other vehicle a bit behind.

Part of him concentrated on the drive. The other part drifted back to the Bed and Breakfast in Appleton. It had taken some doing, but he'd pried through the false sense of security with which Barbara Pohl had surrounded herself for more than thirty years. He'd told her about the brakes...the bluff...the danger anyone who knew too much was in.

She'd talked.

And, armed with the truth, Skelly only hoped he wouldn't be too late.

Fear filled him, not for himself, but for the woman he loved. Roz was a gutsy lady. But she didn't know what she was up against. Unfortunately, he did.

The vehicle following him zoomed forward again, more quickly this time, as if the other driver were intent on passing him in the fog. Realizing the potential danger, Skelly scanned the side of the road for a widening. A pull-over. But what met his eyes instead was the impression of a drop-off. Not that he could see beyond his brights.

Or into those of the truck coming the other way.

Blinded for a moment, he swerved to the right, his wheels nearing the edge of the road too close for comfort as the truck lumbered by. He pulled the Thunderbird back a bit, not quite to the center line, giving the driver following him a chance to pass. But while the gap narrowed dangerously, the other vehicle stayed directly behind him.

Gut clenching, Skelly knew...

Roz wasn't the only one in trouble.

He sensed the other driver didn't want to pass, after all, even before the jolt whipped him forward. Though he was unprepared for a game of bumper tag, his seatbelt prevented his chest from being crushed against the wheel. A curve came on him too fast. He muscled the car around it even as he was rammed again, harder this time.

Skelly was ready. Braced. His neck snapped and his head flew back slightly, but he got a quick glance in the rear-view mirror. For an instant catching sight of a familiar silhouette in the other car, he managed a moment of triumph before a third hit sent the Thunderbird careening out of his control.

Chapter Thirteen

SITTING IN THE DARKENED REAR PARLOR, not knowing what exactly she was waiting for, Rosalind jumped when the telephone shattered the midnight silence. She fumbled the receiver to her ear.

"Skelly?"

"I fear he'll be needing you as quick as you can get to him," came a frantic voice from the other end.

"Keelin." Already sliding into her shoes, she knew this had to be his cousin...and that Keelin had seen something terrible happen to Skelly in one of the visions he'd described. “Tell me, please!"

"The road he was traveling writhes within a dense fog. He left an old house...a Bed and Breakfast...to return for you. He feared for your safety...only he didn't think of his own."

Rosalind's head was whirling as she accepted Keelin's word without doubt. Bed and Breakfast? Appleton? Knowing he must have spoken to Barbara Pohl, she flew to her feet. “You're saying that Skelly had an accident on the road?"

"I'm saying someone forced him off a curve."

Her heart climbed to her throat. “He is alive?"

"I cannot see." Keelin sounded as if she were still trying. “He flew through a white blanket...objects rushing along on either side...and then nothing. Blackness. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...I tried to call him on that portable phone he carries around with him, but he did not answer."

Trying not to panic, Rosalind said, “I'm on my way!"

Hanging up, she raced into the kitchen, where she grabbed her aunt's spare car keys. She was flying down the steps when she realized her mother was standing in the street, her face pinched into the oddest expression.

Her transfixed gaze suddenly refocusing on her daughter, Claudia asked, “Rosalind, where in the world are you off to at this late hour?"

"No time to talk." She unlocked the big old Buick. “Skelly's had an accident."

Even as she jumped behind the wheel, the passenger door opened and her mother slid in on the other side. “You shouldn't be alone."

Rosalind put the car in gear and made like an Indy 500 driver, infinitely thankful that the late hour meant traffic was light. Only when the town's limits were behind them did it occur to her that the hour was also late for her mother to be out and about. And that her perceptible concern for her daughter – not to mention a man she disliked – was definitely out of character for her.

"Where were you coming from, Mother?"

Her question was countered by a soft-spoken demand. “Tell me what happened tonight."

At the moment unable to deal with her mother's reaction to anything that she and Skelly had learned earlier, Rosalind merely said, “We had a fight and I told Skelly to go back to Chicago. I gave him the keys to the Thunderbird."

"Then how do you know he had an accident? Did he call you and ask you to come pick him up? Where is he? Did he stay with the car? Or did someone get him to the County Trauma Center?"

Only half-registering her mother's rapid-fire questions, Rosalind murmured, “Dear Lord, I didn't think to summon help before I left." He had to be unconscious if Keelin had lost her connection to him...or at least he had been. “Skelly's cousin called after seeing him being forced off the road...retribution for prying into Frank Sullivan's death..."

Realizing who she was talking to, Rosalind let it drop. According to Lily, she'd taken advantage of her young daughter's shock to help her forget. If she'd really pulled the trigger. And if she remembered now, would she really do anything to keep her secret? Though they didn't have an ideal relationship, Rosalind couldn't believe that her mother would hurt her.

Though someone would.

Someone who knew about brakes and wasn't afraid to go skulking around river bluffs.

Uneven breathing pricked the silence. Rosalind chanced a glance toward the passenger side. Her mother sat stiff and staring through the windshield, seemingly in another world. Her fingers plucked at her skirt and her head shook slightly.

Bumps crawled along Rosalind's arms and down her spine; she dodged the creepy feeling.

Swallowed whole by a blanket of white, the night was eerie enough. And the car was nosing onto the stretch of road that might thrill her in the brilliance of day, but that frightened her in the fog of night. Still, she didn't slow down around the hair-raising curves, not even as she chanced frequent glances at the other side of the road. Her heart hammered in her breast as she waited for a glimpse of a wreck.

And her mind raced ahead. Who? Who could be evil enough to force Skelly off the road?

Next to her, her mother trembled harder. Because she was guilty? Claudia Van Straaten might dislike Skelly, but she wasn't a violent woman. She devoted her life to charity work, especially singling out children.

Rosalind's thoughts raced faster.

Aunt Hilary had sworn Frank Sullivan hadn't molested anyone. If he hadn't touched those girls, if he hadn't touched the thirteen year old Claudia, then who had? Who? Surely Lily couldn't have been mistaken about what had happened to her own daughter.

She'd barely latched onto a theory when a faint light suddenly cut through the miasma ahead. Light not aimed at them. Not focused on anything.

"That's it."

A definite glow told her the Thunderbird sat somewhere directly below the road. She slowed down. How to get to it? The graded land to her right held no prospects for a quarter of a mile. Then she caught sight of a dirt turn-off. Good enough. Gingerly maneuvering the big Buick around what had to be a private road, she was startled by brights swooping out of nowhere, another vehicle passing them with mere inches to spare.

Shaking at the close call, Rosalind glanced at her mother, who didn't seem as if she'd noticed, then finished the turn and fled the way they came. When she relocated the motionless glow, she knew she had no choice. She parked the car as close to the edge of the road as possible and turned on the flashers.

"You'll have to get out, Mother. This car's a sitting duck. I have to get to Skelly."

But the older woman didn't so much as move a muscle, while Rosalind flew out the door and around to the trunk. She grabbed an emergency flare and one of the flashlights. First starting the flare, she stuck it in the soft shoulder at the rear of the Buick.

Then, with another, less patient warning to her mother, she approached the drop off, steeling herself as she clambered down the steep grade toward the wreck below. From the direction of the car's beam, she could tell the Thunderbird was tilted awkwardly.

"Skelly!" she yelled, refusing to imagine what she might find inside. “Say something, please!"

Though it was doubtful that anyone more than a few feet away could hear. Her voice stopped dead as if hitting an impenetrable barrier. She didn't let that stop her from talking, however. She kept up her one-sided conversation, voicing encouragement that she didn't really feel.

Cold and still inside with fear, she opened the passenger door. Her softer, “Skelly," went unrewarded. A streak of light around the interior told her why.

The car was empty.

Her heart jerked her around. He couldn't have gotten far. Not by himself. But if he wasn't in the car, she assured herself, at least he was alive.

He had to be alive.

Because if he wasn't, it would be all her fault. She'd sent him away in anger. She'd been wrong and she knew she deserved to be reproved, but, please God, not by losing the man she loved forever.

She was circling the surrounding area, her flashlight hitting pockets of clear air. The fog seemed to be lifting gradually. And then she heard a low groan to her right. Instinct drew her straight to Skelly. He was stretched out on the ground some distance from the car. The left side of his face awash in blood, he was attempting to push himself to a sitting position. She practically threw herself at him.

"My God, don't move," she said, landing on her knees at his side. She aimed her flashlight at his forehead. A cut slashed through his hairline, but the bleeding had stopped. “Something might be broken."

"Don't...think so...got myself this far," he said, and with another groan, finished sitting up.

"Stay right there," she ordered. “I'll find your cell phone and call for an ambulance."

Before he could respond, the crunch of a foot on dry earth told her they weren't alone.

Rosalind whipped around, her flashlight catching her mother by surprise. Claudia briefly lifted a hand to her eyes...and Rosalind swore she got a glimpse of a small handgun.

"Mother?"

"I can't let it happen again!" the older woman said, voice rising, her gaze searching for something that Rosalind couldn't see.

A cold ball formed in the pit of her stomach. “Let what happen?"

"It's my fault Frank died. All my fault."

Had her mother killed him, then? Had Hilary been blind to her lover's proclivities?

Lump square in her throat, she said, “Mother, you're not making any sense. Calm down, and we'll sort this out later. I'm calling an ambulance."

"Forget it." Skelly sucked in the clear air around him. “I need a minute is all."

"Don't argue with me."

A growing apprehension that all was not right forced her away from him and back to the Thunderbird through entrails of thinning fog. It didn't make sense that someone would try to kill Skelly and not finish the job. She needed to find the cell phone and fast.

"Wait!" he yelled after her. “It's not necessary!"

A glance over her shoulder gave her nothing more than a glimpse of the soupy blanket billowing between them. Mentally focusing on the one item that would link them to civilization and the authorities spurred her on. But a few more hurried steps ran her straight into an immovable object that meant to keep her from her goal.

She smothered a yelp and tried to back off. A band of steel wrapping around her wrist trapped her where she stood.

"You should have high-tailed it back to Chicago when you had the chance," a disembodied voice whispered. “Now you've gone and complicated everything."

Her heart thundering loud enough to deafen her, she swept the flashlight upward to confirm what she'd already guessed. She met Walt Rogowski's evil gaze before he knocked her hand away with something hard.

A gun.

"So, you are the one." Her voice was as shaky as her knees. Simultaneously frightened and relieved, she said, “You're to blame for everything. The brakes. The bluff. The accident. You killed Frank Sullivan!"

"Rosalind? What's going on?" Skelly called.

What to do? Skelly was in no shape to help. If she yelled a warning, he would certainly fly to her rescue...and Rogowski would simply shoot him dead.

"Tell him you're making the call," the politician instructed in a low voice, tightening his grip around her wrist.

Rosalind complied. “I'm trying to get through to the paramedics!" Then she managed to choke out another whispered question. “What were you doing in Lang House the night you killed Sullivan?"

She wanted Rogowski talking while she calmed down and prepared for the fight of her life. He had a weapon while she only had a flashlight. Dismal odds, at best.

"Me, kill him? Frank and Lily had that big public argument," Rogowski reminded her. “About Hilary, as usual. He came back to the office. I was there, working late. After a while, he decided he had to see Hilary. I drove because he didn't have his car with him. Frank used his keys to get into the house."

"And then you went inside...”  Thoughts of escape on hold for the moment, Rosalind went for the whole truth. “...where you attacked my mother."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Bracing herself, she said, “You don't think I'm the only one who knows, do you? And all the pieces we've turned up have been exposed to many others. The truth will out if something happens to us."

His laugh chilled her. “I'll stop anyone who gets in my way. Eddie!"

Horrified, she heard his bodyguard answer, “Here, boss," as the massive young man stepped out of the fog.

"Finish McKenna any way you have to." Rogowski cocked the gun. “I'll take care of the woman myself."

A knife suddenly appeared in Eddie's hand. He took the direction from which she'd come, where Skelly sat like a sitting duck. Her considerable adrenaline wound tight like a spring, Rosalind let loose and shoved her shoulder into the bastard's chest.

"Skelly! Watch out!" she yelled.

Rogowski stumbled and his weapon discharged, the blast eerily blunt-edged. For a man in his late fifties, however, he was possessed of extraordinary strength. Desperation, no doubt. While she was able to drag him a few feet, he didn't even loosen his grip on her wrist.

Vaguely aware of muffled sounds that indicated another struggle – Eddie and Skelly – she stopped abruptly, in one smooth motion turning and lifting her thigh to hip level. She snapped her lower leg, kicking out and making contact hard enough to break a kneecap. Pain shot along her foot, around her ankle and up her shin. But, hallelujah, the death-grip around her wrist slipped and she hobbled off.

Metal clattering to rock was followed by Skelly's “That's for the brake line!" Then she imagined hearing his knuckles smashing into softer flesh. “And this is for River Bluff!"

Renewed hope and Eddie's unexpected grunt of pain pushing her on, she quickly reached the wrecked car in hopes of finding the blessed phone. But Rogowski was directly behind her, kneecap intact, and grabbed her by the waistband of her trousers.

He swung her around full circle. Off-balance, Rosalind flew straight into the crooked beam of the car's headlights and landed against the grill. The Thunderbird rocked and protested with a metallic wail and she knew it wouldn't take much to send the car hurtling downhill. She staggered upright and faced Sullivan's murderer, who now had a clear shot at her.

"You sanctimonious bitch!" he yelled, stalking her, gun pointed directly at her face. “Had to put your nose where it didn't belong, just like your grandmother!"

A sharp whine accompanying a split-second bright flash stopped him cold. His eyes opened wide as he stared down at his side, slowly blooming with dark color.

His blood, Rosalind realized, her stomach turning.

"You keep your hands off my daughter!" Claudia snarled, stepping out of the dark, proceeded by the small handgun Rosalind had noticed earlier. It shook in her hands. “I was too young to stop you from getting what you wanted all those years ago," she said, “but I'll be damned if I let you hurt anyone else now!"

Her threat shocking Rosalind immobile.

"Claudia..." Rogowski's voice took on a sickening coaxing tone. “Sweetheart, did you forget what we had together?"

"You took advantage of me! I needed affection...fatherly affection."

"And I gave you what you wanted. Remember?"

Sick at heart, Rosalind held her breath as her mother spoke.

"I remember now...after Frank left the house looking for Hilary, you slipped inside so you could get to me again. I tried to make you stop, but you wouldn't. Then Frank caught you, and I ran. But I didn't go far, Walt. I heard everything...saw everything...now I remember it all."

"You were too young to understand.“

"I understood Frank realized you were the reason those girls quit working for him. He threatened to expose you, to end your political career right there. He said he'd see you in jail."

Finally Rogowski broke. “I couldn't let him ruin everything! I had my whole future ahead of me. So I fixed things!"

"Fixed things?" Rosalind echoed, aghast. “You make it sound like you repaired a boiler rather than killed a man!" Furious at what he'd done to her mother, at what he'd done to her, for now she knew why her mother had always kept her father at an emotional as well as physical distance, she spat, “What irony! A child molester running for governor on a family values ticket!"

"The public does seem to like that hoo-ha."

"The public isn't going to like you for much longer," she promised.

"None of you will be able to say anything if you're all dead. “A desperate sound issued from deep within Rogowski and he lurched toward Claudia, who tried to aim her weapon.

Panicked that he would hurt her mother again, Rosalind threw herself between the two, blindly swinging out toward the murderer with the heavy flashlight. Her first strike sent his gun flying. Her second caught him in the side of the head. Rogowski teetered, his expression wild as another explosion of noise –  an unconscious Eddie's dead weight smashing into the Thunderbird's trunk – split the air.

"Roz, out of the way!" Skelly yelled.

Without hesitating, she flew back, dragging her mother, even as the heavy car swayed and tilted, and with a metallic groan bounced toward the villainous gubernatorial candidate.

Before Rosalind's amazed eyes, justice played itself out in slow motion.

Rogowski's hands reaching for the vehicle...

His expression of horror when he realized he couldn't stop its forward momentum...

His body jerking as the heavy metal plowed into him...

Rosalind turned away from the final denouement. Bad enough she could hear the metallic thumps and screeches over his screams.

Suddenly, she was enveloped in familiar arms and opened her eyes to the face she knew nearly as well as her own. She covered it with thankful kisses even as she tried to explain herself.

"Skelly, I thought...I never would have...I'm sorry...I love you."

She only hoped that when she told him about the imagined curse and how she'd almost made the same mistake twice, he would understand and forgive her.

"I love you, too, Roz, more than life itself."

He captured her mouth and with a single, heart-wrenching kiss, convinced her.

For a dizzying moment, Rosalind even thought the swelling wail of sirens was part of the magic he always created in her. But all too soon, she realized the sounds were real. Above them, tires screeched and vehicle doors slammed.

"Down here!" Skelly yelled before saying, “I tried to tell you. I called the authorities the moment I regained consciousness. I must have lost the phone somewhere around here."

"Why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't give me a chance."

"So it's my fault?"

"You could learn to listen once in a while."

"Maybe you'll have to learn to speak up.“

"Rosalind, do stop going on," her mother interrupted. “I would guess your young man's head already aches."

"Uh, yes, Mother."

Skelly nuzzled her ear and whispered, “We can finish this later. I never want to stop arguing with you...not for as long as I live."

"...THIRTY YEARS AFTER HER ESCAPE, Lily Lang, The Blonde Temptress, is finally back where she belongs...”

On the television screen, the silver-haired Lily sat on a paper-flower festooned float that brought up the rear of Galena's Fourth of July parade. Decked out in one of her old glamorous dresses that had been altered to her more mature waistline, she was waving to the cheering crowd.

"...exonerated and firmly in the hearts of the people who love her."

Those in the living room of the Lang's Winnetka home all cheered, as well, as Skelly stopped the preview tape. He'd been nervous about their reactions. Lily. Noah. Claudia. Rip. Hilary. His own father and sister Aileen. Keelin, Tyler and Cheryl, his cousin's soon-to-be stepdaughter.

And most of all, he'd been worried about Roz's reaction. A quick check assured him that she was beaming with happiness.

"It'll air tomorrow," he said, relieved that everyone seemed to approve.

"You did a wonderful job." Eyes shining with love and more, Roz moved closer. “I'm so proud of you. Mother is, too."

Though he'd been willing to withhold names, to skirt around the fact that Claudia herself had been molested by Walt Rogowski, she'd insisted on his sticking to the facts. Many of the children supported by her pet charity, Be Kind to Kids, had been abused in one way or another. Claudia had seen this as an opportunity to open honest communications with the philanthropists she approached for funding. Now they would see her as more than a do-gooder who had no experience with sordid matters.

The very idea that he and Roz were investigating the past had stirred Claudia's private monsters – the reason she'd shown up unexpectedly in Galena. The truth had come back to her in unwelcome bits and pieces. Her witnessing Rogowski threatening her daughter's life had brought back the past in startling clarity.

Though she'd been hiding in the rear parlor, Claudia had witnessed the shooting. Once Rogowski had fled the scene, she'd picked up the gun and had tried to awaken her mother's friend, only to realize he was dead. In her child's mind, Claudia had asked for Rogowski's sexual attention; therefore she was responsible for Frank Sullivan's death.

The two incidents combined were enough to leave her in deep shock. Lily's comforting her had been hypnotic, her suggestions welcome, and Claudia truly had forgotten everything on a conscious level. Unfortunately the incidents had worked on her subconsciously, hence her difficulty with closeness.

Skelly admired Claudia's new found courage and hoped that she would be able to mend the breach between her and her husband Rip as she'd said she wanted to do. He knew she and Roz had already vowed to work at becoming closer.

Realizing the time was slipping away, he looked for courage of his own to make the announcement that would be a surprise to most of the people in the room.

"It's time," Roz said, nudging him and leaving him with no choice.

Skelly took a deep breath. “Everyone raise your glasses if you would." He lifted his own. “To Keelin and Tyler and –“ The rest of what he planned to say was cut off by more cheers.

"Keelin and Tyler!"

"Here, here!"

Everyone toasted and sipped at their champagne.

"And to Skelly and Rosalind!" Keelin added loudly, giving him one of her looks. “I'm proud to be telling you The McKenna Legacy has claimed another pair of hearts. We'll be having a double wedding on Sunday."

Then each member of their families had to congratulate and hug them both, starting with Keelin and Tyler and Cheryl.

"Hey, thanks for your help, cous," he told Keelin as they hugged. “I owe you."

"I think 'tis even we are."

Keelin stepped back between the man she loved and his pretty teenage daughter, wrapping an arm around each of their waists. Though the wedding wasn't until Sunday, they already looked like a happy family.

"Don't you let this man get away," a teary-eyed Hilary told Roz next. “A woman only has one once-in-a-lifetime love."

Roz hugged her aunt, then faced her grandmother.

"Hilary is right." Lily gave the man whose arm was possessively wrapped around her shoulders a loving glance. To Skelly, she said, “Make her as happy as Noah has made me."

"I'll make her happier," Skelly promised.

His gaze locked with Noah's. He would make certain Roz always knew how much he loved her without smothering her, Skelly vowed. And if she ever tried that controlling trick to distance herself from him again...well, he was no Tim Hayes. The older man was the first to look away.

Claudia and Rip were next. While Roz's mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and a pat on the arm, her father enveloped her in a bear hug.

"You be happy, sweetheart," he ordered. “Don't let work or anything else get in the way of your marriage."

"I won't," she promised.

Rip shook Skelly's hand. “That goes for you, as well, son."

"We'll be making decisions together. Right, Roz?"

Reassured, her parents moved away. Skelly noticed Rip taking Claudia's arm and her smiling in return.

"I can't believe you kept this from me," Aileen said, enveloping them both in a big hug and yards of colorful material that reflected her shining personality. “My brother...married!...I can hardly take it in."

"You won't be long behind," Roz assured her.

"Me?" Aileen laughed. “No man would have me."

"A special man would," Skelly assured her. “It's Moira's legacy."

At last he faced his father. Always his nemesis.

"So, you're to change your ways, are you?" Raymond asked, his expression serious.

"I love Roz more than anything, Dad. Whether or not you approve.“

His father held up his hand. “This is your finest hour, boyo. Don't spoil it.” He looked to Roz. ”If he lets you down, he'll be hearing from me."

"He won't. He couldn't," Roz said with such surety that Skelly's already overflowing heart filled with even more love.

Raymond cleared his throat. “Now, about your wedding present..."

"You eased the way for my grandmother to remain free while the legal system slowly grinds away," Roz said. ”That was the best present anyone could give me."

His father had surprised him, too, Skelly thought, remembering the call when he was driving back to Chicago. He'd talked about the sexual misconduct rumors – ones aimed at Rogowski rather than Sullivan. Skelly now knew the pervert had never stopped, that the girl named Kim had been his latest victim. She was willing to swear to it at Lily's new hearing, as was Barbara Pohl.

Rogowski was beyond earthly payment for his crimes, but Skelly was certain that he'd already answered to a higher power. And Eddie Turner would soon be judged by his peers for his participation in the attempted murders of three people.

Skelly realized his father was staring at him...almost as if he didn't know his own son.

"What about you, boyo? What is it you'll be wanting?"

That was easy. “I'm of one mind with Keelin. Our family reunited."

"Then you have it. I've already agreed to return to Ireland for the birthday reunion that Keelin's planning. I only hope Rose will be as amenable after what James and I put her through."

Knowing that his cousin and her new husband would stop to see Aunt Rose in South Dakota while on their honeymoon, Skelly asked, “How can anyone refuse Keelin anything?"

"Aye. She's something, that one. A real McKenna...like you."

Winking, his father left them alone and joined the throng gathered around the buffet table.

"Whew!" Skelly kissed Roz lightly. “That went better than I thought."

"He's always loved you."

"He hasn't always been proud of me."

"After the piece on Lily airs, you'll be offered that promotion. He'll have no reason to criticize then."

"Trust me, he can find one." Skelly knew he had to say something more. “Um, Roz, I've been meaning to talk to you about the prime time spot. Assuming I am offered the job, would you be terribly disappointed if I turned it down?"

Her expression didn't change when she asked, “You'd rather stay with The Whole Story?"

"I'd rather try chasing a dream, for a little while, at least. Maybe a year or so? I have a wonderful idea for a novel. A woman is incarcerated for a murder that she didn't commit, and –"

"This sounds familiar."

"A writer should write what he knows."

"Do I get to read as you create?"

"Only if you don't try to censor me."

She subtly rubbed up against him. “Can I try to influence you, then?"

Skelly grinned. “Anytime, Roz. Anytime." He glanced up, imagining his own grandmother chuckling with satisfaction as she drifted through the clouds. “Thank you, Moira, my dear," he whispered.

And hoped that each and every McKenna grandchild would find an equally wonderful legacy.

The McKenna Legacy

Book 3

Touch Me in The Dark

Patricia Rosemoor

Copyright © 2010 Patricia Pinianski

Touch Me in the Dark was previously

print-published by Harlequin Intrigue

In memory of my late husband,

Edward Majeski

Feeling that justice is all too rare in real life, Patricia Rosemoor drives her characters to seek an equitable resolution, no matter the personal sacrifice. Her fascination with "dangerous love" – combining romance with danger – has led her to write various forms of romantic suspense and paranormal romantic thrillers, bringing a different mix of thrills and chills and romance to each book. She believes strongly in breaking down barriers to write crossover fiction that appeals to a large and varied audience.

The McKenna Legacy

To My Darling Grandchildren,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday-enough time to know what you are about-you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good, lest you destroy yourself or those you love.

Touch Me In The Dark

Prologue

THE SKY HAD SWIFTLY CHANGED from a luminous pink to a deep copper by the time Oscar Weber arrived at the far back reaches of the refuge. The flat was dotted with a series of holding corrals, most of which hadn't been used in years. One currently confined several of his patients, however.

Alighting from his pickup, he fetched his bag and a bucket of bribery, sweetened grain mash being an effective way of tempting the wild horses to come to him so that he could check them out up close and personal. He hobbled into the occupied corral.

A strange, sad sound moaned through the sharp tortured buttes lining the flat. Gave some people the willies, he knew, but the soughing wind was music to his ears.

As was the excited nickering of the mustangs.

Recovering from a virus that had spread through the small band like wildfire, the seven mares quarantined from the rest of the herd crowded him, ready to let him inspect them in trade for the treat. Few humans could ever get so close. It took a special touch to tame the wildness in the heart of any beast, especially ones who'd already been betrayed by man.

After hitching the gate, Oscar dipped his arthritic hand into the bucket again and again, thrilled as always by the soft noses that pressed his flesh for the sweet. One of the mares bumped him aggressively.

"Hey, Sage, don't be a pig." He moved the bucket slightly so the greedy mare couldn't stick her head inside as she was trying to do. "Leave some for the others," he ordered in a gruff voice.

A grulla, her dark gray coat accentuated by an extraordinarily long, ragged black mane and tail, Sage was the dominant mare of the band. She was also his favorite of the entire herd. Though some would disagree, Oscar thought she was the most beautiful horse he'd ever vetted.

Craftily taking advantage of his affection for her, Sage pushed at his chest with her nose and lipped the buttons of his shirt. Dark eyes gleaming, she whickered softly. What a flirt! With a big sigh, Oscar caved in and gave her another handful before getting down to business.

At least the mares' temperatures seemed to be under control and their appetites had picked up. Unfortunately, a few of the little ladies still coughed sporadically, making him wonder about another round of antibiotics to suppress any secondary bacterial infection. He was still trying to figure out where that danged virus had come from, considering the isolation of the herd and all.

Only one in a series of peculiar incidents that had plagued the refuge over the past several weeks.

Late evening wrapped the high plateau with its sooty cloak and sheet lightning sizzled across the open indigo sky before he was done with the band. Sniffing the air, he registered the rain that would soon fall. He sure was running late. Normally by now he'd be home eating supper, looking forward to watching some television in the company of Wrangler, not merely a faithful four-footed companion, but his best buddy.

A howl resounded from the vicinity of the buttes. Then an echoing answer from some distance away. Coyotes. Though ranchers thought of them as pests, Oscar was as fond of the dog-cousins as he was of all God's creatures.

"See you tomorrow, Ladies," he told the mares, easing out of the infirmary corral.

That's when he heard the other engine.

"What the heck?"

Frowning, he fumbled with the gate latch and hitched his bag and the empty bucket into the back of his pickup. High beams announced the oncoming vehicles' approach on the rutted dirt road. Staying on his side of the pasture fence, Oscar limped into the open. Behind him, the mares whinnied, their collective shrill sending his neck hair to attention.

No one came this far back into the sanctuary except to mend fence or check on the herd occasionally. And certainly not after dark.

The agitated voices of other horses somewhere along the ravine to the south drew his attention for a moment, long enough for the truck to stop and the driver to alight. Senses attuned to possible trouble, he turned toward the person on the other side of the fence and squinted. He could make out no more than a hazy silhouette between the truck's high beams and the hot white broken lines of lightning in the distance.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

In answer, a bright ray in the driver's hand flicked on and blinded him.

A bad feeling in his gut, Oscar shaded his eyes. The mares he'd treated complained loudly. Unshod hooves met fence planking, as if the wild mustangs were starting to panic. He realized why when out of the dark, a horse and rider appeared and practically ran him down. The mount danced tightly around him.

"Shit, Doc, what're you doing here?"

Startled by the rider's identity, Oscar had trouble finding his voice. "I-I guess I could ask you the same."

Though bits and pieces of suspicions that had been growing over the past weeks knitted together in a hurry. His heart raced and his gut knotted. His arthritic joints screamed with tension. The truth was crystallizing in his still-sharp mind as brilliantly as the lightning surrounding them.

A very ugly truth.

One Oscar knew he would never tell.

Chapter One

KATE FARRELL CHOKED BACK the threat of tears as she watched the coffin lowered into the grave. She felt as if a part of her were being buried under the glaring South Dakota sun. Sweat made her silk blouse stick to her. Frizzy strands of her bright red hair had slipped from her ponytail and clung to her neck. A horrid day all around.

"I still can't believe I'll never see Doc again," she murmured to her parents and brother, who surrounded her with their support.

Oscar Weber had been like a second father to her. He'd befriended her when she was a pesky kid demanding he show her how to heal the injured animals and birds she found. When she'd decided to go to vet school, he'd become her mentor. After her marriage to Jake Nash had ended, he'd offered her a partnership. She'd accepted, moving back to Bitter Creek for his sake as well as hers – vetting livestock could be too physically demanding for an aging man with arthritis.

The partnership had been a clever hoax, however, Doc using the lure so he could retire within weeks of her return. All along, he'd planned on turning over his veterinary practice to her, no strings attached. Kate had agreed, figuring she'd find a way to pay him back for his generosity. And now she would never be able to do so.

Her mother slipped an arm around her back. Though smaller than Kate both in height and build, she was solid and steady and comforting as always.

"We're never prepared for death, Kathleen."

"But, Mom, it's not like Doc was sick."

"A person can up and die at any time without doing the things she meant to." Her green eyes went all watery and her soft lilt became more pronounced. "You cannot be making up for things left undone... unsaid... once you're gone."

"You've nothing to make up for, Rose," Kate's father insisted gruffly.

"It's been thirty-five years, Charlie."

Kate didn't miss the sadness that swept through her mother. A sadness beyond saying good-bye to an old friend. She met the amber gaze of her younger brother. Neil was a carbon copy of their father, from his whipcord build and solid good looks to his too-serious approach to life. A man who normally had control of any situation, he looked as helpless as she felt.

"Too bad Quin's not here," he whispered.

Struck with wanderlust, their younger brother Quinlan was always off seeking whatever lay over the next horizon.

"He always knows how to cheer Mom up," she agreed, feeling a little lost herself.

The minister said a final prayer over the grave, the mourners standing with bowed heads, holding hands, wiping away tears.

Not Kate, though, despite her stinging eyes. Unwilling to let anyone see her cry, she distracted herself with her mother's emotional state. The poor woman was homesick for her native Ireland and the McKenna clan she'd turned her back on more than three decades before.

She was thinking about encouraging Mom to follow her heart and contact her siblings, when a late arrival made her mind blank.

A man she hadn't seen in nearly two decades.

Dressed in black jeans and a polished cotton shirt buttoned to the throat, he stood behind the crowd, enough apart from the good citizens of Bitter Creek so it was noticeable. A loner, more comfortable with animals than with people. Always had been. And he had reason to stay away from some of those present, she admitted.

Though his dark eyes were hidden by his hat's wide brim, Kate could feel them fixed on her. The skin along her neck crawled. She tried to ignore the sensation that quickly overcame her, but she couldn't.

Her world suddenly narrowed to a tunnel with her at one end, Chase Brody at the other.

Two decades felt like yesterday.

He was taller, topping six feet. More muscular. More male.

Two decades and he still made her pulse thrum...

"Kate?"

Neil was frowning at her. "It's time."

Flushing, she forced her mind from past to present. This was a funeral, not a reunion. She approached the grave and picked up a clot of earth.

"Bye, Doc." She forced the words past the lump in her throat. "I'll never forget you."

Eyes stinging more fiercely than before, she flung her handful of soil atop the coffin, only with great difficulty keeping her tears to herself. They could wait until later, when she could mourn alone.

Only after she had a chance to join Ellen Weber, Doc's daughter, a lab technician who lived in Rapid City, after she herself had accepted the condolences of myriad people who respected her special relationship to the deceased, did she remember Chase Brody.

She looked around for him, wondering if he would make a point of speaking to her.

But he was gone. He'd slipped away unnoticed.

Just as he had the last time.

AFTER LEAVING THE CEMETERY, the mourners crowded Doc's rambling old house and filled the dining room table with casseroles, fried chicken, salads, jello molds and homemade cakes and pies until the old wood groaned under the weight. Kate had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat a few bites.

When she set down her half-empty plate, Doc's daughter took her aside and suggested she might like to move into the house, at least temporarily, so that the place wouldn't sit empty until she could see to her father's effects. Ellen had to get back to her job in Rapid City as soon as possible.

A whole house instead of the two rooms behind the practice?

A chance to feel close to Doc a while longer...

Kate accepted the offer and volunteered to help go through Doc's things.

Afterward, wandering through the study alone, Kate considered the shelves loaded with books, walls in-between crowded with photographs of animals Doc had cared for, and every available horizontal surface stacked with literature – some of which featured the places he always meant to visit after he retired but never had.

Kate noticed the silly-looking patchwork mutt who lay in a corner like a Sad Sack, bushy tail curled under his body, long nose on his paws. He'd been sick and starving when Doc had found him. He was mourning, too.

Moving closer to the dog, Kate crouched to give him a quick scratch behind the ears. "Hey, boy, you and me are going to be roomies. What do you think of that?"

Wrangler merely gave her a melancholy expression and whistled softly through his nose.

And Kate straightened, her gaze alighting on the nearest framed photograph – wild horses on the Bitter Creek Mustang Refuge. The sanctuary founded and run by Chase Brody. The place where Doc had died in a stampede.

She could hardly give the incident credence, not after everything Doc had told her about the way he'd gotten the mustangs to accept him in the few short months he'd been working with them. But the facts were irrefutable. Something had spooked the recuperating horses – the sheriff had put it to that crazy storm – and they'd broken out of their corral. His arthritis hadn't allowed Doc to move too fast. He'd probably fallen and had landed right in their path.

Nobody's fault.

So why keep questioning the circumstances?

"The place could use you with Doc gone."

Kate whirled to face Nathan Lantero. He was nearly six foot now, his medium build tight with muscle. A striking if not handsome man with long black hair, black eyes and a straight blade of a nose.

"Do you ever not sneak up on a person?"

"Only when I'm trying to do the unexpected."

She rolled her eyes at Nathan's sly humor. More Lakota than white, having lived on the rez much of his life, he made light of his heritage when it suited him.

"You're not sucking me into this one."

"No guts, huh?"

"I learned my lesson. I can't win with you."

"Your trying was always interesting."

Nathan's father Delbert had worked for the Farrell

Ranch until his death a few years back. When the mood had struck him, Nathan would sneak off the reservation, even ditching school, to hang out at the ranch. He'd been jealous of her. Competing for Delbert's attention, they'd been at each other's throats from the first. Kate had often gotten into both verbal and physical scraps with the boy who was older if not bigger. And he'd always had a way of winning.

Too aware of their uneasy adult truce, she said, "That was ages ago."

"So was Brody." Nathan lifted a dark brow and waited for a response he didn't get. Finally he asked, "So what about it? You gonna take over where Doc left off?"

She knew he was currently working at the refuge as were a few other people she knew who'd attended the funeral.

"I'm sure he can hire some other vet."

"Not without money."

She started. "What about the BLM?"

Doc had told her the haven had come into being only with the backing of the Bureau of Land Management, the government agency responsible for the wild horses.

"Their funding ended a coupla years ago now, as agreed. The place would be closed down if not for the volunteers. Only a few of us draw a paycheck – me and Merle and Buck. Brody stinks at fundraising. He's a long way from making that place independent like he figured he could."

"Like that should matter to me," she muttered.

Nathan's penetrating black eyes held understanding. "The horses matter. They need you."

Guilt wormed its way into her resolve, but she tried to ignore the unwelcome sentiment. Doc had told her about the money crunch, and about Chase's plans to renovate some log structures on the property so he could rent rooms to vacationers.

"When you finish working on those old buildings there'll be enough cash from tourists to pay a vet."

"Don't see it, not with the way things have been going lately. Besides, tourists won't be staying on the property till next spring. What about now?"

"Did Chase put you up to this?"

Nathan shook his head. "Hasn't mentioned you since you got back."

No big surprise, though she'd been living in Bitter Creek for several months now. In all that time, she'd never run into Chase once. Not that she'd asked, Doc had told her he didn't come into town unless he had to. Remembering how badly he'd been treated by the townspeople as a kid, Kate guessed she didn't blame him.

Only... why had he returned?

Not wanting to be pressed any further, she said, "Look, I'll give the suggestion some thought. Just don't go making any promises to anyone."

Nathan's full lips pulled into a grimace resembling a smile. "Don't worry, I won't say a thing to Brody."

With that, he left her alone.

EXHAUSTED BY THE TIME SHE entered the paneled room that served as her general living quarters – a single bed was crammed in a much smaller space that must have been meant as a supply closet – Kate was tempted to crash. The clack-clack of Wrangler's nails on the linoleum behind her was a reminder that she couldn't only think of herself.

"Hungry?" she asked the dog.

Legs spread, tail drooping, Wrangler focused his sorrowful gaze on her. She pulled out two plastic bowls and filled one with water.

"C'mon, you must be thirsty."

She patted the dog on the side when he came for the water. Then she left the room and entered the combination surgery and infirmary where she kept food for the occasional stay-over patient. But Wrangler merely sniffed at the bowl of chow she put out for him and walked away, groaning and throwing himself at the base of the couch.

Kate joined him on the floor, where she sat cross-legged. She smooched the air and patted her thigh. "I could use someone to hug."

Wrangler crawled into her lap. Arms wrapped around his compact body, she pressed her cheek to his fuzzy forehead. He whimpered.

"That's all right. You cry if you want to," she urged the dog, uncensored tears gathering in her own eyes. "Nobody here to laugh at you."

Remembering Chase had liked that about her – a girl who didn't cry – made her feel worse.

Whistling through his nose, Wrangler freed his head enough to lick the salty tears from her cheeks. Kate closed her eyes and ran her hands along the dog's face. She concentrated on the animal... touching... focusing... sensing his grief for his master.

As she'd been able to do ever since she could remember, she became one with the animal, his emotions merging with hers.

A hazy and somewhat distorted image formed in her mind.

Doc, paunchy and balding, bending over with arthritic hands outstretched. He was mouthing words she couldn't hear, but she could feel the love in his heart for the dog whose life he'd saved.

Suddenly she was in Doc's face, making him laugh. He was happy...

Opening her eyes so that tears streamed down both cheeks, Kate remembered how deeply Doc had felt about all animals. How much caring for the wild horses had meant to him in the last months of his life.

She could spare some time here and there.

The question was... did she want to?

Doc would expect it of her, at least until some other arrangements could be made. Not that he'd ever prodded her to step foot on the sanctuary. He knew what had gone down between her and Chase and respected her feelings.

She may have avoided the reality of Bitter Creek Mustang Refuge since returning home, but she hadn't managed to avoid thinking about the man who ran it. Chase Brody had invaded her thoughts plenty over the months, and now that she'd seen him, had felt the old spark, she sensed it would be in her best interests to stay away.

But she could imagine how saddened Doc would be if anything terrible happened to what he'd thought of as his wild horses because they were deprived of the proper medical care. And she owed him, had always meant to pay him back if not in money. Certain he was watching over his old domain from his place above, she was torn.

How could she deny someone who'd done so much for her?

That Chase could make her consider disappointing Doc angered her.

So much so, Kate knew she had to at least check out the refuge before deciding.

ANNIE SABIN STEPPED OUT of the refuge office onto the screened porch, a teenage couple in tow. "Head for that truck down the hill," she said, pointing. "Buck's due to take off with the next tour in about three minutes."

Watching from the table, Chase felt his late breakfast lump in his stomach. Not that Annie's cooking wasn't a hell of a lot better than his own.

But nerves chewed at him, and a growing uncertainty about the fate of the place that had become his life had him tied in knots more often than not. And he couldn't help but notice that nearly half of the second-hand theater seats lining both sides of the old pick-up remained empty... and this during the height of the tourist season.

"Thanks, Miss," the young woman was saying. She was practically doing a tap-dance in her excitement. "C'mon, Jimmy, or we'll be too late. Wild mustangs! Yee-hah!"

Jimmy closely shadowed his girlfriend, who threw open the screen door and fled outside.

Blue eyes lit with laughter, Annie spun toward Chase, her straight chin-length black hair sweeping her broad cheeks. "Such enthusiasm makes everything we do worthwhile, doesn't it?"

He sucked on another mug of strong black coffee despite the growing heat of the day. "The horses are what's important."

She gave him a reproving look. "Anyone who loves them are important, too."

"Especially anyone who loves them as much as you do," he said agreeably.

This was the third year in a row that Annie had volunteered her whole summer vacation to run the office and to deal with the tourists, the last being a task Chase had abhorred. During the rest of the year, she was a remedial reading teacher, working with some of Phoenix's roughest high school kids. Of average height, slim and cursed with a baby-face (her words), she seemed a whole lot younger than her thirty-one years, hardly the type Chase had figured for being able to handle gang members. But that was before he got to know her.

Annie Sabin was strong-willed, tireless, and had a way of manipulating people into doing what she wanted.

Downhill, a good-natured "All aboard!" caught his attention. Buck Duran was rushing toward the truck, his limp becoming more pronounced the faster he went.

Shame stealing through him, Chase quickly shifted his focus back to Annie. "Buck's not going out with a full load. How far down is our count?"

"Actually, the numbers are up overall. First thing this morning, we had so many people show, I had to add two extra tours to accommodate everyone. I took one of them out myself. It seems the news of Doc's death has been a boon to business." Annie threw herself into a seat opposite him and poured herself a mug of coffee from the insulated carafe. Her eyes melted into his when she said, "Crummy that something so rotten had to happen to make business pick up."

"Sensation seekers. They probably hope the tour will take them to the spot where Doc packed it in."

"Maybe we should figure out how to take advantage of the situation, though," Annie said, even if she sounded reluctant. "If we put our heads together, I'll bet we can come up with some ideas."

Chase hated having to open the refuge to nosy tourists at all, but he knew they were an economic fact of life if he was going to keep the place running.

"We could talk about it over dinner," Annie suggested.

Chase knew Annie hated to eat alone. Her being stuck in the middle of nowhere with no friends for a whole summer had to be hard for her. And she was trying to be helpful as she'd been through all the recent difficulties. Still, taking advantage of anyone's death was repugnant to him.

"I don't know, Annie."

"Consider the horses. Remember how important they were to Doc," she said, touching his hand. Her eyes were filled with compassion when she said, "I'll bet he would approve of turning a tragedy in our favor."

Chase said, "Let me think about it," though he didn't figure he'd change his mind.

"Great." She grinned. "I'll run into town for some steaks."

Not wanting to dwell on anything so dark, Chase rose. "I've dawdled long enough." Though in reality, he'd read the outline on applying for a new grant before leaving his cabin earlier. "I'm going out to work perimeter fence in the far north pasture with Merle."

"In this heat?"

"Do I have a choice?"

Especially since they had to repair fencing that had collapsed. He didn't know when it had happened exactly. Merle had spotted the downed posts only late yesterday, but considering they rarely checked the far sanctuary fence other than when moving the herd to fresh pasture, the problem could be weeks old. An opening that size would be an invitation for a number of the mustangs to wander off the property... if they hadn't already done so.

Someone would have to check the herd as soon as the repair was finished. Several someones including himself if he wanted the count done efficiently and accurately.

But first, the fence.

Hoping the physical effort would blunt his frustrations at trying to make a go of the place, he left the porch, rounding the corner to get to the water spigot on the side of the building. There he filled a large thermos, grabbed another of coffee that Annie left on the stoop for him, and jumped into his Bronco. He took off down a side road closed to tourists that cut across the property.

Chase paid no mind to the ruts jolting him, nor to the dry dust swirling around and into the open vehicle. Used to the discomfort of ranch life, he sped toward the red cliffs on the other side of Bitter Creek, slowing only to ford the ribbon of water that was barely a few yards wide and little more than a foot deep at this crossing. A good-sized carp did a backflip in the air away from the vehicle.

Soon he was winding around hills, traversing a canyon, continuously achieving higher elevation until he was atop the undulating plateau. To the east, a band of mares grazed on black root grass. Ears twitching at the sound of the approaching vehicle, they lifted their heavy heads and stared, then seeing his truck – a familiar sight – one-by-one they resumed munching.

He took a deep breath and felt some of his muscles unknot. They were what it was all about. Taking responsibility for the tough little feral horses that no one else wanted gave his life meaning.

When they'd arrived on the refuge, they'd been scrawny, ribs poking at their hides. Worse, they'd been despondent, having spent months or years crowded into feedlots. Seeing their sides filled out with flesh, knowing they were healthy and comparatively content if not as free as they once were, gave worth to his daily struggle.

This good health was due in part to Oscar Weber's generosity in donating his services. Poor Doc. His mind wandered back to the funeral.

Kate Farrell.

He remembered how Kate had stared at him...almost as if she'd never gotten over him. Ridiculous, considering how long it had been.

Old guilt washed through him. And something else. Something more immediate.

Despite the familiar ponytail – her near-futile attempt to confine that wild red mane of hers – and the freckles nearly hidden by her tan, Kate was all grown up. And she'd developed into quite a woman, he thought, voluptuous curves softening her athletic build, wide mouth and full lips equally feminine.

A mouth he'd once kissed.

And, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't put Kate's dazzling green eyes from his mind. For a moment, he'd felt lost in them. Their intensity. Their depth. The memories they forced on him.

Determined, Chase forced his mind away from the woman he couldn't have.

Overhead, soaring on an air current, a hawk wheeled with its wings spread wide. The Bronco passed under the bird and picked up speed.

A few minutes later, he spotted Merle Zwick, the hired hand who was as adept with horses as she was with fencing or plumbing or replacing glass in a broken window. Hard work had added muscle to her tall and wiry frame encased in ripped jeans and a sweat-soaked white T-shirt.

As she set a post in a newly dug hole, she yelled, "Hey, boss, you finally rolled outta your bunk!"

Removing her Stetson, her hand protected by a heavy leather work glove, she wiped the back of a deeply tanned bare arm across her forehead. Strands of light brown hair that had escaped her long braid glued themselves to her damp face.

He cut the engine and jumped out of the truck, and fetched the thermos of water. "Thirsty?"

"That filled with beer?"

Merle knew he never took a drink any more. He kept the joke going. "Sure is. Cold and foamy."

"Mm-mm. Let me at it." Slapping her hat back on her head, she freed him of the heavy thermos. "I ran out a while ago." She lifted the spout to her mouth, guzzled some water and smacked her lips. "Never tasted better."

He noted that she'd staked the locations for the new posts along the entire length of downed fence, nearly fifty feet worth, but had only managed to drill a few of the holes so far. Not having been on site to see the damage before this, Chase crouched and inspected part of the old wood that was rotted in places.

He couldn't tell what had spelled the fencing's death knoll, though he figured the wind could be capricious enough to do the job. So could a herd of frenzied mustangs – Doc's death being uppermost in his mind – though he saw no sign of it. The recent rains had done a good job of obliterating whatever clues the earth might have held. Still, fencing didn't go down easy, not this much of it, not before anyone could notice, even if they didn't patrol the north border regularly.

How weird.

Too many weird things going on lately, not the least of which was Doc's death.

Shaking away the edgy feeling that not knowing for sure gave him, he rose. "How's it going?"

"It'll go a lot faster now that the real expert at digging post holes is here," she said, her flippant remark setting off a memory that could still make him cringe.

Her quirking eyebrows and flirtatious smile were automatic. Despite the bits of the old nightmare flashing through his mind, Chase gave way and grinned.

Razzing a man, any man, was just Merle's way. Always had been. A handsome rather than a pretty woman, she'd nonetheless never lacked for male attention because of her boldness, though he also knew that men used her rather than taking her seriously as she deserved. He had to watch himself not to get too close.

As for the post hole digger...he couldn't avoid it.

"You get behind the wheel of the tractor, and I'll deal with the shaft."

He never let anyone else near the hydraulic power shaft when he was on the job. How dangerous the equipment could be was too vivid to forget.

"You're the boss. Nothing like watching a big, strong man working with heavy machinery."

"Showtime," he muttered, getting started.

For the next couple of hours, they worked together efficiently, their rapport almost surprisingly easy.

Merle was one of the few residents of Bitter Creek Chase felt comfortable being around, maybe because she'd come from a background similar to his own. She, too, had been "trailer trash" to the town's finer citizens. She'd been without a father, and her mother had had the reputation of being a "loose" woman.

"Hey, boss, did you hear the one about the hooker with the heart of gold?" Merle yelled over the noisy machinery. "She used the Wall Street Journal to set her prices."

Chase groaned, though he enjoyed Merle's occasional spicy jokes because they kept him amused despite the drudgery of the work. Concentrating on the job, he suddenly realized Merle was yelling at him.

Chase yelled back, "What?" and turned to see what she wanted.

Only to face his past up-close and personal.

Kate Farrell had been an incorrigible kid, and in her faded jeans, red cowboy boots, turquoise shirt, and unruly bright red hair haloing her striking features and a dogged expression aimed directly at him, she appeared wilder than ever.

As untamed as the mustangs on this raw land.

As a teenager, he hadn't properly appreciated her potential, but as a man...

Merle suddenly cut the power to the tractor. For a moment, the stillness made his ears hurt.

And then Kate's lips parted, mesmerizing him. "Chase. It's been a long time."

Gut tightening at the sound of her voice, the melodic tone tempered with deserved sarcasm, he forced out the only return he could manage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here?"

Chapter Two

Kate started as if Chase had slapped her. Though she'd been unsure of the kind of reception she was in for, she certainly hadn't expected this. Then, again, Chase had always been rude when he'd felt cornered, and from his wary expression, Kate realized she somehow had the upper hand.

"The woman in the office told me where you'd be, of course," she said sweetly.

"Didn't Annie mention that the back road is off limits to tourists?"

"I'm not a tourist, Chase. I'm an experienced veterinarian," she told him as if he didn't have a clue. Knowing Doc, he'd probably bragged on her every chance he got. "I was thinking of helping out until you find someone to take over for Doc, but if you're not interested, I certainly don't want to waste your time."

She spun toward her pickup, ponytail swinging, but was stopped cold mid-stride when Chase hooked onto her arm. Giving his gloved hand a filthy look, she maintained that mien when she lifted her eyes to meet his. He immediately let go, raised both hands and backed off.

"Let me get this straight," he said. "You're volunteering your services."

"If I like what I see." She deliberately flicked her gaze over him.

That Chase was grimy and sweaty didn't detract from his appeal. His damp work shirt clung to his torso, clearly defining the musculature developed by hard work. His jaw line was hard, too, even more so than it had been when he'd been younger, a mere promise of the man he'd turned out to be. Natural interest curled through her, tough to ignore.

But she certainly tried, saying, "I wouldn't want to get involved in anything... unsavory."

Kate swore Chase flushed under his dark tan, and if she weren't so angry with him, she might feel guilty at the purposeful dig.

Twenty years ago, she'd been warned about Chase Brody's unsavory reputation, one mostly inherited from his father Vernon rather than being self-earned. And yet he'd made a point of telling her himself as if he'd been trying to scare her off. Not that she'd ever paid any mind to ugly gossip. That most of the upstanding residents of Bitter Creek had considered the Brodys trailer trash didn't mean spit to a young girl with a mind of her own. Even then, she'd formed her own judgments about people.

Though more often than not, Chase had been as truculent with her as he had been with anyone else, she'd liked him. She'd trusted him. Worse, she'd fallen in love with him.

Sheer lunacy on her part.

But that was the past. She knew him now. No chance that she'd be fooled again.

Realizing they had the full attention of the woman on the tractor, Kate forced a smile. "Hey, Merle." Though Merle had a couple of years on her and had hung out with a different crowd growing up, they were acquainted.

The other woman's gaze narrowed. "Kate."

She glanced at the downed fence. The refuge must really be short-handed if repairs were let go for so long. "Looks like you have quite a job for yourself."

"I'm not complaining."

Chapter Three

THE NEXT MORNING, Kate attended church with her family and came back to the Farrell Ranch for a late breakfast, a Sunday tradition. She still loved the sprawling ranch house she'd grown up in, though she didn't feel as if she belonged there anymore – one of the reasons she'd turned down her parents when, upon her return to Bitter Creek, they'd suggested she move in with them until she could find something more suitable than the cramped quarters behind the practice.

The smell of coffee and eggs, sausage and potatoes led them straight to the kitchen where the heavy, scarred wooden table was laden with enough food for a bunkhouse full of starving cowboys. The housekeeper had outdone herself before leaving to spend the day with her own family.

They'd barely started passing platters of food when Neil announced, "Skelly called last night."

Pouring herself a tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, Kate's ears pricked up at the mention of their Chicago cousin. She'd spent some time with Skelly and his half-sister Aileen while attending a professional conference in the big city. And, of course, she caught his afternoon magazine show, The Whole Truth, every so often.

"There's nothing wrong?" she asked, hoping all was well with their Uncle Raymond, their mother's triplet brother whom they'd never met.

"Skelly's getting married today to Rosalind Van Straaten, heiress to Temptress."

Kate gaped. "As in the hair products and cosmetics company?"

"The same."

"And he didn't have the good taste to invite his own first cousins," her father said, handing a plate of sausages to Neil. "Obviously, family means little to him. Isn't that just like a McKenna."

"The wedding is very small, a last minute thing," Neil explained. "As a matter of fact, it's a double ceremony. Our Irish cousin Keelin was visiting in Chicago when she met the love of her life – a man named Tyler Leighton, and --"

"Her father will be thrilled, I'm certain," Charlie interrupted in a harsh voice. "His Irish daughter marrying an American of all things, and, if the name tells, a Protestant to boot."

"Charlie, perhaps James has mellowed," Rose said of her other triplet who'd never left his native land.

"Leopards don't change their spots."

Kate exchanged a knowing look with her brother. A familiar argument they'd heard for too many years. Their father was unbending when it came to his opinions about their mother's family. And he did have good reason.

Rose's brothers James and Raymond had forbidden her to have anything to do with Charlie Farrell, a Protestant visitor to their country. When Rose hadn't complied, had insisted she meant to marry her beloved Charlie despite their wishes, her brothers warned her never to darken the McKenna doorstep again. In turn, Rose had wished for her brothers the same unhappiness they wished for her.

Shortly afterward, Kate knew, James and Raymond's falling in love with the same woman caused a further rift in the family. Raymond won Faye O'Reilly's heart and carried his new bride off to America, only to lose her giving birth to Skelly. And James married on the rebound, his marriage suitable if not exactly a love match. She'd gathered the details from reading Mom's letters from her own mother, Moira.

"Anyhow," Neil was going on, "Keelin and her groom will be driving west for their honeymoon, and she wants to meet everyone." He looked straight at Kate when he said, "Especially you."

That surprised her. "Why especially me? What in the world did Skelly tell her?"

"You'll have to ask her when they get here – possibly late Tuesday. She'll call again when she's more certain of their arrival time."

Sticking his fork into a roasted potato, her father groused, "Well, I hope they don't think they're staying on Farrell Ranch property." He glared at Neil, who had built his own home overlooking the creek several years before, as if challenging his son to defy him.

Before Neil could say a thing, however, her mother returned, "Don't you be making decisions for us, Charlie Farrell. I'll be welcoming my niece into this house, if you please, whether or not you're here!"

Kate went wide-eyed. She'd never heard her mother speak to her father so bluntly before, practically ordering him to accept her niece or leave the house. Her father' face suffused with color.

"A fine turn of events!" he muttered, standing. "Where's your loyalty, Rose?" He didn't wait for an answer, rather threw down his napkin and stalked out of the room without ever having touched his food.

The discord between her parents made Kate lose her appetite, as well. "Mom, Keelin and her husband could stay with me at Doc's place."

"I don't need you to play peacemaker, Kathleen." Her mother's eyes went all teary. "I'll be standing by my word, but thank you."

Neil said nothing, merely poked at his food aimlessly. He'd always hated arguments, too.

Kate tried to smooth over the tension in the room. "So, Skelly is getting married today." Having been entertained with several of his disastrous dating stories – neatly embellished, she was sure – she'd wondered if he would ever get serious about any woman. "I'm happy for him."

"Tis more than time if you're asking me," Rose said of the nephew she'd never met. The topic seemed to chase away her sadness, at least for the moment. "He and Keelin are both thirty-three... your age."

Kate recognized that tone of voice. Dryly, she reminded her, "I've been married."

"I know the Catholic Church frowns on divorce, but people can make mistakes and shouldn't be punished for them by being lonely for the rest of their lives."

The family having alternated attending both Catholic and Methodist churches in respect to both parents' beliefs, Kate had never defined herself as one or the other. Religious tenet wasn't what made her reluctant to think about a new relationship. She was only hoping her mother wasn't saying that she had made a mistake by defying her brothers, because as she got older, Rose mourned her family's loss aloud more and more.

But all Kate said was "I'm too busy to notice my lack of a social life."

"So I've heard." Her mother's pretty face tightened into disapproval.

"Heard what?"

"About your going over to the refuge to volunteer yesterday. You could use your spare time to develop a personal life. More than one available man was looking your way in church this morning."

"When they should have been paying attention to someone far more important than me."

Her mother took a deep breath. "Don't get involved with him, Kathleen. Please. He broke your heart once."

"She's not going to get involved with Chase Brody again, Mom," Neil interrupted. "She's too smart to make the same mistake twice. Right, Kate?"

"Right," she said, even as Chase's dark image came clearly to mind.

Thankfully, her mother dropped the issue and began talking about her bridge club. A safe enough topic. Unemotional. And Kate wouldn't have to say a thing about driving out to the refuge when she left the ranch.

Half-listening, having recognized the fact that Skelly and Keelin were only a few weeks older than she, Kate thought of Moira's letter.

Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday – enough time to know what you are about...

The McKenna Legacy at work?

A chill shot through her.

With her inexplicable ability to communicate with animals, she wasn't pragmatic enough to disbelieve the sometimes mysterious workings of the universe. According to her mother, she'd inherited the touch from her Irish grandmother.

But could Moira McKenna really reach from the grave to shape events in the lives of her descendants?

Kate figured she didn't have long to find out.

"WHY ARE WE TAKING the truck instead of horses?" Kate asked Chase a few hours later as they sped across the refuge, leaving a cloud of reddish dust behind.

They would take a headcount as they drove west to the far reaches of the property, the area where Doc had been killed. Nathan and a volunteer were covering the eastern portion of the refuge, while Merle and a second volunteer had been assigned the north pastures, where they'd finished repairing fence that morning.

"First of all," Chase began, "we'll get from point to point faster."

"Not if the mustangs hide in some narrow canyon."

"Which would be more likely to happen if we ride out."

"I don't understand."

"How do you think these horses were gathered from federal land in the first place?" He shot a quick glance in her direction. "Helicopters spotted them and cowboys rounded them up into corrals. They have a definite aversion to anyone on horseback, as I know first hand. Several years ago, I hired some cowboys to move them from one pasture to another. The wild horses were panic-stricken. I never tried that again. Vehicles don't seem to be nearly as threatening."

Chase drove while she hung onto the clipboard and made notes about their infrequent sightings. The herd had really spread out in small bands of a dozen or fewer horses.

Leaving her with plenty of time to make mental notes on Chase himself.

Eyeing him surreptitiously, she started with his large, rough hands, long fingers comfortably curled around the steering wheel. No sign that he'd ever worn a ring of any kind. His sleeves were rolled to below the elbows, exposing tanned forearms that hinted at his strength. His loose chambray shirt barely camouflaged the upper arm and shoulder muscles that flexed and tightened when he shifted into a lower gear. She'd noted his hard jaw line before, if not the faint scar above his cheekbone that barely missed his eye and trailed into thick dark brown hair.

Nor had she realized how bone-tired he appeared.

But was the exhaustion stamped on his features the result of recent hard work and worry over the refuge, or was it permanent, indicative of a hard life?

What had happened to him after he'd slid into the night like a coyote? Kate wondered.

And knew she shouldn't want to know. Chase wasn't important to her any more. She'd gotten over him years ago. Long before Jake. That damned letter. She shouldn't have read it last night. All her thinking about Moira's legacy since had had its effect on her. No more, she vowed. She knew Chase Brody too well.

"Wild horses," he said, slowing to take another count.

Kate made some fast notes, including the lead mare's identification number, a freeze mark across her left hindquarter. She vowed to keep her mind where it belonged – on the horses.

They traveled along the flats until they reached a spot where Chase stopped the Bronco. They both stepped out. From nearby boulders of cinnabar and plumb, they peered down into a narrow, writhing ravine that had been gouged out by a spring-fed stream. A handful of wild horses were grazing out in the open. Chase used a pair of binoculars to search out others camouflaged amongst the rocks and trees. He was able to pick out two bands, again by identifying the dominant mares. She guessed he'd been around the horses long enough so that he'd memorized them from their colors and markings. Bays and sorrels, Pintos and Paints, buckskins and duns – the herd held every conceivable combination.

When they returned to the truck, Chase asked, "How many do we have so far?"

Realizing he sounded troubled, Kate quickly totaled the figures. "A hundred and forty-three. Is that very different than you expected?"

"There should be more than two hundred horses in this division of the property, and we're almost to the perimeter fence."

"But the herd moves around the refuge freely. Couldn't a few bands have relocated north or east?"

"Mother Nature made it practically impossible for them to pass from one section of the refuge to another. I mean, they can manage it in a few places, but not without difficulty. Plus, we've added fencing to further divide the land."

Surprised, she asked, "Why?"

"Wild horses aren't really wild. They're feral. Their ancestors were domesticated animals set free to fend for themselves. While they've adapted, they don't roam like truly wild animals – wolves, for instance. Horses pick a territory and stay put. That means they eventually deplete vegetation and can even foul their own water holes. They're powerful grazers and the grass needs some time to rebound. So we instigate a migration of sorts, moving horses from one pasture to another. And in late fall when the tourists have gone, we move the whole herd to the other side of the creek for practical reasons. Easier for me to check on them and supplement their feed in the snowy months."

"You don't take care of the herd by yourself all winter?"

"Pretty much. The volunteers dry up and there's no money to pay hired help unless it's an emergency."

Soon they were driving along a flat dotted with sizable corrals, many of them in connecting configurations.

"This is the holding area where we originally brought the horses in," Chase said, slowing the truck to a crawl. "They'd been in feedlots so long, I couldn't see unloading them off trucks and letting them run free immediately. Who knows how many of them would have hurt themselves in their panic."

"So you started by acclimating them to the area."

"Right. We'd leave a bunch in one corral. Then, when the horses seemed settled, we opened gates to the adjoining corral so they had twice as much room to move around. And then the next. Eventually we left the outside gates opened. They were so used to being confined that it took some of them days to work their way out."

Knowing that the infirmary was nearby, Kate looked around. A chill whipped through her even before she spotted the smashed planking.

"Doc... "

Chase stopped the truck some distance from the torn up rails. "That's where it happened," he said tightly. Using the binoculars, he checked out a nearby rocky area that led down to a ravine. "Well, I'll be."

"What?"

"Looks like they hung around. Sage and her band. Won't know if it's her for sure from here, though." He swung the Bronco around and drove as far as he could, braking before an incline strewn with rocks and boulders. "We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

Kate chose to leave her bag in the back of the truck so she wouldn't have to carry the weight down the steep trail unless absolutely necessary. She could always go back for it, but she was really hoping to find all the horses fully recovered so she wouldn't have to worry whether or not they'd made contact with any of the other bands.

Chase led the way, in one tough spot offering to give her a hand that she politely refused. He didn't say anything, merely quirked an eyebrow at her before going on.

And when they neared the bottom of the ravine, the wild horses drew closer to each other, ears twitching, noses blowing, flesh trembling, appearing ready to bolt. One horse in particular – a grulla -- danced and snorted her displeasure. The others looked to her, as if waiting for some predetermined signal.

"That's Sage," Chase confirmed, halting in his tracks. "We found them."

Kate squeezed by him. The momentary intimacy felt a little claustrophobic, and her throat tightened as she said, "Wait here while I get closer."

That he did what she asked without argument surprised Kate, but she immediately turned her undivided attention on the grulla. She gave the horse a whistle, the few notes distinctive and pleasantly musical.

"Sage," she called softly, carefully inserting her hand into a large vest pocket where she'd stuffed a big plastic bag filled with apple chunks. "Look what I brought you."

A half-dozen yards from the mare, she held out the sweet, but Sage merely rolled her eyes, squealed and stepped back. Kate stayed put, but continued trying to seduce the mare with more whistles and offers of the treat.

"Doc told me you liked apples. Mm, it's nice and juicy."

She continued to talk, mostly nonsense. Words in themselves didn't mean much to horses, but her tone and actions did. She whistled again, made herself as non-threatening as possible. When she noted the interest of a little black and white Paint to her left, she took a few cautious steps toward the spotted mare, her hand extended.

"Here you go, sweetheart. C'mon."

The mare moved closer, lipped the apple from her palm, then backed off.

Kate sneaked a look at Sage. The grulla's attention was fixed on her. Good. She coaxed another mare with a second wedge. Then a third.

And as she was able to step closer to the girls, she studied them. Bright eyes. Sufficient energy. No coughs. Seemingly healthy. They began crowding her, getting close enough so she could touch them.

Taking advantage of a level of communication that had always come naturally to her -- if one she couldn't explain -- she chose a buckskin, her gaze boring into the alert brown eyes. She inched closer, ran both hands up the mare's neck. Flesh quivered under her palms, but the animal didn't flinch. Murmuring soothing words, Kate closed her eyes and concentrated, reassured at her impression of well-being.

She connected with a second horse, and sensing the same, went on to the others, now walking among them almost as if she were part of the band. Her impressions were of healthy horses struck by nothing more serious than a little stress.

Except for Sage. The leader of the band remained aloof, her nerves seeming raw. The flesh along her spine shuddered when a fly landed on her rump.

"Hey, girl, I have a few more pieces of apple," Kate murmured, making steady eye contact and stepping softly toward the animal.

Leaving a few yards between them, she held out her hand, determined to stand quiet for as long as it took. The mare eyed her, pranced a bit and trumpeted a warning. When Kate didn't back off, the mare rushed her. Aware that any animal could be dangerous when it felt threatened, Kate stood her ground. She didn't so much as flinch when Sage brushed her, the compact, muscular body barely making enough contact to be felt.

A thrill shooting through her, Kate turned square with the horse.

Sage vocally tried to spook her. Kate returned with the animal-pleasing whistled notes. Seeming unsure of what to think, the mare eyed her balefully and rushed her again... this time stopping directly before her. She snorted, her breath warming Kate's arm.

And then she took the treat.

"Thatta girl. See, I'm harmless."

Kate produced another wedge of apple and inched closer. Sage stood her ground for a moment, then dipped her head and took the second offering. With the third treat, Kate was close enough to touch the horse.

Already clearing her mind of anything extraneous, she slid her free hand forward even more carefully than she had with the others. She closed her eyes, concentrating on calming the animal, assuring her she had nothing to fear.

But her fingertips grazing hide-covered flesh produced an explosion of sound reverberating through her head...

. . . horses running... necks lathered, eyes wild, tails straight out... an inhuman scream... the sky forked with lightning... her body being jostled from every direction...

Panic like none she'd ever experienced before rocking her, Kate severed the connection and opened her eyes, reacting without thinking.

"What the hell!"

Sage squealed and threw up her head, then pivoted and took off, tail arched. She cut through her band, her renewed fear spreading like wildfire. The mares whirled around, one after the other, all leaving Kate in a cloud of dust and feeling as if she wanted to bolt, too.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Kate spun around, practically smacking into Chase. He grabbed her upper arms, steadying her. His hands on her flesh seemed natural. Remembered. Unable to be angry that he'd gotten so close, she tried to talk, to explain, but words seemed impossible against the pounding in her ears. Her heart was still beating far too fast, and Chase's touching her only complicated things.

"What happened?" he demanded.

Somehow she found her voice. "I don't know. I saw... "

"What?"

What had she seen? "I'm not sure. Sage was so frightened. Hysterical."

Provoked, she suspected, by an unpleasant memory, more compelling and vivid than anything she'd ever tapped into before. She'd never been so afraid...

"And you somehow saw this?"

Chase's skeptical tone made her start. She'd momentarily forgotten that he'd never believed in her ability and had placed it in the same category as a child having an invisible playmate. Trying to explain anything to him would be useless.

Shaking off his hands, Kate regained outward control of herself. Inside, she was still quaking from the perturbing experience.

"The important thing is that the horses are all right," she said in a voice far calmer than she felt. "Healthy, I mean."

Chase stared like he could see right through her. But if he guessed she was holding back, he didn't press her.

Kate started up the incline, her mind whirling. What had she seen? All right, a memory. A terrible one. But of what? Running horses. Why should that be so frightening? A vague notion made her queasy.

What if she'd seen a stampede?

CHASE CURSED HIMSELF as he hurried to catch up to Kate, who was speeding up the hill like a rabbit with a coyote on its heels. Something weird had happened to her, and his big mouth had stopped her from telling him what.

He'd known she had a way with horses as she did with all animals, but he didn't remember ever seeing anything like this. Her power over the mares had been mesmerizing. She'd been mesmerizing, a thing of beauty to watch -- not her looks, which had matured from teenage-cute to womanly-striking, but the very depth of her fearlessness and spirit. He'd caught himself holding his breath as she'd made physical contact with one mare after the other, the wild horses crowding her as if they'd accepted her as one of them.

But when Kate had touched Sage and had reacted as if she'd stuck her hand straight into a fire, his gut had twisted and his chest had squeezed tight. Acting on instinct, he'd immediately raced to her rescue. Not that she'd needed deliverance. She hadn't been threatened with physical hurt. For a moment, though, she'd been vulnerable.

And he'd been reminded of the way things had once been between them.

Then, fool that he was, he'd blown it.

"Kate, wait a minute." He caught up to her before she slid into the truck.

She paused at the open door. "Nathan and Merle are probably already waiting for us."

"So let them wait. We need to talk."

"We can talk while you're driving."

"No. Now. I want to explain --"

"Explain what, Chase?" she asked, using that special tone of hers, layering sarcasm over pleasant melody. "Why you ran out on me? You're more than a few years too late."

Though he'd hoped to get her to open up about what had happened with Sage, he'd known this showdown was inevitable. A matter of time.

"I didn't run out on you, but on the circumstances," he maintained, even knowing her accusation held a seed of truth. What had begun as a means for him to prove that he was as good as anyone, had ended up scaring him. "You know I had to leave town."

She stared at him open-mouthed before protesting, "I don't know that, Chase. Even if you felt that way, you could have told me. You could have said good-bye in person. You could have called me later. You could have written. You had any number of options... if you ever gave me a second thought!"

Her eyes shot green flames at him as they had each time he'd ticked her off. The memory of those eyes had haunted his dreams for years. But she didn't need to know that.

"I figured a clean break would be easiest."

Her spine stiffened and she seemed to grow another few inches. "Easiest for you," she said softly. "Yes, I'm sure it was. Coward."

Her contempt cutting through him, she slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door in his face. Chase figured he deserved that and more.

As he rounded the truck, Kate stared out the side window. He doubted she'd be inclined to do any more talking for the moment, not even about the horses. His not knowing exactly what she'd imagined seeing when touching Sage would eat at him until he got some answers.

Like... did her supposed vision reveal anything about what had been happening at the refuge...

BEFORE SHE COULD OFFER some pleasantry to lighten up the atmosphere, Chase interrupted. "I thought you wanted a look around."

"That's what I'm here for."

Pulling off his work gloves, he glanced up at the tractor. "Don't kill yourself trying to get this in today. Do what you can and stop when you need to. We'll get back to it first thing in the morning."

Merle's grudging "Right, boss" gave Kate the opposite notion.

Because Merle didn't want to work alone? Or because she objected to Kate's presence on the refuge?

They drove both vehicles back toward the visitors' center, but after crossing the creek, Chase turned west, leading her to a spot about a mile down the road where the creek curved and widened, and a couple of picnic benches and a gas grill sat beneath some leafy cottonwoods. He brought his truck to a stop and hopped out.

She did likewise, asking, "What is this place?"

"Annie brings tourists out here a couple of times a week for an overpriced grilled steak." He opened his tailgate. "Be right with you."

Kate sat at a picnic table and stared off at the red cliffs on the opposite side of the creek, automatically searching for horses. But the only movement that caught her eye came from the midst of a dust cloud to the west. She squinted against the sun. The billowing copper-tinted haze proved to be made by an approaching truck loaded with tourists. The clunky old vehicle passed out of sight, continuing in the direction of the visitor's center.

Buck Duran had been behind the wheel.

Though Kate had known he was working for the refuge, she could hardly believe he'd forgiven his brother Gil's death... or his own handicap. At the time, Buck had placed the blame for the accident square on Chase's shoulders. She guessed old wounds healed for some people... if not for her.

"Here's mud in your eye." Chase set a steaming mug of black coffee in front of her, followed by several pamphlets. "And information about the refuge."

He wanted her to read about the operation rather than see it for herself? She took a sip of coffee and ignored the pamphlets. Wondering why he was treating her like some stranger -- some interloper -- she said, "I thought I was going to get the personal treatment."

He quirked an eyebrow. "How personal do you want to make this?"

Unwilling to play some silly word game, she flatly said, "As in a tour."

"You lived in this country most of your life, so you know what it looks like."

"But the mustangs --"

"All pretty much like the ones we passed getting back here." Cutting her off, he claimed the bench opposite. "So what's on your mind, Kate?"

"I told you," she hedged, having a lot more on her mind than the horses. But it would be a cold day in hell before she related anything personal. "After the funeral, Nathan said the place could use my help. I know Doc would have wanted me to take over for him until you could hire someone."

Chase's laugh was humorless. "You may be stuck here forever, then. Or for as long as we can stay in business. We're squeaking by now," he said, confirming what Nathan had told her. "I'm having enough problems meeting the mortgage and payroll, such as it is. I can't even pay decent wages to the few people who aren't volunteers."

She couldn't help asking, "Does that include yourself?"

"I don't take a red cent... " His attention strayed to a point beyond her shoulder. ". . . not unless you count room and board."

Not having expected such generosity on his part, she wasn't quite certain she believed it, either. Involved in fundraising for the refuge, he surely had an expense account that paid for his other needs. Otherwise, he'd have to be either crazy or the most selfless man she'd ever met.

"So why do you do it then?" she asked, trying to keep an open mind.

"That's why."

Kate followed his line of sight to where a handful of mustangs loped along the ridge. Imagining she could hear the natural rhythms of their unshod hooves beating against the earth... their collective breaths blowing and snorting against the breeze... she was enveloped by a heady and unfamiliar sensation.

"Tell me what exactly you want to know about the refuge," Chase was saying. "If you're really here to volunteer."

She whipped around to face him. "Why else would I bother stepping foot on this land?"

"I could think of a reason or two." He lifted his mug.

Meaning him?

A flush crawled up her neck at the unwelcome truth she'd buried beneath her rationalization. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm not a kid any more."

"I can see that."

He fixed his intense gaze on her mouth, making it go dry, making her want to lick her lips in the worst way. No doubt Chase would like that -- would get some perverse thrill out of knowing he could still get to her on a primal level -- so Kate determined she'd let her lips crack like dry desert earth before she gave him the satisfaction of wetting them.

"How big is the herd?" she asked.

"That information's in the brochures." He pushed them toward her.

And she continued to ignore them. "Does that mean you don't know?"

"Nearly five hundred."

Her eyes widened. Doc hadn't given her the specifics. "That many?"

"Intimidated?"

"You should remember I don't intimidate easy."

Silent for a moment, he seemed to be ruminating. Then he said, "I remember a lot of things," so softly that it made the hair on her arms stand straight up.

"Well, don't," she warned him.

They locked gazes. Nearly twenty years and she couldn't forget how badly he'd let her down when he'd skipped out on her. What did it matter that she'd been little more than a kid? She'd had a woman's feelings for him. He'd gone and gotten himself into big trouble, and then he'd run without so much as a fair-thee-well. He'd taken the trust she'd given him and had thrown it back in her face.

No letter. No phone message. Nothing.

That's what she hoped he would recall.

Gratified when he was the first to glance away, his expression uneasy, she figured he had. She had to admit to surprise at his reaction. Guilt? She would never have suspected he was capable of remorse.

He'd have to have a heart first.

Gazing out at the land, Chase said, "The refuge is eighteen thousand acres plus of harsh territory. Most of the herd is limited to the other side of the creek. Tourists occasionally get glimpses of a band like we just did, but they never get near the truly wild horses."

She heard the satisfaction in his tone, as if it were important to him that they stay as wild as possible. "So people pay to maybe see some horses from a distance?"

"They don't leave here disappointed. That would be bad business, wouldn't it," he said, the word business sounding like a dirty word coming from him. "I make sure the tourists get their mustang fix. We drive them out to the closer pastures where we keep the adopted horses. Nearly a hundred of them now that we have yearlings and foals."

She knew about the breeding from Doc, of course, but she hadn't questioned him too closely lest he get the wrong idea about her interest in the subject. "I thought there were too many wild horses to take care of already."

"A little policy change on my part. The mares that were part of the deal with the BLM have been barren for years and will stay that way," he clarified. "They were part of a sterility experiment using steroids. And the males were delivered gelded. But in addition, I've personally bought mares from the Adopt-A-Horse program for more than a dozen years -- starting back when this place was only a twinkle in my mind."

Mustangs continued to run free on federal land, Kate knew, and under protection of the Wild Free-Roaming Horse and Burro Act their numbers had become problematic. She'd heard about whole herds dying from starvation or dehydration because of lack of vegetation or water. To keep their numbers in check, the federal government had initiated the Adopt-A-Horse program.

According to Doc, although now only young horses were gathered, during the first several years of the program, many of the animals culled from the bigger herds had been too old, too sick or too ugly for anyone to adopt. They'd ended up in federal feedlots where they would remain until they died. A handful of individuals and organizations decided to do something about the awful situation -- give the horses a better life for whatever time they had left -- because policy went against returning them to their natural ranges.

Doc had told her Chase was one of the handful. He'd founded a not-for-profit organization that was the official "owner" of Bitter Creek Mustang Refuge, so that at least some of the unadoptables would live out their remaining days in relative freedom.

Maybe Chase did have a heart, after all, she conceded. And he probably was crazy, too.

Hating that she had a reason to like him whether or not she wanted to, she said, "So you've been breeding the mustangs you yourself own."

"I brought in a prime stallion two years ago to service the girls," he agreed. "Hopefully, the offspring'll bring in a few thousand apiece -- enough money to make some difference around here."

Which meant that, in addition to not taking a salary, he was willing to kick in any money he could personally generate.

In an area where one could get a decent saddle horse for two or three hundred, a few thousand was way out of line, Kate knew. Undoubtedly Chase was counting on the sentimental value of someone's desire to own an American icon and thinking of the inflated price as being a well-spent contribution to a romantic cause.

"So what do you say?" he asked.

"About?"

"Vetting my horses."

His horses? She supposed they were.

"I'll make some time. Temporarily," she emphasized, not wanting him to think she was at his disposal. "You'll have to start looking for someone permanent to replace Doc."

He shrugged. "Right."

His too-casual response made her a little edgy. She didn't want to feel trapped in the situation. If Chase wouldn't actively look for a replacement, she could ask around herself. Maybe she could find a couple of vets willing to donate some of their time. That way, the whole burden wouldn't be on one person.

"So what do you need done first?" she asked.

"You free tomorrow afternoon?"

"I was going to move my things over to Doc's house -- um, I'll be staying there until Ellen sells -- but I guess there's no hurry." Not that she had a whole lot to move. When she'd returned to Bitter Creek, she'd left most of her possessions behind as she had her life in Sioux Falls. "Besides, I can bring over a few things at a time."

"If you ask real nice, I'll help."

Kate eyed Chase warily, searching for motive. But if he had one, he was keeping it close to his chest. Not that it mattered. Being alone with him in close quarters wouldn't be a smart move and she gave herself credit for having a modicum of native intelligence.

"If I need you, I'll whistle," she returned. And before he could get a response out of his open mouth, she added, "About tomorrow?"

"We should be done with the fencing by noon. Then we'll need to count noses."

"You think some of the herd strayed?"

"No telling. If you come along, you'll get your close-up tour of the property, and we can locate the band of mares Doc was treating for that virus."

"They're mixed in with the main herd?" she asked, immediately concerned.

"Afraid so. Doc said they were well on their way to recovery, though, so hopefully it's no problem. Even so, you should check them out. If you can get close enough."

"I can get close enough."

"Awfully sure of yourself."

"If you'll remember, I never had trouble communicating with animals."

"I thought that was a kid thing," he said, pulling a face, "like invisible companions."

"And I thought you knew me better than that."

Besides, though she now considered herself a kid when her heart had been broken, she actually had been fifteen -- a little old for invisible companions, and he knew it. At the time, she'd thought he'd believed her. Kate guessed he'd fooled her about a lot of things.

"Oh, Lord, spare me." He was shaking his head. "Now I've got to deal with a woman who talks to animals... "

Tightly, she returned, "And who listens when they talk back."

Though Chase lifted a questioning eyebrow, he said no more about the issue. He took a big swig of his coffee, which had to be cold by now. And then he started, his gaze narrowing on something in the distance. A scar above his right cheekbone whitened and the sound of the mug clanking against the table half-covered his vivid curse.

Wondering how he'd gotten the scar that just missed his eye, Kate whirled around to see what was bothering him. "What's wrong?" she asked, even while spotting the string of lathered horses in the distance.

"Damn Whit Spivey!" he muttered, jumping to his feet, his expression furious. "He ran them north of the creek again! Went downstream this time, probably thinking no one would ever know the difference."

"You're talking about a trail ride?"

He nodded curtly. "Taking visitors where he shouldn't be and bothering the horses so his customers'll have something to brag about to their friends." Moving away from the table, he added, "I suspect he purposely spooks the mustangs into an all out run... "

And Chase was running off on her, Kate realized. Again. While she stood staring after him like an idiot, he jogged toward his truck.

"Hey, wait a minute," she called after him, "are we through?" Obviously they were since he didn't respond. She yelled anyway. "What time tomorrow afternoon and where do we meet?"

But she might as well be questioning herself. Seeming to have forgotten all about her, Chase was already getting into his Bronco and starting the engine, his focus elsewhere.

Kate knew she shouldn't be surprised by his lack of manners. He'd never had any that she could remember. At least not with her. Irritation teetering on anger, she watched him tear off in a cloud of dust.

Was it her, then, she wondered, or was it a habit with him... did he never say good-bye to anyone?

WHIT SPIVEY HAD BARELY DISMOUNTED when he spotted Chase Brody stalking toward the riding concession from the visitor's center, a storm cloud brewing over his brimmed hat. Having seen the black Bronco coming in nearly alongside his string, he knew what was what.

Not that he cared. Defying Brody had been worth the risk. His customers had been thrilled out of their minds to get an up close and personal view of wild horses kicking up their hooves. He spit out a chew of tobacco and raised his voice above their still-excited chatter.

"You folks whip them reins around the post a coupla times now, hear? We don't want no one wanderin' off." Then he signaled his assistant Teddy, a junior high kid whose butt he worked off for less than minimum wage, to take his own horse. "Make sure them animals is cooled down --"

"I know the drill, Mr. Spivey," Teddy said, braces showing as he grinned.

The kid led the horse off even as Brody skidded to a stop before him. "Spivey, I want to talk to you."

Though the refuge manager's expression was as foul as he'd ever seen it, Whit wasn't intimidated.

"Sure, chief." Considering how much cold cash he had in his pocket at the moment, he could afford to be affable. "Step into my office."

He indicated the rickety lean-to outside of the tack house, where he signed up customers for trail rides. Brody beat him there, then stood fuming. Whit took his time, dumping himself into his squeaky chair.

He tossed his hat onto a peg and smoothed down his thinning hair before asking, "What can I do for you?"

"You can start by explaining what you were doing north of the creek!"

Feigning innocence, Whit shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Just needed a change of scenery so my horses don't fall asleep on me. That was my fifth ride out today."

The increased traffic courtesy of the tragic stampede. At least Doc had been good for something.

"Look," Brody said, trying to sound reasonable, "you know the rules."

"Rules were meant to be broken."

"Not around here." The refuge manager latched onto a post so hard his knuckles turned white. "I've told you before -- stay on this side of the creek."

"This side gets pretty tedious." A few months ago, Whit wouldn't have smart-mouthed the other man, but in his mind, the balance of power had shifted. "And my customers would rather get sight of the mustangs."

"They can do that on a tour. I'm warning you, don't cross me on this."

"Or you'll what?" Whit sucked on his rotting teeth, thinking that if his luck held, he'd be able to afford himself a dentist. "I don't work for you, so you can't fire me. I got myself a contract for the season all legal like."

"One I don't have to renew."

"And lose the money I bring in for this godforsaken place?" Let him try to find someone else who owned a big string of horses and the tack to go with them like he did. Fat chance. "You need the money I turn over and we both know it."

Whit hated like hell giving thirty per cent to the refuge when he didn't even have free run of the site. At least that was his rationalization of why he'd taken to miscounting the numbers of riders whenever he thought he could get away with it. But that little bitch in the office had caught him cheating a few weeks back, and she'd been keeping her eye out on him since. Not that he'd stopped. He'd merely learned to be more careful.

"Look, Spivey, I'm concerned about the horses."

Whit felt like snorting. Brody was singing a different tune now. "They ain't babes at their mothers' tits anymore. They survived a whole lot worse than being ogled by a bunch o' strangers."

"You're right. They've survived hell and I'm not letting them go back and relive it."

"If my customers don't think they got their money's worth, they won't come back... or tell their friends what a good time they had here."

Finally losing it, Brody shouted, "I don't give a damn!"

"No shit! That's why you're runnin' this place into the ground."

He glared at the other man until a movement caught his eye. Buck Duran was hobbling in their direction from the office, his limp more pronounced than usual, reminding Whit of what he'd learned about Brody's past. Who was he to play Mr. High and Mighty?

"A man's gotta make a living. At least those of us who ain't saints like you!"

Brody's color deepening, he looked as though he were going to get physical. Then he got control of himself and stalked off, passing Buck as he said, "I can always find someone to take your place. Remember that."

Threats pissed him off. Whit narrowed his gaze after the other man, loathing tying up his guts. Chase Brody's babysitting a bunch of over aged, broken down horses didn't make him noble. Hell, that made him plain stupid, and he deserved whatever he got.

"Hey, Whit."

He acknowledged the man who stopped just short of the lean-to. "Buck."

"Annie was real busy, so she asked me to come down here and ask you to bring today's cut up to the office as soon as possible. She wants to make the deposit tonight."

Bull! Miss Goody-Two-Shoes was keeping an extra close eye on him. "Probably needs every penny to balance the bank account," he said, barely able to hide his rancor.

"Yeah, the refuge is in trouble, all right."

Whit rose. "Man, it's been a long day." His customers had all drifted away and the kid was hard at work taking care of the horses. "Teddy!" he yelled to get the boy's attention. "Can you finish up yourself?"

Teddy said, "Sure, Mr. Spivey, I don't mind," just as Whit figured he would. Kid was horse crazy or he wouldn't break his back for peanuts.

To Buck he said, "Come on, I'll walk with you." He grabbed his hat and stuffed it on his head as he went.

Buck shuffled fast to keep up with him. "So, is Chase on your case about something?" he asked, a loopy smile decorating his boyish face.

"He wants to tell me how to run my business. Don't really bother me none," Whit lied. "I reckon I'll head for town and a coupla cold beers after I stop by the office." An intriguing thought occurred to him. "Care to join me?"

"Sure, why not? Eating that dust all day works up a man's thirst."

Knowing that the refuge manager was responsible for Buck's being a cripple as well as his brother's death, Whit figured it would be unnatural if, underneath that big grin, he didn't hate Brody, too. Maybe it was time to find out how much.

An ally could be useful.

KATE'S ARMS WERE FULL as she pushed into Doc's house, Wrangler crowding her legs.

"Hey, watch that, you rotten mutt!" she said good-naturedly, setting the big box of personal items on the coffee table.

Wrangler sat and whistled through his nose, but he'd lost some of his sad air, as though he understood she would try to fill some of the void Doc had left.

She sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the area next to her. The dog rushed to her side, sticking his cold nose in her face. Kate laughed and Wrangler tried to lick the inside of her lips.

Pulling back, she complained, "Ooh, not dog kisses!"

The mutt merely became more determined to give her some affection and stepped all over her. Kate hugged him and ruffled his fur.

"Want to help me check out what's in this box?" she asked. "Of course, you do. Sit."

With a little physical maneuvering, she managed to convince him to sit next to her. Then she removed the lid from the box. The top item was an old scrapbook she'd started in high school. She turned back the cover and several pages of photographs of her family and schoolmates.

"Do you recognize him?" she asked Wrangler, pointing to a picture of Doc and a scrawny stray cat whose broken leg he'd set.

But the glossy held little interest for the dog. Apparently appreciative of her company, however, he remained at her side, watching her page through her youth. The scrapbook held so many memories, including ones she'd rather forget, Kate thought, pausing at a photo of her with Chase. Her feelings for him had been plain enough to see. She wondered if he'd ever looked at her close enough to recognize them.

Not wanting to dwell on her unresolved anger, she continued pouring through the scrapbook, keeping Wrangler's attention with a running dialogue that he seemed to understand. When she came to the photographs of her and Jake and his family, however, she fell silent. Their marriage ending so quickly had left her with still-unresolved questions.

She hadn't added anything to the scrapbook since... except for the letter from her Irish grandmother, Moira McKenna.

Opening the thick, cream-colored sheet of paper, she read the missive, which ironically, she'd received on the eve of her divorce.

To my darling Kathleen,

I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday -- enough time to know what you are about -- you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.

Your loving grandmother,

Moira McKenna

P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good lest you harm yourself or those you love.

Neil had received an identical copy, she knew -- as had Quin, though Mom had been obliged to mail his to wherever in the world he'd been at the time. Neil had speculated that Moira had sent the same letter to all nine of her American and Irish grandchildren, but Kate had been of no mind to discuss the matter at length.

While she'd appreciated the sincerity of Moira's bequest -- the dying woman had obviously wanted her grandchildren to be happy after the way each of her own children had blemished their personal lives with prejudice and anger -- Kate had realized she'd already blown her chance at happiness.

"Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours," she quoted to Wrangler, who tilted his head as if trying to understand.

Even now, she wondered if she had been too selfish to be married. Maybe she should have given up being a veterinarian and started having babies as Jake had demanded of her. Not that she didn't want kids. She was well aware of her biological clock tick-tick-ticking away. But she hadn't seen that doing what she'd been born to do and having a family were mutually exclusive.

And before they married, neither had Jake.

What it came down to, she suspected, was that her husband had never truly believed in her special ability to communicate with animals, but had humored her while it suited him. Just as Chase had done. In either case, she shouldn't have been surprised. People who couldn't relate to something beyond their own reality had given her a lot of guff over the years. Outwardly, she'd remained unaffected by their laughter and derision, but inside, she'd been hurt.

Her mother had told her she'd inherited her gift from her grandmother. Kate had always wondered if Moira had suffered for being different, as well.

Her gaze strayed back to the letter.

"Within thirty-three days after your thirty-third birthday... " Ironic. "I was thirty-three last week," she told the dog. "Grandmother's timing was a bit off, wouldn't you say?"

Wrangler's tail thumped in agreement.

No man in her life. No man who even interested her. As if to put a lie to her thoughts, Chase came to mind. But he'd left her once and she had only hostile feelings toward him. Mostly hostile feelings, she amended, remembering the moment she'd first seen him at the cemetery.

No matter, she had to be the problem. Something within her kept men from accepting and loving her as she was. Because she was different? She'd had no luck with Chase. No luck with marriage to Jake. The well-intentioned wishes of her grandmother were just that, at least in her case, Kate decided sadly, refolding the letter and burying it in the scrapbook.

"The McKenna Legacy is a pretty tale," she told the dog, snuggling with him. "But not for the likes of me."

Chapter Four

NATHAN LANTERO WAITED for the rendezvous in the observation tower, which was located on the highest point of the refuge. He stared out at the land that should belong to his people. The Lakota considered the Paha Sapa -- the Black Hills -- a sacred place.

Hundreds of years ago the Anasazi had mined these southern hills for flint. They'd left behind pictographs carved into the limestone walls -- the legacy of Native Americans. The refuge held part of that legacy. The Lakota had been negotiating with the governor to buy the state-owned property when Chase Brody had stepped in with an alternate plan. That a white man had swayed the governor away from his original negotiations had come as no surprise.

Spotting the Bronco winding around a curve, Nathan descended the wooden stairs, careful to avoid the danger spots caused by rotting wood and missing boards. Like most everything else on the refuge, the observation tower needed serious repair if not demolition. And the way things were headed, he doubted Brody would get it together before losing the place.

He sauntered over to Merle, who was sitting in the back of her pick-up, passing time with Gerry and Lyne, a pair of pretty dark-haired sisters in their early twenties, who had volunteered their two weeks' vacations to the refuge.

"Brody's here," he told them. The truck was just pulling up to the site.

"Finally."

Getting to her feet, Merle threw her legs over the side of the pick-up and dropped to the ground, Gerry and Lyne following but hanging back. Brody and Kate left the Bronco. He couldn't help but notice the tension between them. Kate purposely put distance between her and the refuge manager.

Without preamble, Brody asked Merle, "So what did you find?"

"Nothing you're going to like."

Nathan added, "We think a bunch of horses went over that downed fence unless they somehow picked their way to the west pasture."

"How many?"

"Give or take a few we mighta missed, thirty-seven in the north pasture, and another eleven in the east."

"That makes nearly a hundred, then."

"We could look forever," Merle said, "and never find them all."

"We'd better," Brody said, "or I'll have to make a report to the BLM. Missing horses won't look good for us."

Rather for him. Nathan knew the man was worried that the BLM would consider him irresponsible. The government would have the right to pull the remaining horses still under the BLM's protection out from under him. Then his big dream would collapse.

And his people would have another opportunity to buy back what was rightfully theirs, Nathan thought.

"The horses couldn't have strayed too far, right?" Kate asked.

"Let's hope not," Brody said, though he didn't look optimistic. "We'll have to check with the surrounding ranches, see if anyone has spotted loose mustangs. Nathan, you take the Double K and Rocking Horse. Merle, check with the Johnson Ranch and Big Sky. Kate and I will pay Thea Lockridge a visit."

"And welcome to her," Merle muttered.

"We'll meet back at the office before dark."

Knowing he was being sent on a fool's errand, Nathan signaled Gerry. "Let's get going."

Dark eyes sparkling, she asked, "Want me to drive?"

He was distracted from answering by Kate's saying, "Chase, I need a minute to talk to Nathan first."

That took him by surprise.

Brody nodded curtly. "Don't take too long."

"Let's go over there." Kate cocked her head toward the observation tower.

Curious, he followed. Noting that she seemed on edge even away from Brody, he asked, "So what's up?" the moment they were out of hearing range of the others.

"We located the mares Doc had been treating. I checked them over to make certain they were fit. When I got to Sage -- she's the leader -- the weirdest thing happened. I couldn't really talk to someone as skeptical as Chase about it. I figured if anyone would understand, you would."

Nathan knew all about Kate's being able to merge her spirit with that of an animal, an ability his late father had helped her to develop -- the main reason he'd given her such a hard time when they were kids. He hadn't believed that his father could give so much regard to someone else's child without his losing something. And he'd been resentful that she had an ability considered to be within the province of his own people. One far stronger than his own.

"What did you see, Kate?"

"Running horses. I sensed their fright... and Sage's terror. The feelings were so overwhelming, that I pulled away from the images too soon. But even with my eyes open, the intensity didn't go away. My heart felt as if it were pounding out of my chest. My reaction panicked Sage and she took off." Obviously still affected, she took a shaky breath. "Nathan, I've never had such a powerful experience before."

Wary of where this would lead, he asked, "What do you think it means?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

"I'm not the one who had the vision." Besides, he wanted to know her thoughts. "And it sounds like you already have an opinion."

"This may sound crazy, but I imagined that I saw a stampede... maybe the one that killed Doc."

When he'd suggested she vet the wild horses, he'd figured she would be a distraction for Brody. Somehow her tuning into Doc's death hadn't occurred to him.

"That would make sense, wouldn't it?" she went on. "The accident happened less than a week ago. Maybe I should try again."

"So you can torture yourself?" Nathan shook his head. "Better that you try to forget you saw anything. I know how close you and Doc were. Dwelling on his death can only bring you more heartache."

Suddenly aware they weren't alone, he glanced over his shoulder. Gerry had trailed after him and was waiting a few yards back. Close enough to hear?

"Or maybe it'll give me some answers," Kate was saying.

Nathan refocused his attention on her. He recognized the set of her jaw. He knew when to back off. No good would come of her probing deeper. But if he objected too strongly, she'd go ahead and try again for sure.

So all he said was, "Let me know if I can be of help. You can always talk to me."

That way he'd know exactly what was going on.

"YOU AND LANTERO HAVE something going?"

Chase posed the question only after they turned onto land identified as Lockridge Acres by a billboard-sized sign -- and as casually as if her answer meant nothing to him. Not that Kate bought the blasé attitude. She'd seen Chase glaring at her and Nathan from a distance. He'd looked less than pleased -- downright ticked, actually -- but she'd merely assumed he'd guessed her purpose and hadn't liked being left out of the loop where it concerned his horses.

Now she was wondering if his reaction weren't more personal. Her pulse threaded unevenly at the thought. Even though she reminded herself that she was too smart to be sucked in by Chase again, she couldn't help herself.

She asked, "What's it to you?" and avidly watched for his reaction.

But he kept his expression passive when he took his eyes off the gravel drive long enough to glance at her. "Just trying to catch up."

"I'll bet you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You never were much interested in anything that didn't concern you directly."

Making her think that she might concern him. Was it possible?

"Maybe I'm not the same person I once was."

Definitely possible, Kate realized, her heart skipping a beat. Chase certainly hadn't grown any more sociable with the years. But maybe he'd changed inside, where it counted. Not that he'd been a bad person, simply self-absorbed. Twenty years ago, she would never have imagined him as being selfless. Why else would he devote himself to taking care of horses that no one wanted?

When she didn't respond to his statement, he pressed her. "Or don't you think a man can change?"

Irritated that part of her wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt when her rational self saw the danger in her letting down her guard, Kate snapped, "In your case, that's about as likely as a leopard changing its spots into stripes."

Chase tightened his jaw and stared straight ahead.

The Bronco was cutting through an expanse of prairie growth, but the vegetation looked studied, Kate decided, the acreage too well-tended to be natural. Thea Lockridge had hired some industrious landscaper.

Curious about the owner, she asked, "So what does Merle have against this Thea?"

"For one, she's a newcomer to the area. Sold her house in L.A. and bought a small spread out here a couple of years ago. She's been buying up land ever since. She's in real estate development," he added, as if the fact defined the type of woman she was.

That Chase disliked her also was clear.

Kate was aware that many people resented transported Californians, and not only South Dakotans. Locals all over the western states bad-mouthed these interlopers, who were looking for a better lifestyle at a much smaller price tag. Migrating Californians bought up property at inflated prices that natives couldn't afford, after which taxes were raised for all. While Kate figured every human being was entitled to live where he or she wanted, she sympathized with those who were hurt by the situation.

And Thea Lockridge certainly wasn't hurting, she noted, finally sighting the house.

House? Try mansion.

The architectural wonder of wood and glass had to be the biggest, fanciest residence in this part of the state. Actually, with four rooms of the upper story jutting out like rounded appendages -- giving the occupants more than a one hundred and eighty degree view -- the building bordered on the grotesque. Kate wondered how many trees had fallen under the ax to build the monstrosity.

Chase parked on the circular drive. In back, showy stables topped by what looked like sky boxes stood next to an ornate pool house and deck. Beyond, another structure was identified by a sign that read "Outfitting".

As they left the Bronco, Kate asked, "Are you sure this isn't a resort?"

"A very private resort to amuse Thea Lockridge and her friends."

"Then she entertains a lot of people from out of town?"

"So I've heard -- her way of selling them real estate."

Chase stopped at the oversized double doors carved with Native American designs. He rang the bell.

In a low voice, she murmured, "You said Merle disliked the owner because she's a transplant for one. What are the other reasons?"

"You'll see," he promised.

The massive door swung open to reveal a uniformed maid. "Good afternoon. Can I help you?"

"I need to talk to Thea."

"Can I tell Miss Lockridge who's calling?"

"Chase Brody."

"Oh, she'll want to see you, of course." Seeming flustered, the young woman stepped back. "Come in, please."

The icily air conditioned foyer was quite a relief from the heat. After getting an eyeful of the interior, Kate suspected the owner wouldn't care what it cost the environment or her neighbors to possess whatever struck her fancy.

"Please wait here, and I'll announce you," the maid said.

She curtseyed awkwardly before scurrying off through the living area that had to be measured in yards rather than in feet. The decor was an eclectic collection of designer furniture, extravagant artwork and morbid animal trophies -- everything in excess. A half-dozen stuffed heads mounted around the foyer blindly stared down at them through glass eyes.

Shivering from a combination of chilled air and disgust, Kate tried to ignore the waste. "I don't think Thea Lockridge is going to be my favorite person, either."

Chase merely grunted.

A noisy clacking over bare wood floors alerted them to the owner's arrival. High-heeled boots and a blonde beehive lent several inches to an ordinary stature. While garbed in a country casual denim skirt and a simple long-sleeved silk shirt, the woman had draped herself with enough Native American-style designer jewelry to set up her own pawn shop.

"Chase Brody, how wonderful to see you."

She held out a hand decorated with long, curved crimson-red nails that reminded Kate of painted claws. When he ignored the friendly gesture, Thea dropped her arm before turning to Kate, her gray eyes narrowing and her exaggerated full red lips stretching into a forced smile.

"And you are... ?"

"Kate Farrell."

"Of the Farrell Ranch?" She sounded impressed despite herself.

Not wanting the woman to think she had wealth in her favor, Kate said, "Formerly. My family owns the spread."

Thea arched her heavily penciled brows. "And you chose to leave that magnificent acreage for... ?"

"My practice is based in town," Kate hedged in response to the rude question. Her reasons were private. "Besides I'm quite comfortable in Doc Weber's old house."

"Aah, then you must be the new veterinarian I've heard so much about."

"That's me."

The's interest immediately waned, and Kate wondered who in the world was doing the talking.

Chase exposed his impatience with a testy "Can we get down to business?"

"Business?" Thea echoed, her smile now genuine. "Of course. Let's chat in the living room, shall we?"

She swept them to a seating area surrounding a massive stone fireplace. Kate carefully stepped over the bear skin rug and dodged the chair whose frame was made of antlers, a match to the chandelier overhead. But she couldn't avoid staring at the creature stationed across the room surrounded by fancy leather saddles and silver spurs. She'd prefer believing the life-sized Appaloosa was a ceramic or metal...but it looked so very real. Surely the ex-Californian didn't have the bad taste to own a stuffed horse...

Thea ensconced herself in the very chair Kate had avoided, her entire attention focused on Chase, who sat stiff as a statue. He took up one end of the couch, while Kate tried to make herself comfortable at the other.

"So, what took you so long, Chase?" Thea asked. "I assume you're here about my offer."

"The refuge isn't for sale. I've told you that any number of times."

But he hadn't told her that the tasteless woman had offered to buy it, Kate thought, wondering why he'd omitted that little detail.

"I don't need the whole refuge. Just a few thousand acres of north pasture."

"So you can break up the land into another development?"

"You make my plans for the area sound so tacky. We're not talking about seedy little prefabricated houses lined up like a row of ducks. You should know better considering the estates I've already developed."

"Housing no one around here can afford."

"So I'm drawing a certain class of people who enjoy the finer things in life to the area. More people with money means other kinds of development, the creation of new jobs. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing if you don't destroy other people's way of life," Kate said.

Thea skipped over her objection. "For my next project, I envision large tracts of common-use lands and the kind of individual acreage that will allow the owners to enjoy as many horses --"

"Horses," Chase echoed, cutting her off. "That's what we're here for."

"I see." The real estate developer's smile vanished. "You want something from me when you won't even consider my offer." She toyed with a silver and turquoise necklace. "How much do you need?"

"I'm not here about a donation," Chase assured her, "though I'd be pleased to accept one if you're feeling generous." He paused a moment, then when she didn't respond, went on. "Some of my horses are missing."

"How does that concern me?"

"Your property adjoins the refuge. About a hundred head have disappeared. I thought some of them might have wandered onto your land."

She appeared unconcerned. "No one working for me has mentioned any loose mustangs."

"Wild horses wouldn't exactly prance around some strangers," Kate told her. "More likely, they're hiding in some canyon or brushy area where you might not be able to spot them unless you were looking hard."

"Right," Chase said. "So you won't mind if we check around for ourselves."

"That won't be necessary. I'll alert my manager to have the men sweep the range."

"It'd go faster if I went out with them."

"Not really." Thea's gray eyes suddenly turned as flinty as her expression. "You're not familiar with my property. Besides, I'm certain you can find something more useful to do with your time."

Her tone leaving no room for argument, they all rose to their feet.

Still, Kate couldn't help but be amazed that Chase let it go so easily. She would have expected him to argue. To bully. To get what he wanted. This was a new side of him, all right, one she hadn't expected. And one she wasn't certain she appreciated, though she guessed she should. Lack of social skills had always been one of his shortcomings.

"Well, thanks for the help, Thea," Chase said dryly.

Kate touched his arm. "We'd better get going."

But he didn't budge. "You'll let me know what your men find, right?"

"Of course." Thea sighed and her features softened. She actually appeared sympathetic when she said, "You know, Chase, you need to start being realistic. Why, it's common knowledge that the refuge has been on shaky ground for some time. And poor Oscar Weber's death can't have helped matters."

"As a matter of fact, we've gotten a load of curiosity seekers taking tours and trail rides," Chase said, though -- to Kate's approval -- he didn't sound at all happy about the fact.

"A temporary aberration. And in the meantime, serious prospective sponsors might be turned off thinking the place isn't all it's cracked up to be. Not when a volunteer dies in a careless accident, for heaven's sake."

Not liking the woman's subtle derision or fake compassion, Kate snapped, "Doc wasn't careless and we can't be sure his death was an accident!"

Thea started and stared at her. "But surely the medical examiner --"

"Doesn't know everything," Kate finished.

The other woman blinked, then snapped her attention back to Chase. "Sooner or later, you'll have to let go of acreage... if not worse. Why not act now, before things get so bad that you can no longer salvage the refuge?"

Although Thea made her suggestion sound reasonable and heartfelt, Kate wasn't buying.

Obviously, neither was Chase, because he said, "The money from selling a few thousand acres would be like putting a bandage on a wound that needed surgery."

"Not necessarily. I can be a generous person when a good cause is involved. I'll pay above market, of course. The purchase price will support your endeavor for some time. The money can give you needed breathing room. You'll have time to find yourself permanent support from some foundation or other. Perhaps I can even recommend --"

Chase cut her off. "Sorry. I'm not interested."

And Thea's tone reflected her irritation with him. "I certainly hope nothing else happens to threaten your project before you change your mind."

Realizing that sounded like a threat, Kate started. Before she could open her mouth in challenge, Chase took her elbow and rushed her off.

They were at the door before he turned back to the real estate developer. "Something's been puzzling me. There's bound to be some hard-working, frustrated rancher in the area willing to be bought out of business for the right price. And that'd get you easier land to build on, too. Why is it you want a piece of the refuge so badly?"

Arching her perfectly penciled eyebrows, Thea said, "Wild things have always appealed to me."

Aware of the animal heads surrounding her with accusing stares, Kate shuddered.

And wondered exactly what Thea Lockridge might be capable of doing to get what she wanted.

CHASE HAD NEVER LET anyone stop him when he really wanted something, and he wasn't about to start now. He'd just learned to use a smoother approach when it suited him. Arguing with Thea would have been futile, but letting her think she won this round should have taken her off guard, at least temporarily. He might not be able to wander over Lockridge Acres freely in broad daylight, but he could get a gander at parts of the back property without breaking any laws.

If his passenger noticed that he was taking a road away from the refuge, she didn't comment. Kate quiet -- now that was an oxymoron. She seemed lost in her own thoughts and he wasn't complaining. But as they sped uphill, road cuts revealing granite, feldspar and veins of sparkling quartz, she snapped out of her self-induced trance.

"Where are we headed?" she asked, cranking around in her seat to check out the area.

"To a site with a view."

"Trying to impress me?"

His wayward mind substituting seduce for impress, he glanced at her. "Do you want to be?"

She read him correctly if her rising color were any indication. "I don't impress easily any more."

And Chase wondered if she was going to pick up their argument where they'd left off earlier. To his relief, she fell silent instead and seemed to be scrutinizing the forest of Ponderosa Pine which wrapped them in its evening cloak, the green so dark as to appear black.

Dusk was descending, leaving barely enough light to check things out from afar.

A few minutes later, he turned the Bronco into a good-sized pull-over just before the road swung into a switchback curve. Grabbing his binoculars, he slid from behind the driver's seat. He'd barely lifted the field glasses to his eyes before he sensed Kate standing behind him. She really was capable of being quiet when she wanted.

"This is probably the only place where you can get an unobstructed view of Lockridge Acres," he told her.

"You can see the whole thing from here?"

Kate stepped up next to him, her arm brushing his elbow, sending a tremor through him. Too aware of her as he'd been since the funeral, Chase caught his breath and forced himself to concentrate.

"I can pretty much get the lay of the land. Even though we're in the hills, most of Lockridge Acres is pretty flat. I see a few dozen horses grazing... " He just made them out before he spotted a cowhand ride in. None of the horses spooked. "Nope, they're not ours." He scanned other open areas, then settled on the broken land characteristic of the territory. "Can't see down deep into the canyons and ravines or through the stands of pine," he said of the various hidey-holes where frightened horses might gather. "But at least I have an idea of what's what."

"I thought you gave up too easily."

He lowered the field glasses and noticed that in the waning light, her verdant eyes took on the same dark depth as the surrounding pines. "That disappointed you?"

"It confused me."

"Why? Because it meant I might be wearing stripes instead of those spots?" he asked, realizing he was the one instigating a renewal of their disagreement.

She grabbed the binoculars from him and had a look for herself. "Because you're turning out to be more clever than I gave you credit for."

Chase found himself grinning. Kate never had been able to admit when she was wrong about anything.

He wasn't thinking of mustangs when he said, "Sometimes I can be blind, but not today."

Today he could see exactly what he might have had if only things had been different. The wild child had grown into a strong woman of integrity. One who could still stir his deepest passions. Who could touch his very soul.

"My turn to get the lay of the land," she returned, now clearly oblivious to his thoughts. "Unless you think I'm wasting my time."

Chase recognized the question in her words. She was wondering if he planned on spiting Thea and checking things out closer for himself. He wasn't about to admit that he meant to ride out to Lockridge Acres in the dead of night. Unless Kate had changed dramatically, she would insist on tagging along on an exploit that could prove dangerous. He couldn't chance her getting hurt.

He had enough to atone for.

"Look all you want," he said, putting some distance between them. "I'll have to trust Thea to come through."

Kate glanced his way, then pitched the binoculars into the truck before following. "I wouldn't trust that woman farther than I could throw her."

"So you don't like her, either."

"Does anyone?"

"Hard to say. I suppose she can be charming."

"Charming as a snake."

That she sounded a bit indignant egged Chase on. "And she is an eyeful."

"An eyesore, you mean."

"Kathleen McKenna Farrell -- is that the way your mother taught you to talk?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. "My mother is a bit naive about people."

"I don't remember that about her. I only remember her being warm and kind and supportive," he said sincerely. "I figured you were the luckiest kid in the world to have her."

That took the wind out of Kate's sails. Even she couldn't argue with his complimenting her own mother. She wandered into the stand of tall pine, circling one tree, then another.

"We're getting away from the subject," she said. Her expression grew serious. "Chase, I know something's not right here." She took a big breath and asked, "What's really going on with the refuge?"

Chapter Five

CHASE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN Kate wouldn't be any more short-sighted than she'd been as a kid when she'd seen through his bravado to the hurt inside him. He'd appreciated that about her. That and maybe a hundred other things. All the more reason to feel guilty about what he'd done to her.

He'd tricked her... used her... and then he'd up and disappeared.

"I wish I knew what's going on," he admitted. "Since the tourist season started, we've been cursed by bad luck."

Kate nodded. "Doc's death. The downed fence. Now the missing horses."

She didn't know the half of it. But she would before long, so Chase figured he might as well get what'd been eating at him off his chest.

"Before that the tourist-mobile broke down. Not that the old pick-up didn't need a lot of work in general. But it ran out of oil when it shouldn't have, and no warning light ever came on. We put it to a faulty wire and had to replace the engine."

"Ouch!"

"Damn straight, ouch. That could have been a mortgage payment," he said, still disgusted at the waste of money. "Then some work horses got sick on fouled hay. Luckily Doc spotted the problem right away like he did with that weird virus. But no one caught the fire that torched one of the buildings Nathan was working on. We were damn lucky that it rained before the fire spread."

Her forehead furrowed. "You don't think... "

"That someone wants to drive the refuge out of existence?" Bone-tired, Chase set his shoulder against a tree and wondered if he would ever catch his breath. "I've been trying not to think that, but putting everything to coincidence is getting mighty hard."

Kate rested her back against the big old pine tree opposite him and hooked the heel of her red boot against its trunk. He could see the wheels of her mind clicking in the subtle change of her eyes. He'd once been familiar with her every expression, her every mood. He'd carried those impressions away with him and suspected that at least some of them would have a place in his memory forever.

But when she suddenly asked, "Why is Thea willing to pay above market for the land?" he realized she was still able to surprise him.

"Because she wants to make money on it."

"The question is how?"

"She's a real estate developer, remember."

"That's what she said," Kate agreed. "But, like you, I wonder if the explanation is really that simple."

The reason he'd challenged Thea about wanting refuge land specifically.

"I don't know. Then I don't know much lately."

He understood the Thea Lockridges of the world only on a surface level. Greed was greed no matter where a person hailed from. But he didn't have a clue as to what she might be planning beneath that beehive of hers.

Kate surprised him yet again when she asked, "Are you considering Thea's offer?"

"Why should I?"

"It is possible that her proposition might be the answer to the refuge's problems, isn't it?"

Anger swirled in the pit of his stomach. "Giving the mustangs less room to run free is a solution?"

"They're not running free now, Chase, not with fences and vetting, supplementary feed and round-ups," Kate argued. "Face it. You may be working in a less restrictive manner than normal, but you are managing the herd."

"Which is better than their giving up the will to live in feedlots where they can't run at all! They grow despondent. Many refuse to eat." He shook his head. "I've seen too many dead mustangs already."

"The reason you got involved in the first place?" She sighed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's a long story, Kate."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Chase could almost hear her thousand and one questions. If he started, there would be no turning back. Did he want to open himself to her scrutiny? He had to admit that Kate deserved more than he'd given her so far. He couldn't make up for the past, but he could give her at least part of the truth.

Agitated, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace. "When I left here, I hitched my way to Nevada, to my Uncle Ross's spread."

"Peggy's brother?"

"Yeah."

Reminded of the gentle mother who'd died of abuse and neglect long before he'd hit puberty -- before he was tall enough and strong enough to do something about his drunken, no-good father -- Chase nodded. He couldn't think of her without feeling sick inside.

"Ross was a good man," he said, continuing as much for himself as for Kate. "Tough, though. He took me in without any questions, but he worked my butt -- both on the ranch and off -- exactly like he did his own boys. He made sure I got my high school diploma. And then he prodded me into taking courses that had to do with ranch management and animal husbandry at the local college. No degree," he informed her, just in case she was wondering.

Kate merely shrugged and said, "I know Nevada holds about half of our wild horse population. And that the ranchers are fighting multi-purpose usage of federal lands and want to restrict open range to their cattle."

"Some of them are hotheads, not adverse to taking the law into their own hands and damn the consequences."

Chase stopped at the edge of a narrow ravine that zigzagged along the pine stand. He stared into the crevasse, unseeing, his mind conjuring the memory that drove him.

"One day, I was out rounding up cattle with my cousins Lee and Mitch. I went after a few strays and by accident stumbled on a secluded water hole." Though upwards of a dozen years had passed, the horror hadn't. "More than thirty mustangs had been shot to death." He glanced at Kate, whose expression reflected what he was feeling. "All they were doing was trying to get water to survive a while longer."

Her "How awful" sounded strangled.

Though he accepted the image that always followed him, Chase allowed himself to be distracted by a clump of flowers on the slope a few feet below. He stepped down and captured a bloom, delicate against his calloused hand, then approached Kate who seemed frozen to the spot.

He'd always thought the moments before twilight surrendered to dark were mystical. He could barely see her, bright red hair deepened to mahogany, eyes dark pools of pain, brimming with unshed tears.

Did she cry inside for the mustangs?

Or for him?

Not wanting to be pitied, he offered her the flower. "Venus' Slipper." When she didn't respond, he reached out to slide the orchid's stem behind her ear. She shuddered, and Chase thought she might bolt. "A beautiful bright spot in the dark," he murmured, trailing a fingertip along a curly wisp of hair that feathered her cheek. "Like you."

Her breath caught and she softly said, "I wish you hadn't seen that tragedy."

"Don't. I'm glad I did... I vowed never to forget. That season, I started adopting mustangs."

"To protect them... "

"A drop in the bucket."

Unable to help himself, he ran his knuckles along Kate's jaw line. He hadn't forgotten her, either. He hadn't even come close. He'd judged every woman he'd ever been with using her as a standard. Few had met her measure.

None had been her.

For months -- since that Nash guy had divorced Kate and she'd moved back to Bitter Creek -- he'd been tempted to seek her out. To learn if memory and reality had anything in common. But the past that goaded him had also stopped him. He'd been ashamed. And afraid.

And so he'd let it alone.

In the end, she had come to him, even if the wild horses had been her excuse.

A sign?

He set a palm against the tree trunk above her head and leaned in. Her familiar scent teased him, her easily recalled warmth tormented him.

Staring into the face so close to his own, he recognized the curiosity in Kate's eyes. And the questions. She blinked but didn't glance away. She sighed but didn't speak. Her lips trembled. Parted. Fascinated by her lower lip, he ran his thumb pad along its fullness.

He remembered kissing this mouth. How could he forget?

He would have been less than a man if he didn't try to revive the past.

KATE WIDENED HER EYES when Chase's head dipped toward hers. As if from a distance -- as if it were happening to someone else -- she watched him move in on her in slow motion. She had the time she needed to duck away. She told herself to move, to get out of this while she could.

But curiosity held her fast, wouldn't let her budge. She tried to think. She couldn't. Like a deer caught in a vehicle's headlights, she was trapped, heart thundering, waiting for the inevitable.

And then it was too late to do anything but give over.

Kissing Chase was familiar and yet not. He was harder, stronger, more practiced than she remembered. She was older, wiser, more discerning. They weren't kids, doing what came naturally. They were adults, testing each other... testing themselves.

And then something changed.

Chase stopped holding back and kissed her like a man desperate for what he feared he couldn't claim. His muffled groan speared her with something that Kate didn't want to feel. Confusing emotions engulfed her. Some small rational part of her thought to stop and push him away, but his urgency proved contagious.

Impulse wrapped her arms around his neck.

Memory fitted her mouth perfectly to his.

Need opened her to his invasion.

Running on instinct, she fed on the physical sensations swamping her as he moved in, pressing her back into the scratchy bark, tugging at her waist until her hips flowed forward, meeting his. Head light, body heavy, she gave herself up to the moment and a kiss so deep that she couldn't stop the wanton sound that welled in her throat and escaped to his capture.

With a like groan, Chase slid his hand upward, finding the outer fullness of her breast. Blood rushing through her suddenly weak limbs, she nearly drowned in a wash of desire. She dug her fingers into his neck and shoulder and arched her back in an attempt to get even closer.

His mouth left hers with a gasp. He was having trouble breathing normally. As was she. Sucking air deep into her lungs, she willed her whirling head to clear. She hadn't been kissed so thoroughly since...

Since?

Maybe never.

Lingering emotions warred with good sense. Had Chase pressed the issue, she might have thrown herself back in his arms. But he seemed equally indecisive. And she began wondering what in the world had possessed her. How could she have lost her head so thoroughly?

She put her response to madness -- a full-moon night -- and took control of the situation.

Palms levered against his chest encouraged Chase to back off. A few calming breaths and her world began to right. The hour had grown late, their surroundings dark. She could barely make out his face. His thoughts were hidden from her. Good. That meant he couldn't read her confusion, either.

She tried to sound as if nothing had happened, when she said, "Nathan and Merle are probably wondering if we fell into a sinkhole."

A low curse under his breath was followed by Chase's growled "Then we'd better get back, hadn't we?"

As if part of some silent pact, neither said a word about the kiss as they climbed into the truck. Maybe Chase was regretting it already, Kate thought, wishing herself somewhere else. Anywhere but with him.

As soon as they arrived at the refuge, she would make some excuse and leave for home. That would give her some breathing room.

And time to prepare for her night's adventure.

Kate reminded herself that she had a wild horse to find... and, if her instincts were correct, another truth to learn, as well.

ANNIE'S STOMACH TURNED ITSELF inside-out as she watched Chase and Kate Farrell alight from the Bronco and she was faced with the truth. Standing on the screened porch, she wasn't close enough to the parking area to hear what they were saying to each other, but between the full moon and the dim yard light, she certainly could read their body language. Both of them appeared tense... with each other.

A weight settled on Annie's chest and she could hardly think above the rushing noise filling her ears. She'd been dreading this. For once she'd hoped her instincts had been wrong, but no, they'd been on the money.

Something personal was going on between those two...

"Hey, is that Chase or what?" Nathan called irritably from the office. "If not, I'm gonna get outta here and find myself some grub."

She kept her voice sounding as natural as she could. "He's here."

Nathan and Merle had been waiting for Chase to show for the best part of an hour. Enough time for her to conjure all sorts of things going wrong.

Everyone else had left for home or town, including the volunteers who'd gone out with the employees. But the sisters had been around long enough for that gossipy Gerry to spill her guts about Kate's conversation with Nathan. The veterinarian had claimed she'd gotten into the mind of a horse and had seen a stampede, maybe the one that had killed Doc.

Annie wondered how many others Gerry had already told -- not that she believed in such spooky incidents as having any real basis in fact.

But what if...

Wired, wanting to break up the cozy tete-a-tete between Chase and Kate that was making her sick, Annie was about to shout a greeting when the new vet abruptly waltzed over to her pick-up. He stood staring after her for a minute before stalking toward the office.

Annie opened the screen door for him. "We were beginning to think you got lost."

Distracted, he muttered, "Something like that," and turned to watch the pick-up shoot down the gravel road.

Swallowing her rising anger so he wouldn't notice was some trick. She took a deep breath and informed him, "Nathan and Merle have been waiting."

"Right."

He marched straight into the office without even looking at her. Right behind him, Annie cursed the day that Kate Farrell had stepped her pretty red boots on the Bitter Creek Mustang Refuge.

"Did you find the missing horses?" Merle asked without preamble.

"No sign of them." Chase threw himself into a chair opposite his employees. "I guess that means that neither of you had any luck, either."

Nathan shrugged. "No one admits to seeing any stray mustangs."

"But you think they might have?"

"Someone must've. Those horses couldn't have up and disappeared into thin air."

"Not a hundred head," Merle agreed. "And not when they carry those freeze marks identifying them as being under BLM protection."

Needing Chase's attention, Annie placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and added, "Sounds like someone's making trouble for us on purpose."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

And when the trouble had started, Chase had turned to her to talk things through, Annie remembered. And when he'd really been down, they'd even shared a couple of dinners. Finally. Progress! His wanting to confide in her had made everything she'd done for him worthwhile.

Though she'd always loved horses -- the reason she'd visited the sanctuary in the first place -- she hadn't sacrificed her real life just to help the mustangs. Her sights had been set on bigger game. Chase himself. She'd fallen in love with the man at first sight, had figured it was merely a matter of time and opportunity before he realized that she was the woman he needed as his life's partner. And she'd been very clever on how to go about getting him.

With each problem that had crept up on the refuge, she'd offered Chase her sympathy and had volunteered her help in finding solutions. They'd grown closer... and would have grown intimate, she was certain... if only Kate Farrell hadn't appeared to upset things. The night before, Chase had even cancelled the dinner she'd spent so much time planning and looking forward to. Even her reminding him about the welfare of the mustangs hadn't changed his mind.

Two damn days and months of gain had gone to dust.

"So what are we gonna do?" Nathan was asking.

"At the moment," Chase said grimly, "all we can do is keep our ears and eyes open for the troublemaker."

But how did he figure he could manage that when all his spare attention seemed to be focused on the redhead? Annie wondered.

When she'd decided to go after Chase with everything she had, Kate Farrell was an obstacle she hadn't even considered. But she couldn't let a little unexpected deterrent discourage her, not after all her hard work. Never one to sit around and twiddle her thumbs while waiting for someone else to solve her problems, she wasn't about to start now. She wasn't about to let another woman seduce the man she loved without putting up a fight.

No matter that the vet seemed like a decent sort, Annie knew she had to act fast and not worry about scruples.

Where Chase Brody was concerned, she couldn't afford to have a conscience.

"STAY," KATE TOLD WRANGLER, giving him the hand signal Doc had trained him to recognize. "I shouldn't be gone too long, so you wait for me here, okay?"

The patchwork mutt yawned loudly, turned in a full circle and plunked down on the old chair pillow she'd thrown in the bed of her pick-up for him.

"Good boy."

Normally she wouldn't have brought a dog onto refuge land lest he inadvertently scare the horses, but Wrangler was a quiet guy and exceedingly well-behaved. Doc had seen to that. While his slight size wouldn't afford much in the way of physical protection, she'd felt better having his company on the ride out. And Doc had told her a body couldn't ask for a better watch dog. Not altogether comfortable wandering around the refuge by herself in the dark, she wouldn't mind Wrangler's guarding her back, even if from a distance.

If only Chase had believed her -- or if Nathan hadn't warned her off from seeking out the horses again -- she wouldn't have considered coming out alone.

Kate started down the incline where she and Chase had found Sage and her band grazing the afternoon before. Since the horses had hung around the area for several days after the stampede, she didn't feature them drifting too far off now because of a minor scare.

Making her way by the glow of the full moon high in the sky -- dawn was barely a few hours away -- she checked the mag-light hanging from her belt, using her free hand to shelter the high beam. She meant to use the bright light only as necessary. The less intrusive she was, the more likely she would be to get close to Chase's horses.

Chase.

She couldn't stop thinking about the man he'd become and the life he'd chosen for himself.

At first she'd been baffled by his apparent selflessness in taking on a burden the size of the refuge, but having had time to consider their earlier conversation, she thought she understood why. Chase had felt completely helpless at finding those dead horses shot while at their water hole.

Undoubtedly as helpless as he'd been against his father when Vernon Brody had raised his hand to his wife.

Not that Peggy had been murdered.

Vernon had merely intimidated the sweet woman into staying away from doctors, who might have questioned or even reported her too-frequent scrapes and bruises. By the time she'd been desperately sick enough to defy her husband in this matter, the cancer had been unstoppable.

No matter how many years had passed, Kate still remembered the night that Chase had poured out his heart to her. His unresolved frustration. His grief. His guilt. Things he'd admitted he hadn't shared with anyone else.

The correlation was clear to her. The wild horses were as helpless against men with high-powered rifles as Peggy had been against her husband's fists. Whether or not he consciously knew it, she figured Chase was trying to atone for his inability to save his mother by defending other creatures who couldn't protect themselves.

And now a sizable part of his herd had disappeared.

He must be going nuts.

At the foot of the ravine, Kate stood still and listened for equine sounds. The wind soughed around her and she imagined she heard a sharp bark. Wrangler? Or a coyote? The sound wasn't repeated, so she picked her way along the stream in the direction the mustangs had fled, careful to keep her boots dry. She flicked on her flashlight where the ravine took a sharp turn.

Stopping at the curve's end, she whistled softly, the combination of notes the same as she'd used that afternoon. Rather than proceeding forward, she waited. Whistled. Waited. Whistled and waited some more.

Ears attuned to the night, she picked out a faint snort and the clack of hoof against limestone. A second later, a rock came clattering down the ravine behind her as if it had been kicked. Though she threw a nervous glance over her shoulder, she didn't really expect to see anything. The horses banded together and she knew they were stealing toward her from the opposite direction.

A gust of wind curled around her body, bringing with it other noises that had nothing to do with horses.

The wind.

What an idiot! Feeling silly, she settled herself inside and whistled again.

Her reward came in more answering snorts. More clacks. A soft whinny.

She discerned the mustangs' approach even before she saw them. Spread along the side of the ravine, they advanced in fits and starts. She knew they'd recognized her whistle and in some respect trusted her or they wouldn't have responded. She stared in their direction until her eyes adjusted and she could make out not only their pale markings, but the shapes of even the darkest mares.

A single nervous neigh and some quick-hoofed dancing on rock made her stop and catch her breath. She glanced around. Of course she was alone. But the wind was still gusting and they must have caught her scent. She'd purposely worn Doc's vest so the horses would not only smell her, but him, as well. Rather than scare them, she'd hoped to put them at ease with his familiar presence.

The mares continued to move in her direction, and if she weren't mistaken, with less hesitation. Relieved -- her plan seemed to be working -- she let go of her held breath and pursed her lips to repeat the familiar notes.

Within moments the girls were surrounding her, near enough to take treats from one hand while letting her touch them with the other. Kate slowly made her way through the small band, all the while edging closer to Sage, who stood tense and aloof from the others.

The breeze sprang up and the lead mare's nostrils quivered. Sage made a noise that sounded distinctly like horse-grumbling. Kate's pulse threaded unevenly as the grulla picked her way closer, leading with her twitching nose. That she smelled Doc apparently confused her. Sage cocked her head, eyeing Kate suspiciously.

"You remember Doc, don't you girl? He was your friend," she crooned, holding out a chunk of carrot to lure the horse closer. "Mine, too."

This time, Sage ignored the treat in her hand and went straight for the vest, burying her nose in the folds of the well-worn cotton and snorting loudly. Pleased, Kate ran her hand along the left side of Sage's neck beneath the shaggy mane, her fingertips finding the freeze mark that was the mare's government identification number.

Senses fine-tuned, Kate heard a sharp if distant bark, but was too enthralled with her success to worry about it. Warm horseflesh quaked against her palm. The mare seemed caught up in snuffling Doc's scent and making low noises in the back of her throat.

Giving Kate the distinct impression that Sage was mourning him.

Concentrating on what she'd seen of the stampede the last time, she closed her eyes and opened her mind. Other distorted impressions immediately filled the void...

. . . a sharp whine followed by horses bolting in every direction... thick white foam lathering a straining neck... wild eyes rolling...

Kate's heart began to pump as rapidly as if she were part of the band. Again, fear taunted her, but this time, not wanting to break her connection to Sage, she refused to let the emotion overwhelm her, not even when she heard the scream...

. . . human and yet not, the sound reverberated through her skull... struck terror in her heart... suddenly the sky charged with sheet lightning and tilted crazily... another whine... a dog barking... muscular bodies pushing at her from both sides and behind... she couldn't move... nowhere to go...

Sage threw up her head, momentarily breaking the connection. Kate whispered calming words, all the while stroking the mare's short thick neck with both hands.

"We can't stop now, Sage," she whispered, sounds eerily echoing through her head. Horse screams. Dog barking. "Not until I see everything. We can't stop," she repeated. "Not yet."

Not yet...

. . . sharp pain shot through her legs... a lurch forward... the sky breaking into a million shards... distorted images closer... a lathered bay... a freeze mark across a Paint's hindquarters... a dun dodging something below... human legs... boots suddenly dancing into air...

"Omigod!" Kate cried softly, tears squeezing through closed lashes. "Doc!"

Through Sage's haunting memory, she became witness to the stampede that had killed her mentor. The images were unlike anything that any human could have seen, however, for the horse's vision was not binocular. She was seeing two different views -- one from each eye -- simultaneously.

The effect was confusing, dizzying.

She forced herself to hang on a moment longer...

. . . dodging... weaving... circling... escaping into a thick, wet emptiness...

But not before she saw something that didn't compute.

Heart pounding against her ribs, Kate flashed open her eyes, the misplaced image clearly burned into her. Realizing she'd stopped breathing, she gasped and air exploded into her lungs and through her head, drowning out a sharp bark.

She'd been prepared to see Doc's death, but not this.

Not proof that his death had been no accident!

Chapter Six

STUNNED, KATE BARELY REGISTERED the click that cut through the night. Sage's ears pricked and she snorted.

A high-pitched whine, closer, made her start.

What the hell was that?

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Tension spread through the small band. All facing the direction from which she'd come, the mares were on alert -- nostrils quivering, ears twitching, hooves dancing. Kate flashed a quick look around the ravine but didn't see or hear anything out of place. With senses far more finely tuned than hers, however, the mares were on edge, muscles bunched, as if waiting for Sage's signal to flee.

Another high-pitched whine and the grulla pitched upward, rising on her hind legs, screaming her displeasure.

And an astonished Kate put a name to the sound.

A gunshot!

Instinct drove Kate toward cover, even as the wild horses exploded around her. Panicked, they bolted with her, and for a moment, she thought she might be forced down under their hooves. But as if some otherworldly force protected her, she remained untouched.

Dodging behind a boulder as the last of the mares darted past, she huddled against the cool rock and tried to make sense of what was happening. Why would someone be shooting at the horses?

Or was she the target?

Either way, she couldn't chance a noise or movement that might alert the gunman. She hunched into a ball and huddled against the boulder. The heat of fear seared her, sending rivulets of sweat rolling down her spine and between her breasts. She'd never been in a situation like this before.

What to do?

How could she protect herself?

Confusion filled her when minutes passed and she heard nothing more threatening than the wind. Had she imagined the gunshots, then? Maybe no one was waiting for her with a loaded rifle, after all. Maybe she was just freaked. Connecting with Sage had been such a powerful phenomenon... how could she be certain the supposed gunshots hadn't been nothing more than echoes of the experience rather than the whine of bullets speeding past her ear?

As much as she wanted to believe that, Kate couldn't. A very real threat had panicked those horses.

But a threat to whom? she wondered again.

Her mouth was dry, but her pulse had steadied. Uncoiling a bit, she strained to hear. Something. Anything.

Nothing.

No cocked rifle. No bullet whine. No skidding rock. Absolutely nothing to alarm her.

Was she safe, then? Or would leaving her hiding place make her the perfect target?

How much longer did she need to wait?

Suddenly something or someone scrabbling and slipping along pebbled rocks raised the hairs at the nape of her neck. Muscles bunched, Kate readied herself to run when a sharp bark made her pause. More barks.

Familiar barks.

Before she could fly to her feet, a furry body leaped over the boulder and lunged at her.

"Wrangler," she gasped in relief. Landing on her chest, he licked her face, wriggling as if he were trying to get inside her skin. Never so glad to see anyone, she hugged the mutt and ruffled his fur. "Let's get back to the pick-up and head for home."

But she'd barely moved from her shelter when the clop-clop of hooves spooked her. She froze and pinpointed the sound as metal hit rock. Her blood ran cold.

A shoed horse.

The gunman!

Blindly, she flew in the other direction, yelling, "Wrangler, c'mon!"

"Kate!"

Panicked, she didn't so much as pause at the sound of her name. She ran as fast as her legs would move, Wrangler alongside her, running and jumping and yapping as though they were playing a game.

"Kate, wait up!"

Hooves pounded the earth directly behind her as she clambered up the side of the ravine, Wrangler beating her to the flat above. He barked as if to spur her on, but she was tiring fast, could hardly catch her breath. The rider was gaining. She forced her legs to keep moving, even when she felt the horse's breath cross the back of her neck.

Sensing the rider dipping toward her, she yelled, "No-o-o!"

A band of steel hooked onto her waist and lifted her off her feet. She screamed and kicked out, her booted toe meeting his shin. A low male curse inspired her to more damage. Hand balled, she flashed out blindly, her fist meeting her attacker's middle.

With an "Oof" he dropped her.

Exhausted, winded, she sought the energy to get to her feet. But all she could do was lay there panting, staring up at the figure silhouetted by the moon.

Chase... rifle in hand.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG with you?" Chase yelled.

He was seeing-red angry, not because Kate socked him, but because she was out here alone in the middle of the night. This was the kind of crazy stunt he would have expected of her when she was a kid. Obviously, she had never completely lost her wild streak.

"Me?" she gasped. "I'm not the one holding the weapon."

Realizing his rifle was aimed at her, Chase lowered it to a non-threatening position. "Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot." A strangled giggle turned into a hiccup. "Stay away from me."

Wrangler barked and half-ran, half-slid down to Kate's side, where he sat, tongue lolling.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, more ticked off by the minute over her furtive excursion and those shots he'd heard. "Didn't you think you might get hurt out here?"

"Do you always shoot first, ask questions later?"

Chase went very still. Surely Kate couldn't believe he'd tried to shoot her. What would make her think he wanted to harm her in any way? Admittedly, he'd thought about throttling her for coming out here alone at night... and the temptation was growing stronger.

Stiffly, he informed her, "My rifle hasn't been fired."

"Right."

She didn't trust him. Clenching his jaw, he tossed the rifle down to her. "Your imagination's on overload. Check for yourself."

Kate felt the barrel, smelled the chamber, then looked up at him in astonishment. "It wasn't you." She scrambled to her feet and handed the weapon back to him. "Someone did shoot at me, honest. At least twice."

"I heard three shots," he admitted.

That someone had discharged a weapon wasn't in dispute. Once more Chase glared into the dark, as if he could pick out the perpetrator. But whoever had released a couple of loads in her direction was undoubtedly long gone. He secured the rifle to his saddle and held out his arm to her.

"Take my hand." He removed his foot from a stirrup. "And get up behind me." When she hesitated, he said, "Deadwood doesn't bite." Though he might be tempted.

For a moment, Chase thought Kate would balk at the order, but apparently she was more concerned about being alone on foot than about sacrificing her autonomy. She slipped her hand in his, stuck her boot in the stirrup and bounced upward, swinging her free leg over his horse's rump.

Her settling in behind him reminded Chase of a night they'd ridden out into the wilderness together many years ago.

A night it shamed him to remember.

Wondering if Kate could possibly know the whole truth, he felt his anger slip away. And even if she'd remained in the dark all these years, she still had good reason to distrust him. Clucking, he moved his horse back along the ravine the way he'd come. Wrangler scampered alongside them, every so often racing ahead and waiting for them to catch up.

"So what were you doing out here?" he asked, though he figured he already knew.

"What are you doing out here on a horse?" she returned. "You told me the mustangs would be freaked by anyone who was mounted."

"I wasn't here to check on the mustangs."

"Then what?"

"I couldn't sleep," he hedged. Strictly speaking, he wasn't lying. Thinking about how he'd planned to spend the wee hours before dawn had kept him awake until it was time to leave. "What about you?"

"Neither could I."

Chase didn't believe her for a moment. The questions could wait, he decided, not unaware of Kate's trembling against him despite her argumentative attitude. How could he miss it when she was pressed so close that a sheet of paper wouldn't fit between them? He adjusted in his saddle, trying to find some zone of comfort.

Taking an unauthorized tour of Lockridge Acres would have to wait. He really should throttle Kate for screwing up his plans. Now if she knew the whereabouts of his horses, Thea Lockridge had another day to cover.

When they reached the pick-up, Wrangler jumped into the back and watched as he helped Kate down, then quickly dismounted. Not unaware of the way she was eyeing him distrustfully, he tied Deadwood's reins to a metal loop on the truck.

"I'm all right now," she said.

"Good."

"Then what are you planning on doing?"

"Driving."

"My pick-up?"

"I don't see any other vehicles." He grabbed his rifle and slid behind the wheel. "What are you waiting for?"

Without further argument, Kate climbed in beside him. Chase figured she was more shook up than she wanted to admit. She'd always had bravado, one of the many things he'd admired about her when they were younger. But whatever was going on at the refuge was serious business.

And a little misplaced bravado could get Kate killed.

GOING OVER AND OVER what she'd seen when her mind had merged with Sage's, Kate kept her peace until Chase stopped the pick-up and cut the engine. Startled back to reality, she felt disoriented. She'd been too preoccupied to pay attention to their route, although she had noticed how uncharacteristically slowly Chase had been driving in deference to his horse. She glanced out the passenger window at a solitary log cabin that she'd never seen before.

"Where are we?"

Chase was already leaving the cab, her keying in hand, when he said, "Home."

His home, of course, not hers.

Not that she was in any big hurry to drive back to town alone – she was still spooked and rightly so – Kate decided not letting Chase boss her around was a matter of principle. She flew across the seat and out the door, catching up to him before he reached his horse. She grabbed his arm to make him pay attention.

"My keys?"

He slid them into his pocket. "Later."

"Now."

Her mouth went dry with the challenge that Chase ignored. She could feel his stare from beneath his hat brim. Her pulse picked up a beat. The flesh beneath her fingers burned as something other than animosity flared between them. She let go of his arm as fast as she would a hot poker, the kiss that never should have happened clear in her mind.

Why couldn't she just be immune to him, Kate wondered. What hold could he possibly have over her after all these years? After the way he'd broken her heart?

Chase was the first to break away. He untied Deadwood from the gate. Pulse steadying, Kate watched him lead the dark gelding to a large corral that held two other dozing horses. In record time, he stripped off his mount's saddle and bridle. After checking the horse over to make certain he'd cooled down, Chase turned him out.

And before he could catch her watching him, Kate spun around to pay some attention to the dog, who'd quietly moved across the truck's bed to be closer to her. She ruffled Wrangler's fur and blew in his nose, then pulled a smelly tidbit from one of her vest pockets.

"Do you believe that man's nerve, keeping us here against our will?" As the dog eagerly took the treat from her hand and crunched away, she said, "Thanks for coming to my rescue, roomy."

"What about me?" Chase was directly behind her, his warm breath laving her exposed neck. "Don't I deserve your thanks, too?"

Quick as a flash, she spun around, at the same time palming another liver-flavored biscuit. "Right. Thanks." She offered him the dog treat.

Again his expression was shadowed when he dryly said, "I'll pass," and walked right on by her. Fetching his rifle from the cabin, he headed for the house.

Leaving Kate feeling awful. He really had come to her rescue, and how had she repaid him? First she'd accused him of using her for target practice. And now she'd responded by mocking him. Truth to tell, she wasn't in a playful mood. She was still spooked inside, and joking around was her way of working out the stress.

Signaling Wrangler to come with her, she followed Chase, but couldn't quite work up an apology. Instead, she asked, "So when do I get my keys back? I'd like to get some sleep, if you don't mind."

"My couch isn't too lumpy. Or you could join me in bed."

His turn to mock her.

"My turn to pass."

The front door was open. Chase flipped a switch and two pottery-based table lamps lit, spreading a soft golden glow over the interior. While sparsely furnished, the large combination living area/kitchen was inviting. Pine cabinets and furniture, couch with colorful western print cushions, creatively framed photographs of mustangs on the walls. So that Chase couldn't get too disturbingly close to her, she chose the solitary leather chair.

Sinking into the seat that was nearly big enough for two of her, she asked, "Now what?" as Wrangler settled at her feet.

Chase set his rifle on his gun rack, then hung his hat and jacket on pegs next to the door. "Now suppose you do some talking. What was going on in that ravine?"

She'd figured he'd get around to interrogating her. And she wanted to talk about Doc's death. But where to start? If she told him she'd had another vision, the joke might be on her... and yet how could she keep what she'd seen to herself merely because he was a skeptic?

Kate chanced Chase's derision, saying, "The stampede that killed Doc was no accident." And eyed him carefully for his reaction.

Sitting on the couch arm, he said, "Go on." His features were void of any judgment.

"Sage and I shared a few thoughts tonight." Tension mounting, she turned inward, replayed the memory. "It started like the last time... the wild horses running scared... then I realized I wasn't part of the stampede but separate from it."

Still he sat expressionless when he asked, "How do you mean?"

"I saw as if from a distance," she explained, another image clarifying. She took a big breath. "I saw him... Doc... I-I think he was already dead." Her stomach turned as she remembered sharp hooves trampling the body, boots dancing in the air. "The thing was... Sage and her band were still in the corral. The horses I saw... their identification... the BLM freeze marks ran across their hindquarters."

"While the horses in Sage's band are all I.D.'d across their necks," Chase said slowly.

"Exactly." Heart beginning to hammer as it had earlier, she went on. "Sage was going nuts. The other mares were pushing and shoving. I flew... " She caught herself before saying something foolish. "I mean Sage flew upward and crashed her hooves into the fence boards. I guess the others did, too. Then suddenly they were free... headed away from the stampede... but not before I saw it."

"Saw what?"

Kate took a deep breath and conjured the memory that had stunned her. "A stirrup... a boot... a person's leg." She stared directly at Chase when she said, "The storm didn't spook those horses. Someone very human did."

He didn't react.

Disappointed, Kate told herself she shouldn't have bothered. Obviously, he didn't believe her. But who else could she have told? That the sheriff would buy her story was even more unlikely. Perhaps Nathan Lantero was the only one she could trust to understand.

And so Chase's unexpected "Did you see the person?" made her catch her breath.

"What?"

"Whoever started the stampede?"

"You believe me?"

"I have reason to believe Doc's death was no accident myself," he said, rising from his seat on the couch arm. "Did you see the person's face?"

Her frustration dissolving, she shook her head. "Everything was happening so fast."

"But you're certain you saw a mounted rider?"

"Positive. Chase, I don't have an overactive imagination, and I'm not crazy," Kate assured him. "I realize you have more than a few reservations, but –"

"I believe you." Chase stopped directly in front of her and stared, as if he were trying to read her mind. "At least part of me does."

"I suppose that's a start."

In truth, Kate was relieved that Chase was agreeable to being open, if nothing more. She knew he'd want to find the person responsible for starting the stampede that killed Doc as much as she did.

"Now the question is, who else believes you?" he asked, moving away.

"What do you mean?"

"Someone took more than one shot at you tonight."

"Or at the horses." Though she'd already considered the possibility that the gunman had been after her, Kate still didn't want to believe it.

"The horses make bigger targets. They're a damn sight harder to miss."

"Maybe the shooter missed on purpose, because he only meant to scare me off."

"But scare you off why?"

Chase's implication about someone else believing her clarified. If the person who had started the stampede got wind of her intentions to learn more details...

Suddenly shaky inside, Kate said, "Other than you, the only person I talked to about what I saw this afternoon was Nathan."

"Then he knew you meant to try again."

She nodded. "He warned me off."

"Warned?"

"Not like that. He thought I should let it alone... I guess he figured that I was obsessing over Doc's death. At that point, I didn't guess the stampede was anything other than a terrible freak accident. And I'm certain Nathan was just trying to be a friend."

Appearing troubled, Chase said, "And you didn't say a word to anyone else?"

"I didn't, but I suppose Nathan could have... or that volunteer who was working with him. I'm pretty sure she overheard." She remembered the young woman's avid expression. "Most folks around here wouldn't take the story seriously. They'd say I was delusional or something."

Unfortunately, she was used to a condescending attitude from the citizens of Bitter Creek. Even those who were satisfied with her veterinary services made a joke of her so-called gift, often to her face.

"But a smart miscreant wouldn't leave anything to chance," Chase insisted.

Making Kate squirm around in her seat. "And what if no one was after me specifically? The person who's been messing with the refuge could have been up to some new dirty deed and didn't expect to run into company."

"You've got a point," he conceded.

Though he didn't sound convinced. He was pacing as though the continuous movement helped him think.

"What about you?" Kate asked. "You never did say how you found me."

"I already told you I was out riding because I couldn't sleep."

Chase avoided looking at her directly, making Kate think he was telling a half-truth. Since it adjoined that part of the refuge, Lockridge Acres immediately came to mind. But if he planned to check Thea's property for himself, why didn't he just admit as much?

"I heard a shot," Chase was saying. "I was already heading in that direction to investigate when Wrangler started to bark. I found him in the bed of your pick-up. He was anxious as hell to get out of there. I didn't figure you were the one doing the shooting, so I told him to fetch you and followed."

As if he knew the humans were talking about him, Wrangler sat up and yawned. Kate scratched the dog's head, muttering, "Fetch me, huh? And you're not convinced that I can talk to animals."

"I never said animals couldn't understand certain commands. But I also never said I could see inside the mutt's head." He was towering over her, his face pulled into a scowl. "And don't try to make light of the situation, Kate. You could have gotten yourself killed."

"As if you would care."

"You really do think I'm heartless."

Even as she said, "You'd have to give me reason to think otherwise," Kate knew she was being unfair.

A man without a heart wouldn't be trying to protect a herd of mustangs that many ranchers across the western states thought of as worthless pests who ruined the range for their cattle. But she wouldn't take the words back. He had been heartless to her when he'd left town without word. And even now he didn't seem inclined to offer any explanations. Thinking about it made her angry all over again.

And so when Chase ordered, "Don't pull another stunt like that," he raised her hackles.

"Excuse me? You're not my boss."

"This land is under my management!"

Popping out of the chair, Kate was practically nose to chin with Chase. He didn't give her breathing room, so she shoved by him, silently cursing when the brief contact made the breath catch in her throat. His following on her heels agitated her further.

But she stood her ground. "So you're going to what if I don't agree? Ban me from the refuge? Turn down vet services you'll undoubtedly need?"

His complexion ruddy, he said, "Don't make more of this than I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"To keep you from being mounted on some wall like one of Thea's trophies."

The image clear in her mind, Kate shuddered. And cooled down a bit. The reference to Thea cinched her Lockridge Acres theory. And he did seem as though he cared what happened to her. Or what would happen to the refuge if there was another tragic accident, a cynical little voice in her head countered.

Once more, his not-so-subtle insinuation struck her. "Wait a minute. You're making whoever's been messing with the refuge out to be a murderer."

"Isn't that what we've just been talking about?"

Chase had said he had reason to believe Doc's death was no accident...

"Whoa. I hadn't exactly gone there yet. I was thinking more in terms of someone running the horses off the property and Doc's being unfortunate enough to get in the way."

"He probably was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Chase agreed. "But if he recognized the rider and figured things out... "

She shook her head. "Killing a man over some rustled horses – that doesn't add up in my book."

"You're still the innocent, aren't you? You don't expect the worst of people because you don't have it in you to think that way." Chase sounded truly amazed.

Kate's mouth gaped open. Innocent? Still? If she didn't know better, she would think he was referring to her getting involved with him in the first place.

"So I don't know what to think." She took a big breath. "Murder... I guess we should alert the sheriff "

"And tell him Sage showed you Doc's death?"

She'd already assumed the sheriff wouldn't believe her. "What, then?"

"We figure out who. Find a way to prove it."

"I'm too tired to play detective right now," Kate protested, exhaustion making every bone in her body feel heavy as lead. Too much new information was assaulting her and she needed some time to assimilate it all. "I need sleep."

"Figuring things out can wait until tomorrow." He indicated a spot behind her. "My bedroom's right through that door."

Not planning to join him, she muttered, "Don't start," even as her imagination set to work.

Her in his bed... his body curled around hers... heat throbbing through every limb...

"I was planning on taking the couch," he said, dashing the fantasy before it had time to expand.

Her turn to look away from him. "Does the door have a lock?"

"You're safe from me."

Her insides fluttered. She wasn't any safer from Chase Brody than she'd been all those years ago. That was clear to her. Since he didn't give her a direct answer about the door, she checked for herself. The bolt worked fine. The only problem was, she'd be able to undo it...

Remembering the two ranches she needed to visit the next day, she got a grip on herself. "I have a long day ahead of me. Do you have a problem getting up with the sun?"

Chase checked his watch. "In an hour and a half? No, no problem. Sleep is such a luxury, anyway."

She didn't miss the irony. If he'd appeared tired to her earlier, he now looked as exhausted as she felt. Compassion for him warred with her good sense, and in the end, she said, "Make that three and a half hours," and whistled for the dog.

Wrangler trotted straight into Chase's bedroom and Kate closed the door behind him.

Running on empty wouldn't do either of them any good, especially not if they expected to identify a murderer.

CHASE WAITED UNTIL HE HEARD Kate slide the bolt in place before locking the entry door and removing the rifle from its rack. Turning off the lights, he stretched out on the couch, setting the weapon alongside him on the floor.

Not that he believed they were in for a direct attack. Sneaking around and pulling strings from behind some rock seemed more like the villain's style.

But, just in case...

Sleep called his name, but when Chase closed his eyes, Kate danced behind his lids. Not the adult Kate, but the girl he'd abandoned. She'd never stopped haunting him. Ironic. He'd always liked his employer's daughter – she'd never judged him – but when he'd begun wooing her, it hadn't been his idea.

He and the Duran brothers had all been drunk the night they'd made the wager. Someone had called him "trailer trash" to his face, and he'd been spoiling for a fight. Buck and Gil had dragged him off, told him to accept who he was. Determined to prove them wrong, all of them, including his so-called friends, he bragged on how he'd have it all someday.

A nice girl on his arm. A great place to live. Money lining his pockets.

Gil had been the one to suggest that he put his money where his mouth was. The three of them had been working on the Farrell Ranch, Gil full time and Buck and him after school and on the weekends. They all knew Kate Farrell. Gil said that if he could seduce her by the time he and Buck graduated, he'd prove them wrong and win the bet. Then he'd have both the nice girl and the money.

Knowing fifteen year old Kate was a little sweet on him anyhow, Chase hadn't thought twice before accepting the wager. Nor had he thought about Kate's feelings if she ever learned why he wanted to step out with her. He'd spent months courting her under her parents' worried eyes. He'd enjoyed her company, had watched her bloom as she'd fallen in love with him.

But even after their one night together, he hadn't consciously realized how much Kate meant to him.

That she'd been a virgin was to be expected, and yet the fact that he'd taken that from her on a bet had shamed him. The next morning, he'd been in a rotten mood as he and the Duran brothers worked, putting in fence posts. So when Gil pulled out the whiskey bottle at lunch, Chase had indulged to dull the pain.

Chase stared into the dark, remembering how he'd vowed never to tell his friends he'd succeeded in seducing Kate.

He'd decided to break it off with her, concede the bet and pay up. He hadn't cared about the money, but thinking about being without Kate in his life made him drink past his tolerance level.

What had happened after that had made him pledge never to take another drink.

On the road, he'd convinced himself he was acting in Kate's best interests by not contacting her, but underneath he'd known the truth. He was the coward she'd accused him of being. He hadn't had the guts to speak to her for fear he might spill out the truth.

He was still a coward, Chase thought, all hope of sleep gone. There was no explanation for his actions. No forgiveness. He wouldn't expect it of her, even as he hadn't expected his punishment to come so late and so sharp.

Though he'd been keeping himself from admitting as much, Chase knew he was in love with Kate Farrell, and he guessed he had been all along.

Chapter Seven

REMEMBERING SHE'D TOLD ELLEN Weber she would help sort through her father's things, Kate spent some time in Doc's study early the next evening, going through stacks of papers, throwing away travel brochures and junk mail.

So far that day, she'd ridden out to two ranches. One of the owners had some sick cows. The other was new in the area and needed to talk to her in depth before deciding whether or not he wanted a woman to vet his animals. It seemed he did. She'd returned to her office only to find a little girl waiting on the stoop, cradling a hurt cat in her arms. After which, she'd taken care of several routine visits. She'd even squeezed in a short if refreshing nap before showering and getting ready to meet Chase.

Anxious, she checked the time. Her watch informed her she still had an hour to kill before she was to leave for Rowdy's Bar and Gruel where she'd insisted he meet her to discuss who had reason, other than Thea Lockridge, to want the refuge annihilated. Chase had balked at coming into Bitter Creek, but she'd figured it was time he got over himself. She'd been adamant and he'd reluctantly given way. Though she'd won this round, she still wondered why.

Because he wanted her cooperation in solving the identity of the villain?

Or because he wanted her?

The speculation made Kate shift uncomfortably, especially because she no longer knew what she wanted.

To distract herself from speculating, she picked up Doc's current journal. He'd always kept notes about his patients over and above the professional files in the office. He not only wrote about their medical conditions, but added his thoughts, as well. His intention, he'd told her once, was to write a book about his more interesting and humorous experiences with animals after he retired.

Another dream that had gone begging with his death.

Opening the leather-bound book to the last entry, she realized Doc had made a notation the day he'd died.

Need to check on Sage and her band. Still bamboozled about the source of the virus. With all the other things going on at the refuge, can't help but wonder if someone didn't let a sick horse loose...

So Doc had suspected. A creepy feeling stole through Kate.

All day she'd avoided thinking about the events of the night before, but with time to kill, she couldn't help it. What if Chase had been correct and the perpetrator had made sure Doc couldn't talk? What if the villain figured she knew too much? Kate took a deep breath and reminded herself that, while she'd been shot at, she hadn't been hurt. She held onto the possibility that the person's intent had been to scare her off rather than kill her.

Wondering what other notes Doc had made about the situation, she paged backward, eventually coming to an entry about one of his more unusual patients. A human being. A volunteer on the refuge had been so startled by the stallion charging him in mock challenge, that he'd fallen over backwards, managing to cut his hand on the fence.

A goofy accident, nothing serious. Cleaned and bandaged the wound and told the boy to stop wearing that perfume that aggravates the stallion so much.

Chuckling, Kate remembered Doc telling her that's how he'd gotten his nickname – by administering first aid to some of the townspeople and recommending treatment for simple illnesses over the years. Not that he'd ever overstepped his bounds by dispensing prescription medication or trying to take care of a serious condition. But Bitter Creek was a small town without a physician, and people were reluctant to make the drive to find one unless the situation truly called for it.

A knock at the door surprised her. Setting down the journal, she left the study, wondering if Chase had chosen to meet her here rather than at the bar. Opening the door gave her another surprise.

"Annie."

"Hi. I was in town to buy groceries, and I decided to take a chance that you'd be in. I was hoping we could talk... if you're not too busy."

Dark hair swinging along her cheek, Annie peered around into the living room as if she were making sure they were alone.

"I can spare a few minutes. Come on in." Kate led the volunteer around several boxes she'd brought from her old quarters but had not yet managed to unpack. "Sorry about the mess. I'm not even totally moved in yet. Can I get you something to drink?"

"No need."

Annie perched on the couch, and Kate took the threadbare chair that had been Doc's favorite.

"So what's up?"

"I need to talk to you about Chase," Annie said without preamble. "I'm worried sick about him."

Immediately on edge at the volunteer's possessive tone, Kate asked, "How so?"

"He's worn out with hard work and terrible stress. I, uh, know about the problems he's been having at the refuge. He used to talk to me about them, actually. But not lately and I don't understand why." Expression forlorn, Annie sighed. "All of a sudden, he's keeping his concerns to himself, and I don't think that's good for him."

Considering her upcoming rendezvous with Chase, Kate squirmed inside. He was talking to her now and she didn't think Annie would appreciate knowing as much. She was getting the distinct impression that Annie and Chase had had something personal going until recently. So what had changed? she wondered. Her walking back into his life?

She tried placating Annie. "He probably needs to think things through himself."

"He's been doing that ever since Doc's death... such a terrible accident."

Kate had to hold herself back from contradicting Annie. Until she and Chase had more to go on, they'd agreed to keep their suspicions to themselves. And she certainly didn't want whoever had been shooting at her to make a more serious effort to shut her up.

So all she said was "Doc's death was terrible, all right."

"I guess you were pretty close to him."

"Since I was a kid. I became a vet because of Doc. He was my mentor."

"Sorry." Hardly taking a breath, Annie swiftly turned the conversation around. "As I was saying, Doc's death really affected Chase. And now those horses vanishing into thin air haven't helped things."

"He's not too happy." Kate agreed.

"Of course not." A strange glint to her normally soft blue eyes, Annie asked, "So what does he think is going on?"

Kate realized the other woman was subtly pumping her for information, as though Annie felt she had a stake in Chase and was afraid of being replaced. She wanted to tell the pretty volunteer that she had nothing to worry about in the personal department, but the words wouldn't come.

"I guess you'd have to ask Chase what he's thinking, Annie. Though so many things have gone wrong lately, it would be difficult for anyone to believe it's all coincidence."

"There are some people around here who'd like to see the refuge fail."

"Like Thea Lockridge."

"Not just her. Other folks... including Nathan."

Startled, Kate asked, "What about Nathan?"

"He thinks the Lakota have a right to the land."

Something she hadn't realized. She wondered if Chase had. "He actually told you that?"

"Not anything about the refuge failing. But one day, we were talking about the pictographs cut into the limestone bluffs. That's when Nathan said the land was sacred to his people and that they'd lost out on their chance to reclaim it."

Which made Kate wonder exactly how resentful Nathan Lantero might be. And if he felt so strongly about the issue, why would he have gone to work for Chase?

Unless being part of the refuge staff suited some dark purpose...

As a kid, Nathan hadn't been able to contain his jealousy of her because of the attention she received from Delbert. He'd found numerous ways to get even, though she had to admit he'd been pretty straightforward about his animosity. He'd never sneaked around behind her back, rather had always challenged her to her face. Besides which, she'd thought Nathan had gotten over his youthful insecurity and had reformed his ways.

But what if he hadn't?

What if he were getting even with Chase because of hard feelings over the land? Kate hated the thought, but she couldn't banish it.

"Have you told Chase what Nathan told you?"

The other woman's blue eyes went wide. "I wasn't implying that Nathan was doing anything wrong! I just meant that not everyone thinks so much land being used to let some old mustangs run free is the right purpose. I personally can't see it being used for anything else."

And now that she'd done some exploring herself, had formed a tenuous bond with Sage's band, neither could Kate. "I understand you've volunteered to work on the refuge three summers in a row. That's very dedicated."

"After teaching remedial reading skills to a bunch of unruly teenagers the rest of the year, coming out here is a breath of fresh air. I think of my time around the wild horses as a vacation for my soul."

The horses? Or Chase himself?

They talked for a few more minutes before Annie departed, leaving Kate wondering about her true purpose for dropping by in the first place. While she'd expressed an appropriate amount of concern about Chase in relation to the refuge, Annie hadn't made any suggestions as to lifting his burden. Nor had she asked for counsel.

Leaving Kate with the distinct impression that Annie had been trying to feel her out to see what was going on between her Chase.

If only she had an answer.

"WHAT IN THE WORLD got into Chase?" Buck mused. "He never comes into town."

"Unusual," Merle agreed, blowing cigarette smoke at him. "Maybe he's taken leave of his senses. Too much responsibility can do that to a person."

"Can't say I feel sorry for him," Buck muttered, drowning his loopy smile in his beer.

Neither was she.

Propped on a barstool in Rowdy's Bar and Gruel, Merle glanced at the table across the room where Chase sat alone. After nodding to them when he'd entered a few minutes ago, he'd parked himself in the shadows. His hat rode low on his forehead, as if he'd meant the wide brim to hide him from the other patrons. As usual, he was nursing a mug of coffee rather than something more potent.

She remembered a long-ago time when he'd been fun and full of the devil. My, my, how life had changed him.

Then again, look what life had done to her.

Her insides clutching, Merle took a long drag on her cigarette and turned her attention away from Chase to a closer table where Thea Lockridge held court like some kind of queen bee. What a piece of work that bitch was – bringing her California money to Bitter Creek so she could ruin it for the people who'd lived here all their lives.

Three strangers accompanied the blonde, all city-slick men dressed like dime store cowboys. No doubt they were searching for a piece of the authentic west and Thea had brought them to Rowdy's for the atmosphere and greasy burgers. Smoke-filled, thin walls vibrating with a twangy country tune, decorated in Formica, vinyl and chrome, floors strewn with sawdust to absorb liquor spills and splatters off the grill, this dump was as authentic as it got.

Her gaze settled on the youngest of Thea's companions. The dark-haired man was of special interest to Merle, not because he was particularly good-looking, but because his well-muscled body made her thighs quake. She'd get to him eventually. Anticipation was part of the fun. Meanwhile, she'd enjoy admiring him from afar.

Buck's poking her in the arm disrupted her fantasies before they ever got started. "Uh-oh. Look who just walked in."

Merle spun around on her stool as Kate Farrell crossed to Chase's table. Without moving his butt off his chair, he indicated she should sit. The vet tossed her crimson ponytail, plunked herself down and signaled the waitress. But their casual attitudes didn't fool her. The sparks between them were obvious to anyone with eyes in their head.

Buck edged closer. "What do you think they're up to?"

So maybe Buck was a little dense. Shaking her head, Merle gave him a sideways look.

"Getting rid of some of that stress he's been under. Not that it'll do him any good in the long run. Chase is too spooked by all those horses up and disappearing to let it alone. I figure he means to find out what happened to them no matter what it takes."

"Good luck to him, then," Buck muttered. "For all he knows, the sky coulda opened up and they all rode straight into heaven."

Someday, Merle thought, the sky would open and issue Chase an invitation in the other direction.

Though she'd like to hide her feelings, she couldn't help but glare at him and Kate. Why should he have everything when she was left with nothing? His fault she was alone. His fault she turned out like her mother.

Deciding she didn't want to wait, after all, she crushed the remaining life out of her cigarette. "Listen, Buck, I'll catch you tomorrow."

"You going home?"

"Yep." Merle winked. "Eventually and not alone."

Opening another shirt button to reveal the hollow between her small breasts, water falling her newly washed silky hair over one shoulder, she sidled over to Thea Lockridge's table. Standing slightly behind the blond beehive, she set a hand on her waist, stuck out her hip and stared at the dark-haired young man until he noticed her. Definitely appreciative.

"Hey, stranger, know how to Texas two-step?"

"No, ma'am," he said, rising, "but I been told I'm a fast learner."

Merle glanced over at Chase's table. He and the vet seemed to be arguing about something. Maybe Chase wouldn't be relieving his stress tonight, after all.

But she would. Hank's coming home with her would make her feel a whole lot better. And while she and the dime story cowboy were setting off the fires of passion, she'd imagine Chase beating off the fires of hell.

No more than he deserved for ruining her life.

WATCHING MERLE HEAD FOR the small dance floor with Thea's friend disgusted Chase. Bad enough she let the locals take advantage of her. But another land grabber? He'd like to have a serious talk with her, but he didn't think she'd appreciate advice on her love life coming from him.

The waitress broke into his thoughts, setting down a beer in front of Kate and refilling his coffee mug. "Your food'll be up in a minute, hon."

"Thanks, Ina." Kate sipped at her beer and barely waited for the waitress to turn her back before saying, "About last night. You were riding to Lockridge Acres to look for the mustangs, weren't you?"

Startled by the unexpected accusation, he glowered at her. "Watch your mouth, woman."

"Excuse me?"

He shot a glance at Thea a few tables away, but she and her companions were intent on their conversation. "Keep your voice down. You want everyone to hear?"

Appearing smug, Kate said, "Then I was right. Are you going to try again? Tonight?"

Her questions were getting his back up. "Whatever I do is my business."

"I'm going with you."

His mouth got the better of him. He said, "And put yourself in possible danger," before realizing he'd confirmed her suspicions.

"Big deal. I don't even know if I'm safe in my own bed anymore."

"That's easily enough taken care of." He tried to rattle her. To make her think twice about clinging to him. "You don't have to sleep alone."

Kate narrowed her gaze when she said, "And I'm sure you'll be happy to volunteer."

"I was thinking of Wrangler. Good watch dog."

He was only half-serious about the dog and if Kate's heightened color were any indication, she knew it. She tried to hide behind her beer mug.

The blush softened her, made her prettier, reminded him of the first time he'd kissed her. She'd blushed then, too. After which, she'd kissed him back. How the hell it was possible to remember was a mystery to him, but he recounted every detail as if the eighteen years that had passed since had been no more than eighteen days.

Chase resigned himself to taking Kate with him when he rode onto Lockridge Acres later that night. She had his number. And he had hers. She would be safer with him than following him as he had no doubts she would do. By involving her more directly, he could keep his eye on her, could protect her from running headlong into danger as she would do otherwise.

"All right. You can come with me. As long as I'm in charge. Agreed?"

He figured it irked her to say, "Agreed," rather than arguing the fine points. "Why?" she added.

Recognizing that suspicious narrowing of her eyes, he said, "Because I know how you felt about Doc."

He'd liked the old man himself. And, considering Doc's death had something to do with him, Chase felt the need to learn who was responsible for that stampede. On the other hand, Kate's emotions were tied up in the situation. She'd loved the old man as if he'd been her father, something he had trouble relating to. He hadn't had so much as a sorrowful thought when he'd heard his old man had died.

Kate shoved the past aside when she said, "We're getting off the subject."

"I didn't know we'd started."

"Now's as good a time as any. Let's start with Annie's unexpected visit a little while ago."

"Don't tell me you're suspicious of her. She has nothing at stake."

"But Nathan Lantero does."

"Nathan?" he echoed.

"Annie said he told her the refuge was sacred to his people."

"I heard the Lakota wanted the land and that my deal with the governor didn't make them happy," Chase admitted, "but I didn't know Nathan felt one way or the other about it."

"Annie seemed to think he did, although she quickly assured me she didn't mean to imply that Nathan was guilty of anything."

"All the same, she came to see you to tell you about it."

"Uh, not exactly. We were talking about a different issue when the subject of who might be happy to see the sanctuary closed down came up."

Chase sensed she'd just skipped over something he should know about. He was tempted to worm the information out of her, but he was too tired to wear her down. He had to trust that, if it were important, Kate would tell him.

"Here you go, hon." Ina stood over them with two plates in hand. They moved their beers and the waitress set down their burgers and fries before them. "Anything else I can get you? Another beer?"

Kate shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Nothing for me," Chase said, his juices flowing at the first whiff. Not used to having supper so late, he was over-hungry. He took a big bite of his burger and washed it down with coffee.

"I'll leave the tab, then. Holler when you're ready to pay. No rush."

Chase continued eating like the starving man he was. When the record on the jukebox ended, he glanced over at the dance floor. Merle had herself wrapped around the wannabe cowboy. Neither of them seemed to notice the lack of music. And when the next tune started up, a throaty-voiced woman wailing about a lost love, he looked away.

Picking at her food, Kate was staring at him, her hunger all in her eyes. Caught, he imagined asking her to dance. Imagined feeling her hand in his as they made their way to the dance floor. Imagined holding her close. Smelling her hair. Feeling her flesh pressed up against his as they barely moved to the music, rather got in tune with each other...

He swallowed hard and warned himself not to repeat past mistakes. But he was hard-pressed to obey.

He had to force himself back to the subject. "Where were we?"

Kate blinked and swallowed a mouthful of nothing. "Nathan," she choked out.

Making Chase believe he hadn't been doing all the imagining on his own.

"Right," he said. "I guess we should be taking a close look at anyone who has anything to do with the refuge... not to mention anyone who badmouths the land usage." His gaze strayed to the man hunkered over the bar now that Merle had deserted him. "Or anyone who has reason to dislike me personally. Buck, for one."

"I did think it was a little weird that he was working for you."

"Being lame in an area of the country where the majority of jobs depend mostly on a body's being fit is a serious drawback. Considering my part in what happened to Buck, I couldn't turn him down when he came to me for work this spring."

Chase glanced over at the bar again even as Buck pivoted on his barstool and waved someone over. Whit Spivey had just walked through the door. A mean smile cracking his leathery face and showing off his rotting teeth, Spivey joined Buck and signaled the bartender to give them both drinks, the unexpected camaraderie giving Chase a peculiar feeling. He'd never noticed the men being particularly friendly with each other.

What had changed?

Kate interrupted the thought, saying, "Buck does seem to have put the past behind him. And then there's Doc. Buck wouldn't kill the man who saved his life."

Only half-listening, Chase frowned. "When did this happen?"

Giving him a strange look in return, she said, "The accident."

Something Chase couldn't forget. But he wasn't aware of what had gone on after he'd made it to the barns. He'd hightailed it out of there the moment he'd heard Buck blaming him. He'd been used to being a scapegoat, and his fear had been stronger than his remorse.

"What did Doc have to do with anything?" he asked, the words turning to glue in his mouth.

"He was tending to some livestock on the ranch that day. Buck might have lost his foot and more if Doc hadn't acted quickly and rode with him to the hospital. The surgeon said he saved Buck's leg."

"He's still a cripple."

"He has a limp and a scar. Lots of people deal with worse. His limp might limit his job availability, but that doesn't stop him from leading a normal life."

"Can't see much normal about it." The burger suddenly tasted like cardboard. He set the last of it down. "A grown man working a job for a kid's wages and grateful for the chance at that." Not that he wouldn't pay the man a decent wage if he could. "Plus everyone likes him and I don't figure he's hard on the eyes to females, yet he's never been married."

"What about you? You could be describing yourself."

"You're saying people like me or that I'm not hard on the eyes?"

"I'm saying you've made choices just as Buck has. You work for no wages and you're not married, either."

"Sure about that, are you?"

Her mouth gaped open a moment, long enough for him to envision kissing it. From there his thoughts strayed to other parts of her he'd like to taste. He really couldn't keep his mind where it belonged when he was around Kate.

"Are you married?" she demanded.

Making him think his answer mattered to her. "Nope."

"Have you ever been?"

"Nope."

"You're not telling me you swore off women?"

He had to grin at that theory. "Nope."

"Then what?"

The simple truth was "They weren't you."

Confusion warred with embarrassment and maybe anger. Suddenly, Kate couldn't look at him. Chase readied himself for more accusations, but she said nothing, rather concentrated on her food.

In a better mood himself, he finished his meal, then signaled Ina that he was ready to pay.

But was he ready to start something with Kate that he figured he couldn't finish? Certain he would have heard her thoughts on the subject by now if she knew the whole truth about the past, Chase had no doubt Kate wouldn't take it kindly. And with the past still between them, they had no hope for the future.

If they had a future to look forward to, Chase reminded himself. His racing hormones and romantic notions would have to take a back seat to a more pressing dilemma.

Finding a murderer and staying alive while they did so.

Chapter Eight

HAVING RESTED FOR A FEW HOURS at Chase's place before setting off on their midnight exploit, Kate felt positively energized by the time they left the cabin. Chase, too, had slept some, though he was more grouchy than refreshed. Giving him time to mellow out, she trailed along behind him to the corral gate.

The first to wake, she'd caught him face down on the couch, as unmoving as a dead man. His exhaustion apparent, she'd hated to disturb him. Indeed, she hadn't for a few minutes, rather had gotten her fill of staring at him.

With his features relaxed, thick black lashes brushing his broad cheekbones, he appeared almost classically handsome. Asleep and without responsibility pressing down upon him, he possessed a boyish quality she remembered all too well. Though she stopped herself from touching the unfamiliar scar above his right cheekbone, she couldn't force back a fleeting memory of another night, the only other time she'd watched him dream.

As much for her own peace of mind as for the mission, she'd awakened him.

And a cup of coffee later, he was ready to roll.

Leading one of the horses from the corral, Chase said, "Her name's Calamity."

His dark shirt was buttoned to his neck and he wore a jacket against the cool night. The red roan rolled her eyes and lipped the denim of his sleeve until he scratched her nose from its soft tip to the middle of her forehead, after which, he handed the lead to Kate.

"She has a mind of her own and can get into trouble if you don't keep a firm grip on her." Turning away, he mumbled, "Like some women I know," loud enough for her to hear.

"I suspect Calamity and I will get along like old friends," Kate assured him.

To be certain, she spent a few moments bonding with the mustang, whispering in her ear and finding her sweet spots. The roan blew softly against her favorite light wool jacket, silhouetted horses running across a background the same blood red as her shirt. She silently visited with Calamity until she was positive they were on the same wavelength.

And for once, she and Chase seemed to be on the same wavelength, too, Kate thought, bridling the mare.

Wondering that he'd so easily given in to her accompanying him, she wasn't about to question the opportunity. Chase might be making a valiant attempt at running the refuge single-handedly, but perhaps he was finally overwhelmed by too much pressure.

He did seem to feel the need to be in charge of everything, Kate, mused as she smoothed the blanket across Calamity's withers and set the saddle in place.

"Ready?" Chase asked, riding up alongside her.

Kate fastened the cinch. "If you are."

But her thoughts continued in the same vein as they cut across the refuge toward Lockridge Acres. His need to be in control seemed to permeate every corner of his life, as illustrated by the set to they'd had upon leaving Rowdy's.

"Why wouldn't you let me pay for supper?" she asked, remembering how irritable he'd been when she'd suggested he let her take care of the check.

"I pay my own way."

"You paid mine, too," she reminded him.

"A burger and a beer won't break me."

"Big words from a man who doesn't take a salary for his work."

"I said I didn't take a salary. I never said I was broke."

Not the first time he'd made her wonder about the source of his folding money.

"So what did you do? Win big at poker or something?"

"Or something," he agreed.

Figuring he'd get all wound up again if she hounded him, she didn't press him and so was surprised when he continued.

"When my uncle died, he left me a stake in his ranch. I didn't figure it was fair to my cousins, so I refused to horn in on their inheritance. They figured I earned a share and since I wouldn't take the land, they set up a bank account. Not enough to save the refuge, but enough for me to get along on."

That he confided in her pleased Kate. Made her think that, with time, he'd tell her other, more important details about the past.

After that, they rode mostly in silence. Listening to the occasional whinny of mustangs, the distant call of coyotes, the quiver of broadleaf trees in the wind, Kate didn't mind. In tune with nature, she was, for the moment, content.

They approached the Lockridge place from a different direction than the one they'd taken the day before. The panorama spreading out before them was different, too: acre after acre of wilderness with no sign of human intervention except for the fencing.

Eventually a gate appeared, and Chase hopped down. From a saddle bag, he produced the tools to cut the chain. Rather than leaving the evidence of their break-in in plain sight, he carried the hardware a few dozen yards away and tucked them within a clump of tall squirrel tail. Even knowing they could be arrested for trespassing didn't phase Kate. Her anticipation of what they might find was growing by the minute.

Once inside, they sought out the stretch of land broken by ravines and small canyons that they'd identified via binoculars. Another half mile or so and they halted on a small rise in the shelter of some Ponderosa Pine.

"Let's make sure we don't have company before riding out into the open," Chase said.

Since they'd left the refuge, an occasional cloud had scudded across the night sky, blocking the moon and throwing a deep impenetrable shadow over the land. At the moment, however, all was clear. Moonbeams limned the inert expanse before them with a silver glow.

"As long as the clouds cooperate, we'll be able to spot anything that moves," Kate said.

"The same goes for anyone else around... so don't get sloppy."

Knowing Chase had her best interests at heart, she chose not to take offense. Normally an easy-going person, she'd been quick to anger around him, due, she was certain, to their past history. She needed to get beyond that.

But how could she when other responses to him came too naturally for her comfort? Like that moment in Rowdy's when people and sounds had receded, leaving her alone with Chase and familiar feelings she hadn't wanted to consider. More and more, she was being sucked backward, to a time when her heart had been whole and anything had been possible. When her mind hadn't been touched by doubt and fear.

She'd had years to harden herself to him. In a matter of days, he was breaking down her barriers.

What to do?

"Follow me," Chase said, taking Deadwood down a sloped path into the first of a series of ravines cut only by a trickle of water.

Follow him.

Once she would have followed him anywhere. She'd understood fear and his feelings of inadequacy had made him run rather than face the horror of that accident. If he would have asked, she would have run with him to the ends of the earth, naive fifteen year old that she'd been...

Deadwood's whinny drawing a responding squeal from Calamity jarred Kate out of the past.

"Whoa," Chase ordered softly.

His mount danced to one side. Hers nervously backed up, throwing her head and snorting in displeasure.

"What is it?" Kate whispered, for she saw nothing alarming.

"Got me."

They both dismounted and drew their horses into the shelter of some rocks and brush even as a cloud stole across the moon. Absolute dark prevailed and within the womblike texture of the night, the mustangs remained disquieted. Kate felt her way between them, and with steady hands and an unspoken resolve, coaxed them into remaining silent.

Gradually the inky blackness lifted, and Kate could see that Chase was on the alert.

Then he looked her way and shook his head. "Don't see or hear anything."

Stroking Calamity's neck, Kate closed her eyes and gleaned a quick impression.

She wrinkled her nose and said, "The smell. The horses don't like the stench of this place." Uneasy, she met Chase's gaze. "Fetid... like death."

His expression disturbed, he seemed to be searching inside of her. Seconds passed without her taking a breath. Then, seeming satisfied that she wasn't being unnecessarily melodramatic, he nodded and she was able to breathe normally once more.

"How do you do that?"

She shrugged. "I can't explain it. Picking up impressions is something I've always done without thinking. Delbert Lantero's the one who taught me to go deeper. To communicate with animals on a more interactive level."

He shook his head. "What I wouldn't give to have that gift."

"And there have been times in my life when I would've gladly given it away."

"Why?"

"Because it made me different."

If Chase had any thoughts on the matter, he didn't offer them, maybe because he, too, had been apart from the crowd, if in a disparate way.

He sniffed the air and shook his head. "Could be a cougar from the horses' reaction. The smell's not obvious to us, so whatever it was probably has been dead for some time. We should move on."

They remounted and picked their way deeper into the series of twisting ravines and blind canyons, tumbling with rock formations and crumbling outcrops. Vegetation flourished in the area despite the low water flow of a drier than usual summer. Kate realized a partially-grown-over path ran mere yards from the stream bed. Vehicles had been through here, so the area must be used. But to what purpose?

Every so often, their horses renewed their protest, but neither balked. Their willingness to continue on eased Kate's mind about any imminent danger. Unfortunately, however, while she tuned into the frequent scurry of smaller wildlife around them, she had no sense of other horses nearby. And even if she and Chase missed the signs, she knew their mounts would pick out any fellow mustangs.

It wasn't until they'd gone deep into the heart of the natural maze that she caught sight of a clearing and a man-made structure. "Look."

Apparently, Chase had already seen, for he was heading toward the large animal pen that stood empty. Once there, he rose in his stirrups and scanned the surrounding area.

"What the hell!" he growled, pointing.

Kate glanced behind her, to a steel-barred enclosure sheltered by a small stand of birch. "A cage?"

As they moved closer to the cage, both horses began dancing, protesting, throwing up heads with eyes rolling. Before she had a chance to figure out what exactly had them so hot and bothered, Kate heard the roar of a motor from the path they'd just traveled.

"Someone's coming!"

They scurried for cover, finding a clear pocket behind an amalgamation of rocks matted with virgin's bower and surrounded by taller growth. They leaped to the ground, their footfalls deadened by short grasses. Chase slipped his rifle from his saddle, leaving the horses to her care.

As the roar of the engine drew closer, Kate touched the mustangs, cleared her mind and concentrated on relaying calm and safety to the suddenly hyper animals.

Quiet... no need for alarm... settle down... that's the way...

The words, if spoken, would be meaningless, though a gentle, reassuring tone might have gotten through to them. But her physical connection and unspoken language worked faster and more thoroughly. As if hypnotized, both horses settled down and relaxed.

Kate could only wish she were equally at ease, especially when the vehicle stopped nearby and she heard doors open and several people exit.

"Here we are – the staging area," Thea Lockridge announced, a definite edge to her voice.

Thea must have brought her friends from Rowdy's for some late night excursion. Pulse lurching, Kate grew alarmed. What in the world did the blonde expect to show anyone in the dark? Or were their intentions more sinister?

Unsure of what they'd stumbled into, Kate shivered and drew closer to Chase, thankful that he was armed.

THEA WAS CERTAIN BRINGING THE MEN to her special place would close the deal. On the drive over, she'd tantalized them with possibilities. If the other amenities hadn't induced the thrill seekers to buy into her private enterprise, this should be the frosting on the cake.

Chocolate frosting, she amended, as a cloud slid in front of the moon and their world went dark.

"Hey, who turned off the lights?" Sam complained.

Thea laughed at the big man's petulant tone. "This isn't the city. No glow of skyline lights. When it gets dark out here, it's for real." Hoping to excite them, she lowered her voice and let it throb. "Danger could lurk anywhere -- even behind you -- and you wouldn't know it."

"We could use those fancy gadgets the army developed for Nam." Rather than being excited in a positive way, Larry sounded nervous. "You know, the binoculars that let you see in the dark."

"Night vision goggles, idiot."

"I'll idiot you --"

"Now, now, boys," Thea soothed. "No fighting. Save your primal energies for more productive activities." Having already evaluated them as being viable candidates, she feared some silly liquor-induced argument might put a wrench in the transaction. "Actually, we do have several pairs of night vision goggles and binoculars. You can't miss a thing with those babies."

Sounding relieved, Larry said, "So let's try them out."

"We'd have to return to the compound. I keep them in the gun room."

"Forget tonight," Sam groused. "We go back to the house and I'm in bed."

The moon slid from behind the clouds and Thea went on with her sales pitch. "As you may have noticed, the area is suitably secluded --"

"Hank should be here." Larry sounded disgusted. "Too bad he let himself get distracted."

"There's no accounting for taste," a disappointed Thea said. "I would have thought a man of Hank's caliber would be a bit more discerning than to pick up a whore."

"Whores are Hank's weakness," Larry informed her.

"The trashier the better," Sam agreed.

"As long as he doesn't talk in his sleep."

Larry snorted. "Who says Hank sleeps with them?"

Both men laughed and smacked each other on the back. Wincing, Thea tried to remain philosophical. Too much to expect that the creatures drawn to her concept would be as truly sophisticated as their polished exteriors implied. What did she care? Her true interest was in the green of their money.

A nearby scuffle and thunk followed by a shushing of grass put her on the alert. "Sh-h." Pulse thrumming, she pricked up her ears and listened.

"Probably some animal," Sam said.

"Some wild animal." Larry was sounding nervous again.

But Thea wasn't so certain. The hair on the back of her neck prickled in warning. She could have sworn the source was domesticated. A horse. But none of the horses should be here now.

When the noise wasn't repeated, she chose not to make a big deal in front of potential buyers. No need to alert them, especially when it was probably a false alarm. Just in case, though, she would put the cell phone in the truck to good use and call her foreman. Once alerted that some horse might be loose, he'd have a select handful of men checking over the area in no time.

To that end, she suggested, "Why don't we go back to the house for a nightcap."

The friends agreed, but as they climbed into the truck, Sam asked, "How can we be certain that our privacy would be protected?"

"I run a discreet operation. And I have a business relationship with the right people. But as a further safeguard, I plan to buy adjoining property," she assured them, thinking of the refuge.

Thea knew she had to be careful how she handled things so as not to raise suspicions, but she was determined to get her hands on that land.

One way or another...

CHASE EXPELLED A LONG-HELD BREATH as Thea's four-wheel drive high-tailed it out of the clearing. "That was close. I thought Calamity was going to give us away."

"My fault," Kate admitted. "I should have stayed with them. Sorry."

He hadn't been sorry that she'd sought his comfort. Instinctively, she'd pulled close to him, had touched him without self-consciousness. And even in a tense situation, her very nearness had distracted him until Calamity got so restless. Kate had responded instantly, however, quieting the roan with her magic. Amazing.

She handed over Deadwood's reins and they moved back into the open. Certain she wouldn't be appreciative now that the threat of danger had passed, he fought the urge to wrap a protective arm around her.

"Why do you think Thea brought those men out here?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

"To close some real estate deal."

"Okay, but why in this place and why in the middle of the night?"

Good question. One Chase didn't have the answer to. Just as he couldn't say for sure what the enclosure and cage were doing in the midst of nowhere. He could make an intelligent guess, though, and that made his stomach churn.

"I really don't like this."

"Neither do I." Kate took a long look at the cage, then at him. Forehead furrowed, she said, "Tell me what you're thinking."

Chase took a deep breath and went over the facts as he saw them. "The place is purposely secluded. Our horses have weird reactions to the area, due, as you said, to the smell of death. Then we find a large animal pen in the middle of nowhere... not to mention a cage. And Thea talks about primal energies and night vision goggles."

"Remember the animal trophies decorating her home." Kate waited a beat before adding, "Illegal hunts?"

Their minds were in tune. Not that Chase was surprised. He'd always given Kate credit for her smarts.

"We don't have proof."

"Even if we did, what could we do about it? She spoke of having a business relationship with the right people -- undoubtedly Thea was indicating she has the law in her pocket."

"Pocketbook," Chase amended.

"So what do we do?"

"Put our suspicions on hold until we have time to deal with them. The mustangs are still missing," he reminded her. "And Doc Weber is still dead."

KATE HAD WALKED OVER TO ROWDY'S BAR and Gruel and had ridden to the refuge with Chase, so she had no choice but to let him see her home. Truth be told, she was glad for the company...even if she didn't feel much like talking. Their trek had spooked her good, and the reminder of Doc's death preyed on her mind.

By the time they arrived in Bitter Creek, she suspected dawn wasn't far from creeping over the horizon. She glanced at Chase, who seemed to be fighting to stay awake and was concerned that he'd fall asleep at the wheel on the return drive.

That's why, when he pulled up in front of the house, she said, "You'd probably better come in and get some shut-eye before heading back."

"And shock your neighbors when they see the Bronco parked outside your door?"

"Neighbors" was a bit of an exaggeration considering the Weber home stood at the far end of town where houses sat on properties big enough to graze riding stock.

"I'll take the chance. And you won't even have to sleep on the couch." Thinking of the empty rooms in the old house, she added, "You can have your pick of beds."

She wasn't ready for his "There's only one bed that I'm interested in."

Kate flushed and her insides stirred at Chase's intimate tone. Maybe he wasn't as tired as she'd assumed. Too late to rescind her invitation. And she was too emotionally worn to think of a clever response that would make light of the tension that lay between them -- if, at times, hiding below the surface.

"Come in if you can behave yourself," she said bluntly.

When she left the truck, he did likewise.

Spending so much time with Chase was beginning to feel normal -- even if the circumstances were anything but. Kate knew that backing up and getting out of her commitment was the only way to protect herself. But that was impossible. She'd gotten in too deep. Any peace she gained would be tempered by an overwhelming guilt. Too much remained at stake for her to think only of herself.

Doc's death.

The fate of the mustangs.

The well-being of anyone else who stumbled over the truth.

A mature adult, Kate decided she could deal with whatever curves the fates threw her way in regard to Chase Brody. She would have to concentrate on her priorities.

To that end, they were barely inside the front door before she asked him, "Do you think Doc could have known what was going on at Lockridge Acres?"

She stooped to rough up a yawning Wrangler who'd been sleeping near the entrance, waiting for her return.

"He didn't say a word to me."

"Me, neither."

Though Kate wondered if he'd entered any thoughts on the subject in his journal. Something to check on.

With a sharp whistle, she indicated the dog could go out, then waited for him in the doorway.

"If he suspected," she went on, "what if he faced Thea and threatened to blow the whistle on her?"

"Doc was smarter than that. Besides, he was killed on refuge property. Our villain came to him. More likely stumbled on him in the process of removing the mustangs and used the situation to keep Doc from talking."

Wrangler trotted back inside, so Kate closed the door and moved toward the living room. Sliding out of her jacket, she tossed the garment on a stack of her unpacked boxes. Her mind lingered on the stampede. On the drive home, she'd gone over and over the memory she'd shared with Sage, but she hadn't come up with anything more telling.

"You're not saying Thea couldn't be responsible, are you?"

"Not at all. But at this point, let's not exclude anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, everyone is suspect until we get some kind of proof."

He had a point. Even if Thea were up to some illegal activity on her own property -- added to the fact that she was determined to buy a good portion of refuge land -- that didn't make her guilty of murder.

"Still, Thea's a vile woman." Turning on a single table lamp to low, Kate dropped into the chair Doc had favored. The dog settled at her feet. "She even had to get in that shot about Merle, calling her a whore. Where does she --"

"Pure spite," Chase quickly cut in, his back to her. Though it was still dark outside, he was facing the windows as if he had a fine view of his surroundings. "I'm sure Thea is aware that Merle has no use for her and is willing to say anything to make Merle look bad."

Something about his clipped tone got to Kate. What he was saying was undoubtedly true. So why did she have the feeling he was uncomfortable discussing the topic? Appropriately suspicious where he was concerned, she let her mind take her somewhere she didn't want to go: Chase and Merle together.

In the same class in school, they'd hung around together as teenagers. Not that Kate had ever noticed anything romantic going on between them.

Still...

Chase moved away from the windows, but even then he remained in shadow. His being unreadable was somehow fitting. For Chase was as much of enigma to her now as he had been when he'd abandoned her. She couldn't take anything about him on face value.

Half-stretching out on the couch, he set his hat on top of the papers and books still covering the coffee table. "We never did finish our conversation about Nathan."

Which sounded like an excuse to switch topics away from Merle. He must have had his share of women in the past eighteen years. Nothing to say Merle Zwick couldn't have been one of them.

"What didn't we cover?" she asked.

"Your opinion. What about Nathan's wanting the land returned to the Lakota?"

If Chase and Merle had had a thing together, Kate mused, the affair was obviously in the past or Merle wouldn't have flirted with Hank. Or maybe Merle had dumped Chase and he hadn't quite gotten over it. Not that she cared who Chase had slept with since her.

Not much.

Swallowing her uncalled for resentment, Kate said, "There's a big difference between wanting something and making it happen."

"You know him as well as anyone. Better than me. How much loyalty does he have to his people?"

"Who are Nathan's people?" she asked. "He was never overly fond of reservation life as a kid. He was always torn between his Native American and white roots. He went off to San Francisco to study fine arts and stayed away for years after graduating."

"But he's here now," Chase said, "living on the rez."

"Only because his mother died and left him her land. Artists can starve before they make a name for themselves. Moving back to the reservation might have been a matter of simple economics rather than some indication that he's suddenly become a militant activist. Besides which, you started the refuge, what -- seven or eight years ago? Why would he have waited so long to start making trouble?"

"Opportunity. We've only been on real shaky ground financially for a little more than two years. Nathan first came to work for me late last summer -- after the refuge was vulnerable. He had enough time to get to know the operation, to figure out what could go wrong. And he had the whole winter to think about it. Make plans."

Chase had already told her he couldn't afford to pay a staff during the winter months, so she knew opportunities to do harm would have been nil then. And the trouble had begun in late spring. She'd already wondered if Nathan's being part of the refuge staff suited some dark purpose...

"Nathan was a pretty jealous kid," she admitted. "He didn't like his father paying so much attention to me, so he tried to get even whenever he could."

"I witnessed a few of those fights," Chase reminded her.

"He was always up front about his anger, though."

"He was a kid then. He's older now. Maybe more clever about getting his way. Who knows what kind of prejudice he might have suffered away from the rez? He could see getting the land back for the Lakota as a personal vindication for things he himself has suffered."

"I already thought of that," Kate admitted. "But --"

"Doc didn't save his life, too, did he?"

"Not to my knowledge." Unlike Buck, Nathan had no reason to owe Doc anything.

Too tired to think straight, Kate lay her head against the chair back and yawned. Suddenly the idea that a couple of amateurs could figure out who was trying to destroy the refuge seemed ludicrous to her.

Thea... Buck... Nathan...

Who next?

If she and Chase hashed over every possible grievance long enough, she was certain they could turn everyone else connected with the place into a viable suspect.

Annie... Whit... even Merle.

"My brain is mush. I'm waving the white flag," she groaned, allowing her tired eyes to drift closed. "I surrender."

"You'd better get to bed, then."

"What about you?"

That Chase didn't immediately answer got her attention. Whipping open her eyes, Kate realized he was towering over her. She stared up into his face, caught by a fleeting and familiar vulnerability. Suddenly aware of her heartbeat, Kate knew she should do something, say anything to break the tenuous connection.

No words came.

Then Chase was reaching for her. His fingers slid around her wrist and pulled her arm toward him. With sensation radiating from where his hand dominated hers, she allowed the rest of her to follow, stopping mere centimeters from their bodies colliding.

When he murmured, "I told you what interested me," the power of his meaning shuddered through her.

Kate stood transfixed, afraid to blink. Moving slowly enough that she had time to escape if she so chose, Chase slid his hand up from her wrist to her elbow to her shoulder. He was barely touching her, yet she was feeling thoroughly seduced. Her pulse thrummed and every nerve in her body burned as if he'd set it afire.

His breath caressing her face, he softly ordered, "Kiss me, Kate."

Strangely mesmerized, she obeyed. Rising her to her toes, she brushed her mouth across his. A light meeting of lips, no more.

His intake of breath was gratifying. His return kiss a sensual demand.

Too languid to fight herself as well as Chase, Kate gave over, sliding both hands up his chest and around his neck. She lost herself in the moment -- became weak-kneed and light-headed, almost as if she were a little drunk. When his tongue slid into her mouth, she nuzzled it with her own.

Groaning, he crushed her to him. His hands slid downward to cup her backside. And when he tilted her into him, she knew the potency of his hunger. Instant desire washed over her -- a sinking, drowning, glorious sensation.

Kate's right brain imagined Chase undressing her and making love to her where they stood. But her left brain freed her mouth of his.

Though Chase still had the power to make her want him, her own words echoed back to her: There's a difference between wanting something and making it happen.

Kate knew she should be routing Chase, sending him on his way. Instead, she was staring into the face she had once loved too well, more than anything wishing she could get inside his head.

How long? she wondered.

If she were to weaken completely, how long would Chase stay interested in her this time? If the refuge went the way of most good intentions, would he go with it? She certainly could imagine him riding into the sunset without ever saying a word to her.

That knowledge made her say, "You'd better go or you'll never get any sleep."

His gaze was steady. "Maybe I don't care."

"Maybe I do."

He realized she was serious. She could see it in the subtle shift of his expression. Still, he didn't let go of her immediately. He appeared torn... and for a moment, she thought he might try to convince her otherwise.

But in the end, his expression blanked and he stepped back.

And Kate endured his loss all over again.

Chapter Nine

FALLING ASLEEP WELL AFTER DAWN, Kate got a late start for her first appointment. She was eating breakfast on the run -- Wrangler shadowing her, hoping for a tidbit -- when the ringing phone stopped her from opening the front door.

She spun around, practically tripping over the dog. Annoyed, she cried, "Not under my feet!"

Wrangler hung his head and let his tail droop. Immediately contrite -- her lack of sleep wasn't his fault -- Kate offered the dog her last bite of English muffin as the phone rang a second time. Wondering if Chase might be calling, she made it to the end table and picked up the receiver before it could sound again.

"Kate Farrell."

"You're out of breath."

"Hi, Neil." Telling herself she was not disappointed at hearing her brother's voice, she explained, "I was heading out the door."

"Then I'm glad I caught you. This'll only take a minute. I already heard from Keelin this morning."

Keelin McKenna. No, she amended, Keelin Leighton now. So much had happened in two days that she'd totally forgotten about the imminent arrival of her Irish cousin.

"Did Keelin tell you when she and her new husband might get into town?"

"Late this afternoon. Mom is so nervous, she's already starting dinner."

"Dinner?" Kate pulled a face. She knew what that meant. "What time?"

"Seven. And she said not to be late. She won't have any excuses."

Not even her trying to find a murderer? Not that Kate would tell her family anything that would put them in a panic.

"How's Dad taking it?"

"In silence. Mom's not speaking to him, either."

Great. An uncomfortable meal to look forward to -- if her father was even present. Just a little storm cloud to add more stress to her day.

At least her work went smoothly. She gave Lou Sussman's new bull a clean bill of health. Julia Blake's horse had recuperated fully from the colic. And other than having to worm them again, she found that Mark Randall's pet burros were thriving nicely on an altered diet.

Kate kept herself so busy all morning that she didn't have time to think about the refuge -- rather, Chase -- until she was consuming a late lunch she'd bought on the drive out. The ham sandwich was a little dry because the kid who'd made it had forgotten the mayo, but she was hungry enough to devour every bite and wash it down with a whole can of soda.

No use denying that she was weakening toward Chase. Even trying to charge up her old anger had become a futile effort. She would never forget how he'd broken her heart, but she was finally allowing herself some perspective on the situation. They'd been so young that, sooner or later, something had been bound to tear them apart. Her going off to college, for example. Then she would have been the one to leave Chase behind.

Of course she wouldn't have done so as callously as he had, Kate assured herself. He would have known where she was. He would have been able to call or write. They would have seen each other during her many school vacations. But, in all honesty, Kate couldn't say their relationship would have remained constant.

And she couldn't forget that she had fallen in love with and had married another man years ago. She certainly hadn't been thinking about Chase Brody then.

But she was thinking about him now. Constantly. Why?

Pulling up to the refuge office, she chose to leave the question unanswered for the moment. Buck was just taking out an afternoon tour, while other tourists were heading for their cars. Chase's Bronco was nowhere in sight.

Kate stuffed her sandwich wrapper and empty can into a paper sack that she took with her upon leaving the pick-up. At the garbage can, she sensed a furtive movement -- Annie slipping from her office onto the front porch. Without so much as a greeting, the volunteer stared at her through the screened wall. Silence thick with animosity pebbled the skin along Kate's arms.

Unable to tolerate the uncomfortable quiet, she called out, "Hey, Annie," in a normal, friendly tone. She moved toward the steps, wondering what in the world had gotten the volunteer's back up. "Where did Chase get himself off to?"

"I thought you were the expert on that. You were with him all night."

Kate winced at the other woman's obvious assumption. Expression sullen, Annie opened the screen door and stood square in the opening, arms crossed over her chest, as if she meant to prevent Kate from entering the building. Though she'd like to put the jealous woman's mind at ease, she couldn't.

All she was, "That doesn't mean I know where he is now."

Annie's blue eyes were frosty. "He and Merle are checking over the perimeter fences."

"More trouble?"

"That's what they're looking for."

Kate took an easier breath. "Let's hope to God they don't find it."

Annie appeared to be working herself up for something Kate knew she wasn't going to like, when a shout from some distance claimed her attention.

"Hey, Missy! Kate Farrell!"

Turning, she discovered Whit Spivey at the top of the incline, waving her over toward the trail ride center. Her return signal was meant to assure him she'd heard and would be there directly.

"I wonder what he wants."

"Money," Annie said flatly. "His only motivation."

"Money from me?"

"From anyone who'll give it to him... or whoever he can take it from." Seeming about to say more, Annie shook her head. "Never mind. You'd better get over there. If you ignore him, he'll pitch a fit."

Though she would have liked further explanation of the vague accusation, Kate sensed any questions would be met with more hostility.

"If Chase gets back while I'm talking to Spivey, let him know I'm here."

"I'll be sure to do that."

Kate didn't miss her bitter tone.

Annie's eyes bored into her back all the way to the pick-up. Glad to have something to distract her from worrying about the other woman, she sped uphill to where the trail boss waited for her, hands balled into fists on his hips.

"Took you long enough," Spivey groused as she alighted. "I got a horse needs vetting."

Though Kate was hardly acquainted with the man -- Spivey had only settled in Bitter Creek a few years ago, and well before she'd moved back to town -- she instinctively disliked him. Not that she would use that as an excuse to turn her back on an animal who needed her.

"What happened?"

"I hired an irresponsible kid to help me take good care of my animals is what."

Spivey stalked toward a big bay tied up away from the rest of the string. While the others were saddled, the bay was not. Kate immediately identified the problem. A gash across the gelding's barrel was oozing infected material.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, moving toward the horse's head so he could see her and therefore be less apprehensive. "How did you hurt yourself?"

"He musta rolled on something sharp."

Frowning, Kate considered the possibility, but the wound seemed awfully large to have been inflicted that way. The metal tag on his halter identified the young gelding as Hercules. Suddenly, the horse jerked away and she realized Spivey had stepped into his line of sight. Eyes rolling, he pulled at his tether.

"Sh-h," Kate murmured, touching his velvet nose. Hercules didn't like Spivey, either. And she couldn't miss the sudden restlessness of the other horses in the string. "Settle down, Hercules, that-a-boy."

She ran a gentle hand across his cheek and along his neck. While his flesh quivered, the gelding stood quiet for her. And kept an eye on the man.

Spivey spat out a wad of chewing tobacco. "Damn that Teddy for going off and not saying a thing!"

"Teddy Wyatt?"

"That's the one."

Kate frowned. Teddy was both horse crazy and one of the most responsible kids she knew. She was certain he wouldn't go off and leave a hurt animal of any sort. But saying so would only get Spivey more riled.

"I'll clean this up and start Hercules on antibiotics."

"How soon will he be able to work? I can't afford horses who don't earn their keep."

In a manner of speaking, Kate thought, Annie had been correct about what the man wanted from her. The trail boss was more worried about his making money on the gelding than about her seeing to his welfare.

Though she bit her tongue to keep her opinion to herself, Kate knew her voice held an edge. "You won't be able to saddle him for a few days, certainly. The leather rubbing against the wound would make things worse."

"He'd better be ready for the weekend," Spivey muttered, gray eyes cold, "or else!"

Or else what?

The trail boss stalked off toward his lean-to, narrow shoulders set like steel.

"Don't you worry, sweetheart," Kate soothed, moving closer to comfort the horse and check over the wound more thoroughly. "I'll tell Chase and he won't let Spivey work you until you're ready."

The flesh near the wound flinched under her fingertips and a fuzzy image formed in her mind.

A foul-tempered Whit Spivey swinging out a hand holding a thick leather strap...

The image distorted as a squeal of pain echoed through Kate's head.

Realizing Spivey had been the one to inflict the wound, she swore under her breath and whipped around to confront him. The moron had already disappeared into his tack room. How could a man with so much meanness in him toward horses be working with them? And in a sanctuary where they were supposed to be protected, for heaven's sake!

"I'll be right back with my bag, Hercules." Giving the gelding a piece of carrot to munch on, she assured him, "I'll make it better, I promise."

And she wasn't only talking about healing the wound itself.

"ALL I CAN DO IS TALK to him," Chase said, after Kate had explained the situation concerning Hercules. The thought of Spivey mistreating one of his horses made him gut-sick, but other than using violence on the bastard to teach him a lesson, he didn't know what he could do. "I'll strongly suggest he treat the horses with respect or I'll --"

"What do you mean suggest? He works for you!"

"Actually, he doesn't. He's an independent contractor and owns the trail horses."

Chase could tell Kate was frustrated enough to scream. His mouth drew into a thin line. He wasn't any happier.

She paced the small office, the sheen of collecting tears lending a luminous quality to her green eyes. "Someone should take those animals away from Spivey!"

Chase knew Kate would never let her tears fall, at least not in front of him. He wanted to take her in his arms, to comfort her, tell her it was all right to cry if she wanted, but he was certain she would balk at his touching her. Besides, Annie could be back any moment, and he had a feeling showing affection to another woman in front of her would not be a good idea.

Opening his fists, he shoved his hands into his pockets and propped a hip against the edge of the desk. "You know damn well that taking legal action against him wouldn't be that easy, Kate."

As difficult as it was for the law to stop men from abusing their wives and kids, he thought, remembering his own situation, it was nearly impossible to stop the abuse of animals, especially if the owner's actions weren't openly flagrant. Unfortunately, Spivey was clever. He'd stick to his story about Hercules hurting himself in the pasture. And considering how Kate had gleaned her knowledge of the truth, who would believe her over the owner?

"We have to do something!"

"Like I said, I'll talk to him. That'll have to do for now. We have too much to deal with as it is. We can't fix everything wrong with the world at the same time."

"I suppose you're right."

"And if I learn Spivey mistreats one of those horses again, I'll take care of him myself," he promised.

"Then you would be the one in trouble with the law." Kate shook her head. "Why would a man who so obviously disrespects horses choose to work with them -- and at a refuge meant to protect those very creatures?"

"Why do batterers marry and have children? To keep control over their victims."

Kate's mouth gaped. Then she blinked and took a big breath, her expression subtly changing. "Chase, what about Spivey? What if he's the one who's --"

Noting a movement on the porch from the corner of his eye, he stopped her cold. "We can finish this up later." Since he didn't know who he could trust, Chase wasn't taking any chances. Casually, he glanced over Kate's shoulder. "Annie, there you are."

"Were you looking for me?" she asked, entering the office and ignoring Kate.

He didn't miss the hopeful note in her voice. "Actually, I was wondering how long ago Nathan left to get those supplies he wanted."

The corners of her mouth turning down, she said, "One, one-thirty. Something like that. He was planning on having lunch first."

Chase checked the wall clock. "I guess he'll be a while, then. And I'd better get on that grant application that I've been avoiding."

"If Nathan calls in, should I give him a message?" Annie asked.

"No, it can wait. But thanks." To Kate he said, "I'm on my way, then. Want to walk me out?"

"Sure."

Aware of Annie's sullen gaze following them, Chase crossed the porch and left the building. The volunteer had been moody lately, and he was beginning to suspect she was taking his bond with Kate as a personal affront, though he'd never indicated anything but friendly interest toward her. The notion worried him.

"So what's this about Nathan?" Kate asked. "You're keeping tabs on him?"

"I wanted to make sure he was busy elsewhere so I could check out the renovation site. Nathan set up temporary living quarters in one of the log cabins, supposedly because he didn't want to commute to the rez."

"I didn't realize he was staying on the property. That would be convenient... "

"And that's why I figured on seeing if I could find anything that links him to the havoc around here."

"What do you expect to find?"

"I'll know when I see it. If I see it." Nathan had the benefit of his doubt.

"I've been thinking there might be something I didn't see," Kate mused as they arrived at his truck. She clarified, "About the stampede. They say the third time's the charm. I should locate Sage and find out if that's true in this case."

"Not without me, you don't." A surge of protective emotion coursed through Chase. Her hard-headedness had gotten her into trouble once. Next time, the villain might shoot to kill. "No more solo middle-of-the-night adventures."

Her innocuous expression made him nervous. He'd expect her to react to his order with her usual affront. Even a little frown of irritation would make him feel better.

"Tonight I have a family obligation," she informed him. "One of my McKenna cousins from Ireland is visiting. Actually, Keelin met a man in Chicago whom she married this weekend. Mom has been working on a celebratory dinner all day."

Though somewhat reassured, Chase realized he was also disappointed. "Then I won't be seeing you."

"I guess not."

Try as he might, he couldn't tell if the fact mattered to her or not. Though he'd meant to keep his distance, he'd failed. Even now he was hard-pressed not to reach out and touch the strand of bright red hair that had escaped her ponytail. He had the urge to touch her in any way he could. Kate wasn't the kind of woman a man could be neutral about.

"We have to talk," he said. And not only about the refuge. Certain she was at least softening toward him, he repressed the whisper of guilt reminding him that she might not be so amenable if she knew everything. "I'll call."

"I don't know what time I'll be home."

"Then I'll keep calling until I get you."

Not waiting for another objection, Chase jumped into the truck and sped off. If only he could get her.

Not to mention the person responsible for Doc's death before someone else got hurt.

FEELING DUSTY AND DRY-MOUTHED, Kate washed face and hands, shoved her wild hair under her hat and fetched herself a can of soda that she could drink while on her way to the back reaches of the refuge. She figured everyone was occupied, so no one would pay her any mind.

Besides, even the most suspicious wouldn't expect her to go looking for Sage's band in broad daylight.

When Chase had demanded that she not seek out the wild horses without him, she hadn't actually lied. Rather, she'd avoided the truth of her intentions by telling him she couldn't go that night anyway because of her family. She'd been thinking of telling him exactly what she meant to do when he'd sprung the Nathan thing on her. With Nathan around most of the time, this might be Chase's only chance to check things out to his satisfaction.

About to climb behind the wheel, Kate noticed the dust cloud rapidly approaching and recognized the low-riding vehicle wreathed in fine red particles. Great! Nathan Lantero had arrived earlier than anticipated. Chase hadn't even been gone ten minutes.

The can of soda clutched in one hand, she used the other to flag down Nathan before he could whiz by. To help Chase finish what he started, she would delay Nathan from returning to the renovation site for as long as possible. But how? Her mind humming as the pick-up screeched to a stop, the material in the bed shifting wildly, she thought to kill two birds with one stone.

"Kate," he called through the open window. "How's it going?"

She pulled a face. "Not so good."

When he quickly alighted, she noticed that while his long hair hung loose as usual, a thin braid woven with blue and white tile beads and decorated with a hawk's feather brushed his right cheek. And he was wearing a white raw cotton pull-over shirt with billowy sleeves and a quill and bead necklace.

She'd never seen Nathan look quite so... purposefully Indian.

"Something happen I should know about?" he asked. "You have another vision?"

His asking didn't sit any more comfortably with her than did his unexpected physical appearance.

"This isn't about the refuge," Kate hedged. "I'm concerned about one of Whit Spivey's horses. All of them actually," she amended truthfully.

"Spivey!" Nathan spit out the name as if trying to rid himself of a foul taste. "What's he done now?"

"He asked me to tend to a hurt trail horse. He tried telling me the wound was accidental -- his rolling on something that cut him."

"But you don't believe it."

She shook her head. "Spivey used a leather strap on the poor animal."

"How do you... ?" Nathan's question faded off as he apparently realized that she'd gotten the visual impression from Hercules. His expression narrowed in disgust. "Doesn't surprise me none."

"I was wondering... have you noticed anything else wrong with the other trail horses?"

"One came up lame a few weeks ago. Bruised bone, he said. And before that, another had a problem with an eye."

More information than she'd actually expected to get from him. "What kind of problem?"

"The eye was swollen and half-closed... like someone had punched it good."

Visualizing the possibility of the mean-spirited man punching out one of his horses, Kate's stomach roiled. "Something needs to be done to put Whit Spivey out of the trail ride business for good, but that would be impossible without proof. Do you think anyone might have seen him mistreat any of his animals?"

"Never heard. Teddy's the one to talk to, though if he saw something out of line, I'd bet the kid would've told Chase right away."

Her heart sank to her toes. "That's what I was thinking."

"You can't fix everything's that broke, Kate."

An echo of Chase's words. "No kidding."

Just as she was wondering how to stall him a while longer, the solution came from Nathan himself.

"So you saw Spivey hitting his horse."

Instinctively she knew he really was interested in what she might have seen through Sage. He'd warned her against seeking out the mare again. And now he wanted confirmation one way or another.

What if he did know?

With temporary quarters on the refuge, Nathan could have spotted and followed her. He could have fired off those warning shots.

What he couldn't know was whether or not she'd picked up on anything incriminating.

And she wasn't about to satisfy his curiosity.

"I had a quick flash of Spivey wielding the strap," Kate said, and rather than lie outright, she circumvented the certainty of a more direct question. "I don't go around having visions on a daily basis, you realize."

Though Nathan didn't challenge the statement, he looked down his straight blade of a nose at her. Kate grew uncomfortable under his stare... fearing he was trying to connect with her so he could read her mind for himself. Determined to keep him off a subject that she didn't intend to discuss, she figured a way to turn the tables on him.

"Say... Annie told me something that surprised me."

"What's that?"

"She said the Lakota had been trying to make a deal with the governor to buy this land when Chase came up with his proposal for the refuge."

"True enough. And we should have gotten it."

Kate didn't miss the we. Glancing at the decorated braid, she asked, "When did you develop such a commitment to the same people you once fled from?"

Again, Nathan stared, and she had to stop herself from flinching under his black gaze. Though he'd threatened her many times as a kid, she'd never feared him.

Now she was afraid.

"When I learned what was important in the world," he finally said. He turned his back on her and climbed into his vehicle. "I gotta get to work."

"Sorry. I guess I've been holding you up."

Kate only hoped long enough for Chase to complete his search.

NOT HAVING BEEN TO THE RENOVATION SITE for weeks since all his spare time had been consumed in fixing engines, repairing fence and hunting down missing horses -- not to mention pursuing the elusive villain -- Chase took a few minutes to inspect Nathan's work before commencing with his search.

At first glance, the outside of the old log buildings looked to be originals. The pine logs themselves were authentic if refinished, but modern mortar blocked the chinks, cedar shingles replaced sod roofs and the windows were of glass rather than mica or waxed paper.

But the small details Nathan had added on his own, particularly those on the main house, made the place come alive -- hand-carved porch posts; hand-crafted micah and metal lamps hanging above front doors; original design worked into the stone chimneys.

Hard to believe that a man doing such exceptional and creative work could also have a bent for destruction.

Knowing he had no alternative but to break some personal rules to get to the truth -- a man's right to his privacy being at the top of his list -- Chase headed for Nathan's private quarters.

Nathan had chosen to occupy the smallest of the half-dozen log buildings and had built a corral for his horse nearby. Chase clucked softly at the Medicine Hat -- a type of Paint with a white face, dark ears and dark patch on its chest favored by Indians in the last century. The gelding snorted at him and went back to his grazing.

Chase hadn't been inside the cabin since Nathan had taken temporary possession of the single room structure. As he'd expected, the door was unlocked. Surprisingly, the room was even more sparsely outfitted than he'd imagined. Simple bedding lay on the newly installed wood floor. The furniture consisted of a large antique trunk and a bookshelf, as well as a table, bulletin board and chair that provided a work station. All were lined up along the same wall.

On closer inspection, the books proved to be of a single topic -- Native America, emphasis on Sioux history and culture, two recounting Wounded Knee. Sketches pinned to the board were of red-skinned men and women in traditional dress. A work-in-progress on the table was that of a warrior heavily armed. Staring at the sketches, then back at the book titles, he felt his mouth go dry.

Nathan's sole interest didn't bode well -- as much as he wanted to, Chase didn't think he'd be able to eliminate the other man as a suspect.

His gaze strayed to the trunk. Hesitating only a moment, he knelt in front of it, releasing the old-fashioned catches and lifting the heavy lid. Inside, several artifacts lay on quilted padding.

A stuffed kingfisher decorated with beads and feathers.

An ash bow strung with buffalo sinews in a buckskin case with attached quiver of arrows.

A sandstone-headed club decorated with horsehair.

A quilled breastplate.

A rawhide shield stretched over a frame, adorned with the carcass of a small bird of prey, hawk feathers and horsetail.

A bonnet of bearskin and eagle feathers.

The significance of the artifacts hit Chase like a Mack truck.

All articles of war.

Chase sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. No expert, he knew a little of Native American lore. As a magic charm, the kingfisher symbolized quickness and helped the warrior to dodge arrows. The war bonnet gave him super human powers needed to survive -- the bear being a personal guardian, the eagle a predator.

He set the trunk lid in place and stood, again staring at the sketches pinned to the board, as if he could fathom whether or not Nathan Lantero was the predator determined to destroy the refuge.

Chase eventually became aware of a presence behind him.

Because he suspected Nathan could be armed, he turned slowly. No jerky movements that could be misinterpreted. The other man blocked the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. As far as Chase could tell, he wasn't carrying a weapon. The bright light behind Nathan threw his face into shadow -- Chase couldn't even guess what he might be thinking.

Not having any way to know how much the other man had observed, he bluffed, "I finally made the time to check on your progress."

"Find what you wanted?" Nathan asked dryly.

"Reassurance that things are going smoothly? You bet. Everything looks good."

"In here, too?"

Chase ignored the verbal dare. "Your work is more than satisfactory, but I think you know that."

"I know lots of things," Nathan agreed, finally stepping out of the doorway. "If you have questions... ask."

Another challenge, this one more direct. "So, did you get all the supplies you needed?"

Nathan's expression was devoid of emotion, but he couldn't hide the flicker of surprise that lit his dark gaze.

"I have everything I need," he agreed. "For now."

Chase nodded. "I was admiring your handiwork -- the sketches as well as what you're doing for the refuge. I didn't realize you'd gone back to your art."

"A new project," Nathan said. "I got inspired."

"By anything in particular?"

"Now, if I said, 'by the possibility of making money,' you'd be disappointed, wouldn't you?"

Not really an answer. And Chase knew he wasn't going to get one that was any more direct.

EXPERIENCE HAD TAUGHT KATE that tracking down Sage's band wouldn't be too difficult. The tough part had come in calculating how to glean any information she might have missed. The last time, the images had flown by too quickly. Deciding that if she wanted to see more -- the villain, hopefully -- she needed to keep the mare calm. She'd asked herself what Doc would do and immediately thought of the treat that had been his favorite to dispense.

Sweetened grain mash. Evidence had shown he'd brought along a bucket of the stuff the night he'd died.

Balanced on a boulder next to the creek, she dangled her pail before her. "You know what this is, don't you?" she cooed.

Having answered her whistle, Sage and the other girls had come trotting to visit, yet remained at some distance. Considering what had happened last time, she didn't blame them. But upon seeing the bucket, Sage lifted her nose and sniffed, then meandered toward her, looking this way and that, much as a cat would do to pretend disinterest.

One of the other mares was not so reluctant, and within seconds, Kate was surrounded, her filled palm snuffled by a velvety nose. She made certain the girls shared whether or not they wanted to.

"C'mon, Sage, stop being a party-pooper."

The mare finally made up her mind and shouldered her way through the others. Eyeing Kate with only a touch of suspicion, she dipped her head and lipped the grain mash.

"Thata girl. I knew you'd like it."

Kate scooped a larger handful and carefully set down the bucket. Snorting, Sage went for seconds, while Kate slid her free hand along the silky neck. Then, conjuring an image she'd seen a million times -- Doc with bucket in one hand, a horse eating from the other -- she closed her eyes and concentrated, zeroing in on Doc's smiling face, silently telegraphing the image to the mare.

They connected...

. . . and suddenly Doc appeared older... the indigo sky behind him streaked with sheet lightning... her being bumped by other horses...

Excitement rushed through Kate as she realized this was an earlier memory, one preceding the stampede. Calming herself, she tuned back in.

. . . a howl... followed by a different sound... Doc turning away...

Pulse thrumming, Kate recognized the chugging noise. The engine of a truck. Not a personal vehicle but a commercial one.

. . . high beams... Doc limping away from the corral... panicked whinnying...

The warning set Kate's neck hair to attention.

Chapter Ten

KATE STEWED WITH HER NEED to talk to Chase all through her family gathering. Though she'd tried calling him several times to share her new insight before sitting down to the dinner table, he'd remained elusive. She only prayed that Nathan hadn't walked in on Chase going through his things...

So distracted, Kate only gradually became aware that -- between bites of roast beef, seasoned potatoes, a snap bean casserole, fresh biscuits and other treats -- her cousin Keelin was doing a fine job of engaging her father in conversation whether he'd meant to speak to her or not.

"Despite the many miles between us, Uncle Charlie, our families have much in common," Keelin was saying, a sweet smile lending a radiant beauty to her somewhat ordinary features and lighting her soft gray eyes.

"How so?"

"My siblings and I grew up on a dairy farm, while you raised your children on a cattle ranch. There are three of us, as well."

"I expect that makes us similar to a good percentage of the families in the civilized world," Charlie said gruffly.

Kate exchanged a look with her brother Neil, who choked down a smile until he glanced at their Irish cousin. Then he couldn't help himself. Keelin's dark auburn hair rained down along the shoulders of a loose dress the yellow of sagebrush buttercups found in the wooded, marshy areas of the Black Hills. Kate thought she'd bring a bright spot to the darkest day.

"Tis true," Keelin went on. "But is it not a grand feeling to know you have such connections?"

"My connections are all right here," Charlie argued. "Except for Quin, who keeps running around getting himself into hot water, of course. Next thing I know, you'll be comparing me to James McKenna!"

"Charlie, hush!"

"Don't hush me at my own table, Rose --"

"Da can be a difficult one," Keelin said, stopping the argument cold. "When he takes a stand, he will dig in. But he is a good man with human failings like the rest of us."

Kate was aware of Keelin glancing at Tyler, giving him a look that was half-reproaching, half-teasing, as if she'd had personal experience with his shortcomings. And yet... she'd married him anyway. Love conquering all?

Unbidden, Chase came to mind.

"And though Da does not often admit when he is wrong," Keelin was saying, her lilt mesmerizing, "his heart has never been the same since his family became... disconnected."

"By me, you mean," Charlie groused.

"By his own weaknesses. Growing up in a country divided by religious and political differences can twist a man's thinking. Perhaps you need to experience such confusion firsthand before you can truly understand."

"The United States has its problems --"

"But it's not at war with itself, Dad," Neil pointed out.

"Not in the same manner," Tyler agreed. "Especially not out here."

Keelin put a hand on Tyler's arm. "I cannot speak for you, Uncle Charlie. I can only say that I would give any decent person who made a terrible error in judgment a second chance." Before he could find a way to object, she turned to her aunt. "Such a lovely dinner, Aunt Rose. I only hope you didn't spend your entire day in the kitchen because of our arrival."

"Oh, no, of course not. This is just a run-of-the-mill Farrell family dinner."

Hand over her mouth so no one would hear her snicker, Kate exchanged another significant look with her brother who was hiding his smile behind a napkin. That their mother glowed from the inside out thrilled Kate. Keelin was good medicine for Mom. And maybe for Dad, as well.

Her Irish cousin seemed to have a keen insight on people... her belief in second chances nagging at Kate through the rest of the meal.

ALL COMPLAINING THEY WERE STUFFED, the men retired to Dad's study, while Mom insisted on loading the dishwasher herself.

Wanting a few minutes alone with Keelin, Kate had volunteered to give her cousin an unofficial tour of the grounds. As they strolled through the barn, both of them handed out carrot sticks to the riding horses, who'd already been brought in against possible bad weather.

"Why are you really here, Keelin?"

"This is my marriage trip."

"You didn't even know Tyler when you came to the States," Kate reminded her, leading the way outside to the accompaniment of snorted protests. "You went to see Skelly and Aileen and Uncle Raymond in Chicago. Now you're here."

"I cannot be fooling you, I see. I want Da, Aunt Rose and Uncle Raymond to be reunited."

Kate grinned. "Good. I was trying to figure out how to get Mom to go back to Ireland for a visit myself."

"So you think she would be amenable?"

"I'm certain she would. Dad's the problem." Kate sighed. "Mom's always had her moods over what happened with her brothers. I think it made her sick inside. And it's stopped her and Dad from being truly happy together. No matter how much they love each other, there's this invisible wall at times... Lately, I think Mom has been worried that if she isn't reunited with James and Raymond soon, it'll be too late."

"My very thought," Keelin admitted. "Da recently had a heart attack."

"Oh, Keelin --"

"He'll be doing fine, God willing. But when he was at his most desperate, he called out for Raymond and Rose. Of course, now that he's recovered, he'll not be admitting to his heart's desire. I know having all his family around him would give Da the resolve to live forever. That's why I want a family reunion. All the McKennas and their loved ones together."

A fleeting image of her holding Chase's hand in the midst of her extended family put a lump in Kate's throat. "When?"

"In time to celebrate our parents' sixtieth birthday."

"Perfect. Exactly what Mom needs." Kate frowned, thinking she should warn her cousin. "If Dad pressures her, I'm not sure she'll agree. Then again... you practically had him eating out of your hand."

Keelin's eyes widened. "And I thought I had irritated him beyond reason."

"Trust me, you did good."

Kate stopped before a fenced pasture where several mares grazed with their foals. The sun was in the process of setting and the sky had darkened to a purple streaked with pink and orange. In the far, far distance, faint streaks of lightning stabbed through thick clouds to touch the earth. Her familiar whistle brought the mothers closer, the long-legged babies shadowing them. Then she clucked softly until a blue roan boldly stuck her nose through the split rails.

Watching Kate closely, Keelin said, "You remind me of my brother Curran. He has a gift with the horses. He trains Thoroughbreds for a well-known Irish stable."

The wind soughed around them, plucking and pushing at her. Kate hesitated only a moment. "Speaking of gifts... how well did you know our grandmother?" She gave the mare a carrot stick.

"Better than anyone."

"Could Moira really communicate with animals?"

"Among other talents."

As Kate stroked the mare, she automatically checked her out, turning inward until a feeling of wellness and contentment filled her. She smiled and patted the roan.

"You have the touch, as well, don't you?" Keelin asked, sounding a bit awed.

Surprised that her cousin had known what she was up to, Kate said, "That I do." She distributed carrot sticks among the other mares who'd responded to her whistle.

Keelin laughed happily. "Oh, my, and I thought I was the only one."

"You're able to connect with animals, too?"

"I inherited a different ability from our grandmother." Keelin sobered. "I sometimes dream through another's eyes -- dreaming what they are seeing at that very moment. I don't mind when the visions are pleasant, but that has not always been the case. I've seen terrible things, Kate -- people in desperate trouble."

Lightning flickered in the distance as if for emphasis, sending a chill through Kate and reminding her of her current situation. "I can empathize. The responsibility gets to you, right?"

Keelin nodded. "The first time it happened, I declared that I wanted nothing to do with such a burden. Gran told me that I was chosen because I was strong enough to meet the challenge. No matter. For most of my life, I thought this gift a curse. And yet, if I'd not had it... Tyler's daughter Cheryl had been kidnapped and somehow, across an ocean and half a continent, I saw through her eyes in my dreams."

"That's how you met Tyler?"

"Aye. Thank heaven I helped rescue his child... but only after pushing my gift beyond the boundaries I'd known before."

Suddenly, Kate felt less alone with her own burden. "I'm so glad things turned out for the positive." Both for Cheryl and for Keelin.

The air had turned chilly and damp, and she realized the sky overhead had grown dark. Though often the threatening weather zigzagged around them, there was no use taking chances and getting caught in a downpour.

"Maybe we should get back before the skies open."

"I don't melt when I get wet," Keelin said with a laugh. "Eire has more than its share of rain."

"Not like we have, it doesn't. Have you ever seen hail the size of softballs?"

Keelin went wide-eyed. "Perhaps we should hurry."

Both laughing, they set off arm-in-arm, Kate saying, "You really love Tyler, don't you?"

"More than life itself."

Feeling closer to Keelin than a cousin -- almost as if she'd found the sister she'd always longed for -- she asked, "What if a person you loved did something really awful? Could you forgive him and love him anyway?"

A haunted expression flashed through Keelin's eyes. "I would consider all the circumstances. And I would look to see what kind of person he really was. I would ask myself which was the more important -- a single deed or the whole of the man. And most of all, Kate, I would ask myself whether or not I felt true love for him."

Keelin sensed what she hadn't want to concede to herself, Kate realized. She'd admitted to being in lust with the man, but... she'd not asked herself how she felt about Chase deep in her heart, because she'd been afraid of the answer. Now she was afraid the answer was becoming all too obvious.

"None of us is perfect or we would all be part of the heavenly choir," Keelin said. "I believe we were put on earth to make ourselves the best human beings possible. Unfortunately, some of us have to work harder than others to become all we can."

And Chase's father had given him a hellish start, Kate remembered. So many victims succumbed to a life of misery and never found their way out. Chase had fought back. Perhaps he hadn't always done the correct thing, but he had kept fighting and he had changed. Any woman should be proud to love the man he had become.

"Kate, may I ask you something personal?"

Thinking Keelin's curiosity was about her relationship with Chase, she said, "Of course."

"Earlier this evening, I sensed you were troubled by something. I was wondering about the source. Perhaps I can help."

Not wanting to alert the rest of her family, Kate stopped in the shelter of an outbuilding before they reached the house. She found herself telling Keelin about the problems plaguing the refuge and gave her a shorthand version of her stormy relationship with Chase Brody.

She told her about Doc and how, through Sage, she'd come to realize his death hadn't been an accident.

And about her determination to bring the villain to justice.

"I can't let this rest, Keelin, no matter how dangerous it might become. I have to keep on for Doc's sake."

"And for Chase."

"And for Chase," she echoed softly, realizing that it was true.

Even knowing that, if the refuge did fail, he might turn around and walk straight out of her life again, she would do anything to help him.

"I was afraid of this," Keelin murmured.

Under the dim light of the outbuilding, Kate noted her cousin's visage pulled into a worried frown. "Afraid of what?"

"The McKenna Legacy."

"McKenna... you mean Moira's letter?"

Keelin nodded and quoted, "'Act selflessly in another's behalf, and my legacy shall be yours.' A double-edged sword, this bequest of Gran's. First I had to face grave danger... then Skelly... and now you. I fear that every one of us will be required to risk our very lives in order to find the happiness that Gran wished for us."

Kate remembered thinking she'd already blown her chance, that she'd been too selfish, that something within her had kept men from accepting and loving her as she was. But she couldn't tell her cousin all that. And what if the crazy fates were giving her another chance? With Chase?

She asked, "Do you think the risk is too great?"

"No risk is too great to find the love of a lifetime. My fear is that we will not all survive the test."

Kate's heartbeat fluttered. Something to keep in mind. Sobered by the gentle warning, she started for the house again and fought the sudden anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. But by the time they set foot inside the door, Keelin was regaling her with a childhood tale that made her laugh.

On the surface, she smiled for her family's sake. But underneath, her worry festered. She tried calling Chase again and again to no avail.

She half-listened to Keelin talk about the herb garden that had been Moira's and was now hers. Though she and Tyler would use Moira's old cottage as their second home, she would sell her share of the herbalist shop to her two partners and start a similar business in the Chicago area.

Kate found herself watching the clock too closely. Fearing that something had happened to Chase, she grew anxious to leave for home. A quick change out of her flouncy skirt into more practical jeans and she would be off to the refuge to find him, despite her resolve to get much-needed sleep that night.

Finally, she made her excuses.

Despite the chilly drizzle that had started some time before, Keelin insisted on walking Kate to her pick-up. From the folds of her yellow dress, she retrieved a small cloth bag and slid its leather thong around Kate's neck.

"To help you make all the proper decisions."

"A medicine pouch?"

"Aye, something like that," Keelin agreed.

Kate lifted the cloth bag to her nose and sniffed. "How wonderful. What's inside?"

"Orange Flower Absolute to quiet your anxiety and to keep your heart calm. It also helps to battle shock and fear. Then there's Rose to calm anger and keep your spirits up. Ylang-Ylang will stimulate your senses and bring about a feeling of well-being." Keelin grinned. "And, oh, yes, considering where you're probably off to... ylang-ylang can also be a powerful aphrodisiac."

Kate laughed and hugged her cousin. "Thank you."

They clung to each other for a moment before Keelin turned Kate toward her vehicle. "Go find him before you expire for the wanting."

Kate didn't waste time. A few minutes later, on the highway with windshields squeaking, she brought the pouch to her nose again. Either she was a sucker for suggestion or the herbs inside were already making her feel better.

The euphoria lasted all the way home and up the wet front steps.

Expecting Wrangler to make silly noises when she placed her key in the lock, however, Kate was perplexed at hearing nothing. And when he didn't bark a greeting as she opened the door, she grew immediately concerned.

"Wrangler?" she called softly.

The mutt simply wasn't there. Every time she left the house without him, he escorted her to the hall, where he would be waiting for her when she came home. He was always in her way. Under her feet.

Except for now.

What was going on?

Not knowing whether she could safely enter, Kate stood in the doorway, her pulse fluttering wildly. What if someone had broken in to get to her, and in the process had hurt poor Wrangler?

A weapon... something to protect herself...

The fireplace poker immediately came to mind upon seeing the low flicker of light emanating from the living room. Someone had not only broken into the house, but had had the nerve to start a fire! Her eyes had already adjusted to the dark. Trying to breathe normally, she slid into the hall and tiptoed its length before stopping again. Her heart pounding loud enough to warn the intruder, she peeked around the corner.

Whoever had made the fire was lying on the living room floor, his arm around Wrangler's neck!

About to fly to the fireplace and fetch the poker, Kate first took a better look.

The dark-clothed body on the floor was familiar.

She choked out, "Chase?" thinking he was hurt... or worse. For a moment, shock rooted her to the spot, taking away her breath and stinging her eyes.

Then, with a responding groan, the body moved and the dog's head popped up. Wrangler gave her a sharp bark and shot to all four paws, then shook himself out. As Chase pushed himself into a sitting position, Kate's pulse lurched... then steadied when he seemed perfectly intact. Yawning, he was trying to focus on her with what seemed to be little success.

He mumbled, "Kate, there you are," and yawned again. "Must have fallen asleep."

Tail wagging, Wrangler trotted over to her. Kate ruffled the dog's fur. Grateful that nothing had happened to Chase, after all, more relieved than she could say that he was still in one piece, she was also irritated at his high-handedness -- letting himself in and making himself at home. Making her think the worst.

"What are you doing here?" she asked more sharply than she'd meant to.

"Nice to see you, too," he returned. "I've been waiting for you." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I told you we needed to talk."

About the refuge, of course.

Her adrenaline rush plummeting, Kate was chilled inside her damp clothes and boots. She moved closer to the fireplace and told herself she was not disappointed that Chase's being here wasn't more personal. Her conversation with Keelin had confused her, had made her focus on them rather than on the more important issue at hand. She retrieved that poker and used it to stoke what was left of the fire, then added fresh wood to the embers. Flames flared, illuminating the room with a flickering golden glow.

Disheveled from sleep, his dark hair tumbling down over his forehead, Chase was nearly more tempting a sight than she could bear.

Kate's heartbeat refused to normalize and her throat was tight with confused emotion when she asked, "Do you want to go first, or shall I?"

Giving her a strange look, he said, "I guess it doesn't matter."

"Fine. I was about to leave the refuge when Nathan returned from town." She fetched a couple of couch cushions and tossed them to the floor next to him. "I tried to stall him as long as I could, but I wasn't certain if you had enough time to finish your search. Did you run into him?"

"Yes, but --"

"So he caught you going through his things?"

"I was in his room when he got back, but I wasn't touching anything. Still, he knew. No doubt about it."

Not exactly what she wanted to hear, but at least the reality was more positive than some of her imaginings. She collapsed onto a cushion, spreading out her skirt so it would dry faster. The dog lay down nearby.

"And he didn't threaten you?"

"Not directly."

Which meant the threat still existed, Kate worried. "What did you find?"

"That Nathan is more enthusiastic about being a Native American than you gave him credit for," Chase informed her. "Books about Sioux history and culture. Drawings of his people in traditional dress... "

Sensing he was leading up to something she wasn't going to like, Kate asked, "And?"

"And a trunk filled with artifacts of war -- bow and arrows, a club, breastplate, shield, war bonnet."

The revelation took her breath away. And yet Kate hoped for another explanation. "They could be family heirlooms he inherited from his mother."

"If so, why would he keep them on the refuge instead of leaving them at his place on the rez? He didn't have much else in that cabin, believe me."

"So what do you make of it?"

"Either Nathan's trying to atone for past disinterest in his own birthright... or he's gone militant."

That Nathan could be making "war" against the refuge over land that was being put to an altruistic use -- if not the purpose he preferred -- sickened her.

"But which is it?" Kate murmured, tugging at one of her new hunter green boots. It would have to rain the first time she wore them. And either the wet leather was being uncooperative or her nerves were shot, for she was having difficulty removing it. "Even if Nathan's guilty, he's not alone in this, Chase. Two of them are working together."

Her dramatic statement was backed by a crash of thunder and followed by a flash of blue light from the windows. The rain had picked up and was drumming against the side of the house.

"How do you figure?" he asked.

"Once Nathan left for the renovation site, I took a detour on the way home. I found Sage --"

He cut her off. "I thought we discussed that!"

His tone got her back up. "We discussed my not wandering around the refuge at night." The boot finally gave way with a jerk. "This was broad daylight."

"Semantics. I could tell you were up to something."

"I'm not that readable."

"Maybe not to anyone else. So you found Sage and... ?"

His inference that she was readable to him added to his obvious annoyance at actions he considered dangerous touched Kate. Even if he didn't admit as much, he must care for her on some level other than the obvious.

"I tapped into an earlier memory," she told him more calmly. "Before the stampede. Right before." Lightning lit the room again, reminding her of the vision. "I sort of know what happened to the mustangs that disappeared. We couldn't find them because they were hauled out in a truck."

The impact of her statement hit Chase hard. His mouth set in a grim line, he echoed, "A truck. Those horses could be anywhere now."

"Hopefully someplace safe."

"Don't be naive... and don't count on our recovering them."

"But the freeze brands --"

"Don't mean a thing to greedy people without scruples."

Kate didn't want to think the worst. "Maybe we can get them back before it's too late."

"Does that mean you know who hauled them out of here?"

She shook her head. "His flashlight blinded me."

"He? A man. You're certain?"

"Or a big woman. I didn't see a face. But I did see a silhouette. I'm pretty certain it was male."

Chase rubbed a hand over his face. "Seeing this man and the rider responsible for the stampede doesn't mean two of our suspects are working together to ruin the refuge. One of them could've been hired help from the outside -- most likely the truck driver."

But Kate couldn't agree. "I don't think so. He never said a word and I'm pretty certain he positioned himself behind the truck's lights purposely so that Doc couldn't see his face. Besides," she said, starting to loosen the second boot, "Sage knew him."

"She told you so?"

Kate didn't miss Chase's skepticism. "In a manner of speaking."

"Too bad she couldn't give you a name."

She met his gaze. "She probably could if we wanted to put it to the test. Of course you'd have to get the cooperation of everyone involved."

"A line up?"

"With a wild horse as the star witness."

"And a wild woman," he said, grabbing the uncooperative boot with both hands. "Brace yourself."

She set both hands on the floor behind her. "I'm not so wild any more."

With a yank, he loosened the heel, slipped the boot off, yet didn't let go of her foot. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"Everyone was busy." Aware of Chase's fingers around her ankle through the thick cotton sock, Kate was having trouble keeping her mind on her protest. Suddenly weak-limbed, she leaned back on her elbows. "No one was paying me any mind and I didn't cut across the refuge -- I took the long way around. Besides," she reminded him, "it was broad daylight."

"Which wouldn't stop a killer."

"I'd say whoever they are would be more likely to act at night. Chase, think about the number of horses missing. And that they came from various parts of the property. Whoever took them had to have made at least three hauls. What if they come back for more?" she asked as he let go of her ankle and propelled himself toward her. Heart racing, she continued, "Too bad we couldn't set up some kind of trap --"

Her sentence was cut off by his kissing her to the grumble of more thunder. Unfortunately, the moment was over before Kate could close her eyes and enjoy it.

"What was that for?" she asked breathlessly.

"To stop your mouth before it talked your way into more trouble."

He was leaning over her, his weight resting on his hands, one of his knees wedged firmly between her thighs. The familiar plains of his body so close to hers fairly took her breath away. She flushed all over as her every nerve went on alert.

"Who says I'm afraid of trouble?" she murmured, thinking she was staring into trouble's eyes and liking it far too much.

"You should be."

"You want me to be afraid of you?"

"That's not what I meant," he said, his frown puckering the scar above his cheek. "You're misinterpreting -- like the conversation we just had. When I said I wanted to talk, I meant about you and me."

His serious statement sent a thrill racing along her spine. Tracing the small scar with a fingertip, she asked, "What about us?"

"That's what I want to know." Chase pressed his cheek against her hand and kissed her fingers. "Is there an us?"

. . . a hazy form silhouetted between the truck's high beams and the hot sheet lightning... a brighter, more blinding ray flicking on...

Startled out of Sage's memory, Kate felt as if her heart were pounding right out of her chest. She'd seen someone driving a truck rather than riding a horse. Dear Lord, why hadn't she and Chase thought of this before? All this time they'd been trying to pin the nefarious doings on a single person.

Now she knew for certain that two of them were involved!

Chapter Eleven

"You may not believe this, Kate, but I never forgot you," Chase went on, drawing away from her and sitting back on his heels. "I never really got over... everything that happened between us. When you walked back into my life, I thought I could resist you for your sake, but I was wrong. I'm not that selfless," he admitted. "The little sleep I get is filled with dreams of you. And when I'm awake, I want to be with you every moment. I know I disappointed you once. Can you find it in you to forgive me?"

"I already have."

She'd taken Keelin's question about which was the more important -- a single deed or the whole man -- to heart. There was no question that the man Chase had become was someone she could not only love but respect.

"You were right, you know," he said. "I was a coward. All those years ago, I had feelings for you that were more than I could deal with, especially considering the circumstances."

"You mean the accident," Kate said quickly, hoping Chase finally meant to be honest with her. She scooted up into a sitting position next to him. "You've been holding this in for so long... I'd like to hear your version of what happened."

Maybe then she would truly understand.

Seeming torn, Chase finally nodded and settled down, keeping a small distance between them. "You'll remember we were putting up fence that day. I was already distracted, but if it weren't for the whiskey --"

"I still can't believe you were drinking and working with heavy machinery."

"Stupid, I know. My judgment just wasn't there. We hit a rocky surface and the shaft kept spinning and getting nowhere. Gil decided to help the equipment along by adding his weight to the hydraulics."

"He got on top?"

His face drawn, Chase nodded. Kate took a deep breath. This was a detail Buck had never related in his version of the story.

"Buck passed me the bottle so he could help his brother. To this day, I don't know exactly what happened. I was in the middle of a long swallow when I heard the thuds. Suddenly, there was yelling. I whipped around to see what was going on just as Buck jumped off the back end, then started shouting that his brother was caught and he couldn't free him. That's when I really screwed up. I panicked and somehow managed to put the tractor in reverse."

Kate's stomach clutched. "Oh, my God." She reached out to touch Chase's arm, to offer him what comfort she could. He placed his hand over hers and continued.

"Then they were both screaming and blood was splattering me. Once I got the tractor in control, I jumped off and tried to help them. Gil lay there, his life's blood pumping out of him -- a shaft blade opened an artery. And Buck's leg was real messed up. Somehow, I managed to haul them both onto the tractor, but by the time I got them back to the barns, it was too late... Buck was half-unconscious and blaming me for his brother's death."

"But it was an accident."

"I was drunk!"

"It sounds like you all were." Though she could understand why he felt guilty.

"I kept visualizing an angry lynch mob stringing me up, so I didn't hang around the ranch. And I couldn't wait until the next morning to find out if the sheriff would come after me. In the middle of the night, when I was certain my old man was out cold in a drunken haze, I sneaked out of the trailer and left Bitter Creek, vowing never to return."

"You were young." She herself had been horrified by the accident that had left one teenager dead and the other lame. But accident it had been, no matter the guilt from which Chase had run. "And we've all done things we have cause to regret later."

"Not like this, Kate. After you hear the rest of what I have to tell you, I'm not sure you'll want --"

Her hand on his mouth stopped his explanation. "Save it."

If he kept talking, he'd give her more opportunity to let the past come between them, and she didn't want that to happen. Not after he'd finally opened up to her. Her heart went out to him because she knew he was still carrying around the burden of guilt. If she could, she would remove it. The best she could do was make him feel better. Focusing on the rhythm of the rain drumming against the house, she feathered her fingers along his cheek.

"We'll talk about anything you want some other time... when we can't think of anything better to do."

Chase groaned. Gazing deeply into her eyes, he looked as if he were going to say something more anyway. But, in the end, he changed his mind. His head swooped down, his mouth covering hers fully.

This time, Kate took the utmost pleasure in his kiss, drawing out the interplay of lips and teeth and tongue. Eyes closed, emotions open, she shared with him her renewed sense of wonder. A woman now, she was no less thrilled by the thorough contact than she'd been as a girl.

Breathing hard, Chase broke the connection and made a new one as he buried his face in her throat. Sensation swamped Kate as he trailed his mouth along her sensitive skin -- nudging her blouse out of the way -- and lightly bit the delicate flesh between her neck and shoulder. His fingers tangled in her hair and she felt him unsnap the clip that had been holding it out of her face. Now the natural curls tumbled around her shoulders in disarray.

Chase pulled back slightly, his hand coaxing her hair into an unruly mass. "That's the way I've dreamed of seeing you -- wild and wanton."

"You should see me on a bad hair day," she joked, then swallowed her breath as, beneath her skirts, his hand slid up the outside of her leg.

"Mm, and that scent you're wearing is almost as intoxicating as you."

Keelin's ylang-ylang, Kate thought.

Liquid heat followed the trail he broke with his hand. Kate responded by laying back and parting her thighs, allowing him more intimate exploration. She burned where his fingers found her and arched toward them for more. He tried to pull away the scrap of satin covering her, but the material wouldn't give. He slid the garment down her hips, sliding himself, as well, so he could follow the material with intimate kisses.

Finally, he rid himself of his jeans, then lay back, and taking her with, positioned her to straddle him.

She'd been wearing a skirt the night she'd been initiated to lovemaking, and Kate almost felt as if she were experiencing the memory even as she had when she'd tuned into Sage. Every touch felt like the first, her reactions that of an overeager and inexperienced girl. But when she slid onto him -- they hadn't been quite so inventive that first time -- she felt like the wanton he'd imagined her to be.

This had been predestined, Kate thought, unbuttoning his shirt, running her hands over his chest and down his taut belly. Their constant sparring had been a mating dance, a prelude to a joining that had been inevitable from the moment they'd laid eyes on each other again.

Even as she pulsed languorously over Chase, he continued to undress her. Button-by-button, slowly opening her still-damp blouse, he watched through slatted eyes.

When he reached for the bag of herbs as if to remove it, however, she croaked, "No, leave that be." Whether or not it really held an aphrodisiac, she felt as if they'd both fallen under its exotic scent. No sense in breaking the spell.

As he slipped the blouse off her shoulders and down her arms, the tangled material imprisoning her hands, she threw back her head and closed her eyes. He thumbed her nipples through the satin covering her breasts.

Overcome by desire, Kate bit her bottom lip to stop from crying out. As if sensing her need, Chase rid her of the garments, molding his hands around her full flesh, while she began rocking her hips in the same natural rhythm as the beating rain.

She bent to kiss him. Their breaths mingled and grew heavier. A lusty sigh escaped her.

Waiting no longer, Chase turned her flat on her back, him buried deep inside her. She tore at his shirt, frantic to feel not only his bare chest against her breasts, but the strength of his arms and the muscles of his back under her palms. She had little time to savor him before their passion exploded at the exact moment sheet lightning lit the sky directly outside the house and thunder rattled all the windows.

For a moment, Kate floated, again visualizing that first intense glance when they'd rediscovered each other... until Wrangler's fearful whine and bark of alarm sent a chill through her.

She remembered that special moment had taken place at Doc's gravesite.

BUCK STOOD OUTSIDE THE WINDOW, heedless of the rain that rolled inside his jacket and down his back. He'd had too much to drink to let a little rain worry him. And the naked bodies inside left him unaffected but for a growing resentment.

Chase Brody owed him.

He could have had a life.

A job.

A family.

Instead, he was left with a bottle in a paper sack. He took a drink. Whiskey dribbled down his chin along with the rain. Chase's fault he was a shell of what might have been -- a damn living ghost who'd been given a pity job by the man who'd crippled him.

Chase Brody owed him big time, would never stop owing him as long as he lived, Buck decided. Nothing would ever be enough for what he'd lost. Still, he would keep Chase paying for as long as it suited him. The guilt would keep him from suspecting he was being duped.

Another swig had Buck considering new punishments. Especially one that would steal away Chase's humanity as Chase had stolen his.

Bleary-eyed from too much booze, he watched the couple inside hold onto each other like they would never let each other go again. Then he smiled.

The woman. That was his ticket.

Chase's losing the woman he loved would be the ultimate payback.

CHASE AWOKE KATE AT THE CRACK of a drizzly dawn in a delightfully intimate manner. One body part led to another, and before she knew it, all thoughts of sleep had fled. The early morning sex-play left her ravenous, and she was surprised that Chase was talking about heading back to the refuge rather than joining her for breakfast.

"What's the hurry?" she asked, pulling on a terry robe while he climbed into his clothes.

"I want to check things out," he admitted, "before everyone's up and around."

"You think something else has happened? More horses missing?" Kate's protective instincts were aroused. "I think I'd better go with you."

"No need." He played with a loose strand of her hair and kissed her on the nose. "I'm just being cautious. Who knows when they'll strike again?"

He'd said they, so he, too, believed more than one person was at fault. Learning that more wild horses were missing after the fact didn't exactly help matters. Not the horses, certainly. Kate was convinced there had to be a way to catch the rustlers in the act.

"I know it's impossible to predict when something is going to happen," she said, "but I was thinking of how we might catch them." Thinking about the day they'd found the horses missing had given her the idea. "You can see a pretty good portion of the north and west refuge boundaries from the old observation tower --"

"Too dangerous." Chase frowned down at her. "If I had the money or the manpower, I'd pull that thing down before someone gets hurt. You stay away from it." His hand worked its way under her chin, lifting her face to his. "Promise me."

Chase could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. Kate promised.

After he left and she had her breakfast, Kate entered Doc's study, Wrangler at her heels. The room was still overflowing, but she wasn't much in the mood to do anything about the clutter, even though she had a couple of hours before her first appointment. Besides, what was the rush? Happier than she could ever remember being, she swiveled in the office chair, her eye caught by the journals Doc had been keeping all his professional life.

Doc.

Her smile fading to bittersweet, she let her mind drift to his untimely death and the people suspect -- nearly everyone they knew, it seemed -- though she and Chase had concentrated on examining Thea Lockridge and Nathan Lantero. She wondered why he'd never figured on them working together, but she and Chase might be of like mind. Somehow she couldn't see Nathan giving Thea the time of day.

Who would?

Though she still couldn't envision Buck Duran hurting Doc, Chase hadn't eliminated him. Considering the difficulty he'd had in getting work over the years, Buck might be open to less than sterling methods of earning money. And no matter that he seemed to have forgotten the past, he did have reason to resent -- maybe even hate -- Chase.

Laying in wait for the guilty ones to strike was the only way they were going to learn their identities for certain, but how to convince Chase?

Leaning forward, she fetched the journal for nineteen-seventy-eight from the shelf and paged back to the day of the fateful accident. Curious to know Doc's thoughts on the matter, she skimmed the passage relating the details of his working on Buck's leg and scanned the next few pages for a less graphic follow-up entry.

Nothing caught her attention until another name fairly jumped out at her:

Merle Zwick came to me desperate for help. Nothing I could do for her but shore up the bleeding and get her to a clinic in Hot Springs. Poor girl. Two losses in as many days is enough to break anyone.

Kate stared at the enigmatic entry for a moment, then paged ahead, looking for another about Merle, but Doc didn't mention her again, either.

Even back then she hadn't known Merle very well, but Bitter Creek had always boasted a well-developed rumor mill. If Merle had hurt herself badly enough to be taken to a clinic for treatment, word would have gotten around town faster than greased lightning. Surely she would have heard something.

Nothing I could do for her but shore up the bleeding...

Kate shifted uneasily at the ominous statement. What if the bleeding hadn't come from an outer wound? What if she'd been bleeding from the inside? Doc made it sound as though Merle had been having a miscarriage.

Two losses...

Losing a baby would have been emotionally devastating -- if Merle had wanted to be pregnant. And nothing of the sort had ever come over the grapevine.

A secret pregnancy?

But whose baby might it have been?

The possibility that came to mind spoiling her good mood, Kate closed the journal and replaced it on its shelf, wishing she had never remembered that Doc had treated Buck. Then her suspicions wouldn't be aroused. She wouldn't have another truth to learn.

She wouldn't have the awful feeling that even while Chase had been courting her, he'd been sleeping with Merle Zwick.

"No, it can't be," she whispered, emotions charged in a devastating direction.

But Chase had been trying to tell her something about the past before they'd made love. He'd indicated she might not want to be with him after he told her everything.

And she had stopped him, fearing the past would come between them.

As if he knew she needed some comforting, Wrangler nosed his head onto her lap. Absently, she stroked his fuzzy face and scratched him behind the ears.

Two losses in as many days...

First, Chase, then the baby?

Kate knew she was jumping to conclusions, but she couldn't help herself, because she couldn't figure out what else Doc might have meant. The truth seemed clear enough for a blind person to see.

Kate wrapped her arms around Wrangler's neck, taking what comfort she could in his doggy devotion.

When Chase had run away without looking back, she realized, it was altogether possible that he hadn't left one broken heart behind, but two.

BY THE TIME SHE ARRIVED at the refuge later that afternoon, Kate was feeling a little more rational. Though she would make no accusations, she would ask Chase directly what he knew about Merle's plight. She only hoped he would give her an answer that she could believe.

First thing she checked on Hercules and tended to his wound. That the infection was already showing signs of clearing pleased her.

"Feeling better?" she asked the gelding, rubbing his nose and giving him an entire apple.

He munched contentedly until a voice from behind her said, "You're spending an awful lot of time around here. Almost as much as Doc Weber did."

Hercules nervously shied away from the rail as Kate turned to face Whit Spivey on the other side of the corral fence. He was grinning at her, showing off his rotten teeth.

"If you'd rather have someone else vet your horse just say so."

"A body'd think the refuge was more important than your private practice."

"Getting the lay of the land takes a while," she said, wondering what he was getting at. "And the place has had a few problems lately."

"None of your concern, though."

The flesh along her spine bumping, Kate stared at the odious man. "Doc was my concern."

"The refuge isn't the safe place it used to be," Spivey said, moving away. He was heading for the lean-to and the handful of customers waiting on him. "I'd be careful where I stepped if I were you."

A warning if she'd ever heard one.

On edge again, Kate thought it a good idea to walk off her anxiety, so she headed for the visitor's center on foot. While wet in spots, the porous ground was free of muck. Not that she'd donned any of her good boots. She was wearing her oldest pair, the tobacco color leather darkened by myriad years of rains and snows. The heels had been replaced several times, the soles once. But still, she wouldn't get rid of what she considered to be her lucky boots that had gotten her through vet school. At the moment, she figured she needed all the help she could get.

That's why, tucked beneath her green cotton shirt was Keelin's version of a medicine pouch. She reminded herself of its benefits -- quieting anxiety, battling fear, calming anger, keeping her spirits up.

Fat chance! she thought gloomily, feeling sick inside again.

Merle and Chase...

Please let it not be so!

Though the sky remained thick with clouds, they'd seen the last of the rain early that morning and more was not expected until late that night. The gray day pressed down on Kate, a fitting match to the depression she was fighting, not only because of Doc's journal but because they were no closer to catching the people responsible for his death and the disappearance of the horses.

She still thought the observation tower was a good idea and meant to talk to Chase about it again.

Among other, equally disturbing, things.

As she approached the visitors' center, Kate could see through the screened wall. Huddled together in the doorway of the office, Annie and Buck were having an intense conversation that seemed personal... almost conspiratorial.

She shook herself. Now she was seeing demons everywhere.

"We can figure out the details later," Buck was saying, his tone intent.

Feeling a little odd coming in on their private conversation, Kate made enough noise opening the screen door to warn them of her arrival.

Buck started. Upon seeing her, he nodded curtly to Annie and turned to leave, giving Kate the distinct impression that his sudden departure was directly related to her arrival. How weird. Buck had always been friendly with her. As he limped out of the office, he didn't even look her way.

Wondering what the unexpected hostility was about, she stared after him.

"If you're looking for Chase," Annie said, "he should be back any minute now. He's at his cabin finishing that paperwork on the grant proposal."

"Thanks." Kate plugged the vending machine with enough coins for a can of soda. "I'll wait for him here, if you don't mind." Though she certainly wouldn't talk to Chase about Merle where anyone could overhear. "Say, where's Merle today?" She hadn't seen the other woman around.

"She called in sick with stomach flu."

Kate sat and popped the can top, aware that Annie remained wedged in the office doorway staring holes through her. Didn't she have anything better to do?

Taking a sip of soda, she tried to remain polite. "Something I can do for you?"

"It's what I can do for you." The volunteer crossed the porch and slid into the seat opposite Kate. Her expression was sympathetic as she qualified her offer. "If you want to hear the truth about Chase, that is."

Wondering what Annie was up to this time, Kate asked, "And what truth would that be?"

"An old one."

About Merle?

The entry in Doc's journal was obsessing her, perhaps because she'd already suspected Chase and Merle had a history together. She'd merely assumed that history had been a bit more up-to-date.

Kate took a big enough sip of pop to wet her suddenly dry throat. "Say what you have to say."

"This isn't easy. Buck was just telling me... well, he's concerned that Chase doesn't hurt you a second time."

Never having been good friends with Buck, Kate wondered at his sudden concern... or that he knew she'd been in love with Chase. And if he was worried about her, why had he acted so strangely just now?

"I'm touched, but I don't think Chase will be taking off without notice again."

From Annie's confused expression, Kate realized the other woman had no clue as to what she meant. Then Chase's leaving her in the lurch wasn't the topic in question. What had the volunteer hoped to share?

Back to Merle?

Taking a longer swallow of soda to hide her nerves, Kate said, "I'd appreciate your getting to the point."

"Yeah, sure." Annie looked down at some invisible spot on the table, her hair sliding forward to mask her expression. "Buck told me that when you were teenagers, Chase was never really interested in you."

Relief flowing through her, Kate laughed. "He could have fooled me."

"I know this isn't something a woman with any kind of pride wants to hear... but it's the truth," Annie insisted. "Chase bragged to his buddies about how someday he was going to have it all, including a girl who wasn't trailer trash."

Like Merle... she added silently.

Aloud, she said, "That doesn't mean he didn't care about me."

"Buck and his brother bet him he couldn't get you. He took the bet, Kate," Annie said, lifting her head. Her blue eyes were filled with pity. "That's why he went after you in the first place."

Kate sat too stunned to say a word. Of all the things she might have expected Annie to tell her about Chase, his seducing her on a bet had not been one of them. And it certainly wasn't something she was ready to believe.

"Are you all right?" Annie asked. "I thought I should tell you before you got too involved."

Too late for that. Kate asked, "Are you certain you didn't misunderstand?"

"Sorry."

More to the point... "How do I know you aren't making this up?"

"Why would I?"

"Because you want Chase for yourself."

"Not any more, I don't," Annie assured her with a bitter laugh. "I gave getting him my best shot, but now I know I was fooling myself. And worse, I realize Chase Brody was never worth everything I did for him to begin with." Her gaze steady, she said, "If it weren't for my loyalty to the mustangs, I would be packing my bags right now."

It all made sense in a sick sort of way, Kate realized. Chase and Merle being the real item, while she'd been the joke. Kate's heart twisted painfully. How did she know it wasn't true? Even now, having gone over everything that happened between her and Chase the night before, she couldn't be sure of him. He'd said all kinds of things she'd wanted to hear but one. He hadn't actually said he loved her.

"You could be playing games with me," she said desperately. "So that I'll break up with Chase and you'll have a clear field... a chance to grab him on the rebound."

"I should have known better than to do you a favor." Her expression piqued, Annie pushed herself up from the table. "Get real, Kate."

Without another word, Annie flounced outside, letting the screen door slam behind her.

Leaving Kate with the world crashing down around her ears.

HIS MOOD BETTER THAN IT HAD BEEN in eons, Chase felt his heart race when he saw Kate's pickup bounce along the dirt road. About to get into the Bronco, he leaned against the door instead, grinning like a fool. He'd finally finished the damn grant request he'd been playing around with for weeks -- hopefully, they'd get the refuge some well-needed money. He'd worked on the papers like a madman.

Or a man inspired by love.

He waved as Kate pulled up. He shouldn't be so happy, not with the villain responsible for so much ill-will still on the loose, but she was enough to make any man smile. Not that she'd better try her wiles on any man but him, Chase thought.

Kate Farrell was his at last, and she'd better get used to that notion.

When she jumped out of her pickup, he immediately moved to kiss her, but Kate avoided his reach, sliding around him. "We need to talk, Chase. About us."

Immediately uneasy, he said, "We did that yesterday."

"We did a lot of things yesterday... some that I hope I don't have cause to regret."

He couldn't miss the edge in her tone or the way her green gaze had gone dark. Her body language told him that she was keeping a tight rein on whatever was eating at her.

His gut clenching, he asked, "Did something happen that I should know about?"

"More like the other way around. Something I should know about. Actually, a couple of somethings."

He was liking this conversation less and less. "What's going on, Kate?"

"Did you date Merle Zwick in high school?"

Not exactly what he'd expected her to ask. "Yeah," he said, relieved. "A few times. It didn't mean anything."

Her expression appalled, she demanded, "What you did to her... and your dating us both at the same time didn't mean anything?"

"At the same time? Where did you get that from?"

"And going after me... seducing me... that was because you couldn't resist me, right?"

His mouth went dry. She knew. Why the hell hadn't he told her last night like he meant to? He shouldn't have let her stop him. Then he could have reassured her. Now it sounded like someone had confused her with nonsense about Merle, as well.

"Look, Kate, first of all, I always liked you... "

"Liked." Her face crumpled. "It's true, then. I was nothing more to you than a bet."

Sweat gathered around Chase's neck. "There was a bet, yes, but --"

"But what?"

"But being with you... I fell in love!"

"Of course you did. That's why you left town without telling me."

"Exactly!" Chase felt sick inside as he watched fury coil her body tight. "Because I was scared. I couldn't handle the adult emotions." He tried another tact. "I never told the guys that I slept with you, Kate, honest. I didn't collect on the bet, and I wasn't going to." Even as he realized her arm was shooting out at him, he continued, "By the time we --"

His mouth was interrupted by her fist finding his jaw and snapping his head back. Damn, she had some punch! he thought ruefully.

"Bastard! I thought you were a coward, but you were worse!" Eyes filled with tears, she said, "You were a user and a liar. You're lying now," she insisted, "about Merle."

Gingerly, he touched his jaw. It hurt like hell, but at least it wasn't broken. "What does Merle have to do with anything?"

"What does she... she would have had your baby if she hadn't miscarried!"

"Baby?" Flabbergasted, Chase swore and tried to get hold of her, but again she thwarted him. "Kate, I don't know what lies someone has been telling you, but I didn't father any baby."

"Technically, no, because it didn't have a chance to be born."

"If Merle got herself pregnant, it wasn't by me!"

"You can look me in the eye and swear that you never slept with Merle?"

His gut clenched. Chase only wished he could. "I can swear that I never saw her seriously and certainly not when I was with you --"

Her tears cut through his words. Rivulets ran down her cheeks and her eyes were so flooded he knew she couldn't stop. Kate never cried in front of anyone. Never.

"That's all I needed to hear," she sobbed, turning away and flying into her vehicle.

Feeling more helpless than he had as a kid when his father was using his fists on him or on his mother, Chase didn't try to stop her. He didn't know what he could say to make things right between them. She had good reason to call him names. She would never believe that he loved her more than life itself.

Sick at heart, Chase watched the only good thing he'd ever had in his life speed away from him, certain that this time, she was lost to him forever.

KATE DROVE SO FAST THAT she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from clacking together when she bounced over the ruts in the gravel road. What a fool she'd been over Chase Brody. Even when faced with his lies, he couldn't be truthful with her. Angry with herself for letting him see her cry, she slashed at the trail of tears on her cheeks.

She didn't slow down until she was off refuge property.

Breathing deeply, she got hold of herself, but she couldn't put Chase out of mind. Like some broken record, their argument played over and over inside her head. She kept hearing him say that he hadn't fathered any child, that if Merle had gotten herself pregnant, it had been with someone else.

What if he was telling the truth?

How would she ever know?

Merle.

Of course, Merle would know.

Kate wondered if she dared approach the other woman about such a sensitive subject. How could she not? She had to be certain of whether or not Chase was telling the truth -- though even if another man had fathered the baby, that didn't excuse Chase for the other.

Seducing her on a bet sounded so sordid.

But Chase had said he'd never collected, had never meant to. He'd claimed he'd fallen in love with her... words she'd longed to hear the night before. If he'd been honest about the baby, she thought logically, then perhaps the rest of his explanation was true, as well.

Coming to an intersection, she didn't hesitate. She turned off the main road. Annie had said Merle was at home with the stomach flu. A minute later, Kate found the mailbox marked ZWICK and took the dirt road up a small rise. She parked her pickup, went to the trailer and knocked at the door.

No answer.

She looked around and realized Merle's pickup was gone. Undoubtedly feeling better having rested all day -- it was nearly dinner time -- the woman had left the premises.

Frustration made Kate slap the door with the flat of her hand.

It creaked open.

"Merle?"

Kate took a deep breath as she stared into the empty room. Her heart pounded as she realized what she was considering doing.

She respected privacy, had never before walked into someone's place without permission. But maybe something inside the trailer would tell her what she needed to know. Surely Merle would have some reminder...

Fighting her scruples, Kate stepped inside.

The common room was neat. No dirty dishes. No piles of mail or magazines. Everything in its place. Not that Merle had a lot.

Sweeping her gaze around the room, she noted the single bookshelf and kitchen cabinets. Not places a woman would be likely to store a souvenir of the past.

Reluctantly, she forced herself to the bedroom, which presented a very different side of Merle Zwick. For a plain-spoken woman who worked at a job usually reserved for men, she certainly did have her feminine, even sensual, nature. Satin bedspread. Heart-shaped pillows. Mirrored ceiling.

Shame stealing through her, Kate started to back out, intending to leave immediately, when an object on the nightstand caught her eye.

Hesitating only a second, she took the few steps necessary to pick up the object -- a heavy ring, the metal band wrapped with yarn. The kind of thing a high school girl might do so her boyfriend's ring would fit. She snapped on the lamp to take a better look at the high school graduation ring dated nineteen-seventy-eight -- the year she'd fallen in love with Chase. The year he and Merle had been seniors.

To Kate's everlasting relief, the initials were G-D rather than C-B. Not Chase's. She nearly cried with relief. It seemed he had been telling the truth about the baby issue.

As for the other...

Kate set down the ring and turned off the lamp, hoping Merle would never have to know of her invasion of privacy.

She felt the need to think things through alone before facing Chase again. And yet she didn't want to abandon the refuge and the investigation that was so important to its continued existence.

On the way back to her pickup, she thought of a way of killing two birds with one stone.

Chapter Twelve

"DO WE FLIP A COIN to see who gets you?" Hank the hunk asked as he and his buddies accompanied Thea Lockridge across the grounds, tennis rackets in hand.

"I prefer picking my own partner... in whatever sport I'm playing," Thea returned with a husky laugh. "I find things so much more satisfying that way."

"And I like a woman who takes charge," one of the other men mock-growled.

Kate waited until their voices trailed off, then left her hiding spot -- some bushes alongside the "Outfitters" building. Upon leaving Merle's, she'd driven directly to Lockridge Acres and had easily found the service road. The pickup was about a quarter of a mile back, hidden in a stand of trees. She'd walked the rest of the way.

About to commit her second crime of the day, she carefully looked around to make certain no one else was nearby to see her before trying the entry door. The knob turned easily. Unlocked, as she'd hoped. She slid inside.

The gun room was a different story, however. Braced by a pair of mounted heads on either side -- one elk, the other pronghorn antelope -- its door wouldn't budge. Even if she could break the glass inset and stick her arm through to the knob, broken glass would alert Thea to an intruder when she returned.

Peering into the darkened room through the narrow window, she could make out a gun cabinet stocked with rifles and a couple of smaller wooden cupboards. In hopes of locating another window or vent unit that might give her an alternate, private entry, she checked the next room. All she found on the joint wall were hanging tennis rackets and bags filled with golf clubs.

The main room itself was lodge-like, two small seating areas flanking a marble-trimmed fireplace. The only other significant piece of furniture was a burled wood desk on which balanced a large cut crystal vase of fresh flowers.

Kate searched the desk drawers, hoping to find a key.

No luck.

She was wondering if she could figure out how to use one of the pins from her hair to pick the lock -- they always did that sort of thing in movies -- when she heard male voices almost directly outside the entry door.

"I need to get something inside."

"I'll stay here and finish my smoke."

"Be right with you."

Heart hammering, Kate dropped to the floor and crawled under the desk, praying that the man wasn't planning on coming her way. Rolled into a ball, she practically held her breath so as not to give herself away, but his footsteps led to the other side of the room.

Relieved, she uncoiled slightly and ducked her head, peering out from under the desk. The man's boots approached the gun room door. He stopped and made a jingling noise. Since she could only see the lower part of the room, she couldn't tell what he was doing.

"Damnit!"

The grunted curse made her start and whomp her head on the lower edge of the desk. Above, the vase rocked. Kate nearly panicked, fearing he'd hear, fearing the weight of the flowers would carry the cut crystal over and break it. But the vase settled and the man went on with his business. He shuffled a few steps from the gun room entry, hesitated, then moved back. The scrape of metal on metal told her he was unlocking the door.

Thinking it might be helpful if she could see more of what was going on, she crawled out of her hiding place to peer around the desk.

Just then, the entry door opened and the second man yelled, "Hey, what's taking you so long?"

Kate flattened herself against the outside of the desk, trapped in full view if either man cared to look her way. Beads of sweat broke out over her body.

"Forgot my key," came the answer from the gun room. "I'm coming."

The door slammed and the lock clicked in place. A few seconds' pause and the man crossed to where his companion waited for him.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a rattler. Got any plans for dinner?"

"Hey, I'm open to some company. Where to?"

The entry door closed, leaving Kate alone with the pounding of her heart and a trickle of sweat rolling down her spine. She nearly collapsed with relief. Instinct told her to get the hell out while the going was good. But even in her fright, she hadn't missed the man's reference to his key to the gun room.

If he'd forgotten his, how had he gotten inside?

Flying to her feet, she considered the gun room entryway and wondered where the spare key to the door was hidden. The man had barely moved a couple of feet to the left. Her gaze shifted and met the glass stare of the elk. Her stomach tightening, she crossed the short space and reached up to move her hands over the dead animal's mounted head.

"Sorry," she whispered, not unaware of the irony of its being the repository of the death warrant for others of its species.

Behind one of the antlers, her fingers hit something hard and out of place. The key went flying to the floor with Kate scrambling after it. Seconds later she was inside the gun room, praying the storage cabinets would give her easier access than the door had.

The first cupboard opened without problem, but to her disappointment, held camouflage vests and hats, rappelling equipment and balaclavas. Puzzled, she picked up the head and face coverings with openings for the eyes, wondering if the hunters really felt it necessary to hide their identities from the animals they were about to kill. Though to her way of thinking they should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves, she was certain that was not the case.

A sudden loud noise directly outside the building froze her to the spot. Kate listened hard for a moment before deciding she wasn't being threatened with discovery.

Anxious to get the hell out of there and off Lockridge Acres, she exposed the contents of the second cupboard. Her gaze skipped over the shelves holding the smaller items and settled on the bottom where a half dozen padded bags were lined up. Grabbing one, she unzipped it and checked the contents to be sure.

Eureka!

With the bag over her shoulder, she left the room the way she'd found it, then replaced the key with a silent apology to its holder.

Her success would be better than any apology, and if Thea Lockridge turned out to be one of the perpetrators as expected, providing the means for her own capture was one irony that Kate would be able to appreciate.

THE WIND SOUGHED BETWEEN THE BUTTES at the foot of the incline, the strange, sad sound fitting Kate's midnight mood. Above, only the brightest of stars probed the gathering rain clouds, and the waning moon continually fought them to keep its place in the night sky. Sheet lightning ripped through the dark and danced in waves around her as if covering the sides of a bowl with her its center.

The wait had been interminable. She'd picked at her dinner until it had turned cold, after which she'd tried to sleep for a few hours only to have dreams of Chase. All in all, she was more frustrated than she was rested... not to mention disappointed that the man hadn't tried to find her, hadn't even called.

She fingered the medicine pouch Keelin had given her, remembered the magic that it had worked on both of them the night before. Or so she'd believed. Chase had told her his thoughts and dreams were filled with her. And he wasn't the type of man who gave up easily when he really wanted something.

So what was she supposed to think?

At least choosing to take action had given her purpose... as well as a good scare on her way to the refuge.

Despite the late hour, a vehicle had followed her straight out of town, and whether she'd slowed down or speeded up, the other driver had kept an even distance between them. When she'd turned off onto a side road that ran behind the refuge, however, the other vehicle had continued south.

Until that moment, she hadn't realized she'd been mentally holding her breath.

Her magnified view from the rickety old observation tower allowed Kate to see the better part of the refuge's north and west boundaries, either of which was a more likely horse-removal route than the east, which was closer to the main road and possible witnesses.

She was using the binoculars she'd borrowed from Thea's cache. Very special and powerful infrared binoculars that captured light from even the faintest of sources and multiplied it tens of thousands of times. The night vision goggles probably made her look like some alien creature, but they operated hands-free except for the binocular function. The heavy headgear was padded for comfort and worked off a battery pack she'd strapped to her body.

Still... standing alone in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, buffeted by the rising wind and surrounded by erratic lightning spooked her. She brought the medicine pouch to her nose and inhaled. As Keelin had promised, the fragrances soothed her anxiety, calmed her fear and renewed her spirit. She tucked the pouch inside her shirt, where she could feel it touch her skin.

Once settled inside, she concentrated on her task, her enhanced gaze sweeping over the property.

She had a nearly normal view -- as long as she didn't try to focus on anything too close. Every time she tried, her eyes went crazy. Then she might as well be blind. For the first time, she could really empathize with a horse's inability to focus on distant and near objects simultaneously, the main reason for its shying at an unknown article on the ground while holding its head high and concentrating on some distance spot.

For the most part, though, the strange-looking, slightly distorted world around Kate was revealed to her in green-colored clarity.

A world alive with creatures more comfortable with the night than she. Coyotes. Owls. A cougar hunting for its dinner. Though the big cats were rare and kept to themselves out of self-protection -- because of man, their numbers had dwindled -- a few remained secreted in the hills.

And, of course, in every direction, she made out wild horses. Mostly the animals remained perfectly still, dozing while standing. But insomnia didn't seem to be peculiar to human beings. She'd just caught one mustang nuzzling another along the spine, a sure display of affection, when a crash from the opposite direction alerted her. Though she whipped around fast, she barely caught a hint of motion as whatever it was melded with a stone outcropping to the north.

Kind of big for a coyote, she decided, her stomach tying in a knot.

What then?

She didn't want to think whatever was out there could be human.

Uneasy, adjusting her binoculars to focus on that patch of rocks, Kate started to cross to the opposite rail. The wood beneath her foot protested. Stopping abruptly, she circumvented the weak spot, finding a safer route by testing before stepping. Looking down would only put her senses out of kilter.

Throat dry, pulse pounding, she kept watch at the west rail. She waited for a repeat movement -- movement of any kind -- all remained still but for tree branches wavering in the wind and lightning creeping across the sky.

Eventually, her physical responses normalized and Kate let down her guard.

Her mind had been playing tricks on her, she decided, as it continued to do by drifting to thoughts of Chase. To whether or not she could believe him. Believe in him. She did believe in him when it came to his dedication to the refuge.

But what about to her?

Maybe she expected too much, which made it her problem rather than his. She'd always known something intrinsic in her kept the men she cared about from committing to her without qualification.

Chase had admitted he hadn't told her he was leaving town because of fear. Given the opportunity, would he say he feared her now? Hard to grasp when she felt anything but intimidating or scary.

If only humans were as easy to understand as the animals she treated. Touch revealed their innermost beings to her.

Touching Chase left her in the dark.

As she traced the perimeter of the observation platform, Kate had to back off weak spots several times. She was becoming edgy and bored. Sheer stubbornness kept her at her post. Kept her scanning the horizon for some indication of trouble.

At first she didn't recognize the lone horse as such.

The animal moved across the flat at a moderate, if constant, speed. Gradually, Kate began to wonder where the rest of the band might be. And the route seemed predetermined. The dark bay was heading in a straight line, directly toward the northwest corner of the refuge. Directly toward the area that held the isolation corrals that she couldn't see because her view of the flat there was blocked by rock formations and tall ponderosa pines.

Readjusting her binoculars, she brought the horse into focus and realized that it was neither a mustang, nor alone. A rider sat its back. A rider she couldn't identify... but one whose posture disclosed the person to be someone other than Chase.

Her head went light with the realization.

Tonight was the night!

A combination of triumph and dread spurred her toward the stairs. A five minute drive would get her to Chase's cabin, she calculated, taking the stairs faster than was careful. No time to be cautious, not now. With a clammy hand, she hung onto the railing and kept her focus on the mounted horse, still too far in the distance for her to recognize its rider.

Together she and Chase would stop any more mustangs from vanishing.

Together they would reveal the identity of the person responsible for Doc's death.

About three-quarters of the way down the observation tower stairs, it occurred to her that Chase might not be at his cabin. The thought gave her such a start that she faltered and misstepped.

The second she felt the wood give below her, Kate shifted her weight, but the adjustment came too late. Her foot slid through the opening, stopping only when she felt something sharp slice her calf. She caught herself with both hands to keep from tumbling over. Or through the rotten wood. The rickety railing swayed with her weight and Kate's trying to focus on her situation only made her sick to her stomach.

Damn! Why hadn't she removed the headgear before taking the stairs?

Now she didn't dare let go of the rail to do anything other than to free her pants' leg, caught on splintered wood. One wrong movement could mean injury... or worse.

In the distance, thunder rumbled a warning.

Blindly, she felt for the fragments holding her fast, first removing the bit that still stabbed her. Pain shot through her calf and she figured small slivers stayed behind, imbedded in her flesh. Ignoring the hot throbbing, she concentrated on undoing the damage, one splinter at a time.

At last she could move her leg if not free it. What was the problem now? She couldn't feel anything around her calf.

Mistakenly, she looked down and tried to focus. Immediately disoriented, she gave no instant meaning to the ruckus below her. Closing her eyes, she carefully plunged her free hand through the break in the step and found the problem -- another spike of wood caught in the material at her ankle. Her boot had prevented her from feeling it.

Freeing the jeans' leg at last, she was trying to stand when the sound of pounding against wood finally registered above a sharper clap of thunder. The sky lit -- closer this time -- and she saw a figure rushing up the stairs at her.

"No!" she screamed, unable to tell who was threatening her.

He had his hands on her, was pulling her by one arm. She lost her balance and fell down several steps before regaining her feet. Who? Buck? Could the lame man move this quickly? Or was it Nathan?

Her hands flew to the headgear, but before she could loosen the straps holding the night vision binoculars in place, he gave her another shove backward. Unable to catch on to the rail, she fell sideways, tumbling from one step to the next, stopping only when she hit the sandy earth. Winded, she tried to get up, but before she could manage to do anything but reassure herself that nothing was broken, he had her by the scruff of the neck and dragged her as if she were an animal.

Rocks and trees careened around her. Even if she had the strength to fight him -- which at the moment was a moot point -- she was too disoriented to help herself.

As she tried to keep up with him to lessen the pain, Keelin's medicine pouch slid over her chest. If only it could help her now! She remembered her cousin saying that, to save Tyler's daughter, she'd called on power she hadn't known she'd possessed.

If only Keelin could see through her eyes...

That was it!

Kate grabbed at the pouch beneath her shirt and concentrated. With all her conscious will, she sent her Irish cousin an American S.O.S., praying that Keelin would receive it loud and clear.

And send help in the form of Chase Brody.

"I'LL NOT SPEND A NIGHT on McKenna property as long as James owns it," Uncle Charlie was saying while he paced the length of the Farrell family room.

Knowing her Aunt Rose and cousin Neil were already sold on the reunion idea, Keelin smiled. "Then I've a solution. You'll be welcome to stay at my cottage. Da doesn't own it or the land, because Gran left both cottage and herb garden to me. Unless you've a problem with me as well as with my father."

"No!" her uncle protested. "I think you're a fine young woman, Keelin. I'm very fond of you," he admitted, stopping in back of his wife's chair. He rubbed her arm affectionately. "You remind me of my Rose."

Tyler was squeezing Keelin's hand, and across from her, Aunt Rose was beaming.

"I'm flattered, Uncle Charlie."

Keelin was thinking that her stubborn uncle was on the verge of giving way when a distinct impression coming out of nowhere intruded on her forcing the issue.

. . . rocks... trees... night sky tinted green...

"Keelin!"

. . . the sky pierced with white electric arrows...

"Kate?" Keelin whispered, shocked to her very core. "Is that you?"

"Kathleen?" Aunt Rose glanced around the room, looking for her daughter. Frowning, she asked, "Keelin, what about Kathleen?"

"I believe she's in trouble."

Keelin swiftly closed her eyes and concentrated, relaxing body parts, one after the other, in effect hypnotizing herself. She quickly shut out the anxious voices of the people around her, registering them only as a murmur in the background...

HE SWUNG OPEN A DOOR to the vehicle and pushed her inside. Her body fairly screamed with renewed pain. Vision distorted, she'd never felt dizzier in her life.

Keelin, please, PLEASE hear me!

Steadying herself with one hand, she shot the other to her head, but before she could rip the goggles from her face so she could identify him, he grabbed her wrist and cruelly twisted her arm behind her back.

About to give in to the pain and the despair, she felt it... another presence probing her mind... another pair of eyes seeing the same distorted images.

Keelin, thank God. She was so happy, she felt like weeping. Call Chase, tell him it's now. The isolation corrals. And tell him to hurry!

As her hands were secured together, all she could do to help herself was repeat her silent message in case her cousin hadn't gotten it all the first time...

KEELIN OPENED HER EYES to the concerned gaze of Kate's parents and brother. Tyler was holding onto her as if he guessed what she was about.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"Tis, Kate. She's in desperate trouble," Keelin said, feeling dazed. Nothing like this -- someone signaling and her receiving the message -- had ever happened to her before. "I must be calling this Chase of hers."

"Chase Brody?" her uncle asked. "He's nothing to my daughter."

Not about to argue the point, she said, "Your daughter's life may depend on him."

"You saw... " Aunt Rose whispered, wide-eyed. "Like your grandmother used to, God bless her soul. The number... " She looked to her son.

Neil was already picking up the telephone.

AFTER WHAT SEEMED LIKE an interminable wait, the door opened, and rough hands pulled at Kate once more. She kicked out, but the man grabbed at her leg, and managing to get his hands around her wounded calf, pulled her roughly out of the vehicle. She landed on her back.

She shrieked and yelled, "Bastard!" as much for Doc and the horses as for the pain he caused her.

"I told you she was trouble," her abuser said. "Followed her outta town and caught her spying, trying to set a trap."

"By herself? Untie her hands."

"So the bitch can gouge out my eyes?"

"Do it and get the truck!"

Recognizing both voices, Kate turned to face the rider who was far enough away to be in focus. A sad wind whipped between them. Though she'd considered the possibility, she hadn't wanted to believe it.

"I'm sorry it's you," she said as her hands were freed.

She removed the goggles and let them drop to the ground. The battery pack followed. Vaguely, she heard the engine start and the vehicle speed off with a squeal of wheels. Dozens of mustang voices raised in protest. More than one of the corrals was already filled.

The rider dismounted. "And I'm sorry you couldn't keep your nose where it belonged, Kate."

"You mean like Doc?"

"You may not believe this, but I hated his having to die. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt but the one who deserved it -- Chase Brody."

Not even the horses?

Knowing she was next, Kate pleaded, "Then stop now."

A bitter laugh was followed by "I'd rather be dead myself than rot in some prison. Hell, I'm already dead. Have been for half my life."

"And you want me to join you."

"All the witnesses will."

Kate looked past the mastermind behind the refuge's demise to the corral where the only true witnesses to Doc's death were trapped -- Sage and her girls. Lightning bowled the area and gave her a long, last look at the wild horses she'd grown to love. They were full of nervous energy, as if they recognized their fates.

Kate felt sick inside knowing they would surely be sentenced to a more ignominious death than she.

Chapter Thirteen

"WHY COULDN'T YOU HAVE left well enough alone, Kate?" Merle asked, holding her rifle steady on the nosy woman. Regret was becoming nearly as familiar an emotion to her as hatred. "Why couldn't you just accept the medical examiner's findings like everyone else?"

"I did. At first."

"Something changed your mind. And don't tell me the mustangs told you differently." Even as she made the denial, Merle wondered if there could be any truth to the claim. But no. Then Kate would have pointed an accusing finger days ago. "Nathan gave me some cock-and-bull story about your being able to know what animals are thinking."

"What's your theory?"

"That Doc left something behind that made you suspicious."

Merle was fishing, hoping that if there was anything, Kate would say so. Then she would make certain to destroy any evidence. But Kate wasn't cooperating.

"How could you have killed Doc after he tried to save your baby?" she asked.

Startled, Merle drew closer. "How do you know about the baby?"

"Without Doc's help you might have died."

Remembering the horror of the miscarriage, Merle shivered. Or perhaps it was the rising wind that scraped at her. A storm was brewing, the likes of which they'd seen the night Doc died. She could smell the rain ready to fall. And the wild horses were getting spooked.

"A woman isn't alive merely because her body's still walking around after her heart's been cut out," she said. "I lost everything to Chase Brody."

"Chase didn't murder Gil."

"You know about him, too?" Doc must have told Kate a lot of things that were none of her business.

"I found the high school graduation ring. G-D for Gil Duran."

"You were snooping in my things!"

Merle worked up some righteous indignation. How dare Kate touch the one thing she had left of Gil! The thing she'd stolen from the mortuary where he'd been laid out.

The damage to Gil had been too severe to have an open casket, so she'd broken into the place the night before the funeral to say her good-byes. What she'd seen had been bearable only because she'd found his ring with his other effects and was holding on to it tight for comfort.

After that, fearing someone would take it away from her, she'd worn the ring only in secret. She'd worn it when she made love to other men so she could pretend they were Gil.

And Kate had violated that.

"You have no idea of what it's like to love a man with your very soul."

"I think I do," Kate argued. "I love Chase the same way you loved Gil. But his death was a tragic accident."

"Your lover was drunk!"

"They were all drunk. All three of them should have known better than to work with heavy machinery --"

"If he wasn't guilty, then why did Chase run?"

"He was young and stupid. They all were, Merle. I think in your heart you know that."

Not anything Merle wanted to hear. She'd nursed her grievances for too many years to give them up now.

"Gil would have married me," she said as the first fat drops of rain began to fall. "We would have made a life together and not in some damn trailer. My child wasn't going to be called trash like I was. I wasn't going to be like my mother... "

But she had turned out like her mother, bedding anything in pants, if not for money. That was Chase's fault, too. If Gil had lived, things would have been different. She would be different. Respectable. Noting Kate's expression of pity, Merle grew angry.

"Gil was the only one who ever took me seriously," she went on. "He died... then our baby... my grief over losing Gil was so intense I couldn't hold onto it... and I never had another chance at life."

"Because you didn't give yourself one," Kate argued her hair already damp and frizzing around her face. "How many people do you intend to hurt or worse before this is over for you?"

"I told you I was sorry about Doc... and you. I'm not a murderer. All I wanted was to take Chase's dream away from him. I wanted to destroy him emotionally the way he did me."

"But Chase meant you no harm. He meant Gil no harm. Can't you accept that?"

"No. And neither can Buck. You ask him... oh, I forgot... you won't be able to."

"If you shoot me, they'll trace the bullets back to you," Kate said.

That was a crock and Merle knew it. "If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it the other night. I did my best to scare you off." Again regret and something stronger -- guilt? -- nagged at her. "Why didn't you run and not look back?"

As usual, Kate ignored her, asking, "Then how do you plan to kill me?"

"I don't plan on doing anything to you. I didn't do anything to Doc, either," Merle said, trying to convince herself. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, is all."

"Like Gil was?"

"No! It's not the same thing!"

"Merle, it doesn't have to be like this. You can stop now. You can prove that you're nothing like your --"

Not wanting to hear anything else that might confuse her, Merle lashed out with her rifle barrel to shut Kate's mouth. Metal clunked against skull. Kate's eyes rolled and her knees gave way.

She sank to the ground, quiet at last.

And Merle was still trying to convince herself that she was not a murderer as she walked over to the nearest corral filled with restless mustangs and opened the gate wide.

CHASE SHOVED HIS FOOT to the floor. The Bronco bucked and twisted over the rugged terrain. Forget the roads. He was taking every safe short-cut -- and some not-so-safe -- that he could think of. He couldn't get to the isolation corrals fast enough.

Keelin's call had taken him by surprise, but he hadn't wasted time arguing with her or denying anything. If Kate could talk to animals, he guessed her cousin could see through someone else's eyes. Besides, he'd heard not only the ring of truth in Keelin's words, but her panic, as well.

He only hoped it wasn't too late.

What the hell had he been thinking of, letting Kate go off half-cocked? He should have tied her up until she'd agreed to listen, to believe that he loved her.

He could lose anything and survive it with the woman he loved by his side. But he couldn't lose her. Not again. No fool, he knew that losing her this time might be a permanent state.

Look at what had happened to Doc...

It suddenly struck him... the isolation corrals... the stampede...

Chase swore when he couldn't make the Bronco go faster. His gut was tied in knots and he felt a searing pain where his heart should be.

He was so intent on speed that he almost missed the wash of high beams cutting through the night. Paralleling the road, the Bronco was slightly ahead of a sixteen-wheeler barreling in the same direction. What the hell was a truck that size doing on this road at this time of night...

Unless...

...tell him it's now...the isolation corrals...

He hadn't exactly understood the first part of the message. But he did now. Kate had been trying to tell him that another roundup was in progress! The truck was on that road at that time of night because more of his wild horses were about to vanish!

Though it killed him to do it, he slowed a tad and made for the road, bumping up over the shoulder with a jounce that set his teeth on edge. A blast from the truck's horn told him the driver had spotted him. Good.

Chase pulled the Bronco directly in front of the sixteen-wheeler and purposely slowed even more.

More blasts cut through the night. Headlights flicked in his rearview mirror. Chase tapped the brake a few times and grinned like the devil himself when he heard the truck downshift. What a hell of a way to play chicken!

He repeated his maneuver until the sixteen-wheeler downshifted again.

Then suddenly, it made a break, tried to go around him.

Ahead lay a treacherous curve with a steep embankment. Rain dropped like a curtain over the windshield. Flipping on his wipers, Chase took his chances, staying directly in front of the truck to distract the driver, only at the last minute pulling away. Through his mirrors, he saw the massive vehicle skid. The body swung around the cab in a jackknife, and the multi-ton vehicle landed on its side.

Chase brought the Bronco to a screeching halt. Backed up. All the while watching for some sign of life crawling from the cab. Nothing moved.

Next to the immobilized truck, Chase stopped and hopped out. He climbed aboard the cab's side and peered in the open window as lightning danced around him, illuminating the interior. Wedged behind the wheel, the driver was regaining consciousness.

"Spivey!" Chase spat.

So the terrible things done to the refuge had been for nothing more significant than money, after all. The missing horses. More important and unforgivable, Doc's death.

"Get me an ambulance," the other man whined. "My ribs... and I think my leg is broken."

"Good. That means you won't be going anywhere." Though he had a million questions to ask Spivey -- including where to find his wild horses -- Chase had a more pressing mission. "Where the hell's Kate? Is she in danger? Who have you been working with?"

But Spivey was paying him no mind. Rather, he was blubbering to himself.

A waste of time!

Chase felt more than justified in leaving the bastard to suffer while he went after the woman he loved. Getting back into his truck, he heard the man's caterwauling above another rumble that shook the skies.

Maybe the pain would make Spivey contemplate his sins and some prison time. Hopefully a long enough sentence to fill in the remaining spaces of his lowly life.

"One down and one to go," he muttered, staring at a clear spot on his windshield. "Hang on, Kate, hang on."

KATE CAME TO SPITTING FRESH MUD, her ears filled with the squeal of an angry horse. Pushing herself to her hands, she shook her head and tried to rise, even as mustangs began milling out of their pens.

"Sorry Kate!" came a voice through the fog of her headache.

Kate lifted her face to the wet sky. Needles of rain drove away the haze. Near the corrals, now open, Merle was mounted and raising her rifle. The sharp blast added to an echoing crack of thunder spooked the wild horses. They shoved each other, tried to jump over each others' backs in their panic to run from the threat. Merle squeezed off another round.

Freed horses ran blindly. She was in their path, Kate realized, fighting injury to get to her feet. Every inch of her hurt, though the pain would be nothing compared to what she'd experience if caught beneath the sharp hooves of several tons of horseflesh.

Heart pounding, she knew she couldn't stop them.

She certainly couldn't outrun them.

What she could do was pray she would be alive after they'd passed by.

Suddenly a mustang flew directly in front of her... stopping on a dime... nose pushing at her... squealing at her.

Dazed, Kate gasped, "Sage!" and realized the mare had come to her rescue.

Though she fathomed Sage had never been ridden, she grabbed a fistful of wet mane and launched herself upward. The nervous grulla danced sideways as members of a band that was not hers flew by, buffeting them, sprinting east along the road. Suddenly, headlights shot out of nowhere and the mini-stampede turned even as more mustangs freed themselves. Horses milled in confusion, butting heads, one going down in the fray.

Sickened by the animal's scream, Kate clung to Sage's back for her very life as the vehicle shot by them, then came to a screeching halt. She recognized the Bronco.

As did Merle, who was reloading her rifle with difficulty while being jostled in the confusion.

Chase flew out of his car and Kate knew Merle would shoot him now that she was exposed.

Instinctively, Kate thought to get to the other woman to stop her, that wish seemingly transferring to Sage, who cut straight toward the big bay. The mare showed her dominance, squealing and nipping at horseflesh to force them through the melee. As the gap between the women closed, Kate reached out to grab the rifle -- her hand closing around the still-warm barrel -- even as Merle tried to take aim.

"Let go!" a furious Merle screamed.

Kate jerked the barrel up, yelling, "Stop! It's over!"

They struggled for command of the weapon, both mounts dancing around each other. Kate eventually got a double grip on the rifle. With her free hand, Merle went for her face. Ducking, Kate gave the rifle a hard twist and tugged. The other woman refused to let go, and whether or not she did so purposely, squeezed the trigger. The shot renewed the panic around them.

Merle's bay shot forward. Still clinging to the rifle, she lost her seat, her fall finally ripping her death grip from the weapon. For a moment triumphant, Kate looked around wildly for Chase across the sea of freaked horses. He was trying to find a safe path to her.

She yelled to get his attention. "Chase, catch!" Then pitched the rifle to him.

Sage pranced around Merle as she got to her feet. Knowing anything could set off the herd again, Kate held out her hand, but the other woman refused to take the offered help.

"I told you I won't rot in prison!"

Before Kate knew what she was about, Merle backed off straight into the milling horses. A Paint jostled one shoulder, an Appaloosa the other. She went deeper into their midst, buffeted but determined. Suddenly a current popped around them like a great electrical circuit coming to life. The land was thrown into blue-white clarity as sheet lightning circled them, followed by a crash loud enough to move the earth.

And the wild horses. A renewed stampede was on.

One minute Merle was there... the next minute gone... lost beneath hoofed feet.

Kate stared in shocked silence, even knowing Merle had been ready to die. Then the mustangs were gone, all except Sage, who quivered and complained but pranced in place. A few yards away, Merle lay still, covered with mud and her own blood that even now was being washed away by the rain.

"Kate!" Chase yelled, finally catching up to her. "Are you all right?"

Letting go of the grulla's mane, she held her arms out to him and was pulled into his wet embrace. Though every inch of her protested, Kate wasn't complaining.

Still gripping the rifle, Chase held her tight. "I thought I might be too late."

"Too late for Merle."

Freeing herself, Kate limped over to the downed woman and checked for a pulse to be certain. When she didn't find one, she gazed up at Chase through the rain and shook her head.

"I don't understand," he said. "Why?"

"Gil fathered the baby she miscarried and held you responsible for both their deaths. I'll tell you as much as I know," she promised. "But first we have to find Whit --"

"I already stopped him. Let's take care of you."

"In a minute."

Though Sage had backed off, she hadn't fled. Kate slid both hands up around the mare's neck and touched foreheads. Closing her eyes, she concentrated, mentally giving the mustang her thanks...

...picturing Doc with smiling eyes and a happy grin splitting his beloved old face...

Exactly as if she, too, saw, the grulla whinnied deep in her throat, backed off, and with a nod of her heavy head, whirled around and chased after her companions. Kate's eyes filled with tears as her gaze drifted to the muck, where the mustang that had gone down earlier, now valiantly tried to rise.

Next to her, Chase said, "I'll take care of it."

She turned her back so she wouldn't have to see, but a shudder ripped through her at the rifle blast. Softly, she began to cry for all who'd fallen because of Merle's twisted righteousness.

Chase slid his arms around her waist and dipped his head next to hers. He held her and waited out her tears.

"I think they're all dead," she sobbed. "All the mustangs they took... Merle wouldn't have had the money to pay for help, and Whit Spivey's not the type of person who'd do anything for nothing."

"I've thought of that," Chase admitted.

Neither of them uttered the unspeakable, that the wild horses had probably been sold to some not-too-scrupulous supplier of horse meat.

Chase turned her in his arms. "How did you get Sage to let you on her back?"

She gazed up at the man she loved through rain and tears. "She offered. Isn't it amazing?"

"You're an amazing woman." He ran his knuckles along her cheek. "This is amazing. I can't believe I've found you again after all these years. If you can forgive me, that is."

"I already have," she said truthfully. When she'd told Merle that Chase had been young and stupid and had asked her to forget the past, she knew that's exactly what she needed to do. "The question is, how long do you plan on keeping me this time?"

"Forever, if you'll have me."

As Chase kissed her with more emotion than passion, Kate responded in kind, vaguely realizing their timing seemed predestined.

Why was she surprised?

In a world where touch allowed her to communicate with animals and her cousin to see through another's eyes, it only made sense that the grandmother from whom they'd each inherited their special gifts could work even more magic using the power of love.

The McKenna Legacy had offered her an inheritance that she planned on cherishing for the rest of her life.

Epilogue

County Cork, Eire

ON THE MCKENNA TRIPLETS' SIXTIETH birthday, Kate and her cousin Skelly were sharing a few moments alone with Keelin between a buffet dinner and the official toast and cutting of the cake. Kate found the white-washed, thatch-roofed cottage Keelin had inherited from their grandmother as charming as anything she and Chase had seen in the past week. Delaying the honeymoon certainly had been worth the wait.

"Moira, my dear, thank you," Skelly said to the rafters. "You gave me the best inheritance a man could ever receive."

Knowing he was besotted over his wife Rosalind, Kate smiled and admired the plain gold band on her own left ring finger. "Our grandmother knew what was important in life."

"If only finding our heart's desire did not need to be such a dangerous venture," Keelin worried. "I wonder if Gran knew what we were in for."

"I suspect so," Kate said. "Nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. And we've all survived to tell the tale. We are her descendants, remember. Think of what a rich history we'll be leaving our children and grandchildren." She looked to Skelly. "A history you could write."

"I've already considered it," he admitted. "Though I might have to resort to fiction since I doubt anyone will believe it's the truth."

Considering how complicated the truth could be, he was undoubtedly correct, Kate thought. They'd gotten details from Whit. It still saddened her that they'd been correct about the rustled mustangs, sold to suppliers of horse meat that went into dog food... a horrific irony since that was the very fate the law protected the wild horses against. But at least no one else had been involved. Whit had tried to enlist Buck, who'd talked a good game but hadn't actually carried out any action against the refuge.

As for the others...

A disillusioned Annie had gone back to Phoenix for good, saying she was going to try to pick up with the boyfriend she'd thrown over for Chase.

Upon investigation, it seemed Thea was running a secret society -- her promises luring thrill seekers to the area -- but wasn't actually staging illegal game hunts as they'd feared. The paramilitary stuff she'd found had been part of an elaborate war game scenario -- most of the ammunition the sheriff had found consisted of nothing more damaging than paint balls. The cage had been part of the game.

Nathan had been the biggest surprise. Somewhere along the way to adulthood, he'd learned a new respect for his heritage. For years, he'd spent any extra money he could earn on collecting articles of war, his goal to create modern artifacts, using the originals for inspiration. And while he still thought the refuge land should belong to the Lakota, he'd done nothing to advance that cause.

"You'll have fodder for your novels for years and years," Keelin said.

"How so, cous?"

"You'll be remembering that each of us has two siblings, all of whom are part of the legacy."

"I can't speak for Donovan," Skelly said.

His half-brother was the only one who'd refused to attend a reunion that he felt had nothing to do with him. And unfortunately, no one had been able to find Quin. Kate couldn't help but worry that her younger brother was in some new fix.

"Don't you think we should be getting back to the others?" Kate suggested.

"You just want to keep an eye on that new husband of yours," Skelly teased. "Afraid he'll do a disappearing act on you?"

"Not any more."

They strolled through the lush herb garden to the old limestone house. Indeed, this Ireland of Keelin's was a sight to behold. But already Kate was missing The Black Hills and especially The Bitter Creek Mustang Refuge and the cabin where she and Chase had spent the last few months together.

Keelin led the way into the house, dipping her fingers into the font of holy water and crossing herself. Their arrival caused a stir.

"Ah, here are our lost children," Great-aunt Marcella said, straightening the collar of her nun's habit.

"I was lost but now I'm found," Kate murmured as Chase pulled her to his side and kissed her cheek. Neil stood on her other side, next to their mom, while their dad remained a bit aloof behind them.

Keelin joined Tyler and his daughter Cheryl, who'd been getting better acquainted with her siblings Curran and Flanna, as well as with Uncle James and Aunt Delia. And Skelly make faces at his stunning wife Rosalind, who stood between his sister Aileen and Uncle Raymond.

"I cannot believe we are all reunited at last," Kate's mother said, lifting her glass.

Kate could hardly believe it, either. The warmth of happiness stole through her as she pressed closer to Chase.

"To the McKennas," Uncle James toasted.

"And the Farrells," Kate's dad put in, finally coming forward.

The two men eyed each other for a moment. Then Uncle James nodded. "Aye, and the Farrells."

"You'd best not be forgetting the Leightons, Da," Keelin said. "Now that I'm one of them."

"To the Farrells and the Leightons and any other who has the good taste to become a McKenna."

"Which, according to Gran's wishes for us all, will not be long in coming," Keelin reminded them, looking from her siblings to her unmarried cousins.

Everyone laughed.

And as they'd rehearsed it earlier, the three newlywed couples lifted their glasses in unison. "To The McKenna Legacy."