The Lonesome Lawmen Trilogy

By Pauline Baird Jones

Published by L&L Dreamspell

London, Texas

Interior Design by L & L Dreamspell

Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2011 Pauline B. Jones. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of the copyright holder, except for brief quotations used in a review.

This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

ISBN:     978-1-60318-220-1

Visit us on the web at www.lldreamspell.com

Published by L & L Dreamspell

Produced in the United States of America

Enjoy three great books by Pauline Baird Jones in this ebook trilogy—The Lonesome Lawmen stories—and the bonus short story Lonesome Mama.

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Contents

THE LAST ENEMY..

BYTE ME..

MISSING YOU..

LONESOME MAMA..

MORE FABULOUS BOOKS BY PAULINE BAIRD JONES..

ABOUT AUTHOR PAULINE BAIRD JONES..

THE LAST ENEMY

Book one in The Lonesome Lawmen series.

ONE

Fear followed Dani Gwynne out of sleep, drying her throat to parchment, turning her muscles to wood and digging up her longing to go fetal and whine.

Where… Oh yeah. The safe house. In Denver. Colorado. Dani took an unsteady breath. Water would restore the moisture to her throat, but fetal and whining had to be reburied. Things like that got recorded in “The File.” After eight months in protective custody, Dani was suffering from an acute case of lost privacy.

“You awake?” Peg’s husky murmur drifted on the same cooled air that circulated the smoke from her cigarette. The Deputy US Marshal had gone from occasional to chain smoker in just over two months, but Dani would bet money that wouldn’t make it into “The File.”

“Yeah.” Dani rubbed her face.

“Another bad dream?” Peg sounded sympathetic.

Bad dream? The hired killer, Dani called him Dark Lord for lack of a real name, did a brief encore inside her head. She gave a slight twitch. Not a good dream, but at least it hadn’t been the one where he held her head under a sea of blood until her lungs exploded. That was a bad dream.

“I just need to pee,” Dani said. Dreams made it into the file, peeing didn’t. She hoped.

The Deputy US Marshal, a dark silhouette against the drawn drapes, gave a tiny, skeptical cough as she checked her wristwatch. “Bang on five a.m.”

Smoke made lazy spirals toward the ceiling from her cigarette, then did a sharp right turn when it strayed into the A/C current that had just kicked on. The low hum gave a questioning voice to the waiting silence.

Peg lifted the cigarette and inhaled it, then released more smoke from her mouth and nose in a weary sigh. “I’ve started setting my watch by your bladder.”

“My parts and I are glad we could help.” Dani sat up and peeled the sheet off her sticky body. She felt like she’d run a marathon instead of survived another night’s sleep in protective custody. Her body was too stiff to get vertical without help.

The book-loaded night stand was all there was, so she used it. The flimsy wooden pedestal rocked, then sent her stack of books tumbling to the floor. The Two Towers, second in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, landed between her feet with a symbolic thump.

Dani had enjoyed the books more when she’d had less in common with the sturdy, stalked hobbit, Frodo. Not a good idea to name the man who hunted her after Frodo’s Nemesis with the sun playing coy in the East.

In her own home, back in the days when no one wanted to kill her, Dani would have stooped to pick up her books. She wanted to be that person now. She hated this drop in standards almost as much as the endless waiting, but bending wasn’t on her option list this morning.

She plowed through the mess. In the bathroom she groped for, then found the light switch, flinched as light flooded the small space. The mirror gave back her reflection without mercy. Ouch. In the old days, a good day and the right light helped her pass for attractive. She touched the lines around her eyes. Bad day, wrong light.

Life was hard enough without the added stress of being hunted like Bambi’s mother, though it was a good way to lose weight. Yesterday she’d seen her hip bones for the first time in years. They didn’t look as good as she’d remembered.

“Note to myself,” she muttered, “never again make a note to myself to lose weight even if it kills you.”

If ever there were a time to be in denial, this was it.

Dani draped a towel over the mirror and turned her attention to what had brought her into the bathroom.

Physical relief achieved, she turned on the water, washed her hands, then filled two glasses and carried them back into the bedroom. One she handed to Peg, the other she lifted in a mocking toast. “To the dawn. May it come quickly.”

Peg obliged by clicking her glass against Dani’s, before edging back the blinds just enough to study the sky. “It’s already getting lighter.”

“That’s good.” Dani accepted the lie, despite a brief glimpse of blue velvet untouched by light. She sipped the water, her hand not quite steady. The sense of menace felt sharper tonight, as if Dark Lord had tapped into her fear and was using it to track her.

It’s just your imagination. Dani took a long drink of water. They call it a safe house, remember? She lifted the glass, a sip this time. It didn’t erase the acrid taste of fear from her mouth or ease the dryness in her throat and it tasted flat to a palate conditioned to a Diet Dr. Pepper wake up call. A pity she drank the last can yesterday evening. Neuman, the special agent-in-charge, had promised to bring her some when he and McBride came back. She frowned. Odd they hadn’t returned yet.

She lowered her glass and found Peg watching her. This wasn’t unusual. They all watched her, their eyes reflecting varying degrees of professional worry and distant pity. Probably looking for signs she was about to break.

I bend, not break, she could have told them, if they’d asked. Breaking wasn’t an option until after her day in court. She’d made a promise to a dead woman.

Dani dropped into the desk chair, propped her elbow on the smooth faux wood surface and cradled the cool glass against her aching temple. The furtive light winked off Peg’s glass as she took a drink, her hand quivering from the effort.

They made quite a pair. The romance writer and the Marshal. Brought together by capricious fate. Too bad Peg had the misfortune to look enough like Dani to be her sister, though her recent visit to the ER had made that resemblance a twin sister. The dim light deepened the hollows in Peg’s cheeks and washed out all color but the bruising under her eyes.

How did Peg do it, Dani wondered? How had she puked her guts out, then dragged her butt back here to play decoy for a killer one last night?

It’s my job, wasn’t enough of an answer. Peg didn’t have to be here. In a few hours Dani would be transferred into the care and keeping of the Denver Marshals district. They’d have responsibility for getting her safely into court next week. Peg could have stayed in the hospital. She’d done her duty, above and way beyond.

Instead she’d come back a couple of hours ago, claiming her multiple hurl had been caused by the Chinese they’d had for their last supper together. Even the original OJ jury wouldn’t have bought a selective food poisoning theory.

Not that Dani wasn’t grateful. Would’ve been harder to face the dismal dawn with just the men for company. They were good guys and reassuringly competent, but there was something to that “community of women” thing.

“You gonna make it ’till Neuman and McBride get back?” Dani asked.

“I’m okay.”

“Yeah, sure.” You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re all okay—and Clinton didn’t inhale. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

“I’m fine,” Peg insisted, looking at her watch before taking another drag on her cigarette.

“You didn’t tell Neuman, did you?” Dani almost envied her that cigarette. Popping an M&M didn’t have the dramatic effect of blowing smoke, which was the international symbol for waiting.

“He’ll find out when he comes.”

“He’ll be pissed.” Dani didn’t mind Neuman getting pissed. She didn’t mind anything that relieved the monotony. Who would have thought trying not to get killed could be so boring?

“He’ll get over it.” Peg hesitated. “And it’s only for a few more hours.”

“Yeah, a few more hours.” Dani set down her glass, splashing water perilously close to her lap top. Surprised at her lack of precision, she moved the glass onto the window sill, then dabbed at the damp with the corner of her tee shirt.

The Velcro edge of her money belt scraped her wrist with yet another reminder of how far from home, how far from normal she’d come. Was it petty to miss her purse with all its useful and useless bits and pieces? To sweat the myriad of small things she couldn’t do until she did her thing in court? To be so weary of this portable existence she almost didn’t care anymore?

Probably.

Easier to sweat the small things than contemplate the big ones. Like dying before she made it into court—

“So what are you and Neuman going to do once you’ve handed me off?” Dani hurried into speech again.

“Do? Neuman and I? What do you mean?” Peg’s voice sounded a little too noncommittal.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice the hearts and flowers around whenever you and Neuman are in the same room?”

“I suppose you can’t help seeing romance everywhere you look.” Weary gave way for ironic in Peg’s eyes.

“It’s one of the main requirements for writing it.” Dani turned sideways, trailing her hands across the quiescent keyboard of her lap top. From habit her fingers settled in home position on the smooth, cool keys. The dark screen looked naked without her words scrolling across. The words that kept her sane and paid the bills after her marriage fell apart. The stories that gave her a place to escape to in the past few months.

“Did you get your story sorted out?” Peg asked. “I was hoping I could read the last two chapters before I leave.”

“Like the real people in my life, my characters are proving difficult.”

A wan smile edged Peg’s mouth. “I expect you’ll have them whipped into shape before your deadline.”

“I expect I will.” Dani realized she was tapping out an “SOS” on the keyboard and jerked her hands back, but not before Peg heard the soft sound of the keys.

“You can’t start writing now. They’ll be here soon. I’m not hanging out that stupid boa,” she said, referring to the joke gift the guys had given Dani for her birthday last month, a gift that Dani had converted into a “do not disturb” sign while working against the double deadline imposed by trial and editor.

Dani grinned. In the past eight months, the guys had given up a lot of preconceptions about romance writers. Like the one about them working naked except for a strategically placed boa. Dani had felt obliged to point out that naked was very cold and most women didn’t like uncovering what time and gravity had done to their parts.

They gave her that one, but clung to their conviction that romance authors were sex-starved idiots, this despite the fact that she’d failed to jump any of their bones or the long hours she put in at the keyboard. They did seem surprised she could do it under the circumstances.

Even with “The File,” they didn’t seem to understand she’d never missed a deadline. She wasn’t about to let a hired killer or her murderous ex-brother-in-law make her miss this one. Besides, it gave her something to do in-between getting grilled by Richard’s slime ball defense attorney. He’d stopped short of accusing her of the murder, but she expected to be trying on gloves and Bruno Magli shoes when Richard’s trial finally got under way. If—

“I’m not planning to work,” Dani said in a rush.

“So, what are you doing?”

“I’m—” not about to admit she was SOS-ing, Dani improvised, “thinking about going online. I could check out the chat lines, see if my favorite ex-spy is around.” He and her other online friends had, in a strange way, kept her anchored to the real, been her lifeline to the normal.

“I’ll never understand that online crap.” Peg shook her head wearily. “And if Neuman finds out about your little incursions into cyberspace, it’ll be my butt—”

“He won’t find out. Besides, he’s too hot for your butt to care.” Dani flipped on the power, waiting for the machine to complete the booting up process so she could access her online program. When she was in, she hit the dial command. “Why don’t you lie down? Catch a few Z’s? Nothing happening for a few more hours.”

“Not when I’m on duty.”

“You’re not on duty. You’re not even supposed to be here—” Dani frowned at the screen. “That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“I’m not getting a dial tone.” Dani tried the dial command again. Still nothing. “Is something wrong with the phone?” She looked at Peg.

Peg hesitated. In that tiny moment of silence, they both heard a muffled thud in the next room.

TWO

Against the peaceful back drop of the Rocky Mountains, middle class subdivision and rising sun, the sprawl of emergency vehicles around the burnt-out house looked starkly obscene. Fire hoses snaked across the trampled lawn from the opening where the front door had been. Wisps of smoke drifted out from the blackened interior. Uniformed personnel picked their way across the debris-strewn lawn. Outside the official perimeter, neighbors, still in bathrobes, gave their impressions to a press corps filling time while waiting for an official statement from the Denver Police Department. A gray sedan nosed its way into the mess, moving with determined care through the press of people and vehicles, pulling into a spot between a fire engine and the coroner’s wagon. Though dressed casually, the woman and two men who climbed out of the car examined the scene with a less than casual thoroughness.

A DPD officer saw them and approached, his arms extended to wave them off. “You can’t park there.”

Matt’s dark, detached gaze choked off the effort to stop him even before he flashed his badge.

“Matthew Kirby, United States Marshals Service.”

Nature had made Matt a hunter long before the government gave him his license to pursue. Time took nature’s gift and honed him into a force to be reckoned with.

His powerful, stocky body radiated raw aggression held in check. Determination beamed out of eyes set deep in a face hammered out of mountain rock. Blunt features neither asked nor gave quarter. He brushed his hair straight back from his high broad hairline, unconcerned by its recession or the lines cutting deep into the weathered skin around mouth and eyes.

Only his full lower lip and a lift in the straight, dark brows gave any indication that softness was possible, though not preferred.

A man of nature, part of the rugged mountains at his back, the requirements of civilization on him looked as uneasy as the tie knotted around the strong column of his neck. His conservative suit jacket both confined and contained the broad shoulders that angled down to lean hips and powerful legs. A white shirt threw into sharp relief the tan burned deep into his skin. His booted feet planted, his large, square hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, he looked immovable. In motion, he was force to be reckoned with.

The police officer read the warning signs and chose not to get in his way.

“Who’s in charge?” An undercurrent of annoyance threaded harsh into Matt’s husky bass.

The cop gestured towards a woman and two men standing in the driveway. “I guess that would be the Fire Marshal. Or Henshaw. She’s from Homicide. Over there, talking to the coroner’s man.”

“Right.” Matt jerked his chin towards the house. “Let’s go.”

He started forward, got blocked by two firefighters coiling a hose. His shoulders hunched impatiently. “What a screw up. Deputy Neuman oughta be shot.”

“All right.” Toby Riggs hitched up his pants, they immediately sagged back into folds on his tennis shoes. He took a big bite of his Egg McMuffin, chewed it with messy relish.

If Matt was rock, Riggs was malleable clay. He tried to adhere to the Marshals Service dress code, but some factor in his biology resisted spit and polish. Fortunately for his future in the Service, his untidy exterior and sleepy-cow-grazing gaze hid a brain designed for solving puzzles and seeing through bull. His voice muffled by its passage through egg and muffin, Riggs added, “If he’s not a crispy critter.”

“Crispy critter?” Alice Kerne’s sculpted brows rose. An attractive black woman balancing atop spiked heels, her designer jeans and silk blouse hinted at the crisply intelligent point of view that made her such a good foil for Matt and Riggs. Alice was far more than just a nod to Affirmative Action. No one stayed on Matt’s team to appease or please.

The Marshal’s badge suspended from a chain about her neck swayed between her generous breasts when she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Not exactly sensitive, Riggs.”

He looked grieved. “I’m the most sensitive guy in the office.”

“Compared to—?”

“Alice,” Matt cut her off, “you got those files faxed to us from New Orleans this morning?”

She lifted a leather folder, then her brows in reproach that he’d asked. Matt let her look pass. Her punishment waited inside the house. It went against his instincts to do it, but it was part of the job. She wanted it. The Supreme Court said he had to give it to her. At least Alice didn’t whine when she got it. He liked that about her.

“You’re with me, Alice. Riggs, take the perimeter.” Their path finally clear, Matt strode forward. Inside they ran into a wall of heat, thinning smoke and the stench of cooked flesh.

Matt held his ground, breathing shallowly until his sense of smell adjusted, a trick he’d learned from a coroner at his first crime scene. No tricks for his eyes or mind to use to help him look at the blackened, barely human forms amid the still smoking remains of the living room. Around them, like grim sentinels, skeletons of what had been furniture dotted the gutted room, while above electric wires dangled uselessly.

“I guess we won’t be needing their ID photos,” Alice said, a sudden pallor leaving islands of makeup on her face.

“How many?” Matt asked.

“Three.” The Fire Marshal, a grotesque parody of Kris Kringle in grimy gear, rubbed his face tiredly.

Matt looked at Alice, saw his own question reflected in her eyes. They’d been faxed files on five Deputy Marshals. Dani Gwynne’s file had already been in the office in anticipation of her transfer to their jurisdiction. “All the bodies here?”

The man nodded. “Our people found them when they got the fire under control.”

“Looks like you caught the fire before it spread too far.” Alice’s eyes stayed blank as she studied the disposition of the dead.

“Neighbor called it in early.” The homicide detective, Henshaw spoke this time. A sturdy, competent woman with tired eyes, a smoke-smudged face, she had the inevitable chip on her shoulder from making her way in the male world of law enforcement. “Baby woke her up. She saw the glow in the windows. As soon as the fire was out, we moved in. When we found the badges, we called you.”

A fireman signaled to the fire marshal, who muttered an excuse and left. Matt looked at Henshaw. “Your people been over the scene?”

Henshaw’s gaze passed over the black mounds, “Just a prelim. At least one of them got it in the kitchen. There’s enough blood in there to float a boat. Our guy says—”

She drew her hand across her throat.

“In the kitchen with the knife,” Alice murmured, giving Matt a quick look. “Quick and quiet.”

“They all get caught napping?” Matt asked. He kept his face cool, but couldn’t do anything about the tension that started a knot between his shoulder blades. Only one man he knew that could pull off a hit this thorough, this messy, and get away clean. Ten years since their last meeting. Matt would’ve been happy to make that twenty.

“Maybe one insomniac in a bedroom.” Henshaw nodded toward a hallway to their right, then hid a yawn behind her hand. “Can I get my people started? We’ve been here two hours already.”

Matt nodded. “Have them start in the kitchen. Oh, and tell your guy, when he does the blood work to look for the latest in tranqs. This looks like the work of a guy who likes to neutralize everyone but his target victim before he kills. Let’s go look at that bedroom, Alice.”

About halfway along the narrow hallway, the scorching marks of the fire faded into light brown carpet, but the choking smell of smoke and death lingered.

“Looks like he dragged them to the living room after he killed them, then started the fire.” Alice kept to one side of the rusty brown trail, nearly obscured in places by sooty boot marks, that ran down the center of the hall. She hesitated, then burst out, “Why move them? Why the fire?”

Matt stepped over the marks into the first bedroom. “With this perp, the why only matters to him.”

“You’ve seen this before.”

“Yeah,” he moved about the room, not touching anything. “I’ve seen this before.”

The dawning sun entered the room uneasily, falling on rumpled bed sheets, messy with the marks of recent violence. A service revolver hung in a holster over the edge of the bed, just inches from the blood-splattered pillow. No insomniac here.

Matt moved to the next room, probably the witness’s. Like the previous room, rumpled bed covers were tossed back, but the violence that had invaded this room hadn’t touched the bed. Looked like most of it went into a crumpled throw rug, except for the bloody trail heading out the door towards the killer’s funeral pyre.

A lamp lay in pieces between an overturned night stand and desk chair. Scattering of books. Whether it indicated serious resistance or just a sloppy landing, he couldn’t tell.

If there had been resistance, it had not lasted long. Hard to believe in God at crime scenes and yet…

A pragmatic man, not prone to imagining things, still Matt felt the difference in a room where death came quietly and one where the victim saw it coming.

This one saw it coming, fought it hard.

Matt stepped into the room through air still thick with smoke and betrayed trust.

Alice propped a shoulder against the door frame and pulled out the witness’s file, scanning for information they didn’t need to know. Matt didn’t stop her. They all had their own routine for coping. Alice liked to bond with the victim. Probably a female thing. He liked to keep his distance.

“This one started with a family affair turned nasty. Victim was a witness against her ex-brother-in-law and upstanding citizen, Richard Hastings.”

“Upstanding citizen with his own hit man?” Matt looked at her with one brow arched.

Alice made a movement that could have been a nod or a shrug. “Dani Gwynne, divorced romance writer.” She found a photo, studied it, and then handed it to him. “She doesn’t look like a romance writer or a murder witness.”

What she looked like didn’t matter anymore, but he was curious to see what a romance writer looked like, so he studied the photo. Alice was right, she didn’t look like a romance writer. Or like what they’d seen in the living room. Her face looked too alive to be dead, surprisingly attractive. Weren’t romance writers frustrated wall flowers or something?

Her face had a grownup beauty, as opposed to the walking corpses of fashion runways and Hollywood semi-prostitutes. A charm that owed nothing to youth, artifice or surgical enhancement and everything to character, though he was sure Alice would insist her good bones helped some. The lines at the edges of her green eyes and smiling mouth, the fullness time had added to her figure, Matt considered a plus. He’d lost his taste for the young, when he quit being young.

Matt frowned down at the photo, uncomfortable with the odd feeling that he had missed something by not knowing her. Still holding her picture, he started around the perimeter of the room, looking without touching, instinctively avoiding the places where her blood had turned brown in the matted carpet.

“Caucasian female, thirty-four years old, five feet nine inches tall, wouldn’t give them her weight—with an appendix scar on her right abdomen and another in the hairline above her left ear.” Alice looked up. “Seems she fell off a ladder when she was six and is—was afraid of heights.”

Matt found he didn’t want the details of her life, not while assessing the chaos of her death. Every detail brought her more into focus. She wasn’t what he should be focusing on.

“Divorced soon after her eighteen month old daughter, Megan, was killed in a car accident. Her ex, brother to Mr. Upstanding, was driving when it happened and decided to become an alcoholic.” She looked at Matt. “That sucks.”

They ought to know, he thought wryly. They had both done time in divorce court.

“Likes to read—obviously,” Alice gave the scattered books a pointed look, “and write, does amateur theater, loves New Orleans’ jazz and pastries, is interested in computers, likes to surf the Internet.” Alice looked up. “We could be soul-mates if she’d lose the computer crap. A friend just gave me one of her books to read. I—liked it. It had heart.”

“Really?” What did that mean? Matt used the tip of his pen to slide open the dresser drawers. They were all empty. On the desk was a laptop, plugged into both electrical and telephone plug, the switch in the “on” position. If she had been working, that might explain why she had been awake. The telephone line to the computer was interesting—because it shouldn’t have been there.

“Let’s take the laptop with us when forensics has been over it,” Matt said.

“Okay.” Alice flipped to the next page of Dani’s file. “Hmmm…can’t live without Diet Dr. Pepper and M&Ms. She has good taste in junk food.”

“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” Matt used the pen to sift through the contents of the waste basket and found confirmation of her junk food preferences. He turned to the closet. On the rod hung a tee shirt with the words, “My life is filled with romance, lust, danger, and dust balls the size of cattle” written across the front. Next to it was a severe black dress, the kind witnesses wear so juries will know they are telling the truth. Next to it was a long, purple feather boa.

Intrigued, Matt held it out for Alice to see. “Standard equipment for romance writing?”

Alice grinned. “Maybe she was planning to wear it at the trial. Wouldn’t Sheridan have had a cow?”

Her obvious regret at missing the prosecuting attorney having a cow kept the grin on Matt’s face as he stepped into the bathroom. The first thing he saw was a towel, dry but with the indefinable look of having been used, slung over the mirror. What hadn’t she wanted to see, he wondered, the grin fading.

A few personal items cluttered the ledge above the sink, all well used. On the tub was a small bottle of shampoo. He bent close and sniffed, catching the faint scent of—coconut? Not flowers or spice. No, the romance writer chose to smell like fruit. It didn’t seem to go with the boa or the M&M’s. But then, what would?

Against his better judgment, he looked at the photograph again, trying to fit her face with what he’d learned. The character in the curving oval of her face didn’t go with a purple boa. Cool green eyes with integrity and an M&Ms addiction? A determined chin, the sunlight striking gold in her hair, and color warming creamy skin defied the unalterable reality of her death.

“She traveled light,” he heard Alice say. She moved into his sight line and knelt by the tumbled pile of books, “except for these.”

He could have got a dig in on Alice, who was notorious for not traveling light. When he didn’t, she looked up, her brows arched.

“You find something?”

“No.” He leaned against the door frame and watched Alice do a visual catalog of a dead woman’s reading material. Maybe it would answer his questions, put his unease—and the romance writer—to rest.

“Interesting mix. JD Robb, Tom Clancy, Tonya Huff, Alastair Maclean, a couple of romances—oh, look, an advance copy of Kelly Kerwin’s new historical. Too bad it’s evidence.” He heard the hopeful question in Alice’s voice and gave a negative grunt. She sighed. “Here’s your personal favorite: Louis L’Amour’s Last of the Breed—”

The romance writer had liked the story about a man who refused to settle for what was possible? Matt frowned. Too bad this was the real world where what was possible was the only option available.

Sometimes not even that.

“—the Bible, and something called Lord of the Rings,” she twisted her head to see better, “which seems to be two books of a fantasy trilogy about some ring, oh, there’s the other one, by your foot.”

Matt read the title through a smattering of her blood.

“You all right?” Alice stood up, looked at him in concern.

He rubbed away the sweat beading on his forehead. “It’s hot.”

“As an oven.” She looked around. “Shame.”

“Yeah.” Beyond Alice, Matt saw the bed, the white sheets thrown back, the pillow bunched against the headboard as if she’d had trouble getting comfortable.

Stronger than before, he felt her passionate rejection of death. She had not gone quietly into the night in this dreary little room. Like something tangible, he could feel her demanding that he—what? He couldn’t change what had happened.

He could only hunt her killer.

He handed Alice the photo.

“We done here?” Her voice neutral, she secured the file and tucked it back under her arm.

“Yeah. Put a call in, have Henry start pulling up everything he can find on a hit man named Jonathan Hayes—” Matt broke off as Riggs came in. “What you got?”

“Killer did a first class job of bypassing the security system. Cut the phone lines, too. Fire boys trampled things outside, but I did find one thing that doesn’t quite fit.”

“What’s that?”

“The flower bed outside this room is all torn up.”

“Really.” Matt pulled the curtains back and found the window off the latch and ajar. “Show me.”

Outside Matt followed the marks in the flower bed to where they stopped by the corner of the house. Had someone stood there, perhaps straining to hear or see in the pre-dawn dark, while the orange glow of fire flickered nearby? They had three members of the team still unaccounted for. If someone had survived, why hadn’t they phoned home?

Alice came around the corner of the house and Matt turned to her. “Got something?”

“How do you feel about the resurrected?” she said.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Neuman and McBride aren’t crispy critters after all.”

Riggs looked disappointed. “Does that make them the bad guys or one bad guy and one dupe?”

“Let’s go find out.” Matt frowned. Two down, one left to account for. Maybe one of them could explain how Jonathan Hayes had found and killed three people as easy as taking a walk in the park.

“Two deputies and Gwynne were in the house when we left to take Peg—Deputy Oliver—to the hospital,” Neuman said, his clean cut, nice guy face white with shock. “McBride came with me.”

That accounted for everyone. So why was his gut still insisting that something didn’t add up? Matt exchanged a quick look with Riggs before he said, “You screwed up, Neuman.”

Neuman shoved a trembling hand through his dark hair thatch of hair, marring the perfect line. “No shit.”

Either he was seriously shaken up or a big loss to Hollywood, Matt thought grimly. “You didn’t smell a rat in your op when your girl got sick?”

“Of course I did! I’ve smelled a rat since I got this detail! I asked the hospital to run tests—sent McBride off to arrange a move, but…”

Matt bit back a blistering critique. “Go to the hospital and talk to her, Alice.”

Neuman looked up, spots of color coming into his cheeks. “I’ll go with you. It’s going to hit Peg hard.”

“That’s the down side of a blown op.” His mixed feelings put a sharp edge to Matt’s voice. “Isn’t that right, Alice?”

“That’s right.” Her face was as unforgiving as Matt felt.

“And you’ll break it to her gentle, won’t you?”

“Gentle’s my middle name,” Alice said.

Right after “castrating bitch,” according to her ex-husband, Matt recalled with grim humor. Course, he’d gotten on her bad side. Not a good place to be.

“I want—”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want, Neuman.” Over Neuman’s shoulder Matt saw the first body being wheeled out of the house. “You’re still on duty. Or maybe you don’t care if we catch the son of a bitch that killed your witness and your people?”

“You bastard.” Neuman’s fists clenched.

“Try it,” Matt said, wishing he would. He had wanted to hit something or someone since he got the call from PD. Maybe Neuman realized it. He didn’t try.

* * * *

The sun climbed slowly at first, finally springing free of the mountains to throw warm light across the park bench Dani had been sitting on since the first rush of adrenaline gave out. Dry air felt cool against her face, the polar opposite of New Orleans in August. It was pleasant to be dry instead of soggy, to sit gazing at a spare aspect rather than a lush one.

She wasn’t afraid. She had seen Dark Lord leave, chillingly confidant that he’d completed his bloody task. No, this was shock. She should know. She’d been here, done this when her baby died.

In a tree above her head, a bird trilled a cheerful morning song. Startled by the sound, Dani looked up at the tree and got blinded by the painful yellow halo of sun behind it.

It shouldn’t be there, not after what happened.

“Dismantle the sun, pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods: For nothing now can ever come to any good…”

The poem by Auden emerged from the past. Right for the moment, right to remember it now when she was once more a surprised survivor in life’s lottery. Richard had read it at Megan’s funeral ten years ago. There seemed a perverse symmetry in linking the poignant past to the painful present. Richard was such an important part of both, more so even than Steven, his brother who was Meggie’s father and Dani’s ex-husband. Odd to know now, when it was too late, who was important and who wasn’t.

Odder to be alive when she should be dead. Three times should be out. Sure wasn’t a charm to find herself once again upright and looking at death. The three deaths swirled through her mind on the other side of shock’s cushion, beckoning her to join them where fear and pain no longer ruled. Soon…

She heard a muted roar as a fire engine trundled the length of the park across from her, then turned into the flow of traffic. She had watched it arrive. Now it was leaving, followed by the ambulance carrying the bodies of the men and woman who had died to keep her alive.

When it was out of sight, she picked up her back pack from the park bench with the same automatic reflex that made her grab it from the closet floor and added it to the weight of their deaths on her shoulders.

Glad to still be in shock, she turned East, toward the rising sun and the cluster of skyscrapers that was downtown Denver.

THREE

Jonathan Hayes stood at the sink and watched the water turn red as it ran over the dried blood on his hands. It felt almost as good as it had when it was slick and warm, gushing fresh from gaping flesh in a life stealing surge.

During his time in the CIA, he had learned there were two ways to get away with murder. Disappear the evidence or disappear the perpetrator. Fate had fitted him perfectly to do the disappearing. Hayes had a pale, malleable face, even paler blonde hair and skin so fair it was almost white. His washed out blue eyes were easy to hide behind colored contacts. His lean length easily conformed to various body types, shapes and even sexes.

For one hit he’d done a version of Victor/Victoria, pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man when he’d been hired to kill a paranoid and heavily guarded government official. The idiot had been trying to take too big a bite out of the drug profits passing through his country’s banks.

A strange little man, Hayes recalled with a reminiscent smile, who sublimated his homosexual proclivities by making his whores dress like men. In the end the little man had been ridiculously easy to take down. Like so many of his victims, he was only as strong as his weakest link. A most satisfying kill.

Though not as beautiful as tonight’s kill. How could it match the joy of a nice, clear field with time to enjoy the feel of his knife going through struggling flesh. Time to wash in the blood. Time for the fire that took away his pain. Time to slip away, anonymous once more. Just another Joe on his way to catch the bus.

A Joe with blood on the hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. A Joe with a face no one would remember.

“Somewhere, everywhere, now hidden, now apparent,” he murmured, “is the form of a human being. If we seek to know him, are we idly occupied?”

They could seek him where they would. They would find him nowhere. He was wind. He was water. He was, he smiled again, harder to find than a tax cut: a visible invisible man.

It was so simple. Only the killing was complicated, though he hadn’t meant it to be that way the first time. They say that anyone is capable of murder in the right circumstances. Theory had merged with circumstances when his former employers at the CIA sent the hit squad after him. He’d started the first fire to hide the bloody frenzy, to burn away his guilt. Fled up the rock face of Long’s Peak to escape society’s retribution.

His fear had been so all consuming that at first he didn’t realize he wasn’t in pain. Hadn’t realized that in killing he’d found a respite from the headaches that had plagued him all his life, something years of doctors and his parents constantly migrating religious beliefs had failed to achieve.

Freedom from pain was something he could believe in and the pattern that brought that ease became his religion. He wasn’t a serial killer. He killed for a higher purpose. With each death, his belief in his new religion grew. Strict adherence to the pattern not only eased his pain, but he came to believe it protected him from discovery. Somewhere along the way he started to believe it freed his victims, too.

“‘Let there be light! said God, and there was light! Let there be blood! says man, and there’s a sea!’”

Lord Byron understood the nature of man, understood the call of blood, the wonder of light-giving fire. Hayes smeared the water-softened blood over his hands. Tomorrow the climb up Long’s Peak would complete the pattern. By then, his employer should have deposited his money in the Swiss bank account and it would be available for him to play with.

Luckily his religion did not require a vow of poverty.

He liked the things money could buy. His anonymous existence. Information about his victims. The expensive, high tech equipment that had finally led him to Willow.

The High Priest needed a High Priestess. Abstinence wouldn’t be part of his religion for much longer. He had been alone too long. Soon Willow would submit to the pattern. The student would become her teacher.

Hayes turned his hand, letting the water flow across the back where blood crusted in the blonde hairs, turning them dark and stiff. He rubbed up red, thinking how sweet it had been when the woman fought for her life. Blood smelt so much sweeter when it was filled with fear, was more satisfying when it came out hot and fast. It had been a good kill. A very good kill.

Strange how much he’d needed her death. He’d even dreamed about her in the days before, killing her again and again, only to wake empty with longing for the peace her death would give him.

Now, finally, it was here. It was done. She was dead.

The water ran pale pink now, the blood almost gone. He swirled his fingers in the last traces. He would bathe in it if he could—

He wasn’t ready when his peace detonated. Wasn’t ready when the pain came roaring back like a storm over Long’s Peak, with just about as much mercy. Jagged spikes of agony shot down the sides of his head. He clutched those sides, dug palms into the pain, a low, feral moan squeezed out through drawn back lips.

It was not supposed to happen this way—

“…it is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in my flesh!” he cried. “She’s dead. So perfectly dead—”

She had fought death, fought going into the good night on a river of blood and fire—

No. She hadn’t.

He dropped in front of his notebook computer, fumbling for the disk that held the data on Dani Gwynne. A few key strokes brought up her picture for him to compare with his memory of the kill. The differences were slight, but so critically important.

The difference between pain and peace.

* * * *

“Ricky Neuman. Niall McBride. Peg Oliver.” Matt finished pinning the last picture on the cork wall to the right side of his desk. Behind him a bank of windows gave a generous view of the uneven skyline that was downtown Denver, with the jagged splendor of the Rocky Mountains serving as a back drop. Inside the hum of legal activity made a soothing accompaniment to thought. “The survivors of Gwynne’s protection op.”

“You think one of them did the dirty?” Henry Robb, the youngest member of their team, had a baby face and innocent eyes that hid a good brain, laced with ambition. His already receding brown hair was pulled back into a ragged ponytail that had taken the place of a failed mustache. He’d come to the Marshals Service straight out of college, attracted by the diversity of the Service’s responsibilities and their nearly squeaky clean image. He hated anyone who marred that image more than he hated looking his age.

“Probably.” Matt paced back to his desk, dropped in the chair and leaned back with his legs stretched out. He’d shoved Gwynne’s file in his out box, but her face refused to be shoved out of his head. She was gone. Her individuality, her humanity had been reduced to a charred bundle awaiting final identification at the morgue.

It didn’t help. Ugly reality couldn’t so easily exorcise the regret that had dogged him since he walked into the room where she had died or take from his memory the imprint of her questioning face.

“Neuman seems the obvious choice.” Henry sat on the edge of his desk, rolling a pencil between fingers beginning to lose their nicotine stain. “His girl was clear when Hayes hit.”

“Yeah. Obvious. That’s why we’re gonna check them all right down to their toenails.” Putting Hayes out of business would scratch Matt’s itch and remove the romance writer from his head. It wouldn’t be easy. They would do the things they always did to find Hayes, but unless they could think of something more than that to do.

Hayes knew all the things the good guys did when hunting and hadn’t made any of the usual mistakes bad guys did when hiding. So far the most unrelenting search had failed to bring them within sniffing distance of him.

Just to make sure that hadn’t changed, Matt grabbed the thick mass that was Hayes’ file, separated half for Henry and flipped his share open. “Looks like Hayes has been a busy little hit man during the last ten years.”

Henry grimaced at a photo from a previous crime scene. “Why’d he move the bodies, then torch them?”

“Profiler thinks he’s got some kind of skewed religious fixation, based on the way he arranges the bodies, then starts the fire in a circle around them.” Matt flipped through the pages, looking for any indication they had gotten close to catching Hayes since their last encounter. Even some additional personal information might help. There was nothing new except the dead.

Six inches of what he’d done. A millimeter of what he was.

“A religious hit man. Now there’s a combo you don’t find very often.”

“Hayes is an original.” Matt shoved the file away and leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head so he could apply some pressure where a headache was starting. “We got a boat load of evidence to convict him if we ever catch up with him.”

“He looks—dull.” Henry held Hayes’ photo at arm’s length, squinted at it, then tossed it back on the file. “How come we got his picture and fingerprints?”

“He did some contract work for the CIA.”

“A CIA killer?”

Matt shook his head. “He didn’t kill for them. His thing was computers. Tracking, hacking, and crashing.”

Henry looked surprised. “Computer geek to killer-for-hire. Interesting career move. There’s not much personal information here. Spooks keeping the good stuff back?”

Matt’s grin was harsh. “They’d like you to think that. I got a source inside that says he’s turned his computer skills on them, took out his own file and a hefty retirement fund. Basically, he’s a thief. His first kill was to protect himself. Guess he liked it. The only other solid Intel I’ve got is that Hayes is a fanatic rock climber. Everything else is theory and supposition. SOB doesn’t even have personal contacts that we know of. Does his business by untraceable, coded email, Swiss bank accounts, according to one snitch. Just before Hayes popped him.”

Matt got up and added Hayes’ photo to the rogue’s gallery side of his bulletin board, stabbing the pin through paper and cork, then turned his attention to the other three faces.

Ricky Neuman had a good, not perfect record. His first time working with Peg Oliver, proximity had apparently overwhelmed professionalism. The question was, had his attraction for Oliver distracted Neuman from the job? Or was he a rat who decided to keep her breathing after he fell for her?

Niall McBride had done a decent, though short stint in the Service. Left the New Orleans Police Department because of the residency requirement. Considered a rising star. Getting married before Christmas to a home town girl.

Then there was Peg Oliver. Picked because she looked like Gwynne in bad light. Top notch service record. Practically the affirmative action poster girl for the Service. Tough job playing dead ringer for the witness. Dangerous, too, unless she knew she would be hurling at the local emergency room when Hayes came calling with his knife and box of matches.

If he couldn’t get at Hayes directly, maybe his accomplice would lead him to the bastard. He turned back to Henry.

“Let’s put our three survivors under the big microscope. Toss their lives, turn over every rock. Look down their pants and up her skirt if you have to. I want the rat in the woodpile.”

“Right.” Henry stood up with a youthful air of determination.

Matt looked at his watch. “How come we haven’t heard anything from Riggs? Or Alice?”

Before Henry could answer, the telephone rang. Matt cut the ring in half by grabbing the receiver. “Kirby.”

“You need to work on your phone etiquette.”

He tucked the telephone under his ear. “Alice? What took you so long?”

“Unlike you, I’m not part blood hound.” Her voice in the ear piece was strangely breathless. “She’s gone.”

“What?” If Peg Oliver wasn’t at the hospital, where was she? With his elbows resting on Hayes’ file, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“She checked herself out last night. No one knows when.”

“Really.” What did it mean? Where did it fit into the little they did know? Three confirmed dead, two in hand and seriously under suspicion, and one missing Marshal with footsteps leading away from a window. Whose footsteps?

“That’s not all. Oliver did not just happen to get sick yesterday. According to the lab report, she ingested a large helping of ipecac.”

“Now that’s very interesting. Either someone wanted her out of the way…” Matt leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly. “…or she wanted very badly to be out of the way. If she did it to herself, she gave herself a rough ride. Doc was surprised she could walk. According to him she almost turned herself inside out and upside down.”

“Doc tell her about the ipecac?”

“Late last night, before she went AWOL.”

Oliver’s disappearance opened all kinds of interesting possibilities. Matt frowned, trying to slow his racing thoughts before they ran out of fuel and left him out on a limb. “I’ll put an APB out on Oliver. You head over to the coroner. Squeeze a quick ID on the bodies out of him.”

Alice hesitated. “You don’t think Oliver went back to the safe house?”

“Depends which side she was on. It’s what I’d do if I found out I’d upchucked something rotten in Denmark.” Matt kept his voice dryly factual, but couldn’t stop his heart stepping up the beats. If Oliver had gone back to the safe house, they were one body short. Now they had to find out which body. Real fast.

Alice was quiet, then said, “From what I’ve heard, Hayes isn’t likely to make—mistakes.”

Matt angled his chair so he could see Oliver’s photo on the board. “They say everyone has a twin.”

Her heard her quick drawn breath.

“You see why I need that ID?”

“Hope no one else does,” Alice said. “I’m on it.”

* * * *

Dani had been in hiding long enough to feel strange merging with the stream of people moving along the sidewalks between the sheltering rise of skyscrapers. It didn’t keep her from walking, because she didn’t know how to stop, afraid if she did stop, the things she had seen would breach shock’s cushion and overwhelm her.

It was an odd sort of panic that spun her forward. A tornado of mixed emotion she was in no shape to sort through. She half expected to look back and find people and buildings tossed and tumbled in her wake. So she didn’t look back.

A “Don’t Walk” flashed from across the street. Habit stopped her on the edge of the curb. The need to keep moving shuddered through her. She could end the replay of what happened at the safe house before it started. End the one of her baby’s dead body in a miniature casket. End it all against the hard metal of moving objects out in the street. No more fear. No more empty arms. No more guilt.

She turned from temptation toward a department store window, seeing without really seeing, the bikini clad figures frolicking in stiff poses.

Dead. They’re dead because of me. Knowledge scalded her insides. Worse than that was the relief at not being one of them. Her throat wasn’t gaping wide. Flames hadn’t licked at her blood and flesh.

The sun eased up a notch, stabbing light down the canyon between the buildings, turning the window into a mirror that reflected back her own surprisingly normal image. She had been sure trauma would show on her face like neon. Course, she’d never been that good at angst.

I bend, not break. It had been her mantra for a long time, but she still had her doubts about whether stubborn survival was a good thing or a bad thing. The oblivion of a nervous breakdown had some appeal.

…all dead…the rumors of my death…

They thought she was dead. They had to. The other Marshals, Dark Lord for sure. He’d called Peg by Dani’s name in a husky, chilling whisper as he knelt and played in her pooling blood with his long, white fingers. The scream she couldn’t let out then, tried to crowd out her throat. Again she fought it back, not out of fear, she realized with shame. She just didn’t want to cause a scene. A scene.

She closed her eyes. How pathetic.

How—infuriating. For six months other people had pulled her strings, run her life. She’d let them and it had almost cost her life, her liberty, not to mention her pursuit of happiness. When had she forgotten the first rule of writing: never let plot drive characters?

Instead of her reflection she saw two choices.

She could go back to the Marshals. Or not.

She couldn’t think of one good reason to go back.

That left “or not.”

It didn’t take much imagination to figure her window of opportunity to self determine was small. The Feds and Dark Lord would soon know they had made a mistake. She had to get a little privacy so she could work out a plan—no. She needed a plot.

She would plot her own survival.

The beauty of it was, no one believed romance writers could plot anything but sizzling sex scenes. With a bit of luck, by the time they realized she was more than her sex scenes, it would be too late.

FOUR

“Are you sure you don’t mind me crashing with you?” asked Dani, speaking to “Rosebud” through the microphone that came with her new lap top computer. The Internet connection had been as easy to establish as the salesman said it would. Amazing. Even better, it was virtually untraceable, after she’d routed it through the local university Internet connection thanks to some email tutoring courtesy of another cyber-buddy named Spook. “It’s such short notice…”

“You think I’m gonna pass up a chance to meet, “Blossom” in the flesh, just cause I gotta change the sheets on a bed?” Rosebud, a.k.a. Carolyn Ryan answered.

“Ooh, no pressure.” Dani grinned, suppressing a wince at the sound of this cyberspace nickname, one of several Dani used to hide her identity, being spoken aloud. Some names should stay in cyberspace. Actually, all of them, Dani decided ruefully. Still, it was comforting to find out that Rosebud was as nice in voice as she was in cyberspace. If all the “friends” on her list were as helpful, her exercise in hiding was going to be almost easy.

Rosebud laughed. “Twenty minutes, okay? Or do you need more time?”

Twenty minutes seemed like a long time, but Dani agreed and rang off. Like Tennessee Williams’, Blanche DuBois, she would rely on the kindness of strangers.

This first contact was a good omen, she decided, taking a last look at the nearly unrecognizable face in the mirror attached to the wall behind the desk.

A shower, minus the Psycho victim overtones of the past months, had taken some of the tension from her face and removed all of the grime acquired during her panicked crawl through the bushes outside the safe house.

Without regret, she had discarded everything but her shoes. They were too comfortable to toss aside and were a reminder of a happier time with her real time friend, Kelly Kerwin.

Happy reminders stacked on top of each other put a desperately needed wall between her and the images of Peg’s bloody death.

Her black power suit was short enough to be distracting, yet conservative enough to blend. She’d bought and applied cosmetics, but opted for a smart little hat rather than give her hair into the care of a strange hair stylist. She was desperate, not crazy.

She looked at her watch, then assembled the stuff she was taking with her. She’d already been in one place too long. She could almost hear her hunters, lawful and unlawful, baying in the distance.

If Hollywood was even half right, public accommodations were easy to check. If they failed to pick up the scent, they would head straight for anyone she was known to be acquainted with. Thanks to the inventors of the Internet and Spook, they shouldn’t find the ones that mattered.

Under the impression he was helping her research a book, Spook had been tutoring her via email about the byways and sly-ways of the hacker milieu. Reputed on the boards to be former CIA, Dani “met” him shortly after going into hiding. A lucky find, possibly even a life-saving one.

Dani smiled slightly, thinking about the cyber-pass he’d made last month. At the time, she’d thought it a funny coincidence that he actually lived in the Denver area, but she didn’t plan to contact him unless she had to. She wasn’t working on a romance plot this time.

Before calling Rosebud, she’d taken the time to gather information about the city. She had to be able to move around quickly. Hesitation could be fatal.

The hardest part of her exercise in independence, besides not getting killed, would be finding ways to fill the long days and longer nights. She had to polish up the last two chapters of her book, but that wouldn’t take long. If necessary, she could play tourist, her hunters wouldn’t expect that.

She packed her computer in the briefcase she had bought to go with the suit. The thumb drive containing her book and the personal items she had bought followed. The list of friendly strangers and places went into the pocket of her suit.

One thing remained.

She’d almost left it where it fell when Peg went down. She still didn’t know why she had picked it up. Now Dani extracted it from her backpack, the metal of the hand gun striking a chill to her heart and her palm. Tears burned the back of her eyes, but they failed to cleanse away the hard reality of why Peg and the others died.

Betrayal.

It had always been there. She would have realized it before now if her senses hadn’t been dulled by the waiting. What other reason was there for the sense of foreboding that had hung so palpably over the safe house? Or her nightmares dripping with blood? The killer had known Peg was supposed to be gone or he would have looked for Dani and found her.

No, Dani didn’t wonder if she had been betrayed. She wondered who had betrayed her. Neuman who had loved Peg? How could she not wonder about Peg’s sudden illness or forget he didn’t know Peg had come back?

What about Niall, with his shy, dark eyes and his high society fiancé in New Orleans planning their fancy Christmas wedding? The differences in their income bothered him. He had talked about it a lot. Asked Dani if she thought it would be a problem—in the mistaken impression that romance writer was synonymous with advice columnist.

She couldn’t put a traitor’s face on them or trust them until she did.

Weighted with that awareness, she studied Peg’s revolver, turning it in the light, adjusting to the feel of it in her hand. It was weightier than she’d expected. Could she point it and pull the trigger? Could she do it knowing the bullet would explode from the chamber, flying straight and true to the target? Watch it enter without mercy, tearing through skin, flesh and bone, spilling blood.

So much blood.

She shuddered. Was violence the only defense against violence?

Moral musings fragmented when she saw the safety. It was “off.” Of course it was. Peg had been ready to use it. No hesitation in her mind about bullets flying into bodies.

Dani’s hands shook as she changed the setting, then tucked the weapon in her briefcase. She sank back on her heels and thought about her mad dash from the burning safe house. The backpack with the unsafe gun bouncing against her back.

Everyone had always said irony was her strong suit.

She’d picked a bad time to almost prove them right.

* * * *

Although Matt’s case wasn’t the only ongoing operation, most of the desks surrounding Matt were empty. Some people actually thought weekends were for play. Not Matt. Courts and judges still needed protection. Prisoners still had to be transported, and fugitives always required rounding up. The wheels of justice ground twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

Maybe that’s why justice was so screwed up.

Paper drifts covered his desk, getting worse as reports began to filter in from the various tentacles of the investigation. He read each one. Unlike movies, most breaks came from the boring grunt work. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t glamorous. The waiting was the hardest.

In his youth he’d dogged cows and ridden broncs to the buzzer. Getting repeatedly tossed on his butt had taught him how to keep a rein on impatience. Now it took all his honed-under-pressure control to keep reading and making notes when he wanted to be out hunting a woman who read Louis L’Amour and may or may not be dead.

When Alice’s call finally came, he barked into the receiver, “Talk to me, Alice.”

“It’s not her, Matt. Coroner double-checked, then checked again.”

“Get back in here.” He dropped the telephone back in the cradle and leaned back.

She was alive.

Regret for Peg Oliver tempered his elation. She’d died knowing she’d been betrayed by her own. If she was watching somewhere, he hoped she knew she’d kept her witness alive. Surely there was a special place in the next life reserved for the line of duty dead. And one in hell for the people who sent them there.

Matt jumped up, unable to sit now that he knew she was out there. That soon he would see her, not her picture. Soon he’d know if her eyes were a trick the photographer had played with the light or—what was wrong with him? He was acting like a hormonal teen in the throes of his first crush.

He couldn’t do this. He had to stay detached, stay focused to be effective. Neuman had made a lot of mistakes with his op, but the biggest, in Matt’s opinion, had been getting involved with Peg Oliver. Neuman should have moved Gwynne first, not taken his girlfriend to the hospital. Shouldn’t have lingered to hold her hand while she threw her poisoned guts up. If he had, his girl and his men might be alive and Gwynne wouldn’t be missing. No way he’d be following Neuman’s primrose path to failure.

He spun around in his chair. Neuman would have to be told about Oliver, but not yet. Not a good idea to let a suspected rat in the woodpile know the cheese was still out there for the taking.

“Matt?”

Matt hadn’t noticed Henry approaching. “Yeah?”

“Jogger saw someone answering to Oliver’s description sitting in that park at the entrance to the subdivision early this morning.”

Matt muttered an expletive. They probably drove right by—while she sat and watched.

“Did he see where she went?”

“Said she headed down the road towards the bus stop. Riggs has got the PD checking transportation and hotels. We heard from Alice?”

Matt nodded, said as if it didn’t matter, “We still got a witness.”

“Holy—”

“She could still get dead if we don’t reel her in fast. Let’s do our thing. Contact known associates, check her finances. Does she have walking around money? If so, how much?”

Henry looked up from his notes. “What about phone taps?”

Matt hesitated. “We shouldn’t need ’em, but let’s get the warrants just in case. Get on the horn to Anderson.” The complex process of witness protection wasn’t Matt’s purview, but he knew Anderson. A good man and honest, he did protection better than anyone Matt knew. No surprise Hayes made his move before Gwynne got tucked under his wing. “Tell him his protection detail isn’t a bust after all. I’ll let Sheridan know.”

Henry grinned. “How did our esteemed Attorney General take the loss of his witness?”

“With the trial starting Monday morning? Same way Democrats took losing Congress. On a long, slow whine.” Matt grinned, then turned it to a frown. “About our boy Neuman—”

“You’re not letting him back in the loop, are you?”

“We need to let him know about Oliver, but not until Gwynne’s safely back in the nest.” And then? A spurt of eagerness was firmly flattened. “Let’s keep him and his guy on hand, just in case we need them.”

Henry looked up with a frown. “Why would we need them?”

“Hayes will have to complete his contract or he’ll have his employer on his butt.” It was as inevitable as death and taxes that the mob punished failure quickly and permanently. Local mob boss, Bates, the man suspected of footing the bill for Richard Hastings, was not known for making exceptions to this rule.

Henry arched his thin brows to his receding hairline. “Andersen ain’t gonna let you set his witness up as a clay pigeon. Or our excitable attorney general.”

“She’s already a pigeon.” Matt shrugged. “And Anderson’s got a wife and kids he’s gonna want to see again.”

“Hayes is that good?”

“Read his file again. Show me where he’s ever missed his mark and then tell me he’s not that good. Besides, we don’t have to put Gwynne in harm’s way, just make him think she is.”

“You think he’ll decoy twice?” Henry looked doubtful.

“If we control his source and Bates keeps the pressure on him, what are his options?”

Henry looked thoughtful. “It could work.”

“Anderson needs to take a good, hard look at the logistics of the place they had on tap for Gwynne. And we need to find something like, well—”

“A web?”

Matt smiled. “Yeah. A web.” He leaned back in his chair, his body tense with the anticipation of action. Hayes was so close, he could almost reach out and touch him. The beauty was, they wouldn’t even have to hunt for the bastard. Hayes would come to them. Once they had Dani Gwynne.

The romance writer and the hit man. Now there was a title for a book.

Hayes was a man with a mission. He had to find Dani Gwynne and finish the job and he had to do it quickly. Bates did not like failure. Hayes didn’t like what Bates did to failures. Not that Hayes knew how to fail, even if Bates weren’t in the picture. He couldn’t let Dani Gwynne escape her death. Each piece in the puzzle of his existence fit into the other. Remove one piece and the whole came apart.

She was his missing piece.

* * * *

“There is a passion for hunting…deeply implanted in the human breast,” Hayes murmured. With every fiber of his instincts he knew that hunting her was about more than a death. He needed her death. As long as her blood pumped through her veins he would be in pain. He had to kill her if he was to survive.

He worked with calm intensity, marshaling all his resources, all his will, using his pain to fuel his drive and directing it toward tracking Dani before she could go to ground or be picked up the by Marshals.

He had tapped his sources inside law enforcement and knew she was on her own. It pleased him to have her so. Took out the middle men. Made the hunt just between them, the way a good hunt should be.

Hayes looked through her financial accounts, his fingers stabbing the keys as he put a trace on her bank and credit card accounts, a “cc” on her email. If she tried accessing her money, he would know when and where as soon as the Marshals did and he could mobilize faster than they could. Bureaucracy was a bitch.

Not that he thought it likely she would use them. He studied her bank account on his screen. Either her agent was stealing from her or she was carrying a lot of walking around money. A whole lot.

“Money’s a horrid thing to follow, but a charming thing to meet.” He looked forward to that meeting.

The first instinct of a hunted animal was to go to ground. He turned his search to local hotels. Child’s play to look through their systems for a recent registration by a female paying with cash. On the fifth try he hit pay dirt. Louise? He made a note of the name and room number she was using. As in Thelma and Louise, he wondered with a grin. He noticed she had made some telephone calls, all of them to numbers he recognized as Internet lines.

What was she up to, he wondered, then shrugged it off. Whatever it was, he would soon put an end to it.

A message that he had email came up on his screen. Hayes glared at it. He knew who it was, was tempted to ignore it. Bates, the man behind Richard Hastings, the man footing the bill, had a hair trigger temper. If he thought Hayes couldn’t complete the contract, if he lost his fear, then he would put everything he had into hunting Hayes down. He would give Gwynne’s contract to someone else. Hayes couldn’t let that happen. So Bates must be placated. For now.

He pulled up the email, and read the short, vituperative message, then stabbed the response button and typed a kiss-ass reply. When it had been sent off, he logged off. He had an appointment to kill.

* * * *

Where would she go? Matt stood next to Alice, studying a map of the city. A few meager push pins marked the places Dani had been spotted. Around the room there was an assortment of electronic surveillance equipment. Faxes, printouts, and the remains of breakfast, lunch and enough Styrofoam coffee cups to breech a land fill littered the massive conference table.

When Riggs’ call came in, Matt settled near the speaker telephone, rubbing the chin he had obviously shaved too fast this morning and said, “I hope you have good news, Riggs.”

“Some. We got a trail. She surfaced downtown at Saks Fifth Avenue, bought some clothes.”

Matt looked at Alice. “Shopping?”

She arched her brows. “It’s been six months.”

“A new laptop, had a makeover…”

“A makeover? No…” He held up a hand as Alice opened her mouth. “I don’t want to know.”

She grinned as Riggs said, “Hold on. I think we got something.” There was a muted rumble of voices, then Riggs came back, “She checked into the Hilton.”

“We’ll meet you there.” Matt was out of his chair and halfway to the door before he finished the sentence. “Come on, Alice. I’m sure I’ll need your insight into the weird workings of the female mind when we get there.”

* * * *

Hayes felt the emptiness of the room hit him before he shut the door. He fought back the pain disappointment sent through his skull and reached out, trying to find her essence. He felt her fear first. Smiled as it spread a healing balm over his pain. It connected him to her more than any of his other kills. He frowned, suddenly uneasy about it.

What was so different about her? Why did she disturb him? He had only to close his eyes to see her here, moving about, thinking, planning, trying to escape him.

Yes. She felt him hunting. How curious.

He followed her scent into the bathroom, picked up her discarded towel and breathed her in. The idea that she could sense him unsettled, while it intrigued. It was also dangerous. To him, to his future with Willow. He hesitated. Maybe he should disappear. Let Bates find someone else to complete the contract. Bates would come after him, but he know how to disappear.

It would be the sensible thing to do.

He knew, before he turned to leave, that he wasn’t going to be sensible. He had to keep going. He had to kill her or die trying. The pattern required her.

It was that simple.

He had his hand on the door knob when he heard someone outside the door.

* * * *

The drive seemed to take forever. Matt held excitement in check, but it wasn’t easy. They were close. So close, he could almost smell her coconut shampoo.

He stalked into her hotel room, pushing aside the manager with the key, felt death’s visit before he saw the leg protruding from the bathroom.

Behind him Alice inhaled sharply.

Matt paced forward, dread fading, to be replaced by anger, when he saw the white stockings and comfortable shoe on the foot. He pushed the door open.

“It’s not Gynne.” He stared down at the sprawled body, fighting back the anger. Too late for that. “Call some cops, Alice.”

Matt stalked to the center of the room and looked around with a frustrated sigh. “You got the list of what she was wearing, Riggs. See if she made any calls or somebody saw her leave.”

“Right.” He slid out the door with his characteristic slouch.

While Alice made the call, Matt made a restless circuit of the room. The bed had clearly not been slept in, though the cover was rumpled. Otherwise the room looked undisturbed, phone books, paper and pens still neatly stowed in the desk drawers, the closet bare of occupancy.

“Well, look at what we have here.” He crossed back to the desk and crouched down, lifting up the telephone line lying free of the wall plug. He fingered it for a moment, remembering the laptop in the safe house plugged into the telephone line. She had bought a fully loaded lap top. That meant it had a modem.

Pretty high tech for a romance writer. He would expect her to know more about bubble baths and aphrodisiacs than computers. He didn’t give voice to the thought. Alice had strong opinions on stereotyping, even of romance writers. He showed the line to Alice. “Is the other phone line in or out?”

Alice checked. “In.”

Matt stood up. He had one of their computer people going over Gwynne’s safe house lap top, but had considered it a footnote in her file, something that might dot some “I’s” or cross some “T’s.” Apparently Gwynne didn’t see it that way or she wouldn’t have moved so quickly to replace it. “She had her notebook modem hooked up at the crime scene.”

“Yeah.” He could hear the question in Alice’s voice, but he wasn’t sure he had the right questions, let alone any answers. “What’s going on in her head? She was almost killed this morning. I can understand her panicking, taking off. But this,” with a sweeping gesture he indicated the bland empty room, “this isn’t panic.”

Alice turned slowly, studying the room as if it might give up more information if she just looked hard enough. “No, it isn’t.” She frowned. “She’s decided on some course of action, but I don’t think it includes us.”

“She doesn’t trust us.” If she had tarred him with Neuman’s dirty brush—well, she ought to have more sense. He saw amusement in Alice’s face. “What?”

“It isn’t personal, Matt.”

The hell it isn’t, he wanted to snap back. Couldn’t because Alice wouldn’t understand. Which left him nothing to say that made sense. Luckily Riggs came back, looking more melancholy than when he left. Matt snapped at him instead, “What you got?”

“Doorman wasn’t much use about Gwynne. Says she left in a private car. He doesn’t remember the tag, though he was pretty sure it was local. Apparently the romance writer has great legs.” Riggs leered good-naturedly as he held out a computer sheet. “Here’s a list of her calls. I dialed them on my way up.”

“Who’d you get?”

Riggs shrugged. “What? Not who. Computers. You ever had one of them whine in your ear?” He stuck a finger in the offended orifice with a pained look. “I faxed the list in. We should have something by the time we get back.”

The cops arrived, filling the emptiness with crime scene techs. The woman detective from the safe house gave him a tired nod before getting down to business.

At the door, Matt hesitated, then looked back. The late afternoon sun shone in the windows at a cruel angle, bleeding what little color there was out of the room. Dust hovered in the beams of light. The coconut scent had faded, leaving the pervasive smell of hotel and drying blood to reclaim the air. Despite the bustle of activity the room felt more empty than the bloody, burned out safe house he’d stood in—was it only this morning? It felt longer. A lifetime longer.

He felt all of his forty-five years, plus some. Maybe it was running into Hayes again. He didn’t want to think about the past, hated postmortems on it. Just reminded him of what he couldn’t change. What was gone. The lives of friends. His marriage. The confident idealism of the young man he had been.

Odd that Dani Gwynne was clearer in his mind right now than his ex-wife. He hadn’t seen Judith for almost ten years, but they had been married for eight—just long enough to find out how wrong they were for each other.

Judith hated what Matt did. Despite her sleek image and high profile job, she had kept her sixties prejudice towards cops and Feds. Matt thought she’d get over it. She thought he’d get over being one. Instead they got over each other. Hayes’ entry into the ranks of hit men—and Matt’s problems in dealing with it—had helped speed the demise. Judith’s infidelity hadn’t helped either.

Ironic to think the day his divorce was final was the high spot of that year. What he remembered of it. His brothers had taken him on a drinking binge that cost him three days and gave him the worst hangover of his life. He had returned to his work free of distractions to face the ugly reality that there were things he couldn’t change no matter how good he did his job.

He shook his head. This case was messing with his head big time. There was an itch he couldn’t scratch between his shoulder blades. Maybe it was because of that bastard Hayes popping up on the horizon. Or Gwynne dropping off it. It didn’t matter. A man couldn’t live half his life around horses and not know a serious pile of shit when he saw it in his way or wish he knew a way to avoid it.

Alice touched his arm, bringing him back to the present. “Find something else?”

Just some old memories, but he couldn’t tell her that. He hunched his shoulders impatiently. “No. Let’s get out of here.”

FIVE

His elbows propped on a littered desk, Matt rubbed his weary eyes with the heels of his hands. He didn’t try to hold back a sound that was half sigh, half groan. It was long after midnight, long after the retreat of the summer sun. Behind him the mountains were hidden, the city at their base a myriad of patterned lights. He dumped another cup of coffee down his throat, but despite the rat-a-tat of his heart, he got no lift in spirits or energy.

After the setback at the hotel, Matt had returned to the office determined to be optimistic. Only Alice had expressed doubt in a speedy resolution.

Riggs was derisive when she voiced it. “Of course we’ll find her. We’re the Marshals, Alice. She’s a romance writer. No contest.” Hours later, his face lined with exhaustion, Riggs had obviously been forced to reassess the mettle of the romance writer. He’d paced into the room, passing Alice’s desk with a snapped, “Don’t say it.”

“What?” She had looked a bit too innocent and Matt found he still had a grin in him.

“You know what.” Riggs dropped down in the chair in front of Matt’s desk. “Nada. Zip. Zero. Sorry, Matt.”

“Wonder how Bates found out Dani was still alive?” Alice voiced the million dollar question.

“The coroner promised to sit on the ID until tomorrow,” Matt said. Which meant zip. Bates was a wise guy with longevity because he had sources inside the law enforcement community. It would be stupid to assume they could keep anything from him. The Service had not got its reputation by being stupid—though there were exceptions, he had to admit, thinking of Neuman.

Matt gave Riggs a quick rundown on their lack of progress in finding the rat in Neuman’s woodpile. About Neuman’s debts and McBride’s rich fiancée. “Both our boys have reasons to sell out. Both could use an influx of cash. For all we know, they could be working together. Once we knew Hayes was hunting, we told Neuman about Oliver’s death. Idiot has no clue where Gwynne might go for help.”

“So far,” Alice said, “they both appear too shook up to have ideas, let alone good ideas.”

“Great.” Riggs’ mouth opened in a jaw popping yawn. Before it was completely finished, he asked, “What about Gwynne’s laptop? Anything helpful there?”

Alice propped an elbow on her desk, then her chin on her hand, caught his yawn and passed it on. “Maybe. We found out she’s been using the modem in her lap top to surf the Internet almost from the moment she went into protective custody.”

“Oh?” Riggs subsided deeper in the chair, lowering his chin to his chest. “What does it mean?”

“We’re not sure,” Matt admitted, fighting against the insistence of the shared yawn. Tired was not an option.

“She could just be doing research…” Alice began.

Riggs lifted his head. “She writes romance novels. Only thing she’d need to know…”

“Don’t say it, Riggs, until you’ve actually read one, just—don’t.”

Riggs studied her face and decided not to. “Any indication she’s left the area?”

Matt shook his head.

“What about who picked her up? We figure out where and how Gwynne contacted someone?”

Matt let Alice answer that one, while he finally gave in to the compulsion of the yawn. He quickly passed it back to Riggs.

“You know that fancy laptop Gwynne bought?”

Riggs nodded.

“Well,” Alice continued, “it seems she can also use it as a telephone.”

Riggs blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again to ask, “What about the wire taps? Anything there.”

“No…” Matt stopped. “Son of a bitch. She doesn’t have to phone home. She’s been emailing half the country. Alice, get someone back on her agent. Riggs, get with Sebastian. I want to know if Gwynne contacted anyone she’s been emailing regularly.”

“I’m on it.” Alice picked up the telephone. Riggs nodded, dragged himself out of the chair, and shuffled out with the yawn in tow. It lasted at least until he was out of sight.

Matt leaned back, his hands beating on the arms of his chair. He already had people running a cross check to see if any of the people she had been chatting with online were local. Their computer guy, Sebastian had been quick to point out she might have more than one way onto the Net. It might not be possible to get a complete list of her online contacts.

“Like death and taxes, networks go down. All the web’s surfers gotta have alternate access.” Sebastian, a spare cartoon with a stand-up shock of red hair, sat tonelessly in his beat-up, government-issue chair as he tried to explain the unexplainable. A genius with computers, he’d started hacking as a teen on a Commodore 64, been caught where he wasn’t supposed to be, then recruited by the Marshals Service, since it takes a hacker to find one. So far he had not disappointed.

Access costs money, so Matt directed Henry to sniff out her money trail and then turned back to Sebastian for some more bad news. There might not be a money trail. There were a lot of ways to get free, anonymous access to the Internet. Matt heard a “but” in Sebastian’s voice and straddled a chair across from him. “So?”

“There’s more than one way to search the Internet for information and people. I know this guy, Boomer Edison, a real character. Looks like a football player, thinks he’s a cowboy, is a computer genius with a nifty little program that searches for online identities.”

“Identities?” Matt knew what the Internet was not—a person, place, or thing. He had a vague idea of what it was—the name given the monstrous cyberspace frontier of computers, networked world-wide into a faster-than-the-speed-of-light information exchange. What did identities have to do with that?

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, his hands with their extra long fingers moving in a version of sign language. “A lot of surfers like the Net because it’s a place where there are none of the usual visual cues that people use to pigeon-hole each other. No one is fat or thin, short or tall, young or old, you don’t even have to be male or female. There’s only your handle—the nickname you choose—and your words to define who and what you are. Some people create different handles and identities, for different gathering places on the Net. It’s not as strange as you might think. We’re all different things to different people. Net surfers just admit it.”

“Okay.” Matt could understand the concept. His ex-wife had been a lot of things to a lot of men during the decline of their marriage. Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. “And this Boomer’s program does—what?”

Sebastian spun to face him. “It takes a known identity, analyzes written posts associated with it, then searches for similarities in writing style, content, word usage to produce a list of possible matches. All we need to give him is a good representative sample of Gwynne’s style—which we have right here in her computer’s output file.”

It sounded like a real long, long shot, but Matt gave him the go-ahead. Anything to add a new strand to the net he was trying to throw around Dani Gwynne and, by extension, Jonathan Hayes.

Hours later with nothing new on the horizon, Matt silently admitted to rising concern. He shoved aside the last of the reports and stood up, stretching his aching back and cramped muscles before turning to the window. With his hands in his pockets, he stared down at a city laid out in lights. The dark sky was moon-less, the stars hidden by a drifting cloud cover.

Tomorrow would be a good day for climbing if the cloud cover held. Keep the temperature down, long as it didn’t rain. He wished he were up at the cabin, waiting with his brothers for first light. Attacking a rock face, feeling for cracks and fissures, fighting granite and gravity. In motion. Anything but standing still and wondering what to do next. Wondering what the romance writer would do next. Wondering, most of all, what Hayes would do next.

He heard the low hum from the air conditioning, felt the rising chill now that there was only his body heat against a thermostat set to cool a crowd. The place even smelled deserted. Old sweat. Stale coffee. Staler perfume.

He didn’t mind being alone, had made it a personal choice. After his divorce an almost female-free life had seemed a blessing. When had it become a habit? Something he had stopped thinking about?

He hadn’t stopped looking. He wasn’t dead, just unwilling to climb the slippery slopes and look inside a woman’s head. When they asked and he was around, he went. Which wasn’t often. The job was a parasite eating away at his free time. He had done nothing to cut it back. Why go home, when the apartment he shared with his brother was usually empty? More entertaining to be out kicking bad guys’ butts.

He felt Dani’s eyes boring into his mind, digging up his secrets. Would her real eyes be as penetrating? He gave in to her insistence and turned to face her. In the safe house her eyes had entreated him. Now they mocked him. How could a pair of photographic eyes make him wonder if he had been missing something? He had been happy before he met her, would be happy again when she testified and was back in New Orleans. She was a romance writer, so of course she wanted a girl for every guy.

The mockery in her eyes seemed to deepen. With a muttered curse, he turned back to his desk. He was too tired. That’s all. The day had started too early and gone on way too long. Now it was too late to go home. Probably meet himself coming back. He rubbed the back of his neck. He could stretch out on the couch in the employee’s lounge long enough to take the edge off tired.

He should have gone to sleep the minute he lay down. Usually he could sleep anywhere, even on a couch that was too short and as comfortable as a slab of cement. This night he stared at the ceiling with sleep gritty eyes while bits of Dani’s online posts played in his head.

…Men think we can’t live without them, but it’s chocolate we can’t live without…

…I think GHOST was a hit because we all want to believe evil will be punished in the end—though it’s hard to believe good will triumph when you’re sitting in the dark and out of M&M’s…

What was she doing, what was she thinking? He had gone over every detail in her file, got a glimpse inside her head through her online posts that Sebastian had printed out for him. What did it mean? There was no logic in them that a guy could hang his thoughts on. They were all awash in feelings, in emotions. Emotions didn’t put away bad guys. Emotions left big gaping holes in your flanks and got your friends killed because you weren’t paying attention.

He sat up, then stood up, found himself looking out the window without a conscious decision. She had guts, he’d give her that. What was it she’d written to one friend?

Like the willow tree, I bend, not break, though sometimes I wish it were the other way around.

Was that the easy answer to the romance writer with a purple boa, who surfed the Internet under the noses of her protectors, left Sebastian eating her cyber-dust, and vanished into the city night lights like a seasoned pro? She bent, but didn’t break?

A fire engine siren wailed in the distance. He could see the flicker of its red lights heading east. He leaned his forehead against the cold glass and wondered which light shining out of the dark was the one she was standing in.

* * * *

Dani would be the first to admit that going to a country western bar probably wasn’t the best decision in her present circumstances. Wasn’t the worst either. Getting blind, stinking drunk would be the worst choice. No matter how appealing insensibility was, it was not an option.

The soda, sadly not her usual, cradled between her hands lacked the ability to blunt the feel of Dark Lord hunting her. Thank goodness the honky tonk country band was playing loud enough to ease the sensation. With a killer and the Feds on her heels, she’d wondered about the wisdom of going out with Carolyn Ryan and her writer’s group, who were now out on the floor pushing their tushes with a carefree confidence that Dani could only pretend to feel.

She would envy them if they weren’t such a friendly bunch. There was no room for envy in the midst of their kindness. No room for anything but the need to hold it all together. It helped that there were different stages to trauma, just like there were differences in an ocean when you’re drowning. Dani had seen all those stages when Meggie died, knew each one intimately.

That first, knock-you-overboard, white-edged wave was followed by a shell-shocked disbelief at finding yourself in deep water. Then there was a period of helpless floundering. Luckily the shock sets in fast, providing a measure of protection as the body accustoms itself to this new order of existence. This semi-numbed period was sometimes marked by an efficient coping that lulls you into thinking rock bottom could be avoided, or at least well managed.

Unfortunately, there was not a dignified or graceful way to drown. In the end, grief fills you up, weighs you down without mercy. The collision with rock-bottom was so overwhelming, you almost don’t notice that there was no way left to go but up. When you do, the decompressing trip to the surface was a dreary, endless exercise without shock’s buffer to blunt the pain.

After Meggie’s death, Dani had made it back to the surface of her life. Instead of landfall, she had found herself bobbing in a world forever changed. One where grief was an ocean surf that sometimes knocked her down with its wildness. At other times it seemed content to lap a melancholy reminder that memory was all she had left of her little girl.

Dani knew the drill. Knew where she was in the process. She didn’t know how long she would be there. Only time would tell that, time that was friend and enemy. She couldn’t speed it up or slow it down, couldn’t control what others would do with their allotment. So she sat in the honky tonk, inhaling the scent of booze, sweat and tobacco. Exhaling the stench of blood, fire and flesh. Letting the pounding music fill her up. Using the chattering crowd as a buoy to stay afloat.

A cowboy at the other end of the bar lifted his beer can in her direction. After a slight hesitation, Dani mirrored the move. She’d played this part on the community theater stage back home, knew just how wide to force her plastic smile when the cowboy, a cop—she was very familiar with the breed by now—exchanged his bar stool for the one next to hers.

“So, little darlin’, would you like to take a turn around the floor?” He leaned close, his breath puffing warm and beery into her face.

“I don’t really know the steps.” Dani spared a brief, longing look at the milling dancers, the brisk music promising an appealingly, thoughtless motion. “Is that a problem?”

“Not to me, darlin’. I’m a good teacher and you look like a fast learner.” He held out his hand with a wide, good ole’ boy grin.

Dani set her drink down, let him lead her onto the sawdust strewn floor. His arm hooked strongly around her waist, pulling her against a chest that was country hard and scented with Zest soap and Brut after shave. She had forgotten how nice it felt to be held by a man.

“Just follow my lead,” he said.

She nodded, hoping he was right about her being a fast learner. She needed light feet for more than pushing her tush if she was going to dodge the Marshals Service and Dark Lord until she got her day in court.

Step…kick…step…days…cross and kick…nights…step and push that tush.

One step at a time, it would eventually be over. No problem, she told herself, then stepped on her partner’s toes.

* * * *

Matt had so much coffee in him, he was surprised he wasn’t buzzing the room. He had finally managed to catch a few Z’s, all of them taken in his chair. He tossed back a couple of ibuprofen to take the edge off his stiff neck, chased it down his throat with more coffee, and turned his restless impatience back to his study of Gwynne’s paper trail.

According to Sebastian’s report, Gwynne had been in touch with her agent about some chapters she still owed on her book. The contact had occurred during her stay in the hotel, so it didn’t mean she was still alive. If she was, they might be able to trace her when she sent the chapters over the Internet.

His headache tightened its grip on the sides of his head. He gritted his teeth and kept reading.

It was progress of a sort, but Matt didn’t want to know where she’d been. He needed to know where Dani Gwynne was right now. If she was still alive. He was halfway down the stack of morning reports when Riggs slouched in.

A yawn that looked like a leftover from yesterday twisted his face. He held a fist full of papers as if they were a security blanket he wanted to curl around. When he had assumed his usual slouch in the chair in front of Matt’s desk, he deposited the papers, then helped himself to some of Matt’s coffee.

“I should have been a romance writer.”

Matt blinked. “What?”

“You wanted to know how much walking around money she has?” He looked at a computer sheet with a look as close to awe as he could get from his hang dog face. “How about fifteen thousand?”

It wasn’t an easy figure to bend his tired brain around. Matt dug his thumbs into a knotted pain spot. “Dollars?”

“She ain’t toting pennies.”

Matt considered some more. “How come we didn’t know about it before now?”

Riggs shrugged. “Seems Neuman didn’t know. The agent slipped it to her a couple of months ago, layered in some galleys for her new book that Gwynne had to proof. Asked her why Gwynne asked for the moolah, but she didn’t know.”

“You believe her?” Riggs shrugged and Matt frowned. What had prompted her to ask for money? Had she been planning to bolt before Hayes struck? “What’s she going to do with it? Where’s she going?”

“I don’t know where she’s going.” Alice had approached unnoticed. “But I know where she’s been.”

“So?” Matt asked, impatient when she didn’t continue. “Where’s she been?”

“You aren’t going to like it.” Alice propped a hip on the edge of her desk and crossed her arms, her Cheshire cat grin back in place.

Matt scowled. “I don’t like much anyway. What you got?”

“A cop saw our APB this morning. Swears he was with our girl last night at a country dance club on the south side. Seems he taught her to tush push.”

Riggs choked. Matt didn’t blame him. Alice wasn’t trying near hard enough not to control her grin. Matt didn’t give her the satisfaction of hearing him choke, too, but it wasn’t easy.

“Dancing?”

“That’s right.”

“The tush push?”

“So he says.”

Matt rubbed his forehead. It didn’t help. “I’ll never understand women.”

“Good.” Alice’s grin broke free of minor restraint.

“Don’t—just enlighten me. What is she doing?”

Alice sighed. “If she’d gotten drunk, would you be surprised?”

“No.” Matt looked at Riggs. He shrugged, shook his head. “So what? This is the female equivalent of a bender?”

“Sort of. Though the parallel is weak because women don’t consider insensibility a viable route to problem solving.”

Matt stared at her from under lowered brows. “I have so much to thank affirmative action for. Just think what I would’ve missed if I’d never met you?”

“Don’t.” Alice gave a mock shudder. “It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Then don’t think. Find out who she went to that club with.”

“Already on it.” She dropped behind her desk. “My guy at the PD thinks he’s knows someone who knows one of the women she was with, so it shouldn’t take long. He’s gonna call me back.”

“Good.” The back of his neck prickled. He felt like a hound dog picking up the scent. Too bad Dani was acting like a fox. He wasn’t the enemy. He wished he could tell her a few home truths… “Son of a bitch!”

He could tell her anything he wanted to.

Riggs lifted his head from his chest. Alice looked at him in surprise. “What?”

Matt grinned. “Email. Instant communication.”

Alice got it before Riggs, but then Riggs hadn’t finished Matt’s coffee yet. She smiled. “Tell her how much I liked her book.”

* * * *

Dani slept restlessly, woke early with tears on her cheeks, the grim remains of yet another nightmare digging into her emotional reserves. The tears were easy to brush away. Exhaustion dug in its heels, refusing to be dislodged by mere will power. What had possessed her to think she could take on the forces of law and disorder for who knew how long? Rosebud had asked the same question quite forcefully last night when her gentle question had loosed the brakes on Dani’s tongue. It had helped to talk about it and Rosebud did have a point. But Rosebud hadn’t stared into Peg’s dead eyes, hadn’t fled a burning house that was supposed to be safe. She hadn’t seen a killer at work on a friend that was supposed to be her.

If Dani went back, she would be back to square one, wondering where and when Dark Lord would strike.

And who would lead him to her.

Dani rubbed her face. “I need my soda.” It wasn’t a cure, but it was better than nothing.

She carried the cold can into the bathroom to get the morning washed away. It took her half way through a second soda before the caffeine level in her blood got high enough to fuel something besides an inclination to whine.

Dani sat down at the kitchen table with a pencil and her trusty idea notebook. She flipped through the pages, looking for a blank one. A couple of sentences on one page caught her eye.

A wish before…

Dani remembered the night she had made it. A dark one. Heavily laced with foreboding. She bit her lip, then with conscious intent, filled in the blank.

A wish before dying.

There, she had faced it. Honesty was always the best policy. She couldn’t compute the odds of surviving, not while she was sleep deprived. She did know they weren’t good—though still better than the odds of getting her wish. She looked at the wish, her mouth twisting in a bitter smile.

Fall in love again.

The romance writer dreaming of romance. She had a better chance of being taken hostage by terrorists and not just because she was over thirty. She tore the sheet out and deposited it in Rosebud’s circular file. Thoughts were not so easily tossed away. A romance writer with no hero was not grounds for expulsion from the league of romance writers.

It was a pity.

With a sigh, she connected her computer to Caro’s telephone line and logged onto the Net as an anonymous user. Once inside, she began threading her call across the world-wide network as carefully as she had once placed stitches in a baby quilt.

“Oh yet we trust that somehow good,” she muttered, as she typed in commands, “Will be the final goal of ill!”

When she realized what she was doing, she grinned. Spook, the online spy, had a lot to answer for. He had started a veritable epidemic of quoting across the boards. What was it he’d said, that a good quote was almost as good as a swift kick if properly applied? He sure knew where to apply them. Let’s hope he’d come through with the information she needed.

She saw Spook’s email address come up. With a file attached. Bless the boy. She might have to look him up and thank him for his help in person. What was it he said about friends? Some people go to priests. I go to my friends. Something like that. She couldn’t nail quotes like Spook.

When she finished her thanks to Spook and sent it on its way, she re-logged on as Blossom, hoping for something from her agent. The missive waiting for her wasn’t from Pat. She had knocked around the Internet long enough to recognize the address was from the Justice Department.

Well, well, they had found out faster than she expected. If they had this email address, they could be tracing it to her real time address while she sat marveling at the obvious. She picked up the letter and cut the connection the quick way, by pulling her line out of the wall plug. They could not have traced her in that brief instant, but she fought the urge to look over her shoulder as she pulled the letter up onto her screen. Her gaze went first to his name at the bottom of the note.

Matt Kirby.

At least it wasn’t Neuman or McBride. She scanned the missive quickly, her eyebrows and blood pressure inching higher with each word.

“…stupid to stay away. He was in your hotel room and killed a maid. Get your ass back in protective custody and help us stop Hayes permanently…”

Hayes? Did he mean Dark Lord?

“…and do what you came here to do.” He ended his terse summons with a business and home address, several telephone numbers, and no emotional shorthand. Not that he needed smileys or frowns to get his point across.

She was stupid. He was smart.

She hoped he was smart and not just arrogant. Smart meant he could still be taught a few things.

Like when to tell someone where to take their ass.

And when not to.

SIX

“We got an address on Gwynne’s friend yet?” Matt asked. He stopped in front of Alice’s desk and tossed a couple of folders onto her in box.

“I’m on hold for it.” Alice lowered the telephone to answer Matt. “You finished your peerless prose already?”

He arched his brows. “How long does it take to tell someone to get her ass back in here?”

“And I was afraid you wouldn’t take the diplomatic approach.” She shook her head and almost dropped the telephone.

Feet planted and arms crossed, Matt looked at her derisively. “We don’t have time to be diplomatic. Besides, thought you women wanted to be treated like equals?”

Alice arched her brows. “Your concept of equal treatment needs some fine tuning—yeah, I’m still here,” she spoke into the phone, then straightened and grabbed a pen so she could scribble an address across the file cover. “Got it.” She tossed the telephone in the cradle. “Let’s saddle up. We got an address.”

“About time.” Matt grabbed his suit jacket off his chair and shrugged it on as he followed her out the door. This time he knew better than to let confidence run ahead of him.

Good thing, too, he thought, when they were seated across from Caroline Ryan. First they had to connect the dots between Dani and “Blossom.” Then she told them they had missed Dani by thirty minutes. When Ryan told him where Dani had gone, he choked. Hayes on her ass, she takes time to go to— “Church?”

“People do,” Ryan, an attractive brunette with a slim silhouette starting to smudge with age, looked amused.

“People do a lot of things they shouldn’t,” Matt shot back.

“Like betraying a witness they were supposed to protect?”

Matt opened his mouth to deliver a blistering rebuttal, but Alice grabbed his arm and held on. He gave a grunt that was part disgusted and part “ouch.” Alice had long nails.

“If our people had been guarding Ms. Gwynne, we wouldn’t be here, Ms. Ryan.” Alice slipped smoothly into her “good cop” role to ask, as if they were friends sharing a cup of coffee, “How long have you known Dani?”

Ryan shrugged. “I didn’t know Dani. I met Blossom on line eight or nine months ago. Wish I’d known. I’ve been reading Dani Gwynne’s books for several years now.”

“Is she as funny as her books?”

Ryan nodded warily. “You read her books?”

“I just finished Can’t Call It Loving. I swear, I cried at the end.”

Matt gave a strangled protest, but Alice’s gambit worked. Ryan’s face softened. “Caroline and Daniel were great lovers—” She stopped, was quiet for a bit, then said, “I’m afraid she’s set on doing this without your help.”

Matt gritted his teeth, said through them, “I’m sure Ms Gwynne has this romantic idea of beating the odds.”

“Murder isn’t very romantic, Inspector. Or have you forgotten that Blossom saw Dark Lord kill that woman who looked like her?”

He hadn’t forgotten because he hadn’t stopped to think what Dani had seen that night. Abruptly he was back in that room looking down at a brown blood stain with splatters all around. Where had she been while Hayes slit Peg Oliver’s throat?

He realized he had lost the thread of the conversation and gave himself a shake.

“…from Lord of the Rings. It’s her favorite book,” Ryan was saying. “You’d have to read it to understand.”

He fought back a burst of frustration. He didn’t want to understand. He just wanted to find her and stop Hayes. End of story. “Did she tell you where she was going? What she was going to do after church?” he cut in to ask.

Ryan’s feline smile held a warning of what was coming. He didn’t say anything to Ryan. He had his pride. Three minutes later, Matt slammed the car door shut and ground out, “The zoo?”

“Even Ryan didn’t think she meant it.”

“We still have to check it out.”

“At least it’s a nice day for it.”

The firing of the engine drowned out the substance of Matt’s growled response.

* * * *

Dani was glad she had taken time for church, not just because she had a surfeit of time on her hands, but because she so desperately needed an infusion of peace. Lead Kindly Light, the closing hymn had been her favorite since Richard’s wife, Liz, sang it at Meggie’s funeral. Now the music lingered, a balm for her bruised heart.

Lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom.

Lead thou me on.

The night is cold and I am far from home.

Lead thou, me on.

Keep thou my feet.

I do not ask to see, the distant scene.

One step enough for me.

She dug a hand into the peanut sack and tossed it to the waiting elephant. She hadn’t meant to go to the zoo when she made her offhand remark to Caro, but she had finished her business at the flea market early. It wasn’t like she had a lot of options. She had too much time to kill—pass—time to pass.

She needed to work on her word choice if she was going to get through this reasonably sane. With his leathery, flexible trunk, the elephant reached for more. She dug into the nearly empty bag and tossed him a handful. I should be depressed, she thought, with a sigh, but how could she be? The sun hung high in a sky too blue to be real. The air she inhaled so crisply clear she felt a guilty euphoria.

Must be John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High. Apparently a modest dose of altitude could be beneficial, even to those with acrophobia. Or maybe she was just tired of being down and out.

She tossed the last handful to the begging pachyderm, then tipped the empty bag to show him she really was out. To escape the gentle reproach in his eyes, she stood to leave.

A small girl darted around the corner of a side path, trailing an irate echo of her mother’s voice. Before Dani could brace body or heart, she wrapped herself around Dani’s legs.

Even as Dani knelt to hold the small escapee, an older version of her appeared, followed in short order by the harried mother, holding another small, struggling boy body.

The young mother’s face lightened into a smile when she saw Dani holding the truant.

“Thanks.”

The little girl smelled of powder and baby lotion. Her tiny body was soft and strong, and determined to impose her will on the big people in her life. So like Meggie.

Her arms full, her heart empty, Dani said carefully, “Sometimes you need another hand.”

“Not just sometimes,” the young mother said, ruefully. “I don’t know what made me think I could handle them all, but it was such a lovely day, anything seemed possible.”

Maybe it was this echo of her own thoughts that prompted her next words. She usually avoided the painful pleasure of getting too close to other people’s children. “I was just heading the same way and I’ve got two free hands—”

The woman hesitated, her eyes assessing Dani’s worthiness. Dani’s “grandma” get up, purchased at the flea market, helped tip the scales and the woman said with real gratitude, “Thanks.”

Dani turned with them, the little ones held firmly between the two adults. The older girl, Jenny, walked by Dani, sharing the family secrets in breathless bursts. Her mother looked embarrassed and apologetic. Dani found she could chuckle.

At the lion cage, Jenny told Dani she was ten years old. The age Meggie would be, Dani realized. Looking at Jenny’s face, Meggie’s baby face blurred, then turned older. Would she have been like Jenny? Dark hair instead of light bouncing with each skipped step? So eager to see the world, not afraid to meet it head on?

Not still and alabaster white in a coffin in the ground.

In a haze of painful pleasure, Dani did the zoo with them, but her soul did it with Meggie. When it was over, hugs were offered and gratefully accepted. The sweet, baby smells of the little ones, their wet, sugar-laced kisses smeared against her cheek, were manna in Dani’s wilderness.

Dani fought back the urge to cling, to hold on tight and not let go when Jenny wrapped her thin arms around her neck and squeezed. Holding on didn’t work. You had to let go, even when your heart left, too.

Resolutely solitary in the golden light of a lowering sun, she watched the little family make a meandering path across the parking lot, board a minivan, and drive away.

Leaving her alone again.

Her path stretch long and empty toward night. Her shoulders slumped, weary from the weight of returning fear.

I do not ask to see, the distant scene,

One step enough for me.

One step. That would be a place to stay tonight. Okay. Then finish those chapters. Oh yeah, and don’t forget to respond to Matt, the oh-so-opinionated, Kirby.

* * * *

“Okay,” Matt straddled one of the chairs that circled the conference table, “let’s be more smart and less frustrated and try to find our witness before we all turn gray.”

Alice, who had taken a seat on a small table off to one side, arched her carefully sculpted brows. “Funny she hasn’t turned herself in, especially after your well-reasoned request.”

“Don’t mess with me, Alice. I’m not in the mood.” Matt hadn’t been in the mood for much since their abortive visit to the city zoo. That it had been a perfect day for a stroll merely added insult to injury. “We can’t wait for her to pick up her mail. Hayes is on the move. So let’s have your ideas, suggestions, intuitions. I’ll even accept revelations from God and hallucinations that aren’t drug induced.”

His gaze swept the table, stopping briefly on each member of his team. Sebastian had chosen the chair at the table’s head, but lacked the authority to go with it without his computer keyboard. He shrugged and looked apologetic. Riggs straddled a chair just across from Matt and was using the chair back as a pillow. He did open his eyes long enough to look despairing. Henry was too restless to sit. He paced back and forth between the surveillance equipment and the table “smoking” a fountain pen and muttering to himself.

With some reluctance, Matt angled his body to face Alice. She frowned into space and didn’t immediately realize she had his attention. When she did, she straightened and said uneasily, “What?”

“Give us some of that famous women’s intuition, Alice,” Riggs muttered, relaxing an impossible inch more across his forearms. He covered a yawn by lifting his elbow, then added, “Or you could get us men some coffee?”

This feeble jab in their friendly, ongoing battle of the sexes earned him a quick, resigned glance. “I’m fresh out of both, I’m afraid.”

Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do we even know what Gwynne’s wearing right now?”

“Probably not.” Alice lifted a sheet. “When she left Ryan’s she was wearing the Saks suit. When she walked away from church, she was wearing the Saks suit. But—”

She didn’t have to finish. No one had arrived at the zoo wearing a Saks suit. They didn’t even know if she had gone to the zoo. They didn’t know squat.

Matt didn’t like it. As Riggs had pointed out yesterday, she was a romance writer and they were the Marshals. This was not the way it was supposed to be.

“I’ve got a description of her watch and shoes,” she offered with the same hopeful air she’d probably use giving sand to a thirsty man.

“A watch and a pair of shoes. Why am I not excited? She could have already dumped them.”

Alice’s smile showed some teeth. “Since you’re a man and couldn’t possibly understand the irresistible appeal of comfortable shoes, I’ll cut you some slack, Matt. It’s just—” She gave a frustrated sigh. “She’s not just changing her clothes. She’s changing herself.”

Henry stopped his pacing and looked thoughtful. He liked to think he had a sensitive side. “She has done community theater back in the Big Easy, Matt.”

“Then let’s find out what parts she’s played. Like I said, more brains, less frustration.” Matt had a thought. “Ryan mentioned some book—Alice?”

“Lord of the Rings. We found it at the crime scene, remember?”

Matt nodded. “I want to take a look at it. And her books. The ones she reads and the ones she writes. You’re a fan, Alice. You got copies?”

“A new fan. I have one. Plan to get more.”

“Fine. Plan to do it now. Make a list and give it to Henry. You don’t mind buying some romance novels, do you?” Henry obviously did, but he couldn’t say so without looking insensitive. “Check local bookstores. If you strike out there, try the library. The sun’s going down on day two, people. I want a lead before it comes up again.” He turned to Sebastian. “Speaking of leads, you got anything on any local acquaintances she might go to next?”

Sebastian rubbed his bony chin. “Well, I got a long list of local people who are online. Having a little trouble deciding who she’d turn to. It’s not like we have time to call them all.”

Matt looked at Alice. “Librarians? Writers? Booksellers?”

Alice shrugged. “It’s a place to start. We can cross reference by hobbies, interests, occupation, eliminate the obviously non-compatibles.”

“And level of contact,” Sebastian put in. “I can identify the ones she’s talked to a lot under her known identity. I should have something on any other identities from Boomer by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“Good. Go to it, people.” He leaned back in his chair as they filed out on their separate errands. He was the only one with nothing to do but think. Had she received his email? What would she do when she did?

* * * *

“Rushdie was right,” Hayes muttered, “our lives do teach us who we are. Even better, your life will teach me who you are, Dani Gwynne. Once it has, I’ll end it.”

For a moment his temper had almost gotten away from him when his contact inside the police department had let him know too late for him to get Gwynne at Ryan’s house. He would have enjoyed doing her in the suburbs. He had always hated his parent’s milieu. Lucky for his snitch the Feds had gone away empty-handed, too.

What would she do next, he wondered, fingering his knife in anticipation. It was an interesting problem. Absently he tested the blade, leaving a beaded, red trail along the edge of his finger. He sucked the cut as he read a photocopy of Gwynne’s file detailing her interest, among many others, in the Internet.

The first thing Gwynne had done was turn to someone she’d met online. Quite a clever idea really. It added an interactive dimension to the hunt. If she stayed connected he could hunt her and talk to her. Assault her mind while he hunted her body.

He turned to his computer and logged on to the Net. He had already arranged to read her email, to get any replies she sent. Now he read Kirby’s email with interest. How would she respond to its commanding tone? It would tell him a lot about her when she did. Then he would know how to act. Where to act. Another bead of red blood formed along the cut he had made on his finger, hovered briefly, then dropped onto the keyboard in a perfect, quivering circle.

He smiled, thinking of her blood falling like rain. It would flow softly at first, but soon it would turn into a rushing red river sweeping her life away. Then the fire would lick at the river, swallowing red moisture in a flickering, healing flame. Heat made a shaft through his middle, quickening his breathing.

His hands settled on keys slick with sweat and his own blood. Breath came in short, panting gasps as he formed his first words to her. In a sharp crescendo, he finished and sagged back in the chair, his thoughts centered on the two women in his life.

Dani Gwynne. The one he had to kill.

Willow. The one he had to love.

Soon he would have both where he wanted them.

* * * *

Dani exchanged her grandma attire for tattered jeans and a Stones tee shirt before approaching her next kindly stranger. The smart little hat was now a “gimme” variety put out by the Denver Nuggets, the briefcase replaced by a ratty back pack.

With the sun beginning a hurried decline in the western sky, she studied the junk yard/garage combination across the street from her, then checked the address against the one on her print out. This was the place.

She just hoped the stranger was more kindly than his digs.

After hitching her back pack to a more comfortable spot on her shoulder, she crossed the dusty street and cautiously pushed the rusted door. She winced at the protest the sagging metal hinges made against movement, then slid through the gap. Before her eyes could adjust to the light change, her nose identified—and wrinkled against—a pungent mix of grease, paint, dust, beer and old sweat. Dani took a step back, then stopped. Retreat was not an option.

“I’m closed,” a deep voice rumbled at her out of deep shadow. It took her a minute to separate the massive figure lovingly polishing a Harley-Davidson motorcycle from the shadowy chunks of equipment.

“Meathook?”

“Who wants to know?” He stood up, sending an already impressive shadow spreading across the cluttered floor.

She grinned, recognizing the “voice” of her online friend, even if the figure wasn’t familiar. “I want to know.”

He started toward her, getting bigger with each step. The meager light outlined each bulging muscle and the bush of a beard that obscured the lower half of his face.

“Who the hell are you?”

She held her ground. “Willow, that’s who.”

“Willow? Internet Willow?” She nodded. Like a spring thaw, a smile cracked the severity of beard and face, splitting his battered face into less menacing lines. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

SEVEN

Matt could tell from Alice’s demure expression as she wove her way between desks that she had more bad news for him. He stood up and stretched his back. It eased the painful kink from another long night spent in the office, made him feel like he was doing something besides pushing paper.

“What?” What now, is what he meant.

“Dani answered your email.” The amusement in her eyes told him it was personal.

Matt looked past her. “I thought Sebastian was in charge of email?”

“He was afraid.” Alice handed him the sheet, then put her hands on her hips, a look on her face that reminded him of his mother when she was about to deliver an improving lecture. “We’re all afraid of you, you know.”

“Yeah, I noticed you shaking in your high-heeled shoes.” He unfolded the sheet. Under the usual email header gibberish were four words: I don’t think so.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. It didn’t bring enlightenment. “What does this mean?”

Alice shrugged elegantly. “Uh, no…”

Matt dropped into his chair, tossed the note onto the desk top, picked it up again and scowled at it for the sweep of a second hand, then threw it down again. “What’s her problem?”

Alice looked amused. “Maybe you shouldn’t have told her to get her ass back in here.”

“Why not?” He shoved his hands through his hair, trying not to tear it out. Didn’t have that much to spare and didn’t want to waste it on a capricious romance writer. “Don’t you think she should get in here?”

“Yes, but…”

“No. No buts. Right is right. Right?”

“Not if she doesn’t know it. For Pete’s sake, Matt, she doesn’t know us from Neuman.” Alice sat down across from him, her expression sympathetic but still openly amused. “To her, we’re just a new set of Feds who may or may not get her killed.”

He knew that. No, he didn’t. If he was feeling some weird connection, she should be, too. He rubbed his face. “I need coffee. Has anybody made any?”

Alice started to get up, but Matt stopped her with a shake of his head. “I’ll get it.

Wouldn’t want to be accused of committing a non-politically correct act. “Besides,” he stretched his back, twisting his shoulders left and right, “I could use the exercise.”

It felt good to be in motion, however brief the duration. Back at his desk, he handed Alice a steaming cup, before settling in his chair again. His back protested, but subsided a bit after he’d downed half his mug. Calmer, he asked, “So how do we convince her we’re the good guys?”

Alice took a careful sip before she said, “The good news is, Carolyn Ryan came down on our side. She emailed Gwynne shortly after we left.”

“Let me see it.” Matt held out his hand, unease returning at the slight, though obvious, reluctance with which she handed it over. He read it. His brows arched. He looked at Alice.

“Cute-assed Fed? Fine hunting hound dog? Is she talking about me?”

Alice grinned. “I don’t think she’d call me a cute-assed Fed. And you do hunt people, Matt.”

“I hunt a lot of things, but last time I looked I only had two legs and don’t howl—very often. What is this stuff?”

He turned the sheet so Alice could see the strangely configured punctuation at the end of the letter: :-).

Alice craned to look. “I wondered about that, too. Sebastian says it’s called a smiley.”

“A what?” He barked the question at her.

“A smiley. You have to tip your head to the side.”

Matt’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“Or not.” Alice got her grin under control before adding, “They’re called emoticons—emotional punctuation used to add emotion to plain text. Sebastian’s getting you a dictionary.”

“There’s a whole dictionary of these things?” He leaned back. The one good thing about computers, in his opinion, was their total lack of emotion. So someone gets the bright idea to add emotion? What a world. “If being called a cute-assed Fed is the good news, what’s the bad news?”

“Hayes has emailed Gwynne, too.”

“What?” Matt straightened in his chair, but it wasn’t enough. He jumped up and paced to her side of the desk, grabbing the last sheet she had in her bag of tricks.

Death hath many doors to let out life, Dani.

Soon I’ll open yours and send you through.

How are you sleeping nights?

Still dreaming about me?

“Nasty, isn’t it?” Alice said.

“Not nice.” Urgency sent his heart racing. “Any indication she’s picked this up?”

Alice shook her head. “And, no, we can’t stop her getting it. I already asked. Sebastian says that, based on Hayes’ record as a computer whiz, he’s probably reading her mail, too—including what we send her.” She hesitated. “We’re going to have to let her know our communications with her aren’t secure, Matt.”

“Re-enforcing her belief that we can’t be trusted.” Matt leaned against the edge of his desk, thinking about Dani. About Hayes. Instead of a lover’s triangle, they were a killer’s triangle. The hit man, the Marshals’ tracker, and the romance writer, bound together by the greed and ambition of Richard Hastings, accused murderer with some still unknown tie to the mob. When the hit man was Jonathan Hayes, it was weird enough to make a guy wax philosophical. If he had the time or inclination for it. He looked at Alice. “Do it. Tell her Hayes is listening in. Hell, she’s probably already figured it out. Maybe we can get some points for honesty. You women like that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we just love it,” Alice said dryly as she stood up, “especially when you’re so sincere about it.”

“I don’t have time to be sincere. Have Riggs give a copy of this to Sebastian’s identity friend, what was his name?”

“Boomer Edison?”

“Yeah, him. Maybe he can find Hayes out there, too.” He crossed round to his chair and leaned back, steepling his hands into a triangle. As Alice walked away, he brought two points of his triangle together. The action pushed the last point away. Good thing he didn’t get off on symbolism or believe in bad omens.

Riggs poked his head in long enough to say, “Boomer Edison called. Says he’ll have something for us right after lunch.”

Matt nodded, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head and rocking the chair in time with his thoughts.

See, no good or bad omens. Just patient hard work by people following a time-proven process. He could do patient. He picked up a report and leaned back, his body carefully relaxed in the chair.

His fingers, in pointed defiance, beat impatiently against the arm rest.

* * * *

“Mornin’.” Meathook filled the doorway of his bedroom from frame to frame and then some. His eyes were still groggy, his body stripped down to a pair of hip-hugging leather pants that left his massive chest bare—though bare wasn’t the best description for something so furry. He was a walking, talking biker-with-a-heart-of-gold cliché—something Dani usually tried to avoid in her life and her fiction. He was also a nice guy, who had done two tours in Vietnam, lost a child to death, his wife to denial of that death and dealt with it all by writing nonsense rhymes for children. A stereotype with a twist, she thought. She needed him, his innate goodness, more than she needed her soda or M&Ms. Though she was happy that his house had both.

He roughed up his beard and stretched. “Thought you’d still be getting your Z’s.”

She hadn’t slept much, but it was easier to agree than explain she’d finished her chapters and cruised the Internet most of the night. “Been checking my email.”

And wishing she hadn’t done that part. She lay against his mama’s Naugahyde couch, her lap top with Dark Lord’s email still on the screen resting on her knees, her feet resting on the scarred, biker magazine-buried coffee table. On one side was a purple lava lamp, on the other a full size street sign from Las Vegas. In front of her, a fake fireplace mantel covered with an array of photos that started with a wrinkled newborn and stopped with a bright-eyed little boy of seven.

Meat rubbed his face vigorously, then crossed in front of her on an intercept course with the refrigerator. He held up a carton of orange juice. “You want some?”

“No thanks. I already had a soda.” She held up the can, but the caffeine in it hadn’t helped. She was tired right down to her soul. If she was about to break, she was too tired to know it.

Meat drank out of the carton, carried it with him to the mantel where he stopped by the last picture in the row, a photo of little boy in uniform kneeling by a soccer ball. He stroked the picture lightly, as if he were stroking his son’s head.

Dani had a feeling this was something he did every day. How well she understood the compulsion. Even after ten years, she would be somewhere and panic wondering where Meggie was. Or she’d see a toy she knew she’d like and be up to the checkout before she remembered.

“He’s beautiful,” Dani said, huskily. She hesitated, then asked, “How’s Opal?”

Meat hunched his shoulders, turning from his son’s picture to the window that overlooked the junk yard. “Piss poor. Can’t stop blaming herself. I don’t think she’s going to get over it.”

“Getting over it isn’t an option, is it?”

“No. It ain’t.” He looked at her. “But we ain’t sitting in a hospital staring at a blank wall.”

Dani smiled wryly, thinking about Meggie’s father who spent his days staring into a whisky bottle. “Maybe we should be.”

His laugh was surprised, edged with loss. “Yeah, maybe. How come we’re not?”

What made it possible for some people to absorb the body blow of loss, while it was a knock-out punch for others? Why was she trying so hard to keep going when it would be so much easier to quit? For answers to these and other questions, stay tuned, she thought wryly.

Aloud she said, “I don’t know. I know if I sit for too long, I have to pee. Once I’m up—” She shrugged, “I just keep going. I guess I don’t know how to stop.”

Was going forward progress, she wondered, or just a different form of denial? She looked up and realized he was looking at her, his dark eyes uncomfortably penetrating.

“What?” she asked.

“You want to talk about what you don’t know how to stop?”

She had known before she met him that he wouldn’t be clueless, but thought she was putting on a good show. Apparently she thought wrong.

“It’s pretty deep, Meat. Deep and dangerous.”

He dropped down next to her, making a crater in the Naugahyde surface. She slid down it and thumped against his side. He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed. It was like being hugged by a tree trunk.

“Tell your uncle Meat all about it.”

Dani chuckled, even as tears pricked at her tired eyes. Telling was too hard, so Dani turned the lap top with Dark Lord’s letter front and center toward him. She didn’t have to read along with him. She had it memorized after the first read through.

Are you sleeping nights?

If she had been sleeping, which she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be now.

Meat inhaled sharply. “Why’s this bastard got it in for you?”

“For him, it’s a business transaction.” Amazing as it seemed, it wasn’t personal. He was a supplier, her death the demand. “You been following the Richard Hastings case?”

Meat frowned. “He’s that do-gooder that plugged some chick last year?” At Dani’s nod, he frowned. “What’s that got to do with you?”

“I saw him do it. I knew him. His bad luck. My bad luck, he doesn’t want to go to prison. This guy,” Dani nodded at the screen, “is gonna make me forget what I saw.”

“Bastards.” Meat’s forehead creased, finally, he asked, “What’s a do-gooder doing hiring a hit?”

Her laugh was sharp and unamused. “They tell me the FBI is wondering the same thing. As far as I know, they haven’t found out. I’ve known Richard since I was sixteen and I don’t get it.”

And what had all that knowing added up to? Nothing. Even now, with the picture of him killing burned in her brain so it could play and replay in her nightmares, some part of her couldn’t quite believe it. Was she that gullible or was he that clever? Would she live long enough to find out?

“Sucks, don’t it?”

“Dead toads,” she agreed.

Meat grinned, then grew serious. He tapped the screen. “Isn’t this kind of weird? I admit I’m not up on hit men protocol, but this is pushing the envelope. I wonder—”

He stopped, following a line of thought she couldn’t see. Dani waited a bit, but finally prompted, “Wonder what?”

“I bet this guy is a regular on the Net. See that crap at the top?”

“Yeah?”

“The right person could use it to trace him back to his dirty, little hidey hole.”

“I knew that. But Spook told me you can counterfeit that stuff.”

“Spook would know,” Meat conceded. “But you can’t hide your personal style. If he’s on the boards, Boomer Edison can find him.”

“Really?” It was an interesting concept. “Could I talk to him?”

“If you can throw a leg over a Harley, I can take you to him.”

Dani smiled. “I’ve always wanted to throw a leg over a Harley—as long as the leg was still attached to my body.”

Meat chuckled. “Can you wait for my lunch hour? Gotta get a Hog ready for 11:30.”

“No problem.” It would give her time to come up with a Harley-compatible persona suitable for public viewing.

* * * *

It was easy, but it was consuming, for Hayes to cross-reference Dani Gwynne’s online posts with the people she chatted with, then sort them by locality. The program had run most of the night while he tried, and failed, to sleep. Now the printer spit out a series of lists comprised of the people she’d chatted directly with, then cross-referenced by the different places she visited regularly. Contact wasn’t always public. “Going private,” taking a discussion to the privacy of email, was a common practice throughout the Internet. He and Willow had gone private soon after meeting, though she’d continued to politely but firmly resist the meeting Hayes was determined to have with her.

The printer finished its work and Hayes gathered up the sheets, shuffling through them for anything that might stand out. Much of what he did was through a finely honed intuition. This kind of research wasn’t part of his normal procedure. When he got a hit, the research had been done by Bates people. All that was left for him was the kill. This time he was willing to make some effort, as long as it was the right kind of effort. The kind that led him to Dani Gwynne.

Effort is only effort when it begins to hurt. Hayes recalled the phrase culled from the “quote wars.” His head was hurting, so he must be close. He pulled up the lists, removed the first five names from one, then faxed the rest to Bates with instructions at the top to have some of his people check them for signs of Gwynne. Wouldn’t hurt Bates to exert himself or his people.

His short list consisted of four women and one male. The women were romance writers with a high probability of contact. The male was a biker, fairly low probability, name of Meathook. Hayes knew him online, he and Willow chatted with him. There were no outward signs Gwynne had talked to Meathook, a remote chance she’d seek him out. Hayes almost crossed him off the list, then stopped. It wasn’t likely, but he couldn’t afford to pass up even remote chances with just five days left until the trial. Bates was getting restive. Only his very real fear of Hayes kept him in check. If he thought Hayes could fail, that fear would fade. He didn’t need Bates complicating things right now.

Hayes looked at his watch. He should be able to hit all five names before lunch, sooner than that if he was lucky.

He was feeling lucky.

EIGHT

Boomer Edison’s office was so awash with paper and technology, Dani almost couldn’t find him. She saw a shock of orange hair moving in the mass and used it to home in on where he’d hunkered down, typing at two of three computers. A third whirred with the effort of making a printer spew pages in a continuous feed. Except for bifocals perched on the tip of his nose that gave him a vaguely mad scientist air, he looked like a football player who’d taken a wrong turn on his way to the field. His tee shirt even sported a number: infinity.

He didn’t fit into Dani’s notion of a computer whiz. But then, she no longer fit anyone’s idea of a romance writer. Meat’s Mama had played fairy biker “motha,” but instead of taffeta and glass slippers, Dani now sported black Army boots, shiny black leather shorts, a bandeau top that doubled as a push-up bra—more than doubling her available assets—with a black vest pulled over. In her neon beauty salon, conveniently attached to Meat’s junk yard, Mama had trimmed and planted a pyrotechnic bomb in Dani’s hair, then did her face in a combination of slut and Elvira that somehow worked.

After a bit of coaching on her attitude, Dani had thrown her leg over the back of Meat’s Harley and hung on. They stopped once so she could mail her chapters to her agent, then headed for Boomer’s office. She got off the Hog feeling like she could kick some serious booty—a feeling she liked. It made a nice change from the whimpering, cowering thing she’d been doing.

Dani propped her shoulder against the door frame, raised her voice to be heard over the technology, and asked, “You Boomer?”

“Yeah, I’m…” He turned to look at her, impatience melting into a look of shock when his gaze collided with the biker babe interrupting him.

Dani chewed the gum Mama insisted was mandatory and let him look his fill while she studied the scarlet-tipped, acrylic nails Mama had applied. If Shakespeare was right and life was a stage, then timing was everything. She wanted him to be capable of thought, but just enough to help her without asking too many questions.

“Can I help you?” The question emerged minus some of his bass tones.

“Meathook said you could, like, help me with a little problem I’m having?” Dani felt the lethal point of her index finger, while studying him through her outrageous lashes. He looked to be simmering nicely.

“Meat…hook?” He dabbed at the sweat popping out across his forehead.

“Big guy, tattoos, nice Hog?” she prompted.

His grin was edged with sheepish. “Oh yeah. Meat. What can I do for you?”

Dani smiled back, hoping it was as smoky as it felt. “I been getting this, like, shitty email crap from some jerk. Meat says, like, maybe you can tell us who it is, so he could, I dunno, kill him or something?”

She could almost see his Knight in Shining Armor genes kick in. He straightened. “I might. You got copies?”

“Yeah.” She worked her way through his paper stack maze so she could hand him the print out, then propped her elbows on a chest high pile to watch him at work.

It wasn’t until he blinked and swallowed so dryly she could hear it, that she realized the movement had put her cleavage on display. The romance writer inside her cringed, but biker babe licked her lips, then watched the sweat on his skin sizzle like water on a hot skillet.

“I…uh…usually need several posts for a good match,” he stuttered. Biker Babe did disappointed and he rushed to add, “but I can try.”

She made eye contact, held it for two beats, then said, “I’d be real grateful if you would.” She parted her lips slightly, waited another beat, and added, “Real grateful.”

His glasses fogged over. He took them off and turned to the computer, his hands visibly shaking.

Cool. Dani straightened, glad she wouldn’t have to deliver on that gratitude, though not unhappy with his response. She’d have to add a leather scene to her next book.

While his fingers fumbled on the keys, she looked around. The high tech clutter of Boomer’s space was interesting to someone with her cyberspace habits. The up side of being hunted like a dog was that she got to learn so many interesting things. Idly, she thumbed a stack of print outs.

She stopped, her gaze caught by a name at the top of a list on the first sheet. Willow?

She tipped her head to read what turned out to be a nearly complete list of her online handles. As far as she could tell, he’d only missed one. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out she wasn’t the only one who’d availed themselves of Boomer’s special ID hunting skills. She ought to make sure. It could be Dark Lord.

“So, what’s all this Willow shit?”

Boomer looked up, tried to look modestly proud. The effort put a twitch at the edge of his right eye. “That’s a search I did for the Feds.”

“Bitchin’.” Dani smoothed back her heavily moussed hair. “So you think you can find my guy?”

He sighed, fiddling with the stack of papers closest to him. “Less I have to work with, harder it is.”

“Oh.” She chewed her gum, trying to find a way to exit stage right. She’d run a check on Matt Kirby, Marshals Service tracker. He was good. Not the type to let sleeping lists lie. She’d bet her leather brassiere he or his guys would be here any minute to collect. Did she hear baying hounds getting closer? Absolutely. “So, when do you think you’ll, like, know?”

Boomer shrugged. “Tomorrow?”

“I’ll check back then. Thanks.” It was all he was going to get, so she gave him her sultriest smile. Instead of smiling back, he looked past her. “May I help you?”

“Kirby. US Marshals Service.”

Dani stiffened. The hounds, it appeared, were closer than she’d realized. It didn’t matter, she told herself with all the bravado she could muster. She was biker babe. She wasn’t afraid of no Fed. No way.

She turned. The Fed filled the doorway, giving Dani no choice but to study him.

It wasn’t a hardship.

What hit her first, was how large and solid he looked, how safe it made her feel to have him looming over her. He was as broad as Texas and solid as the Rock—which is what he looked like he’d been carved out of. Pure granite, except for his molten, brooding eyes. They’d been poured in under the wide forehead and then given the power to cut through flesh and sinew in search of buried secrets and hidden desires. The only softness she could find in his whole face was the dark hair brushed back from his face and the slightly full upper lip of his straight mouth that no amount of iron control could harden.

She recognized the weakness in her knees and the warmth that started in places that had been polar since her marriage bit the dust. She should. She’d written about it often enough. Warm flickered to flame when her gaze found the place where his conservative suit jacket met sexy, well-worn jeans, wrapped around narrow hips and powerful legs planted firmly in her path.

Wow. Her hands curled into fists against the urge to fan herself. She shouldn’t be surprised there was life in the old hormones or even that this man was stirring them up.

His raw, barely leashed energy wasn’t just physical. The rock had a volcano at its heart. She was looking at an alpha male—in the finely formed flesh—or she wasn’t a romance writer in biker babe drag.

No wonder Caro had waxed lyrical about his assets. It was a wonder she could wax anything or do anything but drool.

From the heat moving like thick honey through her mid-section came an instinctive urge to seek the safety of his sturdy body, to trust in the self-confidence he wore as comfortably as his jeans. He wasn’t just sexy as hell. He was a law man. A hunter. He wouldn’t go around obstacles. He’d go through or over what stood in his way in front of keeping him from what he wanted.

He wanted her.

The idea did nothing to cool her jets until she reminded her unruly libido it was what she knew that he wanted, what she’d seen. He needed her to get to Dark Lord.

Trying for detached, she studied the scuffed cowboy boots he wore. They’d be laying a track right over her if she didn’t get out of here before he turned his hunting dog nose and laser eyes on biker babe and saw Dani cowering underneath.

Hmmm. Biker babes walked, they didn’t get walked on, she reminded herself. She took a steadying breath, hoping Mama’s work was as good as she’d thought it was, then asked in a carefully calculated drawl, “You putting down roots, cowboy, or just coming in real slow?”

As soon as he looked at her, she knew it was a tactical error to demand his attention. She’d watched the surgical steel in his eyes cut through Boomer. She might be biker babe on the outside, but inside she was all romance writing woman who should have kept a low profile and hoped he’d get what he came for without seeing what he was looking for.

Stark naked in a stadium full of men would have felt less exposed than being caught in his gaze. Time to go. She took an unsteady breath and stepped toward him. If he was a gentleman, he’d move.

He wasn’t and didn’t.

Let’s try that one again. He had to move, didn’t he? She took another step. Nothing. Was he made of stone? A single stack of paper separated them. Even worse, she was close enough to see the smooth-rough texture of his skin, the different variations of brown in his eyes, and the lines fanning out from those eyes and his mouth—wait a minute. Was that a twitch at the edge of his mouth? Was she imagining—no, there it went again. Definitely a twitch.

Was that good or bad? She did one side-step, then one forward step. Now she was close enough to see, not just feel the banked fire behind the cool control in his eyes, close enough to see the jump of the pulse at his neck just above the crisp white shirt.

Well, well, the hunter wasn’t all cold, hard rock. Like a fire changing direction in the wind, embarrassed heat turned into pleased elemental. Had she thought him safe? He wasn’t. He’d be dangerous, even if she wasn’t in trouble. He stirred the ashes of her past, reminding her of what it felt like to want, to need, to feel that first, surprised shock of desire. To recognize that this man was different from all the others. That even if she walked away, she exchanged something in her for something in him.

Dani wrote books about desire. She’d heard songs sung about it, read poems crafted for it, but she still didn’t have a clue why one particular pair of eyes could make bones go soft as butter. Why one man’s smile could tempt a woman to step out of the safe zone into passion’s battle field, even when she knew it could mow her down.

His dark gaze took her to the knife edge of knowing why Eve chose knowledge in Adam’s embrace over that pretty Garden. It tempted her to surrender lonely autonomy for the shared warmth of his molten gaze.

She’d been cold a long time.

If he knew who she was? If he knew who he was looking at? She’d be on the fast track to bait city. Desire wouldn’t turn that jaw from pursuit of Dark Lord. She had to get away before her hormones effected a coup d’ etat on her willpower.

Her throat was dry with longing as she forced out, “You make a better wall than door, cowboy.”

He heard her words, knew he needed to move, but Matt was wound so tight he didn’t know if he could. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t on the same planet as his type. His body didn’t seem to care. It registered only that she was long and lean, except where the leather fell open to frame her round, full breasts. That she was giving off enough bravado to bring out the beast in any guy with a beating heart and working parts didn’t help.

His parts were doing what nature intended them to do, despite a determined rear guard action by his common sense. His blood supply was draining south faster than a cowboy’s first beer, taking the oxygen he needed for thinking. Sweat beaded his brow. A red mist formed in front of his eyes. His chest went tight from the scent of warmed leather, warmer woman, and something he should recognize, but couldn’t because of that blood shortage problem.

Riggs, straining to get a look over Matt’s shoulder, accomplished what Matt couldn’t do for himself, bumping him aside, and leaving a small channel for her to pass through. One so small her body brushed against him for an endless moment as she edged past.

Her lashes hid her eyes from him. The makeup was heavy on her face, but it couldn’t hide the clean, strong foundation of her bones. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, wild like she’d just been prone and seriously physical. At the last minute, her lashes lifted, her gaze catching his, holding it captive while she cut the ground from under his feet without blinking.

Her eyes. Deep in his brain an alarm went off. As if she heard it, she broke the contact and stepped past him into the hallway. Hands on leather hips, she looked over her shoulder, her gaze flicking down, then up, the depths slumberous with “come hither,” her smile weighted with warning. “Thanks, cowboy.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, wanting to match her grin and raise it. Wanting nothing more than to escalate this sudden battle of the sexes with his own salvo. He didn’t. He was a grown up. A professional. He almost forgot both those things when her eyes called him coward. Then she turned and headed down the hall, each swish of her leather covered hips packing a prize fighter’s punch to his gut.

Riggs said in his ear, “Kinda restores your faith in a higher power, don’t it?”

“Yeah.” Matt watched her pause at a bulletin board covered with flyers. She paused very well.

“Do you think she’s reading that or just looking at the pictures?” Riggs asked, awed.

Dani heard the question as she stared blindly at the board. The chilled air in the hallway stroked goose bumps across her heated skin. She could still feel the way their bodies had brushed together, still smell him with each unsteady breath, but when she heard Matt snap, “Does it matter?” she knew she’d made the right decision.

Neither of them had seen Dani underneath biker babe. If she got out of this alive, she was going to put the alpha hero in her next book through total hell. She stared at the flyer hard enough to burn a hole right through it, felt his eyes boring into her for an endless moment. The urge to turn and challenge him was almost overwhelming.

She almost sagged with relief when she felt his attention shift away. Her heart pounding in her throat, she took a cautious peek and saw him start into Boomer’s office. Then he stopped and stepped back, his back to her, so his partner could go in ahead of him.

She still wanted to rail at him, but she did have to admit one thing. Caro was wrong. His butt wasn’t just fine.

It was really fine. Jeans ought to be illegal on men who already had the corner on sexy.

She sighed, turned to go, when she caught a familiar name out of the corner of her eye. She stopped, more closely examining the flyer. Was it—it was. Kelly Kerwin. Listed as the featured speaker for the writer’s conference the flyer was promoting.

Kelly. It was like finding land in a storm. Dani grinned, felt biker babe make a comeback. Just in time, too. Matt started to follow his partner, hesitated, then looked back at her, like he couldn’t help himself. She gave him a cheeky grin, then turned and headed down the hall away from him, taking each step like the song said, one hip at a time. Reveled in knowing he watched every one.

Matt didn’t, couldn’t move until she turned the corner out of his sight. What was wrong with him? He couldn’t blame this on Dani Gwynne. Maybe she wasn’t the problem. Maybe he needed to get out more, chase some women instead of fugitives. He shook his head, trying to break free of the keen bite of lust brought on by swaying hips, endless legs and those cutting eyes—

He stepped into Boomer’s office, frowning, his unease returning in a pointed surge. What was it about her eyes…

Riggs held up a print out. “We got ten possibles with the five mostly likely matches near the top. The list of people each handle chats with is attached.”

“Let me see.” Matt took the sheet, blinked twice before the first name came into focus. Willow. Again he felt the kick of instinct…her posts. Something he’d read in her posts…like the willow tree, I bend not break…

It was almost too obvious. “That’s her. I’m sure of it. Did you give him the email from Hayes?”

“Not yet.” Riggs pulled the sheet out of his coat pocket and handed it to Boomer.

Matt looked at the list of names again, then lifted the sheet, and quickly scanned the list of people Willow chatted with—a biker called Meathook? Biker? Biker’s babe? Pieces were falling into place around him as lightly as boulders, but it couldn’t be that easy…or could it?

The moment they’d been chest to chest came back to him. Leather. She’d smelled of leather but there’d been something else, something too elusive for him to be sure…

Boomer looked up. “I’ve already seen this email—”

“Coconut. And her eyes. Son of a bitch.” Matt turned, his boots slipping against the tile floor as he dived for the door. Riggs made a plaintive sound behind him. Matt ignored him, too intent on getting down the hall. It seemed like it took forever until he skidded around the corner and slammed into the railing. Lucky for him it wasn’t too low. Matt was only winded when he looked down and saw her in the heart of the stairwell, her hand on the door.

“Dani Gwynne!” She started and looked up at him, biker babe fading from her upturned face. He couldn’t believe he’d missed it before. Maybe the leather had confused his thinking. And the legs. And the breasts. He shook his head. Her body was tense with a fight-or-flight wariness that was as disturbing as her cocky stance had been. His was tense with lust. Her eyes flashed a warning he couldn’t ignore. It took effort to ask with tight calm, “Can we talk?”

She hesitated. “About what?”

About what? “Oh, I don’t know. How about the guy trying to kill you?”

Her gaze narrowed. “You want him bad, don’t you, cowboy?”

“It’s my job to want him bad.”

“Funny,” she said, looking suddenly sad, “I thought it was to help me.” She pushed the door open.

Trust a woman to turn it around.

She was already sliding out the door, calling as she ran, “Meat!”

Matt jumped the rail as Riggs ran up beside him. He landed hard, slid down four steps before he got his balance again. Heard the roar as a bike was kicked to life. Plunged recklessly to the bottom, taking the steps in threes. Made the door just as she was throwing her leg over the back of a nice looking Hog. He just had time to make the license plate before they wheeled in a circle and roared down the street.

Cussing, he started for his car, remembered Riggs had the keys. “Keys, Riggs!”

Riggs, puffing like he had asthma and patting frantically, joined him in a dash to the car. “You sure I got ’em?”

Matt stared at the Hog getting smaller and smaller. “Just find the damn keys!”

“Uh, Matt?”

“What?”

“I found the keys.”

He turned, saw Riggs pointing inside the car. “You didn’t.”

Riggs shoved his hands in his pockets and contemplated sky. “Oops.”

With a low moan, Matt leaned on the car, mentally cursing fate, Riggs and the romance writer. While a moving picture of her long legs and leather-covered ass settling on the back of the Hog played repeatedly in his head.

* * * *

Hayes watched the Hog pass with his prey, then pulled in behind them. Who would have thought that she’d go to the biker Meathook for help? And yet, why not? Both of them had lost a child in accidents. Learned their first lesson in that ultimate democracy called death.

Like a shadow he followed each turn they made until they stopped in a convenience store parking lot. They were splitting up. Good. He saw her look up at Meathook, her face shadowed. Did she sense him? Perhaps. It didn’t matter. She was about to get her last lesson in death. Like the proverb said, “Death is a shadow that always follows the body.” He was, Hayes thought with rising pleasure, that shadow for Dani Gwynne.

There’d be no escape for her this time.

NINE

“You sure you’re gonna be all right? Don’t like leaving you here.” Meat stared down the dreary street with a scowl. “Mama ain’t gonna like it neither.”

“He made your plate, Meat. Be at your doorstep by now. Biker babe is too hot.”

Meat’s gaze flicked down to her legs and back. He grinned. “Can’t argue with that, sweet thing.”

Dani smiled, but it wavered at the edges, then faded. “I can’t thank you enough, big guy.”

He looked down, shuffling his feet. “You ain’t gonna get mushy on me are you?”

“Yeah. Deal with it. It’s the price you pay for being there for me. Now give me a hug.”

“Well,” he opened his arms wide, “if you insist.”

When his arms closed around her, she closed her eyes, absorbing comfort from his hug, drawing strength from his sturdy man body while the iron rings of his leather vest dug into her cheek.

It hurt to step back alone. With the sun westering in the sky, she felt her will to go the distance waver.

“Willow…” Meat frowned, as if he sensed her indecision.

“I’m gonna be fine. Really.” She didn’t convince herself, probably didn’t convince him, but it didn’t matter. It couldn’t change what she had to do.

“Yeah.” He slung a leg over his machine. “And tell Oxford I sent you. He’ll make you a good deal.”

“Sure.”

“Watch your back, babe.” He gave a vaguely frustrated shake of his head, then kicked his Hog to life. Put it in gear and made a slow, wide turn away from her before picking up speed with a roar and a final wave.

Dani watched until he was out of sight, then turned and pushed open the door of the convenience store. Inside, she could hear Mary Chapin Carpenter singing about taking chances. Easy for her, Dani thought sourly. She didn’t have Dark Lord on her ass and a former spook with a crush at the top of her list of familiar strangers.

It had been hard to decide to call Spook, so it annoyed her when there was no answer at his number. How like a man to tell you to let him know when you’re in town, then not be there. Dani couldn’t think of any message that wouldn’t sound paranoid, so she hung up without speaking. She should have left then, but instead she stared at the pay phone like it held the answers to her problem.

She was adrift in the city, night was approaching fast, and she was desperately in need of contact with someone solidly on her side.

Think, Dani. You’ve got yourself out of plot dead ends before. Use your noodle.

A pity her noodle, even with a Diet DP charge, was mush. She couldn’t fight temptation, not now. She reached for the telephone, dialed, waited for a pick up and said, “This is Dani. Let me talk to Pat.”

It was a short wait before her agent came on. “Dani! What the hell you doing?”

Dani leaned against the dirty wall, using both hands to hold the telephone against her ear. “I’m calling you on the phone. Why?”

“What’s wrong? You back with the Feds?”

“No. Just needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“And you called me?”

Dani smiled and leaned against the wall. “Yeah, well, I had to settle for bracing, okay?”

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

Dani’s laugh broke in the middle. “Yes, damn you.”

“What happened?”

“What hasn’t happened?”

Pat was quiet. “You in trouble?”

“Trouble? Me? Why would you think that? Just because the bad guy wants to torch me and the good guys want to turn me into a target? That’s not trouble, is it?”

“Can the pity wallow and do something. When have you ever choked over a plot?”

Dani smiled shakily as tears stacked up in her eyes. “Do you always have to be right?”

“Yes.” Pat hesitated. “Call them, Dani.”

“Call who?”

“You know who.”

Dani hesitated, opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. Talking to Pat put you solidly in the no-bull shit zone. Arguing with her would use up scarce energy. “I’ll think about it. Better go now. They’re probably tracing this call.”

“Take care, Dani.” Pat’s voice didn’t sound quite so brusque, until she added, “I’d hate to lose you when you finally started making me some real money.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me. I wouldn’t know how to handle it.” Dani hung up the telephone, but didn’t let go of the receiver, unable to break the contact.

“You done?” a woman asked impatiently behind her.

“Yeah.” Dani stepped back, relinquishing her spot in the gritty hallway. She wasn’t biker babe anymore. She was pathetic, an embarrassment to her leather shorts. She straightened her shoulders. She may not have a plan, but she did have the next step: Meat’s friend, Oxford.

* * * *

Hayes had almost decided to risk going inside after Gwynne, when the door of the convenience store opened and she came out. Her biker babe get up was looking rough around the edges, her face pale and drawn. She was weakening even as he grew stronger. He smiled, one both feral and anticipatory, his thoughts lingering pleasurably on the email he’d sent her earlier. She wouldn’t get it, but it was nice to know how prophetic he’d been.

Do you flee and cry out, Death? Say farewell to hope, and with hope, farewell to fear. Have no hope to live, but prepare to die. Be absolute for death, for life will be sweeter thereby. If you lose life, you do lose a thing that none but fools would keep.

You’re no fool, are you, Dani?

Do you miss your baby?

Well, weep no more, sweet lady, you’ll be seeing her soon. Fit yourself for the journey. Make yourself worthy. I am coming to set you free. --<--<-(@

As if everything was an effort, she looked both ways and then stepped off the curb, crossing the street in the center of a knot of people. Despite her in-your-face swagger, she looked around, studying every face as if she sensed scrutiny.

A pity she’d seen him. Stalking wasn’t nearly as much fun when the victim could make your face. No time to change it now. He studied the crop of bums lounging against a seedy building, picked one looking woefully at his empty bottle.

“You want a full one of those?” Hayes asked. “You follow my wife, tell me where she goes, and I’ll give you enough cash to buy you a case.”

The bum considered his offer. “Your wife?”

“That’s right.” Hayes pointed Gwynne out and handed him a card and a quarter. “Call this number when she stops moving.”

The man studied the card, then his empty bottle. He scratched his dirty hair with a dirtier hand, tossed the bottle and said, “Sure. Why not.”

* * * *

Alice met Matt at the door to his office. “Hayes has emailed her again. And she called her agent. Sounded pissed. Any idea why?”

“I’m the one who should be pissed.” Matt thought about his interview with Meat’s Mama. Chalk another one up to what he owed the romance writer, double for the pat on the butt from the biker’s Mama. “What did she say?”

“Come listen.”

In the conference room, Matt threw himself in a chair and nodded to the tech to start the tape. His frown lightened somewhat as he listened. The agent had weighed in on their side. It had to help. “They get a trace on it?”

“Public phone in a convenience store off Colfax,” Alice said.

Matt looked at Riggs. “Tracks with where Meathook said he dropped her off.”

“Sent the DPD over to check it out, but…” Alice said.

“Natch she was gone.” Henry looked glum. “Never stays anywhere for two minutes. How’d she get onto Boomer?”

“Following the same tack we were. She asked him to do a compare on the email from Hayes.” Matt frowned. Was it possible that she knew her Dark Lord from cyberspace?

“She’s had us chasing our tails from day one. If she doesn’t contact any of the people we’ve worked so hard to uncover, how are we gonna track her?” Riggs tossed the computer sheets from Boomer onto his desk and dropped into a chair, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“Maybe it will force her to contact the people we do know about.” Henry tossed another file onto the growing pile on the table. “I found her money trail for all the good it does us now.”

Alice rubbed her forehead. “If she’s on the hop, she’s liable to make a mistake.”

“Well, let’s try to be the ones who cash in on it.” Matt rubbed his chin, then turned to Riggs. “I want you to get the records off the pay phone. If she called her agent, maybe she called someone else, someone who wasn’t there. Or someone who was. Check the numbers on either side of her call within, say, ten or fifteen minutes?”

Riggs brightened. Phone numbers had names and addresses associated with them.

“Henry, get back onto the DPD. See if they can scare up a snitch or two in the area to watch for her. If she’s slumming we got our best chance to spot her.”

“So does Hayes.” Alice looked sober.

“Let’s email her again. Send it to all the addresses we suspect are hers. She sounded open to an offer. Alice you write this one, apply some pressure with that special woman’s touch.” Alice nodded. “Oh, and the list of her online contacts? Anything there?”

Alice looked at the sheet. “We’ve got people out checking them, but I’ll have to admit, I didn’t have the biker on my list.”

“Riggs, call Judge Kincaid. Let’s get phone taps in place on the most likely ones. She may still try to contact one of them, by phone since she knows we’re watching her email addresses.”

“Right.” Riggs looked unenthusiastic. “What would you consider a likely?”

Matt ignored this as he looked around his group. “Any other ideas? Suggestions?”

“It’s too bad,” Alice said, thoughtfully, “there’s no way to anticipate the unexpected.” She looked up at Matt. “It’s what she does best in her books.”

“Funny you should mention her books.” Matt gestured to his assistant Karen Tebbs, holding a stack of books. “Pass them out.”

“What?” Riggs asked, suspiciously.

“I want everybody to take one. Read it. Note names, occupations, interests, hobbies, information, anything that you think she could use or might hint what she’ll do next. Let’s see if we can anticipate the unexpected.”

Riggs looked at Henry. “Shit.”

Matt grinned as he held up one and read the back. “Not according to Romantic Times. They called this “…delightful, a keeper to be revisited again and again…” You can start your visit now, Riggs.”

* * * *

Oxford’s place was an innocuous little shop in the corner of a seedy strip mall. A buzzer hailed her entrance into the shop and a small, brisk man emerged from a back room and leaned on a glass case filled with tiny, electronic gadgetry. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” Dani adjusted her back pack on her shoulder, tried to maintain her bravado. “My friend, Meathook, said you were the man.”

“Meat? How is old Meat?” He looked at her curiously.

“He’s cool.” She looked around. “Like this place.”

“So what can I do for you?”

Dani hesitated, almost too tired to tell him. Oxford looked at her, his light eyes blandly expectant. She dug up the words and forced them out, “I need a portable motion detector. And some pepper gas, in a size I can keep in my pocket.”

“Okay.” He didn’t look surprised or curious. “What’s your price range?”

“Money isn’t a problem.”

“I only take cash.”

“I only pay cash.”

Oxford unlocked a cabinet, slid the glass back. “I think you’ll like this one…”

They did business and then Dani was back out on the street, being jostled by passers-by. She wasn’t just out of ideas. She was out of energy. She clutched the strap of her pack and her biker babe persona as she made her way through less than welcoming streets, careful to avoid eye contact with youths lounging in doorways and huckster’s outside strip clubs. The rim of the sun barely showed in the west between rising peaks. Night came faster when mountains loomed to block the sky, she’d learned. Another reason to hate heights. A better reason to find cover. She couldn’t do night in the open, not even in this neon jungle.

A neon sign pointed down at a massive woman. She squeezed her breasts together and called to a man passing by, urging him to sample her wares. The man shrugged without stopping. Lead kindly light? This was nuts.

Ahead of her, a cryptic notation over a seedy establishment flashed, FOO, the “D” darkened. Half a kindly light? Worth a try, anyway.

The door resisted, then whooshed forward, sending her stumbling inside. The reek of grease, sweaty bodies, and mildew filled her nostrils as a roomful of red rimmed eyes swiveled her way. She resisted the urge to duck her head, swaggered over to straddle an empty stool, tucking her pack securely between her legs and the wall. The plastic was cold against her thighs and sticky.

“Coffee?”

Dani shook her head, peering past the waitress to the soda fountain. She wasn’t surprised that Diet Dr. Pepper wasn’t featured. It rarely was. She sighed. “A Diet Pepsi, please.”

She found a bill in her pocket and tossed it on the counter, watched the waitress add a couple of ice cubes, then some watery soda to float them, before setting it in front of Dani.

“I’ll get your change.”

“That’s all right, keep it.” Dani didn’t fight the impulse, finding in the sad eyes and blank face of the waitress a distraction for her own dreary thoughts.

She fingered the bill, a half smile edging the cynical mouth. “Thanks.”

Dani sucked up the cold, bland fluid, her hands circling the cup to keep them from shaking. In the dirty mirror behind the counter, she saw a bedraggled biker babe with frightened eyes.

“Can I get you something else, honey?” The voice of the waitress was warmer now, touched with sympathy.

Dani looked at her and found that same sympathy softening the cynicism in the woman’s eyes. Was this her kindly light? She managed a stiff smile. “Well, I could use a room for the night.”

She studied Dani for a long moment, then leaned forward to murmur, “My landlady might put you up for the night. But she don’t take no free loaders. It’s cash up front.”

“I got cash. If it’s not too steep.” The story, the character came naturally, from the memory of a part she’d played several years ago. She was too tired to do anything original. “My boyfriend’s pissed at me, says he’s going to cut me. Think’s I cheated on him. Like I’d dare. Thought I’d give him a day or two to cool off.”

“Men.” The woman propped her elbows on the counter in front of Dani. “Name’s Cloris.”

“Louise. I’m—Louise.”

“Order up!” the man behind the counter intoned, his eyes as dead as his voice.

“Yeah, yeah. In a minute.” She glared over her shoulder, then looked back at Dani. “I been there, honey. My ex used to slap me around. Look, you just sit tight. I get off in thirty. But you’ll have to order something. Bart don’t let no one sit without ordering.”

“I was going to anyway. How bout a salad?”

“Soup’s only thing he don’t screw up.”

“Okay. Soup. Do I want pie?”

“Apple won’t kill you.”

“Okay. And a refill on this.” Dani shoved her cup across the counter. Whether from the caffeine or the kindness, she felt better. In the mirror she saw a derelict shuffle in behind her, his body swaying with the effort of holding the door open.

Cloris reared back. “Get outta here…”

“Wait,” Dani grabbed her arm, “give him some dinner. I’ll pay.”

“Probably through the nose, honey. No wonder your old man thinks he can knock you round.” Cloris shook her head, poured the man a cup of coffee, and shoved it at him, then moved away, still muttering.

“Thanks,” the man said as he settled on the stool next to her. The acrid smell of sweat and urine briefly overpowered the stink of grease. The hands he slid around the coffee cup trembled and he spilled some. On one “Mother” had been tattooed with hearts and flowers.

“Give me the meat loaf!” He called after the waitress. He turned back to Dani. “So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a crap hole like this?”

There was, Dani remembered with a sort of awe, a Garth Brooks song about friends in low places. She’d bet her royalties this wasn’t what he had in mind.

Later Cloris became almost loquacious when she was out from behind her counter. About the same age as Dani, she looked years older, was also divorced, trying to make ends meet with an interrupted education and fading stamina.

“I’m saving up for night school. Figure on being one of them physical therapists.” She filled the short walk to the boarding house, with the minutia of her life while the warmth of human contact filled Dani’s cold places.

Her landlady, small and mean, was inclined to be suspicious, but quickly became amiable when Dani paid her fifty for the night and made it clear she didn’t expect anything back. The room she led Dani to was a tiny box with dark, water stained walls, a few pieces of sad furniture, and a dirty window that looked out on the alley. It smelled of damp and enough ammonia to make her nose burn. When no one was looking, Dani checked for dust, found none, but did pick up a greasy film that wouldn’t rub off her finger tip. Furtive scrabbling came from the corners when the pallid light was switched on. The fire escape and toilet were down the hall. The lock on the door wouldn’t have stopped a terminal senior citizen. Breathing a silent prayer of thanks for the portable motion detector she’d bought from Oxford, the pepper gas, and an illegal hand gun, Dani ran a hand over the sticky surface of her hair and longed for a towel. Maybe Cloris would lend her one.

“Looks good.” Dani smiled determinedly as night crept across the floor toward her. I’ll see you in your dreams. She’d never been so tired or less ready to sleep.

Cloris waited until the landlady shuffled out of earshot. “It ain’t the Ritz, honey, but no one gonna put a fist through your face neither.”

“Hey,” Dani produced a shrug, “it’s better’n what I left. I’m cool with it.” Numb with it, her writer’s brain corrected, always looking for that right word.

“Well,” Cloris made no effort to hide a wide yawn, “gotta hit the rack. See you in the morning. You need anything, I’m right next door.”

“Thanks.” I’ll slip a fifty under her door in the morning, Dani decided, closing her door after her. Careful to not look too closely at her surroundings, Dani opened her pack and dug out her new toy. Oxford had explained how to set the range, how to place it for optimal protection of the area. All she had to do was figure said range. He’d cautioned her against setting it too wide. She didn’t want alarms going off just because Cloris happened to make a midnight trip to the john.

“Math,” she muttered, trying to figure the range. “I hate math.” Especially when she was tired, so tired.

* * * *

“No, not a flophouse,” the derelict said into the telephone. “A rooming house. The address?” He hesitated. “You ain’t gonna hurt her none, are you? Cause she was nice to me. Bought me supper.” A short silence. “Well, that’s all right then. Husband needs to talk to his wife.” He gave the address. “When do I get my money?” Another short silence. “Yeah, I’ll wait here for you.” He replaced the receiver and settled across the street, his eyes on the rooming house the woman had gone into, dreaming of the full bottle of booze he was going to buy with the money.

TEN

Matt eased a finger around the inside of his collar. The words on the page showed faintly through a haze that was part tired, part something he wasn’t willing to acknowledge in a room full of his co-workers.

The sweet musky scent of her cologne dug into his senses as soon as he opened the door, one so completely hers, he could have found her in the black of night. He didn’t have to hunt for her. The lamp on the night stand pitched frail light against the shadows, falling on her where she sat cross-legged in the center of the big bed.

Carolyn. His wife. His love.

His enemy.

Even knowing she wanted to bring him down failed to stop the slow, hot burn of desire from twisting in his gut. Not when the strap of her satin nightgown had slipped off one shoulder, exposing the lush curve of her breast. Not when her dark eyes were filled with a mixture of hate and need.

He hesitated, his control tenuous as he waited for her to speak, to tell him to get the hell out.

Only the steady click-click as the clock metered the minutes passing and the languid rustle of leaves against the window broke the heavy silence in the room.

He pushed the door shut and saw her shiver at the sound, but whether from desire or anger, he couldn’t tell. He started toward her, increasing the rise and fall of her chest with each muffled beat of his feet against the thick carpet. When he was close enough to see the dew that coated her skin, he stopped.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“Are you?” She lifted her chin higher, opening to his gaze the long, pure line of her neck and the enticing, shadowy valley between her breasts…

Next to him Henry coughed—or choked—it was hard to tell, breaking Matt’s concentration. Matt looked up. His eyes were wide and intent on the book in front of him. He flipped the page, leaning closer to the words. Next to Henry, Riggs unabashedly tugged at his tie, a finger holding his place as he paused to look hopefully at Matt.

“Will real woman do these things?”

“Just read the book,” Matt snapped.

“Yeah.” He dabbed at the sweat beading his forehead. “Read it.”

“I need a cigarette,” Henry muttered, turning a page.

Matt didn’t smoke, but he knew how Henry felt. All too well. All he had to do was close his eyes to see Dani’s biker babe. Unending legs, shadowy valleys, all wrapped in a bit of leather. What was leather anyway? Cow skin. Why should stretching it across a woman’s butt make him want to sit up and beg for mercy? He wanted to throw the book across the room, tear the city apart until he found Dani Gwynne in her hot pants and—what?

Nothing. She was Andersen’s problem, not his. Hayes, he reminded himself, is your problem.

Only it wasn’t visions of Hayes that were dancing like Christmas sugar plums in his head when he searched for his place on the page. He took a deep breath and started again at the shadowy valley between her breasts…

* * * *

The boarding house was on a street that was never completely quiet. A knot of toughs clustered around the doorway, their hard faces intermittently lit by a neon bar sign. Across from the bar was a twenty-four hour market with bars on the window and an air of being hunkered down for another long night. Druggies, bums and hookers dotted the street. Anyone with legitimate business had long since sought refuge behind security barred doors and windows.

With an intentional stagger, Hayes lifted the closed bottle in the paper sack to his lips, using the movement to disguise a thorough examination of the tenement lay out. When it was clear in his head, he turned and shambled toward the alley that led to the back.

He never went in a door that didn’t have another way out, not even when the lust for blood was making his body throb with longing. Patience, he reminded himself, then added with a quick feral smile, beware the fury of a patient man.

Now that he knew where she was, he could contain that fury. Do it right. Do it slow. The derelict he had hired to follow Gwynne was waiting right where he had said he would be. He had been helpful, so Hayes gave him a long drink, then took him out quick. When his body quit twitching, Hayes dumped it in a trash container by the rear door.

There would be no loose ends this time.

* * * *

As night closed in, the sounds from the other boarders faded into an uneasy quiet. Dani sat curled in a semi-fetal position against the rusted headboard with Peg’s gun nearby, her ears tuned for some indication the bathroom was free. Not that she was sure she had the nerve to step into a shower in this Bates Motel clone, no matter how bad she longed to rid her hair of its many colors and thick coating of hair gel.

With no sensation of passing into sleep, Dani found herself back in the hallway of the safe house, only this time it was lined with doors, hundreds of them glowing faintly in a dark, drifting fog. With that peculiar certainty of dreams, she knew Dark Lord was behind one of them. The realization had barely formed in her mind, when one of the doors began to open. She turned to run but she had waited too long. He was coming…

She jerked in her panic and came awake to a reality only slightly less awful than the dream. It was dark in the room, so dark the outlines of the furniture were shadowy, the window only slightly less so. A feeling of dread thickened air already nasty with the stale smell of grease and old food.

Stiffly, Dani straightened her back, then her neck. Her muscles and the bed springs creaked in protest. Pain snaked up her spine when she reached for the light switch, followed by panic when it didn’t work.

The miracle was it ever worked, she told herself. Just get a grip. She massaged her neck, until it moved semi-normally, then checked her watch, not surprised the glowing dial showed five a.m. Even worse, she needed to pee. No way was she walking down that nasty hall in the dark. Looked like she would be counting the minutes until dawn in heart beats and droplets. How fun.

Outside the noise had abated a bit with the approach of the dawn, but she still might not have heard the furtive scrape outside her door if her ears weren’t conditioned to strain for furtive sounds. Panic re-started a fast crawl up from her gut. She slid off the bed, crouching on the cool, gritty floor on the side away from the door. Her hand closed round the butt of Peg’s gun just as the door swung inwards with a tiny squeak of protest.

* * * *

When Matt stretched out for yet another night on the office couch, he didn’t expect to sleep. Not with his brain playing mouse in a maze going nowhere. Good thing his body knew when to quit even when his brain didn’t. The next thing he knew, Riggs’ voice was calling him out of a deep, dark well. He shook his head, muttered groggily, “What?”

“Police snitch thinks our girl’s in a boarding house off Colfax.”

“Cops been called?” Matt rolled off the couch, despite a pointed protest from his back. Riggs nodded. Matt’s back straightened with an unhappy crack. He headed for the door, was running when he passed through it.

* * * *

The menacing silence pressed in like a pillow over Dani’s face, even as a slight lightening of the sky softened the darkness. She eased back until the wall stopped her, felt for the gun’s safety, and then hesitated. What if it was Cloris or one of the other tenants making a trip to the bathroom? She couldn’t shoot. Not until she knew…and then what? Just pull the trigger? Send bullets thudding into a human body? Just like Richard? Could she kill? Even to save her own life?

While she wondered, Dark Lord came in. No wings beat the fetid air to herald the arrival of Death’s messenger. There was just the muted rasp of breath and a slight groan as the wooden floor gave under his weight. She knew it was him, even before she separated his dark silhouette from the framed opening of the door.

Hayes paused just inside the door, listening to her faint, panicked breaths coming from deep in the room. Taking in a scent that might have been coconut drifting on the stale air. It mingled with the intoxicating scent of her fear. His blood sang with eagerness. Soon, very soon her blood would spill across his hands, then evaporate in healing fire. Every fiber of his being strained towards her, his muscles bunched to spring at the first hint of a scream.

The silence drew out. He smiled his pleasure. She was strong, but he already knew that. That’s what made her blood so sweet, so necessary, to his survival. It was why his pain wanted her. He took another careful step forward, and heard her inhale.

“I have a gun.”

Her voice came to him on a slender thread of terror. He inhaled it greedily. “I don’t believe you.”

He fingered the shaft of his knife, felt the warm, wet slick of recent blood-letting harden his need for more, for hers. He had entered three rooms before hers, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Only her blood would take away his pain. Only her blood would give him Willow. Another step toward her and he heard the double snap of a bullet being loaded into the chamber.

“Okay. I believe you.” He chuckled as delight speared deep in his groin, loosing a shaft of heated pleasure. Foreplay for the climax of fire. “Do you dread death, sweet lady? Do you fear that last, insensible sleep?” His body had no weight, no substance. Let her send her bullets his way. How could they hurt him anymore than he already hurt? They might enter, but they couldn’t stop him. “You shouldn’t. Dying is your destiny. Run to your new lover’s bed. He’s waiting…”

“No!” The first cry was sharp and high. A short silence filled only with the intermingling of their panting breaths. “I’ll shoot. I will.”

He felt her hesitation, felt it feed his lust. She moaned and the heat in him quivered in pleasure. Now. He must have her right now. He shifted, his body light like a dancer’s, homing in on the sound and feel of her terror like a guided missile. “Go ahead. Pull the trigger. You can’t touch me, can’t escape Death when it wants you.”

In the darkness, he heard a small, guttural sound, the next to last sound she would make in this world. He smiled as pain prepared to retreat.

“You for the fire,” he gasped, his sweat-slicked body tensing to spring. He added as his personal vow, “and Willow for me.”

“How did you know I’m Willow?”

Her words cut through his intent, reverberating like the thunder on his mountain. He cried out, staggering from the new pain exploding inside his head as an alarm shattered the night with a raucous scream.

How did you know I’m Willow?

No, it wasn’t possible…

His cry fell on Dani like the howl of a wild beast in pain. It drowned out the harsh one forced out Dani’s throat as she cowered at his feet. Outside the first pale strand of morning sun put a halo around the steel in his bloody hand. He cried out again, a savage sound that told her this was the end. She had lost the toss. Richard and his dark killer had won. Death had arrived. She looked into its heart for her baby…

She stared in shock when he pivoted, turning his spring toward her into a leap away. His shadow grew large against a wall touched by the burgeoning dawn, then vanished like an image in her nightmare. Only this wasn’t a dream, was it? How could it be when the shriek of her alarm was all around her?

I’m right down the hall.

Cloris. Must get to Cloris…

Driven by the pounding alarm, Dani staggered into the black hall, still tainted with the passage of evil and found her door. She lifted her hand to pound it, but at the first touch it swung open. Pale rays from the window lit the bed, lit the still figure on it. Light fell without mercy on the place where a neck had been. Gleamed dully in the pool of red soaking into white sheets.

Dani didn’t decide to run, had no sense of movement or passage from one place to another. One moment she stared at Cloris, the next she was in the alley with the chill morning air hitting her in the face.

In either direction was rank road, the stink of garbage joining the scent of blood in her nostrils. In the distance the wail of police sirens joined with the alarm in her room. They would help her. She leaned against a garbage bin, trying to catch her breath.

How did he know about Willow?

The question wouldn’t go away. It demanded an answer. Something brushed against her bare neck. She reached up to brush it away, touched something cool and smooth that felt like…

No, she didn’t want to know. Too late. Her head had already turned. Her eyes saw the hand hanging down from the garbage bin. The tattoo was clearly visible, despite dried blood caking on flaccid skin.

A harsh scream tried to force its way out her fear dried throat. Blocked, it turned to flight. Out of her chaos one thought emerged with macabre clarity: how awful that meatloaf had been his last supper.

* * * *

“What a screw up.” Matt stood in the center of the dreary room Dani had almost died in, holding onto rage with a weary grip. He wanted, needed to say worse, to swear until the frustration gnawing away at his gut was gone. They had come so close. He could still feel her panic and the chill of Hayes’ evil quivering in the air. All around him was the smell of death that hadn’t entirely missed its mark.

“She didn’t stop to pack this time,” Alice said, holding up a thumb drive on a key ring she had found in Dani’s abandoned backpack still hanging from a crooked chair. Her hand shook and she dropped it, then shoved her fisted hands into the pockets of her suit jacket. “Left her book this time.”

“Only smart thing she’s done,” Matt growled, turning as Riggs displaced the cop in the doorway. “What you got?”

“One dead outside, found him in the trash bin—probably a snitch—and three dead inside. All done the same way,” he said, pulling his hand across his throat in a graphic demonstration. “Looks like Hayes worked his way down the hall until he got here.”

“Where he tripped over Dani’s new toy.” Alice held up the motion detector. “Must a been a shock.”

And Dani? Matt wondered. She had been seen leaving the scene alone and alive, but no one knew if it was before or after Hayes arrival. Where was she? Surely she knew now that she couldn’t hide from Hayes? That the only way to end his threat to her was to help them catch him.

He tried to see the scene through the detached eyes of an investigator, uncolored by the painful mix of feelings in his gut. It wasn’t easy. Maybe because he had looked in her eyes, breathed her woman’s scent. No matter how much he told himself this was just another op, he knew it wasn’t. He wasn’t the same. Never would be again. Why had she chosen to come here and risk other lives besides her own? There was no peace in the knowing she had brought this on herself. Only a bitter regret that she appeared willing to trust everyone but him.

Riggs turned from conferencing with the cop. “Look, Matt.” He held up a pistol in an evidence bag. “This looks like service issue. They never found Oliver’s weapon at the last SOC, did they?”

“No—” If she had had a gun, why hadn’t she used it?

Riggs answered his unspoken question. “She never even took the safety off.”

Henry edged around Riggs.

“Any sign of them?”

He shook his head. “I got people combing the area, but so far we’ve found a big, fat nothing.”

“Keep looking,” Matt ordered. “She can’t have gotten far.”

* * * *

Like a gothic heroine, Dani ran through mean streets and meaner alleys until adrenaline and stamina deserted her. She stumbled, then sagged against a graffiti marked wall, her eyes closed, waiting for her breathing to even out, her thoughts spinning around the million dollar question.

How did Dark Lord know about Willow?

Even as her mind asked the question, she wanted to avoid the answer.

Betrayal.

What other explanation was there? How else could Dark Lord know she was Willow? The alarm had startled him, driven him away this time, but it wasn’t over. Wouldn’t be until she died or testified Friday morning against Richard Hastings.

Richard. Did he know what he had unleashed in his drive to save his worthless hide? Did he care? The Richard she’d loved as a brother would have cared. Did that Richard exist? Nothing she thought she knew about Richard added up since the moment six months ago when she saw him kill.

She had felt a lot of things since then. Shock. Dismay. Fear. Exhaustion. Sorrow. Pain. Determination.

With a distant surprise, she realized she wasn’t feeling any of those things right now. She had been there and done all that. What she felt was…

Pissed. Royally, completely, totally pissed off.

It swelled up from her bend-not-break core in a wave that curled her hands into fists and filled her heart with iron. She wished she had blown the bastard away. Dark Lord wasn’t mankind. He was an aberrant animal. So was Richard. And whoever else had chosen money over the lives of the innocent. The bad guys weren’t going to win this one. She refused to die until she had walked into that courtroom and told her story. Until the whole world knew what kind of person Richard was. Knew the kind of scum he had aligned himself with.

And Matt Kirby? She didn’t want to think about him. The feelings he had stirred up just clouded the issue. If only he wasn’t so hard to push away. She had seen a lot of things in Matt Kirby’s face yesterday. Strength. Determination. Even ruthlessness. She hadn’t seen evil. Had felt no compromise mixed into the power his strong body gave off, seen no quarter in the stubbornly carved out jaw. Her heart told her he hadn’t betrayed her.

What did her heart know? It had trusted Richard and Steven. Both had let her down. When had she decided she was so wise? When had she decided she could discern someone else’s heart and mind? What did she know about hearts or minds? Nothing. Less than nothing about her federal hunter. Just because her hormones wanted him to be a good guy didn’t make him one. There was too much at stake to trust her life to a hormonal response and a fine tush.

She looked at her watch. According to the papers, the jury selection was done. The first round of witnesses would begin giving testimony in the morning. Her turn would come after police and forensics. If everything went like it was supposed to, that gave her—it was surprisingly easy to do the math when her brain was churning with pissed—something like seventy-two hours until she was due in court. If events didn’t go like they were supposed to? Well, she would deal with that when it happened. She would deal with all of it without dying trying. She would not give Richard the satisfaction.

The first step was to figure out where she was. She looked around, suddenly uneasy. The alley was shadowy, the sun not yet high enough to top the buildings on either side of her. The still air was weighted with the stink of garbage, car exhaust and hopelessness. A car out in the street back-fired and she jumped. She’d better get her tush in gear before someone unfriendly from either side of the equation found her. A man thrust open a door and dumped some trash into a bin. His curious glance was an added spur. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her shorts, one hand closing around the pepper spray can she had forgotten was there. She lifted her chin and started away from him towards the light, the street, and the people she could see passing by.

Pepper spray wasn’t a gun, but it was something.

There was no warning. One moment she was walking forward. The next an arm had hooked around her waist, a knife was pressed against her throat and no time to resist being dragged into a darkened doorway.

“Don’t make a sound or I’ll kill you right now.” Dark Lord’s voice rasped in her ear, edged with a rage more terrifying than the knife nicking the skin over the frantic pulse at the base of her neck.

For a moment terror crawled back up out of her gut. Then rage did a comeback. Who was he to be angry? She had had it with this crap. His rage fueled hers, sharpened her thinking to a knife-edged precision. She didn’t flinch from the bite of steel against her skin, didn’t shiver when a warm trail started down her neck. Instead she eased the pepper spray out of her pocket and felt for the trigger.

“Tell me about Willow.”

Willow. Why didn’t he just wave a red cape at an enraged bull? This was not some all powerful killer. This was a creep. A scummy, slimy life-taker. She tensed and the knife pressed close again.

“Tell me about Willow!”

“Not until you tell me how you knew I was Willow.”

His body jerked like she had shot him and the knife bit through another layer of skin. Her anger rose to challenge his. She lifted the spray and depressed the trigger. His howl of pain mingled with her own cry as pepper stung into the slice on her neck. Got her eyes in the process. His hold loosened. She used her elbow in his gut to break it. Heard his knife clatter against the pavement. She whirled. Her fist shot out. Caught him imperfectly on the jaw. It hurt. His head snapped back. He crashed into a row of garbage cans.

Through a blur of tears she glared down into his shocked, streaming face. “Tell Richard I’ll see his ass in court.”

She turned and walked away.

* * * *

“You think you saw this woman?” Alice crouched beside the drunk, holding the photo of Dani close to his bloodshot eyes.

Matt closed his senses to the rotting garbage the man sat in, to the filth that coated his body. All that mattered was what he knew.

“Yeah, she was running. Woke me up.”

Matt didn’t blame him for sounding aggrieved. Waking up couldn’t be pleasant when your home was an alley behind a trash bin. “How long ago?”

“Mebbe an hour. Mebbe longer.”

Alice looked at Matt. “It was probably less than that. Hasn’t been an hour since we got here and we were practically on her heels.”

“How long she stay in the alley?” Matt asked.

“She start walking, then someone grab her.”

“What?”

“I hear him yell, she clips him a good one, then books out of here, rubbing her eyes like crazy. He gets up, heads other way, rubbing his eyes, too, and laughing like a crazy man.”

Matt looked at Alice, felt an insane urge to laugh himself. “Pepper spray?”

She shrugged. “She got some at the same place she got the motion detector.”

“Where’d she go? Which direction?” Matt asked.

“To the mission.” He pointed toward the street and Matt could see the sign. “She stop and see the sign, then she walk that way, probably because of the blood.”

“Blood?” That took away all desire to grin.

“She was bleeding and they got someone what does first aid there.”

Bleeding. She was bleeding. He felt almost light-headed for a minute. Hayes had almost finished her off. His head cleared. She was alive. That’s what mattered. She had punched Hayes. Knocked him down. The romance writer had gone three rounds with one of the mob’s most notorious hit men and walked away. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to find her and…

The drunk grabbed Matt’s leg as he turned to leave. “Something for my trouble?”

Matt hesitated, he would probably just drink it up, but he had earned his bender, almost wished he could share it with him. He tossed the man a crumpled bill, then turned to follow Alice.

“You have to admire her ingenuity,” Alice said.

“Yeah.” He felt like he was climbing at fourteen thousand feet. His breath was ragged and shallow with shock and hope. Inside the mission the slope got steeper, the air thinner as hope gave way for reality. “She’s gone?”

The thin, serious mission director pushed back a coarse mop of hair. “I’m afraid so. She was wired when she came in. We thought she’d got some bad crack or something. Bleeding from a cut on her neck. Claimed a trick tried to cut her and she sprayed him with pepper gas. Some of it got her. We rinsed her neck off, and her eyes, then put some stuff on her cut. Must have hurt. She calmed down after a bit, then Carol gave her—”

“Let me guess. A Diet Dr. Pepper,” Matt said.

“Didn’t have any. She settled for water.” He grinned, tiredly. “And some aspirin. She wouldn’t take anything stronger. We tried to get her to let us call the police, a doctor, but…” he shrugged, “if she was turning tricks, cops would arrest her, too, so we didn’t push it. She sure looked like she’d been hooking.”

She was still wearing leather. He wasn’t ready for the surge of lust at the memory of how she looked wearing leather. The smooth soft skin, the curve of body and mouth—his went dry thinking about her. He rubbed his face, cursing silently. He wasn’t some kid. He was a man, a pro. And she was getting further away. He fought his way to a kind of calm, held onto it with a thin rope as he asked through gritted teeth, “Where’d she go?”

“She found out one of our workers was heading home and she asked if she could hitch a ride downtown. Said she had friends who would help her.”

“How long ago did she leave?” Alice asked.

“Maybe fifteen minutes? Not much longer than that.”

Matt felt an unaccountable urge to howl, but he was afraid she might hear him.

* * * *

Dani didn’t care when the clerk looked at her like something that had crawled out from under a rock. She almost had. Let her hold her nose while she looked down it, as long as she took Dani’s money when the time came. The dress Dani chose was an in-your-face scarlet red that hugged the pared down lines of her body with a sleek and sexy elegance. It seemed appropriate to wear red, since she was seeing red. As an added bonus, she didn’t have to change her nail color to match it. The hat she put on her head was so smart it had its own degree. Her high heels weren’t made to run in.

She was through with running, through with looking back, with retreating or anything like unto it. There was only forward, no matter who she had to walk over with her spiked heels to do it.

She left all the manifestations of biker babe in the dressing room to be dealt with by the snotty clerk. She had better things to do, like finding and adding a Marilyn Monroe wig to her ensemble. Then she would need to start on her new plot and finding a place to implement it.

Matt Kirby’s face rose in her head, maybe because she was dressed to take on an alpha male of his caliber. He had his own agenda, just like Richard, just like Dark Lord. They all wanted something they thought she could give them. Well, they could take their separate agendas, and stick them up their collective butts.

Tough talk, her alter ego sneered, for someone who only knows what she doesn’t want. Just how do you plan to get from point a to point z?

It just shows what you know, she sneered right back. Have you forgotten my ex-spy, Spook? If anyone would know how to beat the Feds and baddies it was a former spy. It wouldn’t be easy. The Feds probably had his name on their handy-dandy list of people she had talked to online. A problem if Dani didn’t have an online handle they had missed tucked up her bright red cap sleeve. “Delphi” could email Spook right under all their sniffing noses and only she and Spook would know who she really was. He’d thought it a hoot when she’d asked him to help her create her first alter-identity, had helped her set it up.

It was perfect. Once she got her hands on yet another laptop with a modem and arranged a meeting.

* * * *

“So, he failed again.” Bates hung up the telephone and turned to face the two men waiting for orders on the other side of his mahogany desk. He smoothed back dark hair which reflected what the cut had cost. His Italian silk suit was custom tailored for a body just starting to thicken at the waist, his silk shirt underneath a discreet pinstripe, the tie an original. His face was narrow and neat, his eyes so dark they absorbed the light without reflecting it back.

He was a wise guy who started out on the streets, stealing stereos and tires, moved into dealing drugs, then clawed his way up the ranks on the heels of fellow punk, Paul Orsini, who had put him in charge of all their Midwest operations. Denver was out of the criminal mainstream of either coast, but Bates didn’t mind. His wife liked living near mountains and it was a better place to raise kids.

Hayes was out there, but there was no unease on Bates’ face. He hadn’t gotten where he was giving up his thoughts or feelings to underlings. That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. Hayes had played an important part in Bates’ success, partly by eliminating the competition, partly by making Bates look good when he so efficiently took out the competition. In his business, success meant enemies, but he hadn’t cared. They had been partly held in check by their fear of the whacked out hit man’s reputation. A reputation that was in a nose dive now.

What Hayes had done for Bates was now irrelevant. He had failed. Bates regretted the necessity. Hayes had been the perfect weapon when he was pointed at Bates’ enemies. Now he must be eliminated before his failure came back in Bates’ face like spit in the wind. Before his enemies scented weakness or failure and came at him. Before Orsini got any doubts about how effective he was at managing his interests.

“Hayes is gonna bolt. Stop him permanently. Understand?”

The two men, his best muscle, exchanged looks, their nearly identical faces mirroring a mutual unease.

“We’re working it. Not even the acid heads are eager to roll over on a bopper like Hayes,” said the muscle on the right, known locally as Bad Trip because crossing him was worse than a bad acid trip.

“But we gotta snitch we can apply some muscle to,” finished Bum Trip, so named because an encounter with him was as unpleasant as one with his twin.

“The sooner the better,” Bates said. “He’s a loose cannon. We don’t take care of him, Orsini’ll be after us.” He wanted them to be properly motivated to complete the task. In his business, motivation was everything.

They exchanged glances that told him they’d got it.

“We’ll get him,” Bad Trip assured him.

“Get going. And send David in on your way out.”

They left as silently as they had arrived, leaving Bates frowning until David appeared.

Donald David was a large man with a deceptively vacant face. He looked like a thug, but had the brains of a think tank. He was useful and dangerous for both those reasons. Behind David’s vacant gaze lurked the same ambition that had driven Bates up the wise guy ranks.

“What’s the word on Richard Hastings?” Bates leaned back in his leather chair, careful when he clasped his hands behind his head not to disarrange his hair.

“The Feds are closing the gap fast, may already have closed it.” David dropped his bulk into a period chair. It gave a small squeak of protest.

Did he know how much it irritated him, Bates wondered, that he always chose the smallest chair to inflict his magnitude upon? Somehow he was sure David did. “I thought our man inside the Bureau was being paid to keep the lid on Hastings?”

“He’s gone mute on me. I figure he’s been smoked by the Feds and turned. If I’m right, Hastings will roll over next.”

“You sure?” If David was right, it was all coming apart. This was Orsini’s baby, entrusted to his care. It wouldn’t matter who had messed it up, only that it was.

“Hastings is arrogant,” David shrugged, “or he wouldn’t have toasted his on-the-side broad in the first place. Should have taken him out then, I guess.”

“If he’d just kept his head, he’d have walked. Or got probation. No priors. Only one witness who might have a grudge against him. Why Orsini chose to save—” Bates bit back his ire with an effort. Reported the right way, his words could be turned against him. He was getting sick of it all.

“Yeah, well, we both know Hastings will try to save himself at our expense. Thinks he can beat the whole world. In the end he’ll squeal, long and loud.”

What neither of them said, but they both knew, was that if they went down, Orsini wouldn’t wait to see if they’d keep their mouths shut. Bates could admit to himself he might talk, with the right incentive. Who wanted to go to prison when you could be set up in witness protection somewhere with the money from his Swiss bank account to make up what the Feds didn’t pay? Orsini would take them out to stop the domino cascade before it knocked him down. Who talked, who lived, was all a matter of timing. Best case was not to have to worry about any of it, just continue on their present course.

“That’s what we get for working with an amateur. No ethics.” Bates picked up his coffee cup and sipped the rapidly cooling brew.

David shoved his hands in the pockets of his tailor-made slacks, stretched his legs out. “If the laundering deal had worked, it would’ve been a sweet deal for Orsini.”

“Yeah, well, the only sweet deal he’ll be interested in now is damage control.” Bates was quiet, thinking. Finally he said, “If Hastings would do his time, we’d make sure he doesn’t lose by it?”

“Not a chance of that. Guy’s a pansy. Thinks he can play dirty and still keep his lily white rep. Prescott’s barely holding him together.”

“We can’t afford to wait for him to roll. Let’s move on him now.” Bates set his cup down and stood up.

“Shouldn’t you clear it with Mr. Orsini?”

Bates felt a flash of anger, fought it back before it showed on his face. “I’m calling Orsini right now.” Bates dropped the “mister” to remind David that he and Orsini had a past together. A flicker of David’s light lashes told him he got it.

“Who you want on it?”

Bates cussed silently. “This would’ve been a perfect job for Hayes. How did he let a romance writer get the drop on him?”

David half grinned, shrugged. “There’s Copeland. He’s in New York, but I could have him here by tonight.”

Copeland was almost as good as Hayes had been. He hated Hayes for being better. “Get him. And tell him who the mark is. Maybe he’ll get here faster.”

David nodded. “Thought Hayes was too whacked out to be a real pro. Only as good as your hold on him.”

Bates shrugged. “A fanatic kills just as well as a capitalist and sometimes he’ll take more risks. He was useful, but not anymore. Let’s end it quickly.”

“Right.” David turned to go, then stopped. “What about the romance writer? I’ve got Dent on call, if she’s spotted.”

Bates hesitated. Dent was a messy killer, couldn’t spell finesse, let alone define it. Her threat was to Hastings, not him. His wife did like her books, but how would it look if he backed off a contract? “Make it official. The hit is his. And put some pressure on our snitch at the DPD. I want to know what the cops know before they know it.”

David nodded. “Just wish we knew what the Feds know. McBride’s being kept so far out of the Marshal’s loop he’s no help. We’re flying blind there.”

Bates shrugged. “He’ll have to be taken care of, too, when the dust settles.”

“When the dust settles he might be useful again,” David pointed out.

Bates shook his head. “He’s tainted. I wouldn’t trust him, why should they?” He looked hard at David. “We gotta get clean here, David, or Orsini takes us both out. We stay together or we die together. Clear?”

David nodded, comprehension of the implied threat in his placid gaze. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it all.”

He eased out of the room, leaving Bates convinced he had better watch his back. This was just the kind of situation he had used to rise another notch in the organization.

ELEVEN

The sign outside the bookstore was big enough to catch the eyes and attention of even the most preoccupied person, but it wasn’t size that stopped Dani. It was what the sign proclaimed so enthusiastically.

BOOK SIGNING TODAY! Romance novelist Kelly Kerwin signs her newest release Love and Lust.

Kelly? How—the flyer about the writers conference she saw when she was assessing Matt Kirby’s tush outside Boomer’s office came to mind. Dani smiled. She’d only had to go through blood, fire, and excessive altitude to make wild child Kelly look like a better prospect than an ex-spook with a crush.

Her plot was taking a macabre turn, she decided, with a distant fatalism that could be the bi-product of her pissed off vantage point. Inside the sense of the fictional was further enhanced by Kelly, who was seated at a table stacked with books, positively awash in organza ruffles and lace, with a Scarlet O’Hara floppy-brimmed hat on her golden locks, languidly signing her books with a feather pen.

It seemed Dani wasn’t the only one loaded for bear this fine summer day. She lifted a book from a stack and set it down in front of “Scarlet.”

“You want this personalized or generic, sugar?” Kelly’s voice was weighted with a sultry, Southern drawl.

“Oh, Miss Kerwin, most definitely personalized,” Dani gushed, “to Louise?”

Kelly stiffened, lifting her flawlessly sculpted chin up until she could see out from under the floppy brim. With no trace of Southern and a boat load of skeptical, she said, “Louise?”

“Yeah. Wanna see my ID?” Dani sat on the edge of the table, the action hiking the already dangerous hem line higher on her silk-covered thighs. She leaned close enough to confide, “I made it myself.”

Kelly gave two men who’d stopped to stare at Dani’s legs a severe look that sent them on their way, before asking, “What you doing here? I thought you were in solitary confinement or something?”

“I was. I’m out now. You have a break any time soon? I need to talk to you.”

“If I didn’t deserve a break soon, I’d take one anyway.” Her limpid blue gaze narrowed in scrutiny of Dani, what she could see of her hair under the brim of the smart hat, her red dress. All she said was, “Why don’t you plant it here and sign with me for a bit?”

“Louise isn’t an author.”

“Oh. Right. Well, plant it anyway.” Kelly patted the chair next to her. Dani took it with a wriggle that stopped another male customer in his tracks. She ignored him and waited for Kelly to sign a book, then asked, “What’s with the Scarlet ensemble?”

Kelly shrugged elegantly. “I had an interview before this signing. Some idiot at the local paper who was obviously expecting Scarlet. So I gave her to him. But good.” She smiled wickedly, then did a quick switch to charming when a woman approached. When they were alone again, she said, “Red is your color, but the blonde locks are definitely plagiarism. Do tell, who pissed you off?”

Dani laughed, leaning back and crossing her legs at the ankle. “Just about everyone. How could you tell?”

“Because that dress could fry men’s brains and turn their parts to stone. Not exactly your normal style.”

Dani smoothed the skirt a millimeter closer to her knees. “Maybe I’m tired of my normal style.”

“Well, well. Better tell Miss Scarlet all about it so I can exploit it shamelessly. I’d hate to see a long overdue bad mood go to waste.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed, her mouth curving in a dangerous smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t.”

Later, in a quiet little bistro deep in the mall, Dani told Kelly all about it. Kelly being Kelly, took notes and offered a stringent critique. Still feeling removed from the crap and yet strangely normal in a very surreal but comforting way, Dani studied her friend over the top of her drink cup. “I thought you were holed up finishing your book?”

“That was last month. This month I’m here for the conference.”

“This is what, Tuesday?” It was getting harder to keep track. “I thought the convention didn’t start until Thursday?”

“It doesn’t. But our publicist thought it would be a hoot if I did some signings and an interview or two.”

“Ooh.” Dani grimaced wryly. “I guess there are some benefits to being hunted like a dog.”

“Yeah, no one’s gonna be asking you at seven a.m. tomorrow morning how you research the sex scenes in your book.” Kelly sighed and fluttered her false lashes wistfully. “So where you staying? Or aren’t I supposed to ask?”

“I was hoping I could stay with you. I’ll clear out in the morning. And before you say yes, be aware you’ll have my Fed on your butt if they figure out you’re helping me.”

“Really? Your own Fed. Cool.” Kelly leaned back in her chair, her pose sultry. “Is he cute?”

Cute? Matt was too easily conjured up and replayed feature by feature, right down to the jeans and boots. “Oh, yeah.” She smiled. “Dang annoying, completely opinionated, definitely cute.”

“So why you running from him? You know better than to mess with the basic plot.”

Dani gave her a Look. “This isn’t a romance.”

“Everything is a romance. Don’t you read our PR?”

“All I been reading lately are bumper stickers,” Dani shot back. “According to them, life’s a bitch.”

Kelly grinned. “And here I thought I was the bitch.”

Dani grinned back. “No comment. I’m not obliged to incriminate myself.”

“Smart girl. So, now that you’re out and about, you gonna do the conference? Lots of our friends around. Not to mention the tax benefits.”

“Have you forgotten my Fed isn’t the only one after me?”

“No, but you’ve already wailed on him. If he’s got half a brain, he won’t be back.”

“Richard can’t be too happy he missed again,” Dani said. It was the main reason she felt comfortable seeking temporary asylum with Kelly. It would take them some time to regroup. What would he do with that time? That was the question. Would he try to find someone else? Could he? How many hit men could he know?

Kelly straightened, “You need a place to stay with someone who isn’t known to know you.” Kelly’s mind tended to run along plot lines, too.

“Well, that would be nice, but the problem is, people who don’t know me, don’t know me enough to give me aid and shelter.”

“Yeah, but if they know me—”

Dani didn’t take advantage of that big opening. It was too easy. No challenge. Kelly gave her a suspicious look that Dani met with one of innocence. It left her friend nowhere to go but on with her thought. “My ex-mother-in-law is from here. We’re still friends because she thinks her son is a jerk, too. And, even better, she has this little guest house on her property.”

“Really?” It would have a telephone. Guest houses did. Kelly would have a laptop—she loved expensive toys—so Dani could make contact with Spook without seriously depleting her money supply. And Matt the Marshal hunter? Oh yeah. She had some things to say to him, too.

“Yeah, and Dobermans,” Kelly said, still following her own line of thought.

“Really?” Dobermans would discourage any killers Richard hired, wouldn’t they? “My mother-in-law was a Doberman.”

Kelly grinned. “No kidding. I’ll call her. Mine, not yours. If no one’s visiting, I’ll bet we could move in tonight.” She shoved her chair back. “Let’s get out of here. Suddenly I’m suffering from Southern Belle overdose. I gotta get changed before I’m forced to slay someone with my eyes.” She slid her arm through Dani’s. “Dang, I’m glad you showed up. Was wishing I had someone to go out with me tonight.”

“Out?” Dani asked, not in protest, but because it was their routine.

“That’s right. Out. Time you kicked up your heels, girl. Did the wild child thing.”

“Every time we do the wild child thing…”

“…we have a great time.”

Too true. Dani smiled. “I can’t afford to get arrested this time, Kel.”

“Trust me.” Kelly crossed her heart. “There is absolutely nothing that can go wrong in my tender care.”

Famous last words, Dani thought in a detached way. They usually are uttered just prior to brown stuff hitting the fan. Only the fan had already received a boat load of the stuff. How much more could there be out there? “I need to buy a toothbrush.”

Kelly looked mock serious. “Won’t get any argument from me on that one. I’m committed to good oral hygiene.”

Dani grinned. “So how is your dentist?”

Kelly grinned. “Showing no signs of decay.”

Dani’s grin expanded into a laugh. It felt good. It was a scientific fact. “I don’t care what anyone says about you. I think you’re a treasure.”

“I know. And I sell more books than you, too.”

“Bitch.”

Kelly laughed and looked at the parking lot. “Now where did I park my stupid rental car? Last time I let them give me a white one.”

* * * *

State Attorney General Dennis Sheridan held back a sigh as he watched Richard Hasting’s lawyer wear an agitated groove in the carpet in front of his desk with his expensive leather shoes. Sweat glittered like diamonds in the places where his graying hair had given up trying to cover his large, round head. Greedy, hunted eyes peered out of indention’s in his bread dough face. Beneath a pug nose, his nauseatingly pink, cupid’s bow mouth twitched with an uncontrollable tick.

Agitation wasn’t a good look on Digby Prescott. Not that Sheridan had seen an emotion that was good on him in the six months they had been on opposite sides of the case of State of Colorado vs. Richard Robert Hastings.

The saint-turned-accused-killer had been an interesting problem. If Dani Gwynne hadn’t seen Hastings kill the Jane Doe, his ties to organized crime would have stayed hidden, lost in the glare of his “good works” foundation. Now that the tangled, mob money-laundering web was beginning to unravel for Hastings—and become a political bonanza for Sheridan, he could lean back in his chair and enjoy the sight of Prescott caught in the cleft stick of his own greed.

Prescott would have taken on the Hastings case at the request of Paul Orsini, the man who controlled organized crime activities from the West Coast to the Mississippi, a man who had more money than places to launder it. At the time it had probably seemed like a simple matter. Stall the case until the sole witness of the crime is dead and the Feds admit they couldn’t find anything in Richard’s Hastings closet.

Except the witness hadn’t died. And the mob’s man in the FBI hadn’t been near as good at hiding as Orsini and was getting ready to cut a deal. The whole package was coming apart and Prescott’s short legs were straddling the crack. No wonder he was twitching like he had St. Vitas Dance.

Orsini would take him out for what he was saying, for being here when Richard Hastings began his roll. Though Sheridan had a feeling that Hastings hadn’t told his attorney until they were safely inside. Had to know the only place his legal advisor would take him was to a quiet meeting and an ending in a shallow grave somewhere. Prescott was going to have to do some fancy footwork or request protection, too. He wasn’t light enough on his feet for plain footwork, let alone the fancy kind.

This weekend, when Sheridan thought he had lost his witness and his case, had been bad. The worst in his career. It wasn’t often he liked a witness, but it would be hard not to like Dani, harder still not to want her, particularly after he’d read one of her books. Who would have thought that much passion lurked beneath her quiet exterior? He had felt as much regret as he was capable of when he got the news she was dead.

Amazing what a few days could do for his prospects. Way things were going, it wouldn’t matter to the case if Dani didn’t make it. Sheridan’s smile widened as he studied his perfect manicure. He was in the catbird seat and he intended to enjoy it.

Prescott finally stopped talking and looked at him. “Well?”

Time to toy with the mouse. Wouldn’t do to appear hungry. “Your guy’s up to his armpits in it. Why would I want to pull him out?”

“Because he can give you Vernon Bates.” Saying the words out loud moved Prescott’s twitch another notch up the Richter scale. “And Bates can give you Orsini.”

“I thought Richard Hastings didn’t know Bates?”

Prescott’s little mouth worked for a minute before he said with controlled rage, “We gonna talk deal or not? You know you got nothing without your witness—”

Sheridan straightened. It was almost too easy. “Who told you I don’t have my witness?”

Prescott’s tiny gaze narrowed to nearly invisible. “I could go to the judge and force you to produce her.”

While Dani was living, Sheridan had no compunction about bluffing. Prescott was holding the worst hand. He shrugged. “Do it. Dani’s more eager than ever to nail your client. The sooner the better.” He smiled reflectively. “I can’t wait to see her in action. She’s a dream witness for a prosecutor. She has that—extra something that plays well with a jury. Then there’s the pathos of her dead baby. The Virgin Mary wouldn’t be as sympathetic.”

Prescott stared at him, indecision written large across his florid face. “You…she…I don’t believe you. She’s dead. We both know she’s dead.”

Sheridan adopted mock surprise. “Who told you she was dead?”

Prescott saw the danger too late. “Client-attorney communications are privileged.”

“And apparently incomplete. I wonder why Bates didn’t tell you she’s very much alive? That his expensive killer missed his mark again?”

Prescott’s mouth opened, then closed. He dropped in a chair, his shoulders rounding in defeat.

“You’re right,” Sheridan stood up. “It probably isn’t a good idea to say anything else. You’ve already incriminated yourself enough for one day.”

He loved it when a plan came together.

* * * *

“Tell me what you got, Riggs.” Matt paced restlessly away from the speaker telephone on his desk, whirled around and headed back.

“Not much. She was here at the mall, Saks Fifth Avenue again. Bought a red dress.”

“Red? That’s a red dress?” What? Trying to figure out what was going on in her head was like trying to work his way out of a maze in a blizzard.

“Affirmative. Clerk showed it to me. All I can say is, wow. She’s got someone in her sights.”

Despite clamping down on his thoughts, Matt felt a pang at missing the dress. With her legs—he frowned. Who was she targeting? He almost looked behind him. He didn’t know how he knew. He just did. She was pissed at him. Not all the other people, good, bad and ugly, she should be pissed at. Him. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t caused the mess at the boarding house. She had. She had no right to put him in her sights. “Then it ought to be easy to track her.”

“You’d think. She doesn’t exactly look like the picture I’m showing, but I still have a few places left to check. Oh, and just to stay with the bad news, no good news theme, I talked to that guy, Adams at the DPD?”

“Yeah?”

“His snitch claims Bates has put Dent on Gwynne and Copeland on Hayes.”

Matt wheeled around. He’d be perfectly happy to have Copeland take out Hayes, but— “Dent? He’s almost as bad as Hayes.” He saw Sheridan approaching. “Let me get back to you, Riggs. Sheridan’s here.” Matt broke the connection and watched Sheridan approach. His face was impassive, his pace relaxed, but Matt could tell he was both satisfied and excited about something. Matt’s senses went to full blown wary when Sheridan sat down without asking for news about Dani, a small smile flickering the edges of his narrow mouth.

“What’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know the case is breaking wide open, before I talk to Anderson.”

Matt’s gaze narrowed. Only one reason Sheridan would need to talk to Anderson. He needed a witness protected.

“FBI’s finally starting to unravel the mystery of Richard Hastings,” Sheridan went on, oblivious to Matt’s knife narrow gaze pointed at him. “Seems Bates had a friend in the ranks muddying the waters for him or we would have had Hastings cold months ago.”

“What’s the scam?”

“Money laundering through his charitable foundation. They tell me it would have been a slick deal if Hastings hadn’t screwed up the works by toasting our Jane Doe. Which is why Bates was so willing to provide a hitter to clean up his mess. Course now Hastings is crying dupe and seriously worried about his own worthless hide.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Prescott claims he was manipulated, but my call is, he was panting to be in it.”

“Prescott?” Matt looked at Sheridan. “Hastings is planning to roll over on Bates, isn’t he?”

Sheridan didn’t look at Matt, the first sign of discomfort blunting his satisfaction. “That’s right. Requested protection this morning.”

“What’d you tell him? You gonna let him plea down?” Matt didn’t try to keep the disgust from his voice and Sheridan reacted defensively, “I don’t have a choice. He delivers Bates, we have a shot at Orsini.”

“He must have been in deep if he can deliver Bates.”

“Yeah,” Sheridan gave a short, sharp laugh. “We’ll get David, too in the deal, maybe Orsini himself. As an added bonus, Prescott incriminated himself in the plot to kill Dani. He’s looking for a lawyer and deal for himself.” For the first time, Sheridan looked warily at Matt. “They’ll need protection. I got sources that say Bates has already put out a contract on Hastings.”

“The FBI should be able to handle that for you,” Matt didn’t hesitate, although technically it wasn’t his call. They were responsible for the deaths of three Marshals and the corruption of at least one more. He wasn’t interested in getting them off the hook they had put in their own mouths.

Sheridan didn’t misunderstand. “I’ll get a court order if I have to.”

“Do it. Neuman and his boy are available. One of them probably isn’t holding a grudge.”

“Think about it, Matt, if he helps us—”

Matt’s eyes and voice were laced with steel and pointed right at him, “You know how we feel about our own, Sheridan.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sheridan’s face turned red with his struggle for control. “Don’t mention the deal to Dani.”

“I wondered when you’d get around to Dani. But then you don’t need her anymore, do you?”

Sheridan’s gaze slid away again. “Of course I do, to keep the pressure on Hastings. Prescott’s legal problems will mean a postponement, but I doubt she’s in the mood to hear it—”

“No, I don’t think she is,” Matt said, thinking about the red dress. “Doesn’t change her situation or our responsibility to help her. Hayes will still be after her. And word on the street is, Bates has assigned Dent to complete the contract—”

“Dent? That’s not good. He’s a messy killer. Why isn’t Bates just dropping it with Hastings turning on him?”

He looked concerned, Matt thought with disgust. “He’d lose face if he backed out on a contract. Be a laughing stock if a romance writer got away from him.”

Though the romance writer was going to cost Bates more than the price of Dani’s contract if Prescott and Hastings fingered him, Matt mused. He would be dodging bullets himself before he was through. It was not an unpleasant thought.

Sheridan nodded thoughtfully. “Be useful if she could lure Hayes in for us. Wouldn’t mind putting him out of business with the rest of them. Course Bates’ll probably take care of him long before we catch up with him with Copeland on the job.”

The words sounded more cynical and a lot less high-minded coming out of Sheridan’s mouth than they had when he’d thought about using Dani to draw Hayes in. It gave him an unpleasant jolt as the window of Sheridan’s ambition turned into a mirror thrust in Matt’s face. It was his job to get the bad guys by whatever legal means possible. More times than not, it took turning the bad guys on each other, letting some minor fish off the hook to snag the big, bad ones. A trade-off, but an acceptable one, he had always thought.

“You’ll call me if you find her?” Sheridan asked, standing up and shaking the creases from his expensively cut pants. “Naturally we’re keeping the trial going until the deal is set.”

“Do that.” Frowning, Matt watched Sheridan leave. With visions of bagging Orsini dancing in his head, the jerk was happy to trash-can Dani and the last six months of her life.

It was an imperfect world they operated in, one of shifting grays, too little white, and a boat load of black, with right and wrong under the jurisdiction of lawyers and judges who used to be lawyers. He had lost his idealistic virginity early. To keep from getting screwed again, he adopted a big picture pragmatism, learned how to keep a tight focus on realistic objectives, not to sweat the details more than absolutely necessary and how to come to terms with what couldn’t be changed. He would take what he could wrest from the system and walk away when the fat lady sang.

He was one of the good guys.

Using Dani to catch Hayes wasn’t nice. The bad guys didn’t deal in nice. Someone had to stop Hayes. Easier to do if they had something he wanted. Hayes didn’t just want Dani. He needed her dead. If she didn’t die, he would be dodging Bates and his friends for the rest of his life.

Dani didn’t like the situation. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t like it either. This wasn’t fiction. No possibility of a tidy ending, just a lot of unappetizing, carefully considered compromises. Welcome to the real world.

Of course there was some risk. Collateral casualties were inevitable. Matt was confident of his people and trusted Andersen to do his part. The kicker was, Dani had to trust them for it to work. She had to come to terms with reality. Hayes would find her, better if he did it on their terms, than on his.

He leaned back in his chair, but couldn’t get comfortable. He stood up and paced to the window, stared broodingly down at the city. He liked her, well, liked what he’d learned about her, he admitted, though it made about as much sense as her taking the battle onto Hayes turf. Worse, Matt hunched his shoulders trying to escape discomfort, he had felt something even before he knew she wasn’t dead. Before he had seen her biker babe. He had felt something the first time he looked at her picture.

How could she look like that, he looked at the picture pinned on the board and pop up as biker babe? If he’d known who she was then—

He would still be standing here wanting something he couldn’t have. This wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about what he would like or what she wished the world was. This was life and death. Right and wrong. Justice and punishment. Good against evil.

Hayes was evil. This guy liked killing, liked burning what he killed. He got off on it and had to be stopped. Not just for Dani’s sake, but for the people he’d kill if they didn’t.

No matter what the cost? Matt frowned, not seeing the city below, but himself against the backdrop of the office, against the backdrop of the Service and country he had taken an oath to serve. He was just one part of the process. Behind him Sebastian was still hunched over his keyboard, following her trail in cyberspace. In other rooms and out in the city, other men and women worked on leads, using every resource they had to follow up. It was his op. In the end, the buck stopped with him. They accumulated data. He made the calls, decided when and how to act. Where and when to put people in jeopardy. When to take them out. He decided how far they went to catch Hayes, how close Hayes got to Dani. If they got close enough to her to make the call.

He had been at the apex of a breaking case before, could feel the pace picking up, like a car speeding forward. Trouble was, he had no way to stop it, no way to know if he was a crash test dummy heading for a wall or Mario Andretti about to cross the finish line of the Indi 500. Normally he would get a rush about now, as his training and instincts merged into a razor sharp readiness for action. This case wasn’t playing out like normal. He had to get his head clear, tighten his focus back on to the essentials. The last thing he could afford to do was a “Neuman,” and screw his timing. There was too much at stake.

It wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Dani, if he choked. And being out there somewhere in a red dress doing who knew what, with who knew who, wasn’t helping either. It was dangerous and downright stupid. He would tell her that if he got the chance.

If he got the chance.

It was going to be another sleepless night, he rubbed his face, but he was gonna spend it at home. Take a shower, shave—his chin was bristling unevenly from the shave in the men’s room with a dull razor this morning. He looked at Sebastian. “I’m going home. Call me if we hear anything.”

Sebastian looked up, flexing his long fingers. “Why don’t you take one of her laptops with you? I’ll show you how to hook it up, then if she shows up on a chat line somewhere, you can keep her busy talking while I track her.”

Matt nodded, too tired to be daunted by the idea.

Whatever it took.

That’s how the game was played before he met Dani. That’s how he had to play it now. End of story.

TWELVE

It was well into a new day when Dani helped a seriously impaired Kelly to one of the twin beds in a bedroom of her mother-in-law’s guest house. Niles, the butler, who had arranged for them to use the guest house while Kelly’s ex-mother-in-law was away, was an interesting case study in contrasts. He looked like The Addams Family’s Lurch, talked like an Oxford don, and was a former basketball player for the Denver Nuggets. Dani had to agree with Kelly’s suspicion that Niles’ duties as a butler were a cover for a more intimate involvement in Ana Terril’s life.

Whatever else Niles might be, he was a good stand-in host. He made them more than comfortable in the homey guest house, then directed them to let him know if there was anything else he could do for them. His air of competence almost induced Dani to give him her problems to sort out.

As if he sensed her longing to confide, he had drawn his thin lips out in a wide, and surprisingly charming, smile, then reiterated his desire to help. It was probably a good thing that Kelly asked him to bring them chocolate chip cookie dough. The request diverted his attention from Dani and provoked a homily on the dangers associated with eating raw eggs.

With considerable amusement, Dani watched the immovable object debate the irresistible force to a mutual stand still. She came down on the side of the irresistible force when they took a detour to buy a package of cookie dough. Dani needed both the sugar and the chocolate boost for what had followed.

“I can’t believe I actually went to a place called Buns n’ Roses,” Dani said, watching Kelly fall back on the bed, a reminiscent smile still curling the edges of her lip-stick smudged mouth.

Dani had exchanged the red dress for something less conspicuous, but the red dress’s ambiance had lingered, carrying her into the male strip club with her chin defiantly high. A pity the smoky atmosphere, sensual pounding beat of the music, and assorted men didn’t get a certain cute Marshal out of her head, despite the fact she was still pissed at him.

“Frankly, I can’t believe you went either.” Kelly rubbed her face, then looked at her hand as if wondering where it came from. “You were never this fun before people wanted to kill you.”

Dani grinned, half guiltily. “It has kind of altered my perspective—though I’m not sure it was for the better. I should have spent the evening preparing to meet my Maker, not watching naked men swiveling their hips for tips.” She sank down on the edge of the other bed and, out of habit, grabbed Kelly’s heel-shod foot and began undoing the strap. “Though it was almost a religious experience when that guy stripped to Abba.”

“Yeah.” Kelly’s smile widened. “Made me want to kneel and give thanks.”

“You did kneel and give him a tip,” Dani pointed out.

“Oh yeah.” Her face blurred, her eyes losing focus as she settled deeper into the soft bed. “Gave thanks, too.”

“I believe you.” Dani pulled off her shoe and tossed it in the corner, then started on the other foot. “I just hope your seven a.m. interview doesn’t hear about our foray to the fleshy side of town. We already get too much bad press.”

“Honey, I figure if he wants to talk about sex, why fight it? Besides, that was research.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell your dentist?”

Kelly’s smile went past lascivious. “My dentist. You should see him in his scrubs.”

“Slut.” Dani pushed her bare foot away and tossed the other shoe over with its mate, then bent to detach her own shoes. For feet that had only had to tap and curl all evening, they sure were complaining. Course, they hadn’t had the view her eyes had.

“Compliments will not sway me from my purpose.” Kelly lolled her head in Dani’s direction and yawned widely. She blinked a couple of times. “What was my purpose?”

“To go to sleep.”

“Oh. Right. Night.” She rolled over muttering something Dani preferred not to parse.

Dani pulled a blanket over the supine figure, tucking the edges securely around her. Kelly muttered something. “You’re welcome.”

Dani sank back down on the other bed, then fell back, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, her mind turning with a kaleidoscope of faces. Dark Lord, dead Cloris, the hot brown eyes of her personal Fed, all of them circled by bare rotating butts. It didn’t make for a pretty picture. “How many more days of this do I have to get through?”

In the middle of subtracting and adding she slid into sleep and her nightmare without passing “Go” or collecting what she was owed. Everything was happening faster now. The replay of Richard killing. The moment when he realized she’d seen him. Dark Lord’s arrival, his cold, pale eyes lusting for her death. He laughed wildly as a circle of fire flared around him in an unholy nimbus.

“I am Death, Willow,” he told her, and she saw he held a knife. It dripped blood that smoked when it hit the ground. The knife sliced toward her in a deadly arc.

The frightened flinch of her body did what her mind couldn’t, freeing her from the dream. She stared at the lace draped canopy over head, briefly baffled by its presence, then Kelly give a gentle snore in the dark to her right and yesterday came flooding back, in all its good, bad, and embarrassing detail.

Had she really gone to a strip joint? Yes, she had to admit, she had gone. At least she hadn’t tipped anyone, though it had been a near thing during that Abba routine. She lifted her arm and peered at her watch. The illuminated numbers inevitably showed five zero zero.

“Great.” Dani sagged back with a groan. When would the horror end? Maybe she should be hunting Dark Lord so he could put her out of her misery. With another groan, she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom, after a quick detour past the refrigerator for the Diet Dr. Pepper that the highly efficient Niles had found for her. The man was a positive treasure. How much did a butler cost, she wondered as she popped the top and poured that first, reviving stream down her throat. If she lived, she wanted one just like Niles. A short time later she emerged from the bathroom carrying a glass of water and two Alka-Seltzer. She sank down by Kelly and gave her a nudge.

“Come on, girl. It’s plop, plop, fizz, fizz time. Your jerk awaits. Oh,” she nudged the limp body again, “can I borrow your lap top?”

* * * *

Matt rarely dreamt, so at first he didn’t realize he was dreaming, despite a smoky haze hanging in the air outside Boomer’s office, not to mention an elongated perspective that made Riggs taller than him.

“You putting down roots, cowboy, or just coming in real slow?” he heard her say. Dani. He turned and found her, biker babe with soft, sad eyes. “You make a better wall than a door.”

“I know who you are,” he said, blinking the smoke from his eyes as he strained to see through the haze.

“Do you?” She laughed, but it was a man’s laugh, deep and evil as she turned into Hayes, his knife slicing the air on a collision course with Matt’s chest. He came awake with a jerk that sent pain shooting down his back. Briefly panicked, he put his hand on his chest, then realized it was his back protesting the fast change in position. He rubbed his eyes and looked around, wondering why he was in the living room of his apartment and not in his bed. It all looked oddly unfamiliar, as if he were still dreaming. Or hadn’t been home for three days.

He straightened his back, more slowly this time, so the pain could crawl down his spine instead of shooting like a rocket. He shouldn’t have sat down “for a minute” when he got home—he looked at his watch—only three hours ago? Five thirty was his usual time to get up, but it had never looked or felt so bad.

He stood up, intent on finding coffee as quickly as humanly possible, followed by a shower. His cell phone gave his heart a faster jump start than the strongest coffee or coldest shower. He grabbed the phone. “Kirby.”

“She’s online,” Sebastian said in his ear. Didn’t the guy ever sleep? Matt wondered.

“She passing her chapters to the agent?” Matt rubbed his neck.

“No. It seems she just snail mailed those.”

She used the post office? “Great. So why is she on?”

He could hear Sebastian grin’s in his voice when he said, “She wants to talk to you. You get the laptop set up like I told you?”

“Yeah.” Matt crossed to his desk and opened the top. “You tracing her?”

“Of course. But she knows her stuff. You sure she’s just a romance writer? So far I’ve been to Toronto, then headed across the Atlantic for a tour of Switzerland. It’s probably going to take me longer than she’s going to give you, so you’d better hurry and say what you want to say while you still can.”

Matt shook his head to clear it as the program logged him on line. “How did she get access to a computer? We know she didn’t buy one.”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t matter.” Sebastian sounded laconic. “You about here? She’s getting impatient.”

“Pretend you’re me.”

“Tried that, but I made the mistake of using a smiley. She seems to know you’re not the type. Sure you two haven’t met before?”

Matt could hear the grin in Sebastian’s voice as his computer took him to the chat lines where Dani waited. With something that was almost awe, he watched words scroll down his screen. Will the real Marshal Kirby please come chat? This year? This last sentence was right after Sebastian’s ill advised smiley. Matt ignored Sebastian’s question and rubbed his eyes again. “So I just start typing?”

“And hit enter when you’re done.”

“Keep me updated on the trace.” Matt tucked the telephone between his ear and shoulder, flexed his hands, settled them on the keys and typed: You wanted to talk to me?

Grandma was slow, but she was eighty, Deputy. We’re almost out of chat time.

It’s a little early for both of us, don’t you think? Matt typed, recalling from her file that she had had trouble sleeping and was definitely not a morning person. It didn’t take much in the way of sleep deprivation to quickly impair judgment, but he didn’t tell her that, even without Alice there to coach him. There were some lessons he didn’t have to learn twice.

I had to rouse my friend. She’s got an appointment to talk sex with a jerk.

Matt glared at the screen. “What do I say to that?” In lieu of an answer, Sebastian choked. “Thanks a bunch. Are we even getting close to finding her?” he snapped as he typed: Oh?

“Not even on the same continent yet,” Sebastian said.

<g> Did I make you blush? So sorry. Tell me, are your guys enjoying their visit to Sweden? All those willing blondes must make them want to linger. <g>

“Sweden?” Matt said aloud.

Sebastian chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m not getting distracted. Looks like we’re heading for Iceland, that’s an interesting choice.”

If they were, Iceland has cooled their jets, Matt told her, hitting the keys with more sureness as his brain came to alert status. The chase was happening out of sight on a world connected by fiber optic phone lines, but that didn’t lessen the pulse pounding tension of matching wits with the surprisingly clever romance writer. He added, did you have something in particular you wanted to say, or did you arrange this little chat so we could take a modified world tour?

A writer strives to make every scene do double duty, Deputy, popped quickly up on his screen. Since you brought it up, which one of you told Hayes about Willow?

“What the?”

“She can’t hear you, Matt,” Sebastian reminded him, then added, “We’re stateside again. Passing through Florida with our sights on Texas.”

We didn’t tell Hayes anything! Matt told her, finding the exclamation point not nearly emphatic enough. No wonder onliners invented those stupid emoticon things. Before he sent this to her he added, I give you my word it wasn’t us. We did warn you he was getting your email, didn’t we? Maybe he found it the same way we did?

The cursor blinked her lack of response. “She still on?”

“Yeah. We’re getting closer…I think,” Sebastian told him, “We’re in Utah now.”

Maybe.

Matt sighed his relief when the cursor moved to make room for the single word. She didn’t add emoticons, but he felt how grudgingly she had typed that word, felt her lack of trust as clearly as if she was sitting across from him.

How do you know Hayes knows about Willow? Matt asked her. He frowned while he waited for her answer. “There been any activity on her Willow email address, Sebastian?”

“Just chat from her friends. Whoa, we’re in the outskirts of our fair city now. Might just have her.”

Why didn’t she answer? Had she already cut off the connection? Matt quickly asked, Why did you take off? Hayes found you once, he can find you again. He’ll have to try again. I know this guy and you don’t..

Are you always this negative or are you just not a morning person? I figure two misses are an out for him, don’t you?

Matt bit back an impatient exclamation and typed: they’ve already hired someone else. Someone every bit as nasty as Hayes.

“We got her!”

“An address! I need an address!” Matt half stood up, then hesitated when her words bumped aside his cursor again.

You’re just full of good news this morning, aren’t you? And I have to go. I can practically feel you breathing down my neck. The answer to these and other questions later. In Australia, maybe? I hear the beer packs a wallop—uh, duck!

Duck? What did that mean? “I want that address, Sebastian!”

“No you don’t,” Sebastian said in his ear, excitement replaced by reluctant admiration. “She smoked me, Matt. Sorry.”

“Smoked you? How? Where did you trace the call to?”

Sebastian gave a laugh that was wry and frustrated. “To me. I don’t know how she did it, but our trace came back on me like spit. I’ve seen some fancy footwork out there, but nothing like this. Either she’s an inspired amateur or she’s been tutored by an evil genius.”

Like an echo, one last line of text scrolled across his screen. Did you duck?

It was, Matt realized, possible to be pissed to the eyeballs, amused and admiring at the same time. It was possible. It was also uncomfortable. A verbal response started low in his gut, rose toward his throat in swell. Even he didn’t know what was going to come out, a yell or a laugh. He felt Sebastian bracing at the other end of the line. Braced himself, too.

When it erupted, strained and slightly grim, but still recognizable as laughter, he was as relieved as Sebastian, who quickly joined him.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?” he managed to gasp out.

“If we ever get a case involving a romance writer, we run as fast and far away as we can?”

“No argument here.”

“I’m getting too old for this. Let’s see,” he ordered his thoughts, a strangely easier process in the aftermath of a good bout of laughing, “can we print out what was said and have Alice look at it? Maybe she’ll notice something we clueless males can’t.”

“Righto.”

“Thanks.” Matt broke the connection and sagged back in the chair. He knew so much about Dani from the files, had heard her voice from tapes of her pre-trial depositions, seen her thoughts from the online posts, read one of her books—

He had to admit she had made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Surprise. Admiration. A longing to wring her neck until she begged for mercy. A desire to be in the same room with her.

Was she a flesh and blood woman with a bit of biker babe and romance writer? Where did grieved and grieving, a wicked sense of humor and a stubborn heart fit in? If he did come face to face with her, what then?

He thought he had felt all the regret he could when he had stood in the safe house and thought she was dead. This was worse. He had told her she could trust him and she could—to save her life. To stop Hayes. She couldn’t trust him with anything else. Betrayal had dogged her from the beginning and now he got to be a tacit conspirator in administering the coup de grace when Sheridan let Richard Hastings off the hook so he could go after Orsini. Sometimes justice wasn’t just blind. Sometimes it was stupid. And so wrong.

Richard Hastings would lose a lot in the process. He wouldn’t lose enough. There wasn’t a thing Matt could do about it. If he warned her, it wouldn’t change anything. Hayes wouldn’t go easily or quietly into the night. Even if Bates managed to get him snuffed, there was Dent waiting for his chance to take her out. It was like having the best seat in the house for a gigantic train wreck. All he could do was sit here and wait for it to happen.

It took away all desire to laugh and recoiled the tension into a knot around his head. He rubbed his face and wished he could go back to sleep. Instead he had to head in to the office. First that shower and shave he would promised himself. He stood up and his back protested again. Okay, first aspirin, then the shower.

* * * *

Dani pushed Kelly’s laptop away, feeling a guilty exhilaration at smoking Matt’s experts in cyberspace. It had been close, a real squeaker, according to the status window in the corner of the screen tracking the trace, made closer by that last jab. Not a wise move, but a satisfying one. It was a known fact that alpha males needed to be thwarted occasionally, for their own good.

“The interview,” Kelly called from the bathroom, “won’t take me long. What say we do the tourist thing?”

Dani looked up. “I’ve already been to the zoo.”

“I don’t even want to know.” Kelly propped a shoulder on the door jamb and briskly rolled one leg of her pantyhose. “We could go see those mountainous, rock-like things looming over the smog. I’ve always wondered if the late, great John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High was from mountains or mountain grown.”

Dani grinned. “Too high for this girl.”

“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting you have that height phobia thing going.” She balanced on one foot and inserted the other into her panty hose. “Actually, I might have one, too. I’ve never really done anything seriously up, other than flying. And that doesn’t really count, does it?”

“With a little Valium prior to flying, it doesn’t.” Dani hesitated, reluctant to take the first step away from Kelly, but knowing it needed to be done. The death that stalked her had a way of grinding up those around her.

“With a little Valium, little does matter,” Kelly said dryly. She gave that final wriggle that was so critical to wearing hose with a semblance of comfort, then grabbed her silk tee and pulled it on. When her face popped through the neck, she added, “Quit stalling, Dani. I’ve known you for longer than I’m old. What’s cooking in your far too devious noodle? If it’s a new book, you know I don’t allow you to get ideas in my presence.”

She sat down beside Dani, a smile on her red mouth that didn’t erase the worry in her blue eyes.

Dani shook her head. “Nothing bookish going on there right now.”

“So what is?”

“You been reading the paper?” Dani handed it to her. “The trial is going forward very briskly.”

Kelly took it, read the first few paragraphs about the trial, then looked up. “Looks like it’s about over.”

Dani nodded. “I’m guessing sometime tomorrow, they’ll call me to the stand maybe even today.”

“And then?”

Dani gave a half laugh. “I don’t know. I never thought past the trial. Just focused on getting to it.” She shrugged. “Maybe they’ll let me go home?”

“Works for me. All we have to do is get through this morning—”

Dani shook her head, looked down at her clasped hands, then at Kelly. “I’ve made alternate arrangements for tonight. Don’t—” Dani cut off Kelly’s protest. “You know as well as I do, that I need to keep moving. It’s too dangerous to you, your mother-in-law, her staff. Even the Dobermans.”

Kelly stared at her, her signature pout slightly marred by resignation. “Don’t tell me you’re really gonna meet with your lovelorn ex-spy?”

“All right, I won’t.” At the look on Kelly’s face, Dani added, “It’s not like I have that many options and we’re meeting at the mall. If I don’t like the look of him, I walk away, still anonymous and think of something else.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know!” She jumped up and paced away. “Something.”

Reflected in the window, Dani saw Kelly stand up, pull on her jeans, and then stamp into her shoes. Her arms crossed, she stared at Dani’s back for so long she hunched her shoulders.

“I’ll think of something.”

“Look, Dan, I’m all for making the alpha guy suffer torments. I love putting them through it in my books. But this ain’t fiction, girl. This is real life. Your life. Your death. Put the spook on hold and call the Fed.”

Dani could see the telephone without turning her head. All she had to do was put out her hand, dial some numbers, and they would all come running. They would lift the burden of living or dying off her shoulders. Let her lapse back into a semi-terrified limbo, going where she was told, saying what she was told—

“They can’t all be dirty. If you can trust some cyberspace spook you’ve never met, you can trust the Feds for a mere twenty-four hours, can’t you?”

“It’s not me they want, Kelly. They want Dark Lord. He thinks I’ll draw him to me and they can catch him.”

“Sounds like a better proposition than facing him alone again. If he’s not dead, he will come. And you’re using up your luck.” Kelly stalked over and pulled her around. “How you gonna get into that courthouse without their help? If Richard really does have mob connections, they’ll have the place covered so tight an ant won’t be able to get by them. You gotta know when to fold ’em.” She gave a crooked grin. “Kenny Rogers said so. Hey, a guy that cute can’t be wrong. Unless…”

At the change in her tone, Dani looked at her sharply. “Unless what?”

There was only concern in her face. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about all this? Unless you don’t want to get into that courtroom? Unless you don’t want to face Richard? Is that it? When it comes right down to it, that you can’t do it to him and Liz? Or their kids?”

Dani shook her head once sharply, then hesitated. Was Kelly right? Was she choking at the gate? She couldn’t, wouldn’t forget the horror of seeing Richard kill. She couldn’t forget the other memories either. He was the brother she never had long before Dani married his brother and he married her other best friend, Liz. He was the one who had come to tell her that Meggie had died. The one who held her while she cried out her first shock and grief. Stood by her, with Liz on the other side, at the cemetery when Steven wouldn’t even look at her. Protected her from Steven’s drunken grief. Helped her navigate her messy divorce. Rejoiced with her when her first book sold. When Liz had her cancer scare, Dani was the one he had called to share his worry. She’d waited with him, then rejoiced with them both when the tests came back negative.

And the kids? She couldn’t think about the kids without flinching. She was their godmother.

Why would she want to do this? She was losing as much, or more than Richard in the deal.

Dani wrapped her arms around her middle, cradling the hurt that was as fresh as the day she had watched him pull the trigger and shatter her illusions. “Did you hear what they’re saying? That I’m accusing him of murder to get back at Steven for killing our baby.”

“I heard. He’s too stupid to live, you know that.” Her touch was light at first, as if she was afraid Dani didn’t want it. Dani covered the hand on her shoulder and Kelly slid her arm around Dani’s shoulder in a warming hug. “It sucks big time dead toads, girl. But he did this to himself. He did this, not you.”

It was the right thing, she knew it. Why did it feel so wrong. “So why do I feel guilty?”

“It’s a woman’s lot in life, according to Erma Bombeck, a lovely gift that just keeps on giving, like the Energizer Bunny. Only way to beat it, is to plow through it. Put his butt in jail and get on with your life.”

Kelly was right. Dani knew she was right. He had started it by killing. She couldn’t let him walk away. Not because he had tried to kill her. For Peg and Cloris and all the others who had died.

Dani looked at Kelly, gave her a smile that tried to brave, but was shaky at the edges. “I’m going to be there tomorrow. I’m going to testify if I have to do it postmortem.”

Kelly hugged her again. “Good. I was starting to worry.”

Dani arched her brows. “You? Worry?”

“It was getting hip deep in maudlin in here. You know how I hate that.”

“Yeah.” Dani gave her a gentle shove. “You’d better get going. Don’t want to keep your jerk waiting.”

Kelly turned to leave, then stopped and looked back, her face a mix of relief and worry that was strangely reminiscent of the look on Meat’s face when they’d parted company.

“What now?”

“That was it, right? Just the guilt thing about Richard?”

Dani stiffened. “What else would it be?”

Kelly looked uneasy. “It’s just that, well, when Meggie…at first, I was worried you wouldn’t make it, then you did okay, but—”

“But what?” Dani asked, going tense.

“Now I’m not sure you did get over it,” Kelly admitted.

“I didn’t get over it. No one does, no matter what they say. I learned to live with it. It was that or—” Don’t even go down that road, she cautioned herself. “What does it have to do with Richard?”

Kelly looked like she wished she hadn’t started this. She shifted uneasily on her heels and rubbed her upper arms convulsively. “Well, you can’t blame me for wondering.”

“Wondering what? Come on, spill it, Kel. You’ve never spared me your keen insight before.”

The words came out sharper than Dani intended and erased the hesitation from Kelly’s face. She slung her purse over her shoulder and looked squarely at Dani.

“Well, I did wonder if you wanted this Dark Lord guy to do it. You’re not the type to do yourself, but if someone did it for you, no guilt, right?”

It would have been kinder, Dani decided, if she had just pulled her beating heart out of her chest and stomped on it. Much less painful. It hurt to breathe, hurt more to ask, “You think I have some kind of death wish?”

Kelly looked away then. “Think about it, Dani. Your angst-ridden heroes practically writhe with life and death themes in your books, even the funny ones.”

“Which they resolve by choosing life,” Dani pointed out with a hint of desperation. “Always life.”

“Yeah.” Kelly opened the door, looked back. “But those are books. This is real. This is about what you choose.”

Instinctively Dani shook her head. “I’ve never even thought about—”

She stopped. It was a lie. Of course she had thought about dying. No one could lose a child without wondering if they could live in a world their baby wasn’t in anymore. Once, a couple of months after the accident, she had cut herself shaving in the shower. It hadn’t hurt. She’d stood for a long time with water pounding into her back watching the blood run down her leg.

“I don’t know, okay?” Dani glared at her because she had to be angry. Anger was easy. It didn’t involve thinking or deciding. It just was.

“It’s not okay! Figure out what you want before someone comes after you again, Dani. I’d hate for Richard to lose the battle and win the war.” She left then, closing the door with a pointed care that was more dramatic than slamming it would have been.

“If a world full of people couldn’t agree on when life begins or ends,” she said, “how am I supposed to figure it out?” She sighed. Maybe she should ask Niles.

* * * *

Instead of heading straight into the office, Matt took a detour into Commerce City to meet Riggs. Their interest had become focused on the suburb of mostly blue collar families, triggered by the telephone call that had immediately preceded Dani’s call to her agent from the pay phone in the convenience store Monday evening. Though the name listed with the phone number, one Joshua Heywood, didn’t match any of Dani’s known contacts, Matt’s gut told him it was worth checking out—since their other leads were going nowhere fast.

On the drive over, he had a conference call by cell phone with his team. It strengthened his conviction that Heywood could be important. Alice, acting on a hunch that Boomer’s magic program couldn’t have found all of Dani’s cyberspace identities had done some cross-checking of the online information they’d collected on her, then cross-referenced it with her real time life and identified several more online handles that could be Dani’s. One in particular was an actress known as Delphi. Alice made a convincing enough case for Matt to direct Sebastian to monitor her email traffic. Before the call ended he hit pay dirt. Just prior to Dani’s online meet with Matt, Delphi had emailed some joker called Spook. The message was innocuous enough, a reminder that they had talked about meeting at “their” place if she ever got to Denver. She was here, did he still want to meet? The signature was followed by a quote that had probably been tampered with, since it was followed by an emoticon grin.

“There is only one passion, the passion for chocolate.”

Dani’s posts certainly reflected a passion for chocolate, but so did a lot of the other romance writers’ musings. More important in his view was that this Spook was near the top of the list of people Dani chatted with regularly and extensively. CIA agents were called spooks and Dani had mentioned an ex-CIA agent making a pass at her in her posts on a romance writers bulletin board a few months ago.

This bit of information was strangely annoying. Because, he told himself, it was crazy for her to be approaching some weirdo ex-spy for help. Of course, his annoyance was on a purely professional level, with maybe some professional jealousy mixed in. How could she choose the CIA over the Marshals Service?

The final piece of the puzzle fell into place when Sebastian linked this Spook to Joshua Heywood and the address they were approaching just as he and Riggs turned onto the street from opposite directions. Matt pulled into the curb several houses down. Riggs parked across the street. Still talking by telephone, Riggs asked, “So do we set up surveillance or talk to the guy and hope he throws in with us?”

Matt frowned. What was the best approach? If the guy really was ex-CIA and infatuated with Dani, would he be likely to help them? Spooks were unstable, ex-spook’s notoriously so. A misstep now could put them back in the dark double quick. He tried to relax, to mine his instinct, but his gut was giving off mixed signals with his pride complicating the mix.

“I’d like to get a read on him before making that call,” Matt admitted, annoyed with himself for being indecisive. “Can you get me something from his records, Sebastian? I’ll settle for an unpaid parking ticket.”

“You don’t think an ex-spook will smell a rat,” Riggs said, dryly, “when a couple of US Marshals wake him up at seven a.m. to ask him about a parking ticket?”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Matt snapped, “as long as he doesn’t make the connection with—”

Matt stopped when a car cruising slowly down the street turned into Heywood’s driveway. Two men got out and started up the walk.

“Now where have I seen you two?” Matt muttered as they reached the door. One examined the street with an alertly casual air. The other bent to unlock the door. Or to pick the lock, Matt thought with a frown. They looked suspiciously like mob muscle. He looked across at Riggs. “Isn’t that Bates’ favorite muscle? The Trip boys?”

“What they doing here?” Riggs asked, pulling his gun out from under his coat and checking the clip.

There was only one reason Matt could produce. Dani was already here. “Send backup,” he snapped into the telephone. Without waiting for confirmation, he tossed it onto the seat. Moving in sync with Riggs, he slid out of his car and started up the street, keeping low, moving fast.

A quick look told him they were still trying to work the lock. Matt signaled for Riggs to start working his way around to the back. He nodded, dropped to the street, and crawled under a parked car—

The lock gave, followed quickly by an explosion that unleashed a ball of fire. It engulfed the Trips, then roared across the car Riggs was under and headed toward Matt.

THIRTEEN

Smoke still drifted in fragments of white against the deep blue of the morning sky when the bomb squad’s investigative team moved into the wreckage. It was both easier and harder to navigate than the safe house had been. This one lacked the unstable overhead beams, since the roof had been completely destroyed in the explosion, but there were more pieces of wreckage to sift through this time, with hidden hot pockets that threatened to flare anew when uncovered.

The Trip boys, Bad and Bum, had been blown from the doorstep across the street, making a messy landing on the hood of one car and the roof of another car. Screens now shielded curious onlookers from their remains.

Not too surprisingly, their initial inspection failed to turn up any fatalities beyond Bates’ two boys. The door had to have been booby-trapped. The question was, why? Who was this guy that Dani may have turned to for help?

An hour after the blast, Matt still didn’t have an answer, though the ringing in his ears was beginning to subside. He’d been lucky. He was still breathing. The car he had been behind had afforded him a measure of protection from the blast, if not the flying glass and debris. The EMT finished the stitching and patching of the wide variety of lacerations and contusions on his exposed skin, luckily, all of them superficial, then stepped back to survey his handiwork.

Matt didn’t ask how he looked. If it was close to how he felt, it was better not to know. He tossed aside the cold pack and fingered the lump caused by a flying door knob. It felt smaller. The headache it had spawned felt worse, though he had a feeling he felt better than Riggs.

He had been closer to the source of the explosion than Matt. He might have a concussion, possibly internal injuries, according to the EMTs, who advised transport to the hospital for further examination.

Matt hated to lose Riggs to the injury list, just when the operation was accelerating so lethally. Riggs protested he was fine. Matt wanted to believe him, but it was hard when his eyes kept crossing. He gestured for them to take him away, then turned to Henry and Alice, who’d arrived on the scene shortly after the house blew.

“Anything?”

Alice shook her head.

“Right.” He had had time to think while he was being fixed up. His bell had been thoroughly rung, but he could still add two plus two and get a solid four. “We gotta move fast. Give me the short version of what you’ve got while we’re in transit.”

Alice and Henry exchanged puzzled looks, then Alice asked,   “In transit?”

“Someone needs to tell Bates his boys are toast. Want it to be me.” He pulled out his car keys, his car had been luckier than all of them, with only minor dents and a layer of soot. He tossed Henry the keys. “You drive. I’m not seeing that good yet.”

This time their exchange of looks was distinctly uneasy. Matt ignored them and slid in the back seat, grimacing as his butt protested both movement and contact with the seat. Getting knocked on his butt was no longer an abstract expression. He had been offered painkiller, but refused it. He couldn’t afford to fog his thinking with the situation jumping to critical mass. He could admit to himself that he hurt, that he was seriously shook up, this one had been a little too close for comfort, but he couldn’t let it stop him.

“Let’s start with Dani,” Matt directed. “What’s her status?”

“I looked over your chat this morning and had a bit of luck,” Alice said, resting her elbow on the seat between them. “I had my radio on this morning when I was driving in. Romance author Kelly Kerwin was being interviewed. She’s in town for a writers conference this weekend. All the guy interviewing her wanted to talk about was the sex.”

“Go talk sex with a jerk,” Matt said softly. “I’ll be…I never thought of that.”

“No reason you should.” Alice grinned. “I called the agent. She almost shuddered when she heard Dani had hooked up with Kerwin. Their chemistry, when combined, is a bit incendiary, her words toned down a bit. She suggested we check packaged cookie dough sales and canvas strip joints. Kerwin is writing a book about a male stripper and has been doing a lot of research.”

“And did we do that while I was getting blown on my butt?” Matt asked dryly.

“We did the strip joints.” Alice’s smile was deficient in demure. “Tuesday night. Buns’n Roses. The clincher? Kerwin was signing books that day at the mall where Dani bought the red dress. I checked the hotel she’s registered at and there’s no sign of either of them. Room wasn’t slept in last night.”

“They have to be somewhere. Let’s add Kerwin’s known associates to our list. They may be bunking with someone Kerwin knows, but Dani doesn’t.” When he wondered, as an idle aside, had he started calling her the personal “Dani” instead of “Gwynne?”

“Already working on it,” Alice said. “But based on her latest email traffic, she’s getting ready to move again.”

“Which brings us to Heywood.” Matt frowned. He was having trouble focusing. Every turn they took hurt just enough to be distracting. “I can understand Bates sending his hit squad in if he thought Dani was there. She probably wasn’t. So where does the bomb come in? You don’t send a hit squad into a location you’ve already booby-trapped.”

“We have a theory on that,” Alice said soberly. She extracted a folder from her briefcase and held it out.

Matt shook his head and wished he hadn’t. He wasn’t sure he could read yet. “Just give me the important stuff.”

“As soon as Sebastian penetrated the first layer of information on Heywood, red flags started flying. It’s a bogus, Matt. Not even a deep cover bogus, though good enough for a cursory examination. Once he knew it was a fake, it was easy to find a death certificate for the infant Joshua Heywood.”

“A bogus.” Matt rubbed his aching head, not liking the direction his thoughts were heading. “Birth year?”

A crease of worry put a sharp line between her brows. “The same as Hayes.”

He didn’t have words, profane or otherwise. Times like this he really envied Sarge from the Beetle Bailey cartoon. He had a whole keyboard of symbols to use. All Matt had was the dictionary. It wasn’t enough. “Hayes is Heywood. Heywood is Spook. Spook is…”

“The man Dani thinks is her friend and is planning to meet,” Alice finished for him with an air of calm. She had had more time to get used to the idea.

“Is it a coincidence?” Matt asked, then answered himself, “How could it be?”

The implications were staggering and sobering. If Hayes was chatting with Dani online, then it was entirely possible she had inadvertently engineered the compromise of the safe house. Which meant that Neuman and his team might be in the clear, except for being too stupid to know what was going on under their noses.

“Coincidence doesn’t seem likely,” Henry agreed, stopping for a red light.

“When’s the meet?” Matt asked. “And where?”

“High noon. Looks like they suspected their mail might be monitored. They both allude to a favorite place of Dani’s, but no mention of where that might be. I put some people on to reading through her posts again, for any reference to a place they could meet.” Alice looked at her watch. “But we’ve got less than two hours.”

“We tried to warn her by email?” Matt tapped out a beat on his knee, it hurt, but the movement kept time with thoughts twisting and turning for a viable plan of action.

“Yeah, but if she’s on the move, she’s not likely to risk logging on, particularly since she’s found out what she needed to know.”

Matt gave an unamused laugh. “What she needed to know. Where to meet her killer. What a mess.” Hayes was running true to type. Nothing he was involved in was ever simple or easy.

“This is it,” Henry said, pointing to an open gate. Beyond the gate, visible through the trees that partially shielded the house, red lights flashed a warning of a new problem. “Looks like someone beat us to the punch.”

“No, this something else,” Matt said, looking at the coroner’s wagon parked among the police cars. They flashed their ID’s to the uniform guarding the open gate. “Bates?”

“Bates and David, sir.”

“Bang goes Richard Hastings plea bargain,” Alice said.

At least there was some good news. He asked the cop, “Fire?”

He shook his head. “Throats slashed.”

“Really?” Matt frowned. He had been sure that Orsini hired Hayes to do the hit. Orsini was heavy into that kind of irony. “Anything else unusual?”

“Well,” the man hesitated, then added, “there’s talk they found a message pinned to Bates’ chest.”

“Message? What’d it say?”

He looked almost embarrassed. “Not worthy.”

“That’s it?” Matt frowned.

“Fraid so.”

Not worthy? What…he looked at the cop. “Were the bodies moved and arranged?”

He looked surprised. “How did you know that, sir?”

“Just a wild guess,” Matt said grimly. If this was his handiwork, why hadn’t Hayes done his usual torch job? What were Bates and David not worthy of?

* * * *

His pattern was screwed. Totally screwed. Dani as Willow made his head explode with pain and hope. He had wanted to deny it. How could he live with the knowledge that he almost killed Willow? It didn’t fit the pattern. Still he could not deny it. It made sense. It was entirely logical. It explained why he had felt her, seen her in his dreams. His heart had known what his mind did not. Had tried to warn him. It broke the pattern. When he had Willow, they would fix it. Or make a new pattern.

“Order eventually restores itself, by psychic equilibrium.” He had to believe this to survive. Together they would forge a better pattern. One that couldn’t be screwed up by anyone.

First he had to make her safe. There were too many players in the game. That’s why he had taken Bates and David out of the equation. Only hours after they would put the contract out on his head. The irony of it pleased him, soothed the itch to kill and keep killing again until all who threatened his future with Willow were dead.

The meeting at the mall was complicated. He hadn’t dealt with all of her enemies yet, but he couldn’t ignore her summons. He knew how much she needed him to keep her safe. So he came. It was as simple as that. She would be frightened, but when she realized he was on her side, she would accept him. Accept his heart. His protection. She would recognize, as he had, that they were meant for each other. He would finish making her safe and they would start creating the new pattern by climbing his mountain together.

With her his pain would go away. Not just until the next kill. Forever. Willow was the cure. The final solution. Nothing must stop their coming together.

* * * *

“I can’t believe what I’m about to say,” Kelly said, stopping her rental car at the mall’s entrance and turning to look at Dani. “It goes against my deepest shopping beliefs, but…don’t go into the mall.”

Dani grinned, amusement momentarily diffusing her own unease. It was certainly a first. It tracked with her feelings. Right now the last thing she wanted to do was go inside and meet another person she knew by words, but not by sight. Her mind was total goo. She had passed tired days ago. Even pissed off had faded, leaving behind a thick exhaustion that made even one step at a time too hard to contemplate, let alone do. It would be so easy to stay in the car. Drive off with Kelly. Go to the convention. She belonged at writer’s conventions. Not going off to meet an ex-CIA agent in a mile high mall.

Every decision she had made, except for hooking up with Kelly, had ended in disaster. If she stayed with Kelly, disaster could catch up with them both. How could she live with herself if something happened to her best friend? Practically the only friend she had left? All because she didn’t go into a mall? She couldn’t. She opened the door and lifted one, then the other foot out. Now all she had to manage was standing up.

To postpone it, she looked at Kelly. “I’ll be fine. Really.”

“I don’t buy swamp land in Florida, the Brooklyn Bridge, or desert in Arizona. Do you seriously think I’m gonna buy that?” Kelly asked. Dani didn’t answer, just looked at her. Kelly sighed. “Look. I can’t believe I’m saying this either, but how about I wait out here for, say half an hour? If the spook turns out to be a drip, you’ll have a fallback position.”

Dani smiled her relief. “Sounds good to me.”

Too good, but she didn’t have the energy to fight her, especially when she was on Kelly’s side. What she knew about Spook seemed okay. He was smart and funny, but so sensitive it was hard to believe he could be for real. This wasn’t a good time for unpleasant surprises. All she needed or wanted from Spook was help in getting into court this afternoon.

“Why don’t you circle around? We’re meeting in center court. If he doesn’t look promising, I’ll just walk straight through without stopping.”

“Works for me,” Kelly said. “Let’s synchronize our watches.” She grinned. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

“There’s too many things you’ve always wanted to say and do, girl.” Dani slid out and stood up. Her legs wobbled, then held. She looked doubtfully at the cowboy boots Kelly had talked her into buying. They were so shiny she felt like a real greenhorn, especially with the cowboy hat and western stitched shirt. You’ve gone to Mardi Gras dressed like a romance novel bookmark, she reminded herself. How can you possibly feel ridiculous? The stiff leather did seem to help steady her ankles. Hopefully they wouldn’t remove yards of skin in the process.

She took a deep breath. “Half hour. If I don’t come out, save yourself.”

She opened the door, stepped into mall air and music. It was her spiritual home. So why did the door swishing closed behind her sound so final?

FOURTEEN

It was like watching lines of Dominos going down in every direction, Matt decided. He had to figure out which one would lead him to Dani using a brain that was still ringing from the explosion. Just in case that didn’t make it hard enough, all they knew for sure was that she and Spook had a “place” and they were going to meet there at noon. A relentless search of their common online posts had failed to hint at a place, let alone turn up a mention of it. Nor had their APB on Kelly Kerwin’s rental car turned up her or her car.

No wonder he had a headache.

“It has to be some place public,” Alice said, pushing aside her share of posts and arching her back. “She’d never meet someone she didn’t know anywhere but in public.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Let’s see. There was the biker, Meathook. She had showed up at his place unannounced, then spent the night with he and his neon mama. What about that waitress from the greasy spoon that she followed to the tenement like a lamb to slaughter? Or the male stripper-obsessed romance writer. Sure she was going to be sensible.

He didn’t share his reservations with Alice. She would think he was being sexist. Which said all that was needed about the contradiction that was female logic.

Matt exchanged pointed looks with Henry and Sebastian—who obviously were on the same page he was—behind Alice’s back. They all knew they were right, but if she caught on, they would pay for it.

He shoved back his chair and stalked over to the coffee machine for some chemical energy. He added three sugar cubes above normal, stirring them in while he tried to stir up his thinking. He should be able to think his way through the problem. Should be able to take available information, add equal parts experience and intuition. Let simmer until a conclusion formed. Then act on it. End of situation. Move on to the next problem.

Only it wasn’t working in the case of the romance writer and the hit man. She wasn’t reacting the way she should. When he tossed in Hayes, who wasn’t in the same universe as normal, it was a recipe for disaster. Hayes must be in high cotton. Dani was coming right to him. She wouldn’t know it until it was too late.

Matt lifted the cup and tossed half of it down his throat. The coffee was as bitter as his thoughts. He paced back to his desk, slopping coffee with each frustrated step. “There must be something we can do to stop the meet!”

Alice opened her mouth. Closed it. Then she frowned. He recognized the look. Her wheels were turning. If anyone could figure out what the woman was thinking, it was another woman.

While he waited for her wheels to spin the right way, a clock ticked in his head, getting louder the closer it got to high noon.

“Maybe,” she finally said, “we’ve been looking at this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?” Henry asked.

“Well, we’re acting like their original meeting was this intrigue thing they were trying to hide,” she said, thoughtfully.

“Oh?” The puzzled crease in Sebastian’s brow deepened.

Alice ignored him. “Hayes couldn’t afford to come off mysterious unless he wanted to arouse Dani’s suspicions. When he made his offer, it was just a pass between a guy and a girl. Let’s meet for drinks.”

Henry sighed. “She doesn’t drink.”

Matt stiffened. “Chocolate chip cookies. The only perfect food.”

That earned him blank looks from both men, but an approving one from Alice. “Good for you. We might just turn you into a sensitive guy yet.”

“Why does a compliment from women always come off sounding like an insult?” Sebastian asked.

“I don’t get it.” Henry frowned. “Are you saying, they’re meeting for cookies?”

In unison Matt and Alice turned toward each other.

“The mall.”

* * * *

The closer she got to center court, the more uneasy Dani got. The question was, why? She was taking an on line friendship into real time. She had done it with Caro and Meat. That neither of them had made a pass at her was a slight, but unimportant difference? What mattered was that Spook was someone she liked. Someone she trusted. Someone who liked her. Not her face, her body, her testimony, or her ability to die. That he was ex-CIA was a positive, sort of. If she didn’t think about it too much.

She didn’t have to make contact with him. If she didn’t, the problem of how to get into court today remained. She was fresh out of good ideas. Running out of time. The trial was scheduled to resume at one. She could be called any time after that. She had to be there or all this was for nothing. Richard would win by default.

An ex-spy would know how to get into all kinds of places, wouldn’t he? She hesitated, her hand sliding into her pocket to the sheet with the addresses Matt had sent her. The Marshals or the Spook, Dani? Which is it to be?

She checked her watch. Five minutes to twelve. She hesitated. She had asked him to come. It would be rude to leave without a word. Just ahead of her was the bright, high dome of center court. She had to go through it get to Kelly anyway. Couldn’t hurt to check him out. This was her chance to find out what a honest-to-goodness sensitive guy looked like.

* * * *

She was late. Hayes looked at his watch again. Found it one minute later than the last time he looked. Sometimes the waiting, the anticipation that went with it, was the better part of the hunt. He wasn’t hunting now. He was waiting for Willow. He had waited too long to be face to face with her. Now she was coming. He couldn’t wait anymore.

Why didn’t she come? She said she would. Willow didn’t, couldn’t lie. It wasn’t in her nature to lie. He scanned the center court area again, then turned toward the cookie counter where they were supposed to meet.

In Willow’s Book of Life, chocolate chip cookies are the perfect food group. <g>.

He smiled. He would have to cure her of her obsession with chocolate. It was so unhealthy. If it brought her to him, he could live with it. For now. His smile turned to a frown when he saw the empty counter. She wasn’t there either. He could feel their window of opportunity shrinking with each passing second. Could feel the ripples of pursuit coming their way. He couldn’t let them get trapped here.

Why didn’t she come?

Willow. Her name whispered across his mind and became an ache of longing. Henry Miller wrote that “the aim of life, is to live life, aware, joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware.

He was aware. It was her turn. Once she was aware, she would understand. She had to.

* * * *

Matt ejected from the car before it came to a complete stop. Police cars, lights flashing careened into a ragged circle around the mall entrance, releasing a flood of uniformed officers in SWAT gear. No one was taking Hayes possible apprehension lightly. The SWAT commander intercepted Matt before he reached the door. Matt wanted to sweep the man aside.

“Alice, handle this, I’m going in.”

Both of them said, “Not a good idea.”

“Don’t try to stop me,” he snapped. “I have two minutes to stop them meeting, maybe less. I have my radio. I’ll stay in touch.”

The commander looked at Alice, who hesitated, then nodded. They both stepped back and Matt sprang forward, like a spring released. He jerked the door open, aware on some level that he was acting out of character. It wasn’t like him to be out of control, to go in without careful thought, without a plan.

He hadn’t felt like himself since he got mixed up with the romance writer and the hit man.

* * * *

Dani stood in a shadowy area just outside the bright reach of skylights cris-crossing the ceiling. The area was a typical mall milieu. The artificial trying to look natural. Bright, open counters, lots of stone tile. Green and growing things and scattered wooden seats breaking up the traffic patterns so shoppers couldn’t take a straight line through, but were directed toward possible impulse purchases.

The scent of cookies drifted past on recycled air. Dani turned towards the smell like a flower to the sun. That’s where he would be. By the cookies.

She almost did it. Almost stepped out into the light. Something stopped her. No, not something. A feeling that someone was looking for her. Someone?

Him. Dark Lord. Here?

She shrank back against the wall. How could that be? The only people who knew where she was were Spook and Kelly. She was getting paranoid. Not too surprising when she counted up how much sleep she hadn’t had…

Across from her a man moved around the perimeter toward the cookie counter. Was this her Spook? With his loose-limbed body and bland face he kind of looked like what she thought a CIA agent would. Weird if he actually did look like she would expect him to.

He bent down, a natural enough action when you have just dropped something. But the movement, the way his head angled as if listening, his eyes sweeping the area with probing insistence, was almost a mirror for Dark Lord when he’d crouched over Peg’s fallen body. All that was missing was the knife.

And the blood.

She pressed back into the wall, but the hard stone refused to yield even an inch. She wanted to run, but she was back in her nightmare. Afraid to run. Afraid to breathe.

He stood up, tossed what he had picked up in the air, and caught it with a fluid ease that made Dani flinch. He tucked it in his pocket, left his hand there as he strolled in the direction of the cookies.

He was a chameleon. She had seen him become Dark Lord with her own eyes. Seen him vanish into normal. How could she believe her eyes now? He looked so innocuous, so much a part of the mall scene it was almost eerie. She would be hard pressed to pick him out of a line up.

She eased along the wall, keeping the man in sight, then slipped inside the store behind her. The plate glass on two sides helped her see, the racks of dresses provided cover.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m just looking,” Dani told the clerk with perfect honesty. She moved around to one side, stopped when Dark Lord propped a shoulder against a pillar. Her nerve endings jumped in time with the question playing repeatedly in her head.

How did he know I would be here?

There was something, some realization hovering at the edges of her mind that she wanted to flinch away from. Why had it made Dark Lord so angry to find out she was Willow? Why hadn’t he killed her either of the times he could have? If only Kelly and Spook knew she would be here, then…

Dark Lord must be Spook.

There was no other explanation. Kelly sure wasn’t. Cyberspace brought her and her killer together in some bizarre joke. One doomed from the beginning, with the punch line to be played out in a real, killing time.

Stupid. I’ve been so stupid.

“You looking for a size?” the clerk tried again.

Dani looked at her as the full enormity of what she had done crashed over her. “No one can help me.”

* * * *

Matt slowed as the cookie counter came into sight. Cookie counter. He couldn’t believe he was about to stake one out.

On the radio, he heard Alice deploying their resources and mentally placed them in his head. The exits were covered and men were moving his way. The evacuation of the mall had begun.

* * * *

Dark Lord straightened, his head up, his body tense like an animal sensing something. Dani could feel him reaching out toward her. Knew that he knew she was here somewhere. She wanted to run. She wanted to cower. Wanted to postpone the moment of discovery.

“You all right, ma’am? You’re kinda pale,” the clerk said, her young voice uneasy.

She would never be all right again. He turned in a circle, his piercing gaze following where his senses led, both on a collision course with her. Everything slowed, even her heartbeat, its frantic pounding echoing in her head. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes. Instead, she heard Kelly saying, “You’re not the type to do it yourself, but if someone did it for you, no guilt, right?”

Had she brought this on herself? Had she chosen without choosing? Had she drawn Dark Lord to her? Had she felt death and invited it in? Had others died protecting someone who didn’t want to live? Because if the answer was yes, then she deserved whatever happened.

He turned away from her, several long strides taking him out of sight. Why—the answer to that question strode into view bare seconds after Dark Lord disappeared.

Her hound dog hunter, Matt Kirby, looking big and angry with his body all coiled tension.

How did he know she would be here?

It was almost annoying. She was going to die. Now she wasn’t. Somebody needed to make up their mind. She didn’t want to mess with this anymore. She wanted to whine. Loud and long. To sleep without nightmares. To go home. Instead she walked forward until the plate glass got in her way. She leaned her head against it because it was there.

At least the view was good. His jeans were inspiring.

She was too tired to flip a coin. Let him decide. If he wanted her, she would go with him. If he wanted Dark Lord, well, there was still Kelly waiting outside.

“Wow, wonder what’s happening,” the clerk said, behind her, snapping her gum with noisy enthusiasm.

Dani ignored her, waiting for Matt to see her. The killer or the romance writer? Who did he want to find the most? Maybe it wasn’t fair, but she didn’t have to be fair. She was a woman. He was a man with the power to hurt her. He wouldn’t mean to, but he would.

Even knowing this didn’t stop her wanting him to choose her over the killer. There was no law that said she had to be logical. No rhyme or reason to explain why one man made her burn, another chilled to the bone. She should leave. She stayed, waiting for him to see her. Waiting to see what he’d do when he did.

* * * *

Matt was in the zone. The place where it all came together. Training. Experience. Instinct. This was what it was for, what made it—the paperwork, the waiting, the politics, the lawyer crap—worthwhile. This was why he did it. To catch bad guys.

It was too simple for some people. He liked it simple. Liked it straightforward. A to Z. Making the world safe for the people who had no idea how bad it could get. For his mother. For Dani.

He stopped in his tracks. There she was. Looking at him through a store window like she’d just come to shop and was surprised to see him.

His gaze narrowed, zooming in to absorb the small signs she wasn’t shopping. Her pale face. Trembling mouth. Eyes wide and shocked. She had seen Hayes. He was here somewhere. Where? Matt scanned the area. Found nothing. He turned back. Now her eyes had a question for him. What, he wanted to ask, but there wasn’t time. They could still get Hayes. He had to move now.

“Hayes?” he mouthed. She hesitated, then pointed down one of the wings. Matt pivoted, searching the shadows for his quarry. Still nothing.

He turned back toward Dani. He needed to find out how long Hayes had been gone. She wasn’t there. Had he been smoked? Had Hayes made her? No. There she was, walking away from him like she had the right. Matt turned, lifting his radio as he headed the direction she had pointed.

“Alice, Hayes is heading your way. Be very careful. Alert the DPD and let’s try to cut him off. Oh, and Henry, Gwynne’s walking your way. Pick her up. When we’re through here, we’ll take her to the trial.”

* * * *

Harold Dent sat in his car, tapping the steering wheel. Only slightly less wide than he was tall, he had a misshapen head, created by nature, and misshapen fingers because of his nature. He had started life as a boxer, but had taken the path of least resistance and big money by hitching his wagon to Bates’ dark star. He was not a bright man or a particularly brave one. He didn’t need to be. He was very strong. His only instinct besides killing was survival. It was as strong as he was and it kicked in as he studied with narrowed gaze the lights flashing on the top of police cars positioned crookedly in front of the doors of the mall.

He had left his broad in bed for this? The snitch at the PD shoulda told him how hot it was gonna be here. This wasn’t a hit, it was a short trip to stir and dating guys again.

Even if he could find her, he couldn’t take her out with the joint crawling with cops and Feds. He was too bright to be that stupid. He reached out to restart his truck. He was getting out of here. Not like he was gonna get the rest of his scratch for this hit with Bates and David biting the big one. Unless Orsini came through with the dough.

Dent frowned. Hard to see what could be in it for Orsini. Sure couldn’t figure out why Bates was so set on toasting the romance writer. Maybe he didn’t like her books or something.

Take that broad over there in the white car. Couldn’t park straight to save her life. And the way she kept popping out to look around, like she was looking for someone or something. Then ducking like she don’t want the cops to see her? Totally weird.

He straightened. It was more than weird. Why wouldn’t she want the cops to see her? She was demonstrating what the cops called suspicious behavior. He oughta know. Been shook down for doing it too many times to count. His snitch had said something about the writing broad hanging with some other writing broad. Blonde. Built. She could be a writing broad. Kinda looked like she had an active imagination. Sure enough got his imagination going.

Maybe he’d just hang tight. See who she was watching for. If he got the chance, introduce himself.

He pulled his gun out from under his jacket and checked the clip, then screwed on the silencer. With a little luck, he could do Gwynne fast. Do her friend slow.

* * * *

Stupid to be angry with Matt. She should be angry with herself. She knew the score. Had seen where his priorities were by the rock hardness of his face that day in Boomer’s office. She didn’t have the right to be disappointed. He never promised anything. Not even to be kind.

She looked at her watch. She had ten minutes to get around to where Kelly waited. Ahead of her she saw people being ushered out the doors by cops in uniform and a man wearing a US Marshals jacket. He hadn’t noticed her yet. Without missing a beat, she turned into a department store, weaving through the almost empty aisles toward the outside exit, but stopped short when she found it.

More police. Fight or flight, Dani. What’s it going to be? They weren’t the enemy. It just felt like they were. I can’t do this yet. I need time—as if they heard her, they scrambled into their cars and roared away with multiple squeals of tires.

The hunting hound dog whistled and the rest of his pack came running. She was glad they were about to catch Spook.

She was. Really.

A man opened the door and she slipped out ahead of him, his exclamation of annoyance following after. It was irrelevant. She was irrelevant. A detail among a multitude of details.

She emerged from shadow into sunshine, but the chill from the mall stayed with her as she crossed to the curb and stopped, trying to decide which direction was the fastest route to Kelly.

* * * *

Dent couldn’t believe his luck. It wasn’t just good. It was great. Not only had the cops pulled out. The mark was delivering herself to him on a platter. Dent smiled, thin lips spreading to reveal perfectly capped teeth.

He pushed open the door and climbed out. Pulled down his jacket and adjusted his belt over his belly, then strolled forward like he was taking one of them walks in the park.

FIFTEEN

Dani didn’t have much time before Kelly was due to leave. She had to get around the mall—a horn honked out in the parking lot. It took her a minute to find Kelly’s arm waving out the open window of her white rental car. She smiled. Good old Kel. Trust her to size up a million cops and come to the right conclusion. She was a devious person. No wonder they were friends. She was parked part way down the row and Dani started toward her, but stopped when a man stepped in front of her. No reason to worry. No reason to be scared.

Until she saw the gun in his hand.

How hard it was to drag her gaze off the large, very steady hand pointing it straight at her heart. She had to tip her head way back. A big man, his shoulders were just getting started where her height ended, with a face that was coarse and puffy. Small cruel eyes were shoved in on either side of a bulbous red nose.

“This way…” He punctuated the order with a flood of filthy language.

If she had thought nothing could be worse than Dark Lord, she had thought wrong. Instinctively she looked back over her shoulder where the cops had been.

“Gone. Can get you and your friend before anyone can stop me. Some of them, too, if I have to. I like killing.” He smiled. It wasn’t a pretty smile. It lacked charm and good teeth. Kelly’s dentist would have had a field day inside his mouth—an odd thing to think when she was about to die.

“Let’s go join your friend. I like blondes.” He stepped toward her, reaching for her arm.

Maybe it was the mention of Kelly, the implied threat in his evil satisfaction. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe she just couldn’t stand the thought of his meaty hand on her. The why didn’t matter. There was barely time to act.

With a distant awe, Dani saw her leg kick out. Saw the pointed toe of one of her new boots thud home where it would do the most damage. The guy’s tiny eyes got larger as they bulged out of their sockets. Air hissed into his lungs between his clenched, misaligned canines. The eyes sank back almost out of sight. His breath gushed out in a low, foul smelling moan.

His massive fists clenched. The gun he held coughed a bullet that shattered the window next to Dani. She jumped, but stayed cool—no cold. Like ice. She waited until his fingers twitched and the gun dropped free, then she kicked it away. He didn’t try to stop her. Just stood hunched over, his hands tucked protectively over his manhood, while he moaned and muttered an impressive array of swear words.

Kelly edged cautiously around him. “You all right?”

“Yeah.” Dani rubbed her forehead, not surprised her hand was shaking. Her nerve endings were jumping with enough adrenaline to run Chicago for a week.

Side by side, they studied her handiwork. Kelly looked at her and said in an “I told you so” voice, “And you were afraid you wouldn’t get your money’s worth out of those new boots.”

Dani made a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “Let’s get out of here.”

Kelly lifted her hands in mock terror. “I ain’t gonna argue with you.” She gave a last admiring look at the preoccupied goon. “You sure do good work, girl.”

When they reached the car, Dani sagged into the seat. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“You don’t have the time. You gotta be in court in less than an hour.”

She closed her eyes. “Now I know I’m gonna be sick.”

* * * *

Hayes pulled on the dead cop’s black flak jacket and helmet, adjusted the brim, then his gun belt. With the radio in his ear to keep him apprised of his adversaries’ movement, he ran around the corner and merged with the other cops waiting for him to come out and be gunned down. He loved the irony of it. Irony was one reason he loved Willow. She had a nice way with it.

The disguise would be perfect for his appointment at the courthouse. He looked at his watch. Richard Hastings would be arriving in just over twenty minutes. Time to haul over there. It’s where Willow would be heading. If the fates were kind, she would be in time to see his next gift to her.

* * * *

Matt rubbed his face. His arm felt like it was on fire and his head had a determined drummer playing taps on the inside of his skull. No Hayes. No Dani. A dead cop and a shooter nursing his equipment.

“Dani do it?”

Alice looked up from her notebook. “That’d be my guess. He isn’t talking yet.”

“No, I don’t suppose he is.” Matt tried to remember how long it took, but was too tired. He wasn’t in the zone anymore. He hadn’t stopped the main bad guy. He hadn’t even stopped this bad guy. The romance writer had. The world wasn’t a slightly better place. There would still be a boat load of paper work to fill out. There was no justice in this world for the just. Maybe this was a sign he should retire. He was too old to be staking out a mall. A mall. Made him twitch just thinking about it. It was all Dani’s fault. He didn’t belong here. He shouldn’t be here, trying to figure out how he was gonna explain what went wrong. He should be hunkered down waiting for a fugitive to visit his girlfriend or tracking whacked out drug dealers. Anything but the mall. There was a lesson to be learned here, but he didn’t know what it was.

“Word on the street is, Hayes has put out the no trespassing sign on Gwynne,” Alice said. “Wonder who Dent thought he’d collect from if he did do it? Had to know Bates has bitten the big one. That Hayes probably helped him do it. Why risk pissing off a fruitcake like Hayes?”

Henry shrugged. “Maybe he thought Orsini would make good on the contract. Bates was his man.”

“Probably just too stupid to know better.” Matt did not care. He talked so he wouldn’t have to think about all he had to do before he could crawl into bed. A cop beckoned Alice. Matt watched her walk away. Her back was still straight, but he could see the effort it took to keep it that way. They were all too tired. No surprise they were making mistakes. This should never have gone on this long. If Dani did not show up in court this afternoon—

Alice finished her confab with the cop and came back. Bet she was wishing she hadn’t chosen heels today, he thought.

“What now?” he asked.

“Looks like she’s still with Kerwin. Someone noted down their license plate number after they saw her kick him.” Alice grinned tiredly. “The bad guys are oh for two. Not bad for a romance writer.”

“Would you try not to enjoy this? You’re supposed to be on our side.” He stared off in the distance, trying to look like he was thinking. “The courthouse?”

Alice shrugged. “If she’s keeping track of the trial, it’s the obvious place. Sheridan was keeping things going until they’d hammered out a plea, but now that Bates is dead, Sheridan’s gonna want to get his full pound of flesh out of Richard Hastings—”

“Matt?” Henry leaned out from their car. Matt hadn’t even noticed him leave. Hadn’t heard the telephone. “You’d better get over here.”

Matt sighed. “What now?”

“All hell just broke loose at the courthouse.”

“What?” he barked.

“Don’t know. Sounds like a real mess though.”

The wail of sirens bit into his aching head. Worry ate at his insides. The ride a slow motion nightmare that took too long. When they arrived, information was sketchy, somewhat less than satisfying, though it could have been worse. As far as they could tell, only Richard Hastings and his lawyer were dead. They had been bumped out of protective custody, their deal with Sheridan rendered null and void the minute Bates and David turned up dead. At twelve-forty-five, just as they were pulling up in front of the courthouse, a bomb in their car ended the trial and their lives.

At least, Matt thought grimly, he wasn’t the only one who would be making explanations to superiors later today.

It was almost, Matt decided, looking at what the bomb had done to the vehicle, like coming full circle. The smoky smell of fire and death was a familiar reminder of what had begun at the safe house five days earlier. It was hard to feel sorry for Hastings. His end had been quick and probably painless, if a bit messy. Better than what he had arranged for Dani.

Better than he deserved.

Two explosions in one day. It made him wonder. What reason could Hayes have to kill Hastings? Bates had put Copeland on the job before he died. Someone must have forgot to tell Copeland the party was over. He waited for Alice to pick her way to his side. “Any sign of her?”

“Coherent witnesses are a little hard to come by.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his face. “I’ve been trying to calculate the time.”

“I know.” She sighed. “It’s too close to call it either way. We’ll just have to…”

“Wait. I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “I hate waiting.”

Alice smiled wearily. “Like I don’t know that.”

* * * *

Dani smoothed the edges of her black dress down to her knees, then curled her icy fingers into the palms for something like the hundredth time she’d done so since they left the courthouse. A stop in a McDonald’s parking lot so Kelly could run in and get them coffee hadn’t helped her stop doing it. Not even to drink coffee as hot as Richard’s last stand, judging by the steam rising from it.

Kelly picked up her cup, brought it almost to her lips, flinched at the heat and set it down again. “What now?”

Dani blinked, then frowned. “I won’t be going to Disneyland.”

Kelly’s grin was relieved, though she still looked shocked around the eyes. “Not the way you’d choose to win your point, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t.” She was cold, but she still felt the heat of the explosion, could still see the way the car heaved skyward, then slammed back against the pavement, it’s interior gutted, then engulfed in flames. The worst part was, she could still see Richard’s face, looking so much like the Richard she knew, just as he prepared to step out and meet the press. Could see him disappear in flame. “You didn’t see Liz, did you? She wasn’t in the car?”

Kelly shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I have to call…”

Kelly looked relieved. “It’s about time you called him.”

Dani frowned. “Call who?”

“Your Fed. Who else?”

“Oh. Yeah. Him.” He stayed in her head, some place where she couldn’t see him. Not now. Now she could only see Richard.

“Who—oh no. No.” Kelly gripped the steering wheel and shook her head. “You’re not thinking of calling…”

“I have to.”

Kelly snorted, then sighed. “It’s your funeral. Here, you can use my cell phone. But don’t ask me to stay and listen to this, because I won’t.” She opened the door. “You want something else?”

“Yeah, thanks, something with sugar?” When Kelly nodded and shut the door, Dani dialed. By the third ring, she was sick to her stomach. This was nuts…

“Yes, hello.”

It was Steven’s voice, laced with irritation. She hadn’t expected him to answer, but she should have. Surely Liz was here in Denver for the trial.

“If this a crank call…”

“It’s not,” Dani got out in a rush. “I was just surprised to hear your voice.”

“You’re surprised to hear my voice?”

“I—was worried about Liz. And the—kids.”

He didn’t answer. Her hands tightened on the telephone until the knuckles went white. Please don’t let Liz be dead, too. I couldn’t bear it. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“She’s there. Liz is in Denver,” he said brusquely.

Dani inhaled sharply. “Oh no, not—”

“No! She wasn’t feeling well. Was going to catch a cab later—we haven’t told the kids. Liz wanted to—” His voice broke. She could hear his heaving breaths. “Why? Who would do this to him? I don’t get it.”

Dani sighed. She couldn’t handle his grief. She could barely handle her own. “You never did get it, Steven.”

“I know that if you’d just…”

“Kept my mouth shut? Let him get away with murder?”

“He was family!”

Dani almost didn’t notice that Steven didn’t deny Richard’s guilt. Almost.

“You knew, didn’t you? You knew all the time.” Steven didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. “Did you kick in something on the hit man he hired to kill me, Steven? Because he’s family?”

She had thought he couldn’t hurt her anymore. Just shows how wrong a girl could be. He started to say something, but she wasn’t in the mood to listen. “Just tell Liz I called. That I’m sorry it ended this way.”

She broke the connection and leaned forward, resting her head on the dashboard. Why did it feel like Richard was the lucky one?

The car door opened and Kelly slid in. “You aren’t crying, are you?”

“No.” Dani sat back, took a shaky breath to steady her voice. “I’m not crying.”

“Good. Real women don’t cry.” She handed Dani a baked apple pie, then opened hers and took a bite.

Trust Kelly to kill the angst. Dani looked at her. “It’s real men that don’t cry.”

Kelly paused in mid-bite. “I thought they did now?”

“That was the eighties. Now they’re just tough in a very sensitive and caring way.”

“Oh. I guess that’s what I get for spending so much time with fictional men. And my dentist.” Kelly munched quietly for a bit. “We still doing that ‘I am woman, hear me roar’ thing?”

“I have no idea.” Dani was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “What do you do when your ex-husband wants you dead?”

Kelly shrugged. “Go to a movie?”

Dani thought about that. “I wonder what’s playing?”

SIXTEEN

It hurt to move. It hurt to think. Matt did not want to get out of his truck, let alone tackle the stairs to the second floor apartment he shared with his brother Luke. He was no masochist. The tree-lined, sloping street was almost empty, a soothing sight in the half-light left by the recently set sun. He could just put his head back and sleep sitting up if it weren’t for the fact that it also hurt to not move.

He slid out, moving like the old man this week had made him, then looked up at the converted Victorian house. According to his mother, it was mellow and charming. She was probably right. Tonight it just looked high and all stairs. He climbed the outside stoop, then the inside stairs. Did not enjoy any of it, not even making the landing. Still had to drag his tired and aching body down the hall and around the corner.

Through a haze of tired, he noted someone at the end of the hall, sitting in the window well of the old-fashioned window. It meant he couldn’t groan. He still had his pride—somewhere down there under the bruises, the tired, and the pissed off. He had his door unlocked and open before his brain registered who the someone at the end of his hall was.

Only the quarry he’d hunted all over the city.

Not dead.

Not blown up.

In fact, the opposite of blown up. Neat as a pin with her hair up and wearing sober black, a long string of white pearls, and a reserved expression that made her look honest and earnest. The perfect prosecution witness. All dressed down and no jury to charm.

So she had come to him.

Better, he supposed, to be the last resort than no resort.

He had a lot of things to say to her. A lot of questions to ask her. He didn’t want to say or ask anything, he realized, looking into her coolly wary, green eyes.

He wanted to wring her neck.

Dani stood up. She knew he wouldn’t be happy to see her here. She just didn’t know he would be quite so unhappy.

“Where you been?”

“You don’t want to know,” Dani said, careful to keep her distance. She watched his eyes narrow.

“I’ve never hit a woman.”

She couldn’t blame him for the “yet” she heard at the end of that. She could admire his control. His face was scored with exhaustion, but his body was erect, his restraint made out of pure iron. She was too tired to stop her nerve endings from becoming emotion receivers for what was behind the control. The heat wasn’t all from rage and frustration. She was cold enough to be glad for the warmth.

His cellular telephone rang. Without letting her gaze off the hook of his, he flipped his telephone open. “Kirby.”

“Matt,” Alice said in his ear. “We got confirmation our girl is still above ground.”

“Really?” He watched Dani’s eyes widened, then slide away from his, as if she knew they were talking about her. She seemed to know a lot. He didn’t like that in a woman. He didn’t like the way her eyes sized him up, rooting out his secrets, taking her ill gotten knowledge and tucking it way to use against him at a later date.

A woman looks at a guy and sees an open book to write in. A guy looks at a woman and sees a puzzle in a female package. If the package was good, a guy can’t even spell his name. If not, he still didn’t have a chance of figuring her out.

“Yeah,” Alice went on, “seems she called her ex. FBI had the phone tapped.”

“Oh?” He listened while Alice ran the tape for him, then said, “Interesting.”

“Yeah. Kerwin’s surfaced, back at her hotel. Claims Gwynne’s heading your way. Thought you’d want a heads up.”

“Thanks.” Matt didn’t know why he didn’t tell her Dani had arrived his way. Instead he asked her to keep him posted and rang off. He shoved his telephone back inside his jacket and looked at Dani. The romance writer and the lawman. He could see the wheels of her mind turning in her big, green eyes. He liked green eyes. Beneath the bravado of her defiantly angled chin, she looked exhausted, brittle, ready to break.

He was tired. He was pissed. He wasn’t a hammer.

He nodded towards his open door. “I don’t have your soda, but I can probably rustle up a cup of Java for us.”

Until this moment she didn’t know how much she had needed him to be kind. It wasn’t politically correct to need a man, but she wasn’t ashamed to be non-PC. She needed him. The sisters would just have to deal with it. “Thank you.”

He flicked on the light and gestured for her to go in. She stepped past him, careful not to let their bodies touch. There was too much tension in the air. He was tired. She was tired. Touching could be dangerous to their health.

His hall was short, but it still took concentration to put one foot in front of the other, like a drunk trying to walk a straight line. She stepped around the loop of rope reaching out to snag her dragging feet, noticed in a vague way that it was attached to some climbing gear piled to one side.

Behind her, Matt shut the door, wood snapping against wood, the lock snicking in place. The hallway opened onto a living room with a high ceiling. She stopped in the doorway. The light from the hall made a circle that reached part way into the room, but even with the sun gone outside, there was enough light from the street lights coming in the uncovered windows for her to see the layout of Matt’s home. In the spirit of “know thy adversary,” she looked at it for what it would tell her about him.

On her right a low bar exposed a shadowy kitchen that didn’t look big enough for Matt’s shoulders, let alone his whole body. It was clean, without even the smell of old food to indicate use. The other direction, three long windows did double duty by giving a view to the street and breaking up the white expanse of wall. Between two of the windows was a square, serviceable desk. Matt moved past her and closed the blinds, then turned on a table lamp sharing desk space with a laptop computer that looked suspiciously familiar. There was also a stack of mail, several gun clips, and a scattering of loose bullets.

Probably not a liberal.

Straight ahead was a doorway to bed and bath. Other than the desk chair, the only place to sit was on a massive, manly gray leather sofa or one of three stools lined up in front of the bar. In front of the sofa was a battered coffee table that looked like it doubled as a footstool. It was covered with magazines devoted to sports and law enforcement. One inside wall was covered with shelving fashioned out of planks and cement blocks. In the center was a fancy television and stereo setup. Rows of books and videos marched off in either direction. As far as she could see, the videos weren’t of a salacious nature, but if Richard had taught her anything, it was that looks could be deceptive.

It was a testosterone-only zone, the quintessential bachelor’s pad, though cleaner than one not acquainted with the lonesome lawman’s terse smile might expect. She and her estrogen felt an urge to add flowers in vases, curtained windows, and pantyhose drying in the bathroom.

Matt thumbed through the stack of mail on his desk, then looked up, his brows drawing together.

“You’d better sit down before you fall down.”

Despite his blunt delivery, he had a point. Her knees were losing structural integrity with each passing second. She tottered the short distance to his man-size couch, sank into cool depths. It felt good, even if had been made for a man-size body.

For a few seconds she tried to resist the compulsion to shed her shoes, but even the most comfortable shoes wore out their welcome eventually and her feet were in full rebellion. She had to kick them off. To ease the cramps in her insteps, she stretched her legs out on the coffee table and rotated her sore feet with a soundless sigh of relief. Something, a quality in the silence, a current in the air, made her look up. She found Matt staring at her, his expression too controlled for comfort. What, she wondered, was going on behind those eyes?

Dani looked good on his couch, her stocking-clad legs stretched across his table for easy viewing. She reached up and freed her hair, shaking her head and pushing her fingers into the mass to massage her scalp, the thick strands catching light as she moved.

It was bad how good she looked. He felt the gnawing bite of lust do a slow crawl in his gut. His control was under attack by the sheer black nylons on her nearly perfect legs, not to mention the lift of her breasts against the soft fabric of a dress that wasn’t as demure as he had thought.

She leaned forward and massaged one foot, then the other. Her long necklace fell forward, clanking against the table. She pulled it off and tossed it on the table. From where he stood, he could now see the bare, smooth nape of her neck. He rubbed the nape of his neck and wished the room wasn’t so hot.

Her gaze found his. The room got so quiet he could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking. A car honked outside and she jumped, then pulled her legs off his table. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

A dangerous feeling wound into his want.

Tenderness.

He would rather face a truck full of Uzi-toting wise guys than a woman that made him feel tender. Tender was the disguise weakness wore. He would not do weak again. No way.

“Not a problem. Do the same thing myself.” He wasn’t ready for her smile. It flowed across the tired landscape of her face, lighting it with something almost as dangerous as tenderness. He picked up the beads. “Nice touch.”

“Mardi Gras,” she said, a hint of strain in her voice that told him he wasn’t the only suffering from August heat. “Can’t wear them in New Orleans because everyone would know.”

“Everyone would know what?”

“That these are the good beads. The kind you show your—” She stopped, color rushing into her face. The flush was almost as good on her face as the smile.

“Show what?”

Dani looked at him. His face was still carved out of rock, his mouth a straight line above his give-no-quarter chin. If she had stopped there—but she didn’t. She had to look at his eyes. They gave him away, spilled his deep, dark secret.

The lonesome lawman had a sense of humor.

She knew what happened when you tossed a rock in a pool. The ripples started tight and small, but got wider the further they got from the center. Ripples that could be trouble. Knowing trouble was waiting didn’t always blunt temptation, didn’t stop her wanting to make ripples on the hard surface of Matt’s face.

She wriggled her butt deeper in his couch, lifted her legs back on the table and crossed them at the ankles. His face didn’t change but his throat rippled when he swallowed hard. Tough audience, but not tough enough. She crossed her arms behind her head and arched her back in a mock stretch. He ran a finger around the neck of his white shirt and blinked once.

“Skin,” she said, then gave a mock sigh. “You have to show skin. Lots of it. The more skin, the better the beads they throw you.”

“I see.”

His face didn’t change. The temperature in the room did. From his direction, she felt enough heat to make a furnace jealous. The siren call of passion tried to stir up her sluggish body, tried to blind her to the fact she didn’t know him, despite feeling like she knew him better than she’d known Steven.

She was too tired to sort it all out, but not too tired to worry. Pressure, plus heat had to go somewhere. It was the only scientific law she remembered, probably because she blew up a beaker in high school chemistry learning it. Singed her eyebrows, too.

Her one foray with love had singed her mind, dang near broke her heart. Dangerous things, heat and pressure, action and reaction, love and hate.

She ran a fingertip along her eyebrow. It had grown back. Her heart thumped out a caution. It healed, but it wasn’t as brave as eyebrows. It had more to lose in desire’s arena.

Dani took a shaky breath, gathered her thoughts together and said lightly, “That’s what Kelly says. These are her beads.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t moved or altered his stance, just stood there with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans watching her with his dark neutral gaze.

He gave no quarter, but unlike Steven, he didn’t compromise or give up. Unlike her, he didn’t bend. She had recognized the quality outside Boomer’s office, seen it in action when he went after Spook at the mall. Because he wouldn’t turn or be turned aside, he would be very careful about what, or who, he chose to commit himself to.

The male surroundings made it pretty clear where matters of the heart stood in the queue of his life. If she mistook his kindness for something more, she was going to lose more than eyebrows.

It was as if he had followed her thoughts and agreed with them when he said in a carefully cool voice, “I’ll see if I can scare up that coffee, unless you’d like something stronger? There might be some Scotch.”

“I don’t drink.” Watching Steven’s slow spiral into alcoholism had pretty much killed any desire to imbibe.

He stopped beside the couch, said without looking at her, “I’m sorry. I should have thought…”

“Don’t.” She looked up at him. “I’m not some hot house plant who can’t deal with reality. I’m…”

“Willow?” Matt looked at her then.

She flinched. “I think I’m going to give that handle a permanent rest. I’m not feeling too willowy right now.”

He felt like a jerk for reminding her of Hayes. He vented it by banging his cupboard doors as he assembled cups and spoons. They were both wound so tight the air in the room vibrated with it. Tired and tense. Bad combination. He didn’t kid himself that lust wasn’t part of the tension. He wasn’t made of stone—well, ninety-five percent of him wasn’t—and she was a sexy woman. Who needed something he couldn’t give her. It was unprofessional to get involved with her. Not fair either. He had already screwed up one woman’s life. Dani’s life had been gotten worked over real good before he met her. She didn’t need him administering the breaking blow.

He wiped at the sweat beading on his forehead, then wet a towel with cold water and applied it to face and neck. He would have applied it lower if he could have.

“I’m sorry I invaded your space,” she said, her voice drowsy, like a woman sounds after good sex. “I didn’t know how to get around the police tape and bomb squad.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He hesitated, there were things he needed to know, but was she up to it? “Can you handle a few questions?”

There was a short silence. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

Did you see him die, was the first question that came to mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. “How did you plan to get inside?”

“We had a plan.” She sounded defensive.

He didn’t tone down disbelief. “Really?”

“Really.” Another short silence. “Kelly was going to jump up on a car and do a strip-tease.”

He stopped what he was doing, thinking about the picture of Kelly Kerwin Alice had shown him.

“Too bad it got called off,” Dani said.

He grinned. “Yeah, too bad.” He leaned against the counter, watching the coffee bubbling in the pot. “The explosion came before one. It’s now closing on nine. Where you been?”

“I’d feel safer telling you if you weren’t wearing that gun.”

“Not another strip joint?” He might have to use his gun if she had.

“Movies.”

“Movies? At a movie theater?”

“Yeah, three of them, one after the other.”

She saw Richard Hastings get blown sky high, called her ex-husband, and then went to the movies?

“It was quite cathartic, actually,” Dani said.

“Cathartic?”

“What would you do if you found out your ex wanted you dead?” Dani asked him.

Matt didn’t hesitate. “I’d live.”

Dani chuckled. It was a husky, tired sound, not unlike a music box winding down. “Well, I plan to live, too.”

Matt’s grin faded with her words. She planned to live. Hayes planned to kill her. He wouldn’t stop now. It wouldn’t matter that Bates was out of the picture. His reputation was at stake. The hit man couldn’t be beaten by a romance writer. Not if he wanted to kill in this world again.

The coffee pot finished bubbling. Matt wasn’t sorry for the distraction. He poured two cups. “How do you take your coffee? I have sugar, but we’re out of milk.” Only silence from the living room. “Dani?”

He stepped round the bar and found her asleep. Not in a relaxed sprawl, but curled nearly fetal where the back met the side, her head turned to one side, her cheek resting in the palm of her hand. That tenderness thing started in again. The only way to stop it was to get pissed off. It was hard to drum up pissed when she looked like that. He could kick bad guy butts till the cows came home, but one look at a sleeping woman…

He turned away from her, went into the bedroom, turned back the covers on the bed and closed the curtains over another set of long, narrow windows. Back in the living room, he hesitated. It was one thing to look, but to touch? To gather close. Insert in his bed?

He could take the coward’s way out and cover her where she lay. He wasn’t a coward. That was against regulations. His problem, he decided, was that his focus was wrong. Instead of thinking of her as a soft, warm female, he needed to think of her as an item that needed to be moved from point A to point B. That settled, he bent and picked her up. She made a small murmur of protest before settling against his chest with her face pushed into the side of his neck. One arm slid around his neck. Her soft bare skin rubbed against his. Her warm breath stroked the side of his neck.

She didn’t feel like an item. What she felt like, he refused to think about. He lowered her to the bed and she muttered again, a soft, distressed sound that put another dent in the armor of his detachment. He had to pull her arms from around his neck before she relaxed against his pillow with a small sigh. He arranged the blanket, taking care not to touch her again. She shifted, turning her cheek towards the pillow, one arm curved above her head as her chest rose and fell. He should have turned away then.

How long had it been since he had watched a woman sleep?

Too long.

If he didn’t watch it, he would be in coyote position again, howling for the moon. He didn’t get the moon before, wouldn’t get it this time. It was harder to turn away from her this time.

He did it because he had to. He checked the locks, downed a cup of coffee, very black, and then carried another cup with him to the bedroom. He shed his jacket, loosened his tie and put his gun close at hand on the table by the bed. After adjusting the bedside lamp to a low setting, he pulled the easy chair close and dropped into it, his body going slack with a weariness that caffeine couldn’t blunt anymore. It went too deep.

He blinked, rubbed his eyes. Had to stay awake. He sipped the coffee, then picked up the book on the night stand—hers. Settled deeper in the chair, and opened to where he had left off last night.

…Daniel stood by the bed, watching her sleep. The body that had given him so much pleasure the night before was relaxed, enticing in unguarded slumber. She murmured, then rolled to her side, pulling the sheet taut across her naked body. With a sigh she lifted her arm over her head exposing the smooth, erotic line from breast to thigh…

Dani muttered in her sleep. He looked up in time to see her lift her arm over her face, stretch, then arching her woman’s body, before relaxing back into the mattress. She wasn’t naked.

It didn’t help.

Matt swallowed, tugged at his shirt collar. Maybe this wasn’t a good time to be reading her book. He tossed it on the floor, but without something else to focus on, his gaze did a homing pigeon back to Dani, deep in a restless sleep. It looked like neither of them was going get much rest this night, even if they were sitting in the small eye of a very big storm. There would be no peace while Hayes remained at large.

Tomorrow the storm would be on them again. Hayes was probably tapping his contacts. Matt was the only one who knew where Dani was, but in the morning, he would have to report in. He trusted his own people, but information had a way of getting out when the incentive was big enough. If they were to have a shot at catching Hayes, they had to be in control of the field, the flow of information. Hayes would be expecting that. He would be making his move while they were making theirs. They would have to move her first thing tomorrow, but where?

SEVENTEEN

She was lying in a bed that wasn’t hers, staring at a ceiling that wasn’t familiar. It was too ornate, carved into shapes she couldn’t make out because the light wasn’t good enough. She heard movement in the shadows. Uneasily she turned toward it. “Who’s there?”

“Willow.”

She knew his voice, even before his face emerged from the shadows, went from uneasy to terrified in a heartbeat.

Dark Lord.

The pale glow of his eyes pinned her in place, left her with nothing to do but watch him walk toward her.

“I don’t want to die,” she told him.

He stopped by the bed. “Willow.”

As if she were a wild animal instead of his next victim, he bent and touched her hand. Her flesh shrank from his touch. He looked at her and she knew there was something he wanted her to understand.

“What? What do you want?”

He sat down beside her, his hand hovered next to her cheek, then drew back when she shrank away from him. “Soon, Willow. Soon you’ll understand.”

A low moan brought Matt awake in a rush. His hand closed around the butt of his gun before his eyes opened. Took him a few seconds to realize he was in his own bedroom. In his bed, Dani moaned, her head turning from side to side as if she were trying to escape something. Or someone.

Hayes. How are you sleeping nights?

Still not good, it seemed. He rubbed his face, then leaned forward and touched the hand twitching on top of the blanket.

“Dani? Dani, it’s just a nightmare—” Her eyes opened so fast, so wide, he wasn’t ready. Their faces were too close together. He needed distance to look at the fear in her eyes and not feel anything but responsibility for erasing the cause. “It’s Matt. Matt Kirby. The…”

“Lonesome lawman. I remember.”

He started at being nailed so neatly, went to let her go, but her hand gripped his for a endless moment, then relaxed so that he could sit back.

“What—time is it?”

He angled his arm. “Five am.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.”

“It’s too early to get up. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

A wry smile edged across her mouth. “I don’t think ‘the repose of the night’ belongs ‘to me.’ It opens an ‘inn for phantoms.’”

“What?”

“Bachelard. Gaston Bachelard. French philosopher.” She looked at him. “Ironic, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure. What are we talking about?” Why—no—how could she quote a French philosopher at five in the morning?

“Spook. The king of quotes. I wouldn’t know why I can’t sleep if it weren’t for him launching the quote wars on the boards. Course, I wouldn’t need to know why if it wasn’t for him. That’s the ironic part.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know what to say. What she had done was stupid, but she knew that.

She sighed. “I guess I should have known he was a hit man.” Her mouth drooped at the edges. “Real men aren’t that sensitive.”

Matt grinned. “After twenty in the Marshals, I thought I’d seen all there was to see, but Hayes—well, he’s in a class of his own.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” Her eyes were losing their bruised look and her smile came more easily this time. “Thanks for being kind after I, you know, avoided you and everything.”

Matt rubbed his face, mostly to take a break from looking at her in his bed, her hair spread across his pillow. “I’ll admit it annoyed me.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Dani said, then, added with conscious honesty, “Until you told me to get my ass back into custody. Then it might have gotten personal.”

“Alice called me on it at the time,” Matt admitted.

“Alice?”

“Alice Paysse, a member of my team. You saw Riggs at Boomer’s and talked to Sebastian on line…”

“The counterfeit smiley guy?”

Matt grinned, the movement taking the harshness from his face. “That’s right. He enjoyed the world tour you took him on.”

“More than you did, I suspect.”

Matt didn’t answer, but his gaze was amused. “How did you learn to navigate cyberspace like that?”

Dani didn’t want to tell him she had learned the good stuff from Spook, so she arched her brows. “Isn’t it in my file? I thought you had all my sad, little secrets at your fingertips?”

“If I’d had all of them, we’d have had this chat a lot sooner.”

“Oh, really?” Dani punched up the pillow and tucked it behind her head. When she was comfortable, she donned her best innocent look, the one she used when being interviewed by jerks. “So it was simply a lack of information that complicated your hunting? Not seriously under-estimating the romance writer?”

His stare tried to be hard, but he didn’t get the twinkle completely under control. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Tell me about yourself instead.” When he opened his mouth on a protest, Dani added, “It’s only fair. You have my file. Quid Pro Quo.”

He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

Everything, she thought, but aloud all she asked was, “What do you do when you aren’t tracking down poor, defenseless romance writers?”

The bushy line of dark brows shot up, but he didn’t take the bait. “This is Colorado. Rock climbing, skiing, hunting, hiking, fishing—we have a cabin up by the Rocky Mountain National Park.”

A mountain cabin. Why wasn’t she surprised. “We?”

“Me and my brothers. Luke, the oldest, is a cop and little brother, Jake who is also a Deputy Marshal, comes when he’s around. He travels a lot.”

“How law abiding you all are.”

Matt grinned. “Runs in the family, I’m afraid. My dad was a cop. His dad, too.”

Against the odds, Dani felt herself relax, felt sleep trying to steal back in. Matt had taken the edge off the fear she usually used to fight it back. He was far too comforting for his own good. Or hers.

“Was?”

“He died in the line of duty when I was in college.”

“My parents died just before I started college, but you know that already, don’t you?” The words came out in pieces as her mind began to blur.

“Yeah, I do.” Matt noted the signs of sleep returning with a mix of regret and relief. The more vulnerable she was, the more dangerous she was.

“Your mom,” she had to yawn before she could get the whole question out, “she’s still…”

“Yeah, she lives not far from here in the house I grew up in. She’s dating again. He was my dad’s best friend. She’s known him, well, since the wedding. He was the best man.”

“You don’t like it,” she said on a sigh.

“I do, too,” the protest was automatic, “I’ve known him forever.” He shoved his hands into hair. How had he got on this subject? “He’s a stand up guy.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t like him,” Dani said, her hand covering his where he gripped the sides of the chair. Her palm was cool. His skin heated to warm it. “I just said you don’t like the situation.”

“I don’t have the right.” To dislike the situation or to like her hand on his.

She smiled. “I’m glad you realize it. Though it’s natural to feel like he’s doing your dad down.” She yawned again, taking her hand off his to cover her mouth. Her words came out in sleepy pieces, “With guys, it’s about…territory. If you can see that might get over it…”

She yawned again, her eyes closing as her voice faded. She sighed, then turned on her side. She reached out and found his hand again. A strand of hair fell forward over her face, curling against the smooth line of her cheek. The hand she wasn’t touching curled into a fist. He flexed the fingers of his free hand, then smoothed the hair back behind her ear. Where her skin touched his, heat flowed, igniting the age old longing to mate.

She wasn’t, he reminded himself, a short time girl. She was a life time woman for a guy with regular hours and a job that wasn’t life threatening. Someone who could be there when she needed him, not when he could fit her in.

She sighed, her body shuddering as she slipped into a deeper sleep. He closed his eyes. If he could just get through the night, the need would fade. He was just tired. That’s all. At five in the morning, everybody felt lonely…

* * * *

Niall McBride was almost too easy to kill. The last five days had turned him into something that needed to be exterminated, Hayes decided with disgust, not sacrificed on the altar of pain. Hayes did it slow. He wanted him to know he was dying and why. As life faded from his eyes, he told him about Willow, told him why his betrayal was costing him so dear. Told him he wouldn’t burn. Hayes would not make him a martyr. All he was fit for was to wallow in his own blood.

Hayes sat and watched until the blood stopped flowing out the gash in his neck, then used his blood to write, “Not worthy” on the wall by his head. There was still the problem of Copeland, but he had a plan for him, too. When he walked out, he was almost a free man.

Willow was safe. Her enemies were dead. Even Orsini, though he hadn’t done the job himself. He smiled. The hit man had put out a contract on the employer. Ironic.

Willow would like that. She liked irony. He couldn’t wait to tell her about it. He could, now that it was time for them to be together.

All he had to do was find her.

* * * *

Matt woke up hurting with the sun stabbing through a slit in the blinds right into his eyes. He was slouched deep in the chair, his back at a bad angle. Inch by painful inch he straightened. Good thing Dani was still asleep. Would not be good for the witness to see the Marshal grimacing and wincing in pain because he slept in a chair all night. Not when he was trying to inspire confidence in his ability to protect her.

Standing was marginally better than sitting. A hot shower would increase the margin. All he had to do was get there, as long he didn’t meet a belligerent two year old in the hall.

At least hurting had killed horny.

Dani chose that moment to roll over, taking her covers with her. Her dress had ridden high on her thighs. Way too high. Her legs, still covered in black nylon, were dangerously good in daylight. She sighed, then bent one leg, sliding it up the pillow she was hugging. This took her hem line to new heights.

All the female parts that interested were outstanding. That made her three for three on the lust scale. He could be in trouble here.

For the third time in twelve hours, he turned and stalked away from her. He would like to meet the idiot who said there wasn’t life after forty, he decided. Probably some kid who didn’t know that if there was breath, there was life.

On the other side of a cold, then hot shower, his stomach rumbled a reminder it wasn’t just sex that had been in short supply last night. In the kitchen, the refrigerator was almost bare, a state easily corrected with a market just across the street, if it weren’t for the stairs. He tossed back a couple of Tylenol. Out in the hall, he locked the door, then punched the buttons on his cellular telephone as he headed down the hall. When his assistant answered he said, “Let me talk to Alice.”

* * * *

Dani woke face down in bed facing a long, narrow window that she didn’t recognize. Hovering at the edge of full consciousness, her hand opened and closed, as if it missed something. She rolled onto her back with a groan. Above her was an unfamiliar ceiling.

“Where am I?” For a moment she felt like she had done this before. She frowned. In her book Putting Love Away, her protagonist, Gemma had awakened in a strange room, so in a way she kind of had done it before. Gemma, she recalled, had been naked when she woke up. Dani lifted the sheet and examined her clothed body with mixed feelings. “Obviously I didn’t do what Gemma did.”

Dani sat up, pulled her legs to her chest and propped her arms on her knees. She couldn’t believe she had slept past five. It was a breakthrough, even if her brain still felt like mush. Waking up was not something she was good at no matter what time it was. She needed a Diet DP and/or chocolate to smooth the transition. With an instinct that was well honed, she sensed neither was available here. She was in the lonesome lawman’s den. He had been making coffee—then boom, morning to face.

Imagination filled in the details. He had carried her to his bed. Then, she looked around, sat in that chair pulled close to the bed and guarded her rest.

How heroic.

Kelly would be thrilled he was finally playing the part nature had so perfectly fitted him for. Too bad his heart wasn’t in it. No, good thing his heart wasn’t in it. Her heart was no match for a determined assault by someone who looked that good in jeans and didn’t mind taking on the odd killer.

Dani had sampled the bed and found it good. Now she studied his room. It was surprisingly old fashioned with its high, sloped ceiling and crisp, white walls. It wasn’t a large room, but, like everything else she had seen, it was a masculine one.

The king sized bed, the dresser and night stand were hewn in blunt, clean lines that solidly filled space without over powering the small area. In the corner, a closet door stood ajar. The chair by the bed was rugged, but comfortable looking.

She straightened. She did wake at five. They had chatted about his mother—the details came back in bits—then she had fallen back to sleep. A vague memory rose up to tease her, of Matt holding her hand and smoothing back her hair.

Dani shook it away. Not a good thing for a writer to mix fantasy with her reality. It was almost as dangerous as mixing reality with her fantasy.

She should go shower, but that open closet door was beckoning. She gnawed her lip as conscience battled curiosity. He had snooped extensively into her life, turnabout was fair play. It wasn’t like she was opening it to snoop. He had left it that way, practically inviting her to peek.

Inside she found guy clothes sharing space with guy stuff, mostly sports guy stuff like skis and fishing poles and a locked rifle case. Now she remembered him mentioning his vices and shuddered. Far more interesting was the total lack of anything female. It upheld her impression she had wandered into a confirmed bachelor zone. A photo album was shoved onto a shelf overhead, just begging to be removed and opened. So she did.

Inside she found photos taken outside the cabin he had mentioned. The men must be the brothers. One was an older carbon copy of Matt, the other only like him around the eyes. Other photos followed, some of Matt, some of the brothers, wearing snow skis atop steep slopes or holding up huge fish or lolling animal heads.

When she called Matt a hunting hound dog it had been an understatement of massive proportions.

She lingered for a bit over a picture of a younger Matt, his arm looped around a brunette with sad eyes. Bending close she could just make out what looked like wedding rings on both their fingers. There had been a woman in his life, but there wasn’t now. They had a divorce in common.

The romance writer and the lawman? She was, she told herself, examining the idea for fictional reasons. She turned the page and found a shot of Matt hanging over the side of a cliff, a slight smile edging his firm mouth, a predatory look in his eyes. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he climbed rock. He had just neglected to mention how high the rock was.

Just looking at the photo made her dizzy. Not even on paper could she work the kinks out of a romance between a rock climbing Marshal and a romance writer with acrophobia.

Dani looked the steep drop the camera angle revealed again and flinched. Nah. Never happen. He was wedded to rock and job. Didn’t need to be a rocket scientist or a romance writer to know that about him. She only needed to be hunted by him for five days to reach that level of enlightenment. She set the album aside. Time for that shower.

In the hall there were two doors to choose from. Lucky for her the one to the bathroom was open. She listened at the closed door, but didn’t hear any sounds emitting from it. Either the roommate was out or a very quiet sleeper. In the bathroom, she showered quickly. It wasn’t like she had a lot to do. No toiletries. No clothes.

There was a towel and a toothbrush in a package on the side of the sink. Did it mean the lawman wasn’t always lonesome or just thoughtful? There was no way to know, but she decided to assume he was thoughtful and helped herself to a dark silk robe hanging on the back of the door. It smelled like him, tough and earthy and good. She tried not to inhale—it had worked for Clinton—as she rolled up the sleeves, then headed for the living room. Time to beard the mighty hunter in his lair. No, that was mixing her metaphors. Time to beard him in his—what? Where did hunters lurk? The gun shop?

“Hello?” she said, relieved when there was no answer.

She had taken in the broad outlines of his home last night. Now she walked around, looking for details to fill in the outlines. She started with his books, glad the worn covers indicated they weren’t there for show. A small thing, but something in common. The titles tended toward action adventure fiction, sports, Louis L’Amour, and law tomes.

Her idea of exercise was to walk to Cafe de Monde for beignets and coffee. She turned her back on the books and discovered it was her lap top on his desk. The nerve of him snooping through her hard drive. Then realized she would have to pretend she wasn’t tempted to snoop through his drawers. That was the problem with righteous indignation. It left you nowhere to go.

The telephone rang and almost put her through the high ceiling. She stared at it, fighting the peculiar compulsion to answer, that six months cut off from the world obviously hadn’t blunted one bit. It rang again and she gave into temptation. It wasn’t likely to be for her.

“Hello?”

A pause, then a female voice said, “Is Matt there?”

“No. He stepped out.” The phone slammed down. With a slight smile, she replaced it. She had never cared for “other woman” plots anyway. Almost immediately it rang under her hand. With one success under her belt, she didn’t hesitate.

A pause, then a deep, cheerful man’s voice asked, “Is Matt there?”

“He stepped out for a minute. Can I take a message?”

“This is his brother, Luke.”

“Luke? Oh, the big brother.” Odd to think of Matt as a little brother. He was so not little.

A moment of surprised silence, then a laugh. “That’s right. Who are you?”

She hesitated. “Louise. This is Louise.”

“Oh. Well, Louise, they told me at his office he was home.”

“Yes. He is, well, he was. He stepped out for sustenance, which seems to be in short supply. But I’m sure he’ll be back shortly. I can tell him you called.”

“Maybe you can tell me, do you know if he’s still planning on going to the cabin with me tonight?”

Dani edged aside the curtain. Down on the street Matt was looking at a bin of apples and talking to the grocer. She hoped he was asking the man for chocolate and her soda. She wasn’t into apples. “I don’t know what his plans are for tonight.”

Luke’s rich chuckle startled her. “If he can’t figure something out, yours truly is available.”

Dani chuckled back. She was actually flirting. It felt weird, but good. “I better not. I have a feeling the testosterone level in a cabin would be worse than it is here.”

Luke laughed out loud. “I like you, Louise. Tell my little brother to bribe you into risking it. And tell him I’ll be home soon. If he stands me up again, I’m gonna kick his ass up over his head.”

Dani grinned. “I’ll give him your message.”

She hung up, the grin lingering. Not that it was a good sign that both brothers appeared to be unattached. Of course, Matt’s lack of attachment might be so recent he didn’t even know it. Her grin took on an evil edge as she watched the object of her thoughts go inside the grocery sans apples. She turned back to the quiet room, feeling unease return as bits and pieces of last night’s nightmare filtered back to her mind.

She didn’t want to know what the dream meant. Didn’t want to think. She needed sound. She pushed the power button on his stereo, heard a whir of parts, then Mary Chapin Carpenter’s distinctive voice flooded out the speakers, singing that song about taking chances.

Symbolism? Again? She glared at the unit, then shrugged. If it drowned out her thoughts, why not? She’d taken more than her share of chances. Even lived to tell about it. Looked like she had herself a theme song.

The music soared in the refrain, inviting her to take just one more chance. She wasn’t sure. Something about the Spook/ Dark Lord combo worried at the edges of her mind. She turned up the volume until it drowned out the worry. She started to sway with the music. There was a reason people danced while Rome burned. It was called denial.

EIGHTEEN

Matt felt the thump of music vibrating through the old building before he reached the landing on his floor. The music got louder as he approached his door. Either Dani was up, Luke was home, or all of the above. Not sure what to think or expect, he shifted the sack of groceries to his other hand while he unlocked the door and paced down the narrow hall. He stopped short in the doorway.

Dancing? She was dancing?

Wearing nothing but his silk bathrobe.

And wearing it very well.

The brown silk clung where it should, fell straight where it didn’t matter. His only complaint—it covered her legs almost to the ankles.

If she had to dance, and it seemed she did, Mary Chapin Carpenter’s in-your-face song was a good choice for her. She had taken her chances and then some the last five days.

And how long has it been since you took a chance that wasn’t work related, Kirby? With a soundless sigh, he set the sack on the bar. He should have started unloading it, stayed busy until she was through shaking her booty, but he was no saint.

Dani took two steps to the side, did a half hop, turned to face him and froze, one foot still in the air. Pink flooded her cheeks. She looked good in pink. Her hair was wet and slicked back from her face. She looked good wet. The collar of his robe wasn’t stingy. His robe had never looked better.

“You’re back.” She lowered her foot, then turned to lower the volume. “I was just practicing my tush push. Fred, the cop who taught me, says you should practice every day or your—tush—won’t push—right.”

“You know he was just hitting on you, don’t you?”

A tiny smile curved her mouth. “I’m too old to be hit on.”

His gaze did a sweep, lingering on the plunging neckline. “You’re never too old to be hit on.”

The smile expanded. “I don’t know. I feel at least a hundred.” Her pink tongue outlined her upper lip. Her hand crept up to close the vee. “I helped myself to your robe. I hope…”

“I don’t mind.” The words came out more forceful than he had planned. He quickly added, “It’s almost as good as your biker babe.”

Dani chuckled. “I kinda liked her, too. How did you figure out it was me?”

“It’s my job.” He grinned. “But your coconut shampoo didn’t hurt.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Very good.”

He’d like to show her how good. Color surged in her cheeks as if she had picked up on his want. Matt swallowed dryly. Good thing he’d called Alice.

There was a tiny silence.

“You did a sustenance run, I see?” She walked over to the sack he had put on the bar, then slanted a look at him that made him uneasy.

“What?” he asked, defensively.

“The grocery sack doesn’t exactly go with the gun.”

“Not many things do.” He turned and reached into the mouth of the sack, wished he could pull out a case of temporary sexual immunity. Didn’t need his blood supply heading so obviously South.

“I guess not.” She slid onto a stool next to him, smelling of his soap, his shampoo, and woman. When she craned to peer into the mouth of the sack, his robe slid away from the silken length of her leg.

It looked even better than he remembered.

“My soda and chocolate. You’re clearly…”

She stopped. He didn’t care why until her hand came into view, gathered the errant flaps of robe and pulled them together. He looked up then, found her regarding him, with a slight twitch at the edges of her mouth.

“A man who notices the little details. Unusual.”

“Hard not to notice some details,” he said, dryly. “Everywhere you’ve been, I found empty M&M bags and soda cans.”

The twitch turned into a smile that reached into his chest and gave his heart a painful squeeze. No relief for him when her attention turned to the soda he’d brought her. Her look of anticipation lit the gold in her eyes. She licked her lips, then lifted the can to the moistened, pink circle.

“It’s warm.” He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “There’s ice.”

He ought to go plunge his head in some. Then apply it lower for as long as it took to get his detachment back so he could step out from behind the counter.

“I don’t mind. I learned to take it warm in England.” She tipped her head for a long drink, laying bare the smooth sweep of her neck and the plunging vee of his robe. She gave a tiny murmur of pleasure, then sighed. “I think I might live now.”

“Good.” He was dying, but at least she would live. He walked stiffly around the counter into the kitchen, propped his hands on the counter with his back to her and asked, “French toast?”

Dani paused in mid-drink. He knew her favorite breakfast? “I wonder if Socrates would’ve been so sure the unexamined life wasn’t worth living if he’d had the Feds hunting him?”

“What?” He looked at her over his shoulder, a frown drawing down his brows.

“Did any of my deep, dark secrets escape notation in my file?”

“As I mentioned last night, some critical items were missing.” He turned back to his preparations, got a pan heating, then pulled a bowl out of a cupboard, the eggs and milk from the refrigerator. He lifted his hand to crack the first egg against the bowl, then stopped. “Why did you call him?”

“Call who?”

“Your ex-husband. I would’ve thought…”

“That he’d be the last person I’d call?”

“Yeah.” He cracked the egg and dumped the contents in the bowl.

“You’re right. He is the last person I’d call. That’s why I didn’t call him.” She traced the rim of the soda can with her pinkie. “I called Liz. He answered the phone.”

“You cried.” His voice had a harsh edge to it as he picked up another egg. He hesitated, then looked her way, his brows drawn into a frown that might have been forbidding if it weren’t for the trace of puzzled in his eyes.

“I did not.” His brows went up. “Only a little.”

“Who for?”

She hesitated. “For all of us, I guess.”

“I don’t get it.” He cracked the egg too hard and it disintegrated into a mess of shell and liquid. He tossed the mess in the sink and grabbed another one.

She wasn’t surprised he didn’t get it. Her feelings for and about Richard were complicated. She had spent the last six months trying to reconcile the Richard she’d known with the man who had died yesterday afternoon. Six months sifting through years of association, trying to find a clue, a hint that he wasn’t worthy of her trust and regard. Either she was a lousy detective or he had covered up too well. “He must have hated dying like that.”

Matt’s face hardened. “Then he shouldn’t have gotten involved with Bates.”

“He shouldn’t have done a lot of things.” She looked at her soda can. The only downside of her favorite soda was the lack of leaves to read. If she had been a tea drinker, would she have known? “To you he’s just a guy who killed someone and got caught.”

“Did you love him?”

She looked at him, her brows rising. He looked back, his face unrelenting, his eyes so cool. Nice of the tinge of red in his cheeks to give him away. He hadn’t meant to ask that question. Knowing that made it easy to answer.

“Not the way you mean. He was a big brother, long before he was an in-law, stayed one after my marriage crashed.” Dani propped her elbows on the bar looking at Matt, seeing the past. “He taught me how to ride a bike, drive a car, and keep a date in line. I stood up when he married my best friend, he stood up when I married his brother. He bought cigars when Meggie was born. I bought Liz lingerie when their first was born. We cried together when…”

She drew in a shuddering breath, said with careful calm, “He stood by me when I divorced his brother and bought the champagne when my first book sold. I’d really like to exorcise him from my head, you don’t know how much I want that, but if I do, my past goes with him.”

Matt cracked the egg against the bowl and added milk, then stared at it, his body tight and controlled. She didn’t, she realized, want to know why he was so tense. It was better not to know some things. Yet another lesson from Richard.

“I keep hearing his voice in my head at Meggie’s funeral saying, Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead, scribbling in the sky the message that [S]he is Dead—”

Matt watched a tear break free, track unnoticed down her cheek and drop onto her clenched hand.

“I don’t have much family, just some cousins twenty times removed, but I never noticed. They, he and Liz, were all the family I needed. When that ended, I don’t know, I didn’t feel like I had the right to feel bad about it.” Her sigh was a shedding of the burden she had carried. “I guess it’s selfish, but now that he’s dead, it’s over. I think I’ve earned the right to feel what I want.”

He nodded, let the bread hitting the skillet with a sizzling flurry of steam fill in the blanks of what he couldn’t say. They ate without speaking.

When Dani had swallowed the last bite of her French toast, she sat back with a satisfied sigh. The food was filling, the talk freeing. She felt better on all fronts. “Thanks. You do a truly fine French toast.”

“I’ll pass your praise onto my mom, the author of my skills as a cook.” Matt took her plate, rinsed it, and then inserted it deftly in the open dishwasher.

“You know your way around a kitchen, I see. Your girlfriend must be thrilled.” Dani propped her elbows on the bar, her chin on her hands, enjoying the view. Kelly had a thing about shoulders, but Dani was about butts, which were their finest when wrapped in snug fitting blue jeans.

He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression openly ironic. “According to my ex-wife, my job is tough competition.”

“Not every woman is afraid of a little competition.”

“No.” He shrugged. “But when they realize it’s a no-win, they give up.”

“I see.” She had already figured this out herself, so having it confirmed at the source couldn’t be the reason for the tightness in her chest. There was a drop of syrup on the counter. She looked dabbed at it with the tip of her finger. “You got a call this morning while you were out.”

“Oh?” He closed the dishwasher and started it.

“She didn’t leave a message.” Dani studied the thick brown drop. Odd how sweet things looked sweet, like a clue left by God. If He had known they would need the sweet in their lives and wanted them to know, who was she to refuse the gift?

Matt turned to blast her about the folly of answering his phone when she was supposed to be in hiding and saw her mouth close over the tip of her finger. Instead of the lecture, he gave a strangled, “Oh?”

She looked up, her look of inquiry fading into a wary yearning. She withdrew her finger, lowered her hand to the counter top and gripped. “I, um, know I shouldn’t have answered.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She swallowed dryly. “That’s good.”

Not good. Not good at all. He couldn’t even pull up a name, could barely remember his own name with Dani sitting there naked except for his robe and sucking on her finger. It felt too much like a morning after—minus the satisfaction. His control wavered, letting in memory of the way she had looked in his bed this morning. Let in how hard it had been not to crawl in next to her. How much he wanted to kiss and touch her until she was as awake as he’d been. Until she wanted what he wanted.

Man and woman created He them. A good idea it was, too, just not right now. Just because what he was feeling walked and talked and felt like something good, didn’t make it so. A duck wasn’t always a duck. Bottom line? This couldn’t be about what he wanted. It had to be about what was right. If he crossed that line, he lost more than his principles.

Someone could die. Dani could be that someone.

God created life and death, too. Then He made Hayes and let him loose to prey on the innocent in a far from perfect world. That was Matt’s reality. Fantasy was for teenage boys and romance writers.

This particular romance writer reached her hand under her hair and massaged her neck, a wistful curve to her mouth that tried to trump his logic. How did she manage to look fragile and strong, sexy and sweet?

If God was kind, Alice was driving up right now.

Matt’s eyes, Dani decided, were the canvas where emotion played, altering the harsh lines of his face in fractions by narrowing or widening. Desire flared in his eyes. She saw him try to put the fire out before it leapt the space that separated them. Saw him fail. Felt the slow sweet beat of passion’s wings start inside her skin, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of the past.

She didn’t fight it. It had been a long time since she had felt anything that wasn’t vicarious and fictional. It felt good to desire a man. To be desired as a woman. To participate, not just observe and record. To feel warm and soft. To know he was warm and hard.

There was no danger to her body. She wasn’t about to act on the attraction flickering between them like a faulty light switch. There was, unfortunately, plenty of danger to her heart.

She was tired, dangerously tired, in body and in spirit. Kelly was right. Since Meggie died, she had been barely rooted in life. Here with Matt, she could feel her soul starting to grip deeper, harder. Could feel those tender roots start the phoenix of her heart wanting to do more than stir. It wanted to fly high enough to feel the sun beating strong and warm. The poor, mended organ was in serious danger of wanting to beat with passion. Even worse, it wanted to love again.

She couldn’t walk away, couldn’t flee the danger of feeling because she needed Matt if she were to have any chance of finishing what Richard had started.

It would be funny if it were happening to someone else. She had bolted from custody six days ago, determined to go it alone. She hadn’t gone it alone. Even, this was the really funny part, even Spook had helped her. There was no such thing as alone. Way back in 1624, John Donne had recognized the imperative of human contact when he declared that “no man is an island, entire in itself.”

Only with Matt could she be “part of the whole.”

She watched the curtain come down in his eyes and couldn’t blame him. Why should he want the burden of her spirit, her heart? He was already responsible for her life, not to mention the lives of himself and his team. If this was one of her books, he would have no problem with leaping tall buildings, out running numerous locomotives, saving all their lives, and healing her heart without breaking it.

It was too bad that Lewis Carroll’s White Queen could believe six impossible things before breakfast, but between them they couldn’t do one itty bitty impossible thing.

She took a drink of soda, then wiped the moisture from her lips, fighting the need to look at him. The silence was made out of rubber, stretching tight, tighter…

She had to look…

But the doorbell beat her to it, it’s buzz releasing the tension with a snap that made them both jump. Matt rubbed the back of his neck. “Alice. That’s Alice. I called her. Asked her to bring your clothes.”

“My clothes?” Dani fingered the lapel of his robe, felt silk move against her skin and swallowed dryly. “Good idea.”

His crooked grin was unexpected and toe-curling cute. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

It was a relief to chuckle, she was glad he had a sense of humor, but it put another notch in her need for him and started another round of rubber tension.

“Dani…”

The bell rang with greater insistence.

Matt rubbed his face. “If I don’t let her in, she’ll kick the door down.”

“Oh. Be hard to explain.” She pivoted on her stool as he came out of the kitchen.

“Yeah. Hard to replace, too. It’s,” he swallowed, “real wood. Solid.”

“Oh. Solid is…good.” Her hands curled into fists under the cover of his robe.

“Yeah.” He swallowed. “I’ll just get that.”

“I would. For the sake of your door.” He stepped past without touching her. She was glad. Touching would not be a good idea, well, it would good, too good, which was bad, very bad.

She meant to be strong and not look, but if there was anything better than a nicely filled out pair of jeans coming at you, it was watching them walking away. No question about it. He had a great butt.

She sighed. Wasn’t there a country song about being lonely for too long? She shook her head. There were probably a million of them. All sad. All about her.

NINETEEN

Alice looked rested when Matt opened the solid wood door for her. She’d gone casual with jeans and soft boots. Matt was glad she’d left the heels at home. Made his feet hurt just looking at her. Right now his feet were the only thing that didn’t hurt. He noticed she held a couple of bags and a white pastry box. His brows arched.

“Breakfast?”

“It is the most important meal of the day.” She looked past him, then asked softly, “When did she get here?”

“Last night.” He nodded for her to proceed down the hall.

“Really?” Her brows arched as she stepped past him.

He resisted the compulsion to explain for two whole heartbeats. “She was hammered. Didn’t think she could handle a full court press. Fell asleep before the coffee was done.”

He didn’t finish with, “Satisfied,” but it was implied. Alice wasn’t the only one who could look what she was thinking.

She grinned. “Sorry. I was just a little surprised. I thought this was a female-free zone for the brothers, Kirby.”

“It is, but even we have to occasionally allow free passage,” he waited a beat, “since our mom is a woman.”

Her grin turned cheeky. “Thank her for plowing the field for those of us who aren’t related.”

“I will.” Matt stepped back so she could pass him, then followed her into the living room.

Dani was leaning against the window frame in an unconsciously provocative pose, looking down on the street with a pensive expression. It was as pleasing as all the other expressions he had seen on her face. The light behind her emphasized all the things his robe didn’t hide. “Probably not a good idea to show yourself in a window.”

She turned, pensive giving way for fear before she could bury it again. If his mom had been here, she would have given him a look. Since she wasn’t, Alice did it for him. She didn’t need to. He had finally found an expression he didn’t like on Dani’s face.

“If my neighbors see you in my window,” he said, “wearing my robe, at this time of day, it’ll raise my stock hereabouts and Alice wouldn’t like it.”

Pay back was immediate and almost more than he, or his detachment, could handle when she smiled, holding nothing back. It opened her face, her eyes, and just for a minute, her heart. That gratitude was the main component didn’t lessen the impact.

“I wouldn’t want to make Alice unhappy.” Her gaze shifted to Matt’s companion and turned curious. She had heard their low voiced conversation, the apartment was small after all, and she couldn’t help but wonder about the woman Matt had such comfortable relationship with. She held out her hand. “You must be Alice.”

“And you’re, Dani.” They shook hands, studying each other with veiled curiosity. Dani liked what she saw. It appeared that Alice did, too, when her smile expanded. “Nice to finally catch up with you.”

Dani laughed. “I guess I should apologize for being such a pain in the butt.”

“But you won’t.”

“No. I learned in divorce court to never apologize.”

Alice grinned. “A nicer way of saying that men are always wrong. I’ll have to remember that.”

Matt remembered why he hated being in a room with two women. It was like finding yourself alone with aliens, trying to figure out what they were saying and knowing all the time that you never would.

“Alice is a fan,” he said. To his annoyance, they both looked at him like he had said something lame, then exchanged looks. He hated it when women did that, the main reason why he would only have one of them at a time on his team.

“Alice brought you some clothes,” he said, handing Dani the sack he had taken from Alice.

“And I thought you might be in need of sustenance. Bachelor pads are known to be devoid of the creature comforts.” Alice held up the white box she had brought with her.

“I fed her,” Matt protested. They ignored him.

“I hope that’s what I think it is,” Dani said, getting that look of anticipation that was so hard on his parts.

“If you think its pastries, your hope is not in vain.”

“I guess you’ve been reading my file, too.”

She didn’t seem to mind that Alice had been poking in her life, Matt noticed.

“They probably aren’t as good as you can get in New Orleans, but I think you’ll find them quite palatable.”

Dani peeked in the box Alice held out. “Oh yes. This is very good. I think we’re going to be friends, Alice.”

Matt looked at Dani. “You can’t be hungry.”

Dani and Alice exchanged another one of those looks, then Dani said, “If I only ate when I was hungry, I’d never eat.” She scooped out a treat. “I’ll just take this with me while I go change.”

He couldn’t argue with her. He needed her to get out of his robe before he imploded. He had a strict, non-implosion policy around Alice. She would enjoy seeing him in coyote position a little too much. Besides, it was time to get down to business. He didn’t like it any better this time around. “Why don’t you help her, Alice. I’m gonna call Anderson.”

She nodded, her gaze meeting his for a brief, pointed moment. She was a smart girl. She understood he wanted her take on Dani’s state of mind.

He shouldn’t have, but he watched Dani leave. Then he went and found a cold drink to down before he made his call.

* * * *

Dani changed, then ate her pastry. While her palate enjoyed flaky pastry and rich filling, her thoughts circled like a vulture waiting for that last gasping breath from a dying corpse. It was an interesting sensation. “You married, Alice?”

“I was.” Alice sat down in the chair. “Divorce is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Dani stretched her legs out, missing the soft silk of Matt’s robe sliding across her skin, the heat of his eyes even more. She didn’t know how cold she had been until now. “How long for you?”

“Two years.”

“Eight for me.” She and Steven had tried to keep it going after Meggie died, but it was hard to keep anything going with liquor playing third wheel. And Steven had needed the time to make sure they had no community property to divide. “You started dating yet?”

“A little. My job gets in the way.” Alice was quiet. “You were young when you divorced?”

Dani shook her head. “I was young when I married, but old when we divorced.”

It was good to remember this now, good to remember the flip side of love and desire. Good to remember how bad love felt when it was dying. Was it just a sign of the times or a product of their short attention span society, she wondered. People used to stay in love longer. Course they used to live shorter.

“Your books are about love,” Alice said. “I’ve only read one, but I really liked the way the characters found hope when they found each other.” She looked rueful. “Almost made me want to give love another crack.”

“Almost. Let’s face it, the older we get, the slimmer the pickings.” Her smile was as rueful as Alice’s. “In the eight years I’ve been single, I’ve had close contact with, maybe ten guys.”

“Ten is good. That’s almost a dozen,” Alice pointed out.

“Really?” Dani started counting down. “Six of them I made up. Two turned out to be killers. One’s a married biker—”

Dani stopped counting and looked at the lone finger still up.

Alice chuckled. “And number ten? Any hope there?”

Dani sighed. “Him?”

A lonesome, mountain climbing lawman and a romance writer who was afraid of heights might work in fiction—if the fiction was paranormal so that a liberal dose of magic could be stirred in—but this was real life. She wrote fiction, she didn’t live it. She looked at Alice.

“He’s a man. The odds aren’t good.”

* * * *

Where was Willow?

The game was different this time, and yet almost the same, Hayes thought, trying to hold back frustration that would only confuse his thinking. He was hunting, but not for blood. Not this time. Now he searched for the other half of his heart.

He could feel her out there, but he couldn’t pinpoint her yet. Soon, very soon he would have a fix. It was harder this time. He couldn’t use his usual contacts. Whatever fear they had of him would evaporate in the scent of all the money on his head right now.

Maybe he shouldn’t have put the contract out on Orsini. He was pretty far up the food chain. Rattled the cages of some pretty serious sharks. The big ones didn’t like it when their biters bit them. Hubris wasn’t just a problem the Greeks had.

He grinned. “It’s a fine thing to rise above pride, but you must have pride in order to do so.”

If he couldn’t find Willow the usual way, he would find her the unusual way. He would feel his way to her on his hands and knees if he had to.

The real test of a man is not how well he plays the role he has invented for himself, he recalled, but how well he plays the role that destiny assigned to him.

Their destiny was to live—or die—together. For them both, he would play the role assigned to him.

* * * *

Matt’s face was grim when Dani and Alice joined him in the living room. What tiny bit of warm she had been able to hold onto turned to ice when he told her why. She wrapped her arms around her middle, but didn’t help. Inside, with a snap so loud, she was surprised Matt and Alice didn’t hear it, Willow failed to bend. She didn’t break. Not yet. She cracked. A prelude to breaking. With no shock to cushion her against the ugly realities of circumstances.

Meggie was dead.

Stephen was a drunk who wanted her dead.

Richard, who’d wanted her dead, was dead.

Spook was Dark Lord.

He wanted her dead, too—

A ripple of disquiet wound in, the sense she was missing something important…

Soon, Willow. Soon you’ll understand.

It was just a dream, she told herself, but the feeling didn’t go away. She looked at Matt. He looked strong and hard and very far away.

“What’s happened?” It surprised her how steady, how calm her voice sounded. She must be a better actress than she had realized.

He looked at Alice before he spoke. There was something familiar about the look that they exchanged. She couldn’t figure out why.

“They found McBride.”

“I…” Dani swallowed dryly, “didn’t know he was missing.”

“He wasn’t,” Alice said reluctantly.

Now she placed the exchange of looks. They were the precursor to bad news; the silent asking of, “How do we tell her? Can she take it?”

Dani sank onto the desk chair, her back straight, her feet together, hands not clenched in her lap but only by supreme effort. “How?” She didn’t look at Matt.

He didn’t hesitate. “Throat cut.”

There was no softness in his voice. Dani was grateful. Right now she needed him to be as hard as the rock he climbed. A hint of softness and she’d shatter like glass.

“Why?”

This time Matt hesitated. “I don’t know.” He looked at Alice. “Someone hit Orsini, too. Word on the street is Hayes bankrolled it.”

Alice frowned. “Wasn’t Orsini bankrolling the hit on Bates and David?”

“That was the general consensus.”

“Well, this is getting too weird.” Alice turned away from them and slid onto a stool, propping an elbow on the counter. “Who’s left besides Copeland who may or may not care now that he won’t get paid?”

Matt opened his mouth, but it was Dani who spoke.

“Spook. And me.” She hadn’t known all the players in Richard’s little drama, but it didn’t seem to matter, since they had all been taken out. “Spook and me.”

Dani didn’t like where her thoughts were going.

“What?” Matt asked, his voice and gaze going sharp as they honed in on her.

For the first time since she had found out who Spook really was, Dani opened her memory and took out her three meetings with him and asked herself, with no awareness she spoke aloud, “Why didn’t he kill me when he had the chance? Twice, he didn’t do it. Why?”

She looked up at Matt, her hand on a throat that still showed the marks of one meeting. “He could have so easily. But he didn’t. He just wanted to know…about…”

“About what, Dani?” Matt crouched in front of her. If she really had a line into Hayes head, they needed to know. “What did he want to know?”

She licked her lips. A small kick of desire tried to get a foot hold in his concentration, but he wouldn’t let it.

“He wanted to know about Willow.”

“But,” Matt stood up. This wasn’t what he’d expected. “He had to know you were Willow.”

“No,” Dani shook her head, “he didn’t. When I asked him how he knew I was Willow, he went nuts. The first time he left. Then in the alley, he practically howled. That’s when I got him with the pepper spray. And hit him.”

Her pride was so apparent, Matt grinned, but it faded as her words sank in. “But if he didn’t know you were the Willow he was chatting with…”

“…why did he want to meet me at the mall?” Dani finished. “I don’t think I want to know.” She stood up and paced away. Then turned to face Matt, her face, her eyes asking him to give her an answer she could live with.

Matt didn’t have one. “This is nuts. This can’t be.”

“Dani,” Alice said, “when Hayes asked you out the first time after you met him, what did you think?”

She hesitated. “I thought he was a girl.” She managed a brief, rueful smile. “He was a little too sensitive to be real, if you know what I mean?”

Alice smiled. “I know what you mean.” She sobered, looked at Matt. “This could get interesting.”

Matt opened his mouth to blast the whole idea, then closed it. How could he assert that Hayes couldn’t fall for Dani without seeing her? He might not like it, but he couldn’t deny that he had felt something looking at her picture the first time. After he had chatted with her, felt the charm in her written words bridge the space that divided them, it had gotten worse. Hayes hadn’t seen her in a silk bathrobe, but with his imagination, he didn’t need to.

“Have you noticed,” he asked slowly, “what Hayes hasn’t been doing since he found out you were Willow?”

Dani started to shake her head, then stopped, her body tensing as her thoughts spun through her wide green eyes.

“That’s right,” he said, grimly, “no email. No threats.” To Alice he added, “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

Alice started to agree. Dani started to disagree.

Matt held up his hand and opened his mouth, but they all froze when they heard someone at the door.

It was like watching a ballet, Dani thought, seeing them go into action together. No need for words. Each knew what their steps were. Did them with a minimum of fuss. Guns were pulled and checked. “At ready” positions taken on either side of the hall opening. In the silence, the soft creak of the door as it swung open was audible. As were the measured beat of masculine footsteps coming down the hall.

TWENTY

A cheerful whistle made a counterpoint for the footsteps and took the tense from Matt’s shoulders. He lowered his gun. Alice, still on alert, looked a question.

“Luke,” Matt said briefly, shoving his weapon back in the holster.

“The big brother,” Dani said. “I forgot to tell you he called.”

Luke stopped in the doorway. He also filled the doorway, Dani noted. He seemed determined to take his “big brother” designation to its physical limits. Their relationship was obvious, he looked very much like Matt, though he topped him by about four inches and was less closed, more cheerful in aspect. Hands on his hips he looked at Alice, who still had her gun trained on him, gave her an appreciative once over and said, “I guess I need to quit threatening a federal agent.”

Dani exchanged a delighted glance with Alice, who stowed her gun.

“I forgot to give him the message,” Dani admitted, pulling his dark gaze, so like Matt’s and yet so not like him, her direction.

“You must be Louise.” His eyes registered curiosity first, then approval. “Nice to meet you in the flesh.”

Richard Sheridan, the attorney prosecuting Richard’s case had said something far less controversial during a deposition and she had wanted to go shower. Delivery, Dani decided as she grinned at him, was everything. “I can only concur.”

Matt might have choked. It was hard to tell. When Dani looked at him, his face was still locked up tight.

Alice extended a hand. “Alice Paysse. I work with Matt.”

Luke took her hand and gave it a pat. “Lucky Matt.”

“He doesn’t always think so,” Alice admitted, a smile lighting her face.

“I got a situation breaking here, okay?” the subject of their conversation snapped.

Luke sighed. It was a huge sigh. He couldn’t do small sighs with his big barrel of a chest, Dani decided. Somehow he managed to look mournful and abused. “Why do I have the nasty feeling I’m about to be stood up again?”

* * * *

Hayes stared at the computer screen with a frown. His tap into the security system at the federal building was proving to be a less than rich mine of information. No sign of Willow anywhere. It didn’t make sense. She had to be with them. He had done a city sweep of his contacts just before they cut him off. She was out of the cold and in care. He was sure of it.

Had they already moved her to a safe house? It was possible. If they had, they had moved fast, even for them. The Marshals had protected Willow and for that he was reluctant to strike against them. In a strange way, they had become allies, though they didn’t know it yet. Of course, if they kept her from him, he would take them out one by one.

They couldn’t be allowed to interfere.

No one could interfere.

He was a patient man, but his patience was running out, no  it was turning into pain. So much pain, he could hardly think his way through it. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. Only thoughts of Willow, of being with her, kept him going. He had to find her before the pain won the game. She had to complete the pattern with him. It was the only way to save them both. If he failed…

He couldn’t, wouldn’t think about failure. Not when he was so close to having her. He touched her picture, how beautiful she was and how perfect for him. Not one of those flashy types, trumpeting their surface flash to the world. No, her beauty was quiet and deep, like the heart of his mountain. Her words floated up to disturb his reverie.

I don’t do heights.

He frowned. She was afraid of heights, of mountains. It didn’t fit the pattern—like a voice from the mountain itself, he heard the whisper, “I lift mine eyes unto the mountains, from whence cometh my strength.”

Of course, that was the answer. Just like the mountain had relieved his pain, her fears would melt away in completing the pattern. Willow would be free of past hurts and fears, free to join her life to his. She would learn to love the beauty of the mountain heights, and with him she would honor and preserve the pattern forever. It had been ordained from the beginning. Like truth, it took time and distance to see it whole. In much the same way he had thought he needed Bates and people like him to guide him to the sacrifices. He hadn’t understood. He had been too close, too new to the pattern to see the whole. Now he understood more. When he joined with Willow, they would both understand all.

Tennessee Williams thought time was “the longest distance between two places.” He was wrong. Time was the shortest distance between him and Willow. If he failed to close it before his time ran out, he would lose her forever. If they reached the peak, completed the pattern within the allotted time, then nothing would separate them in life or death.

He had to find her, he would find her if he had to drown the whole city in blood to do it.

Like always, when he needed it, the missing piece of the pattern came to him. Kirby. Kirby was the agent in charge of finding her. Find Kirby, find Willow? He tapped keys, then frowned at the screen showing the log of who had checked in and out of the building. Kirby wasn’t in the office. Hadn’t been in since yesterday. Odd. Very odd.

* * * *

“I’m not leaving,” Dani said. “I’ve been there, done that.”

Her gaze held the swift parry of a sword when he tried to stare her down. He wanted to shake her. He circled her where she sat in his desk chair, her knees together, her hands carefully relaxed on her knees. Since he couldn’t shake her, he said with intense patience, “Hayes is a wild card right now. We don’t know what he wants, what he’s going to do. The only sensible thing is to fall back and regroup.”

“I thought you wanted him?”

“I do,” he shot back, “but…”

“But what? When will you ever get a better chance to get him? When will you ever again have what he wants?” Dani asked, turning her head to stay with him as he circled.

Matt looked at Alice, then turned away from them both, shoving both hands into his hair. “Talk to her, Alice.”

“It’s our job to protect you, Dani.”

“You just want to hide me away somewhere until somebody gets too tired to care. At least with the trial I had a deadline to hang onto, but this, this is a life sentence to limbo! I won’t do it.” Her hands curled into fists. “You want me to live. I want my life back. If you aren’t willing to try, then,” she took a deep breath, straightened her hands into a pseudo-relaxed and finished with quiet intensity, “let me talk to someone who will.”

She almost flinched back when Matt spun to face her, anger coming off him in scorching waves. This heat wasn’t sweet or comforting, but she refused to back down. She would never make it if she did. Her body might survive, but her mind would die. Her spirit would die.

Willow wouldn’t bend this time. She would snap in two.

His gaze bored into hers for what seemed like forever. She let him see her resolve. Her need she kept hidden. He didn’t want her need, only her cooperation. He didn’t know he couldn’t have one without the other. She didn’t know how to separate them. Need was a package deal of all or nothing.

When he sighed, the release of tension almost collapsed her like a balloon. She shuddered, dug her nails into her knees to stop it. He gave no quarter, so she wouldn’t ask for any.

Then she almost broke when he crouched down in front of her and said, “You don’t understand what we’re trying to do. If you could, look, we’re just taking this in steps, trying to get past reacting to what he does. The first step is to secure your safety. Then we’re going to try and draw him in.”

“He won’t decoy again,” Dani said, softly. “He’ll know. He always has. The only reason it worked the last time was because I was there.” Her nails dug deeper into her knees, the knuckles going white. Luckily her jeans provided a measure of protection. Too bad her heart wasn’t wrapped in denim. It hurt to have his face close enough for her wanting hands to trace, his dark eyes a deep pool she wanted to sink into more than she wanted to breathe air. What twist of fate had made her need a man who didn’t want it?

“How can he know whether it’s really you or not, Dani?” Her eyes were a code he couldn’t break, her words harder to decipher than code. “How could he know?”

“I can’t explain how. He just does.” She stopped, licked her dry lips.

It was a hit at his pride when he felt want try to respond to her need. He tightened down the lid, but it was harder to do than the last time.

“Just like I…” Dani stopped and looked away. Alice stepped into the circle of their tension, but if she felt it, it didn’t show on her face.

“Just like you what?” she asked, in neutral tones.

Dani looked up, hesitated, then said, “Just like I know when he’s hunting me.” Her gaze returned to Matt. “Don’t you see? That’s why the nightmares. Why I called him Dark Lord. Because I could feel him hunting me, just like Dark Lord hunted Frodo. Only Frodo could feel his eyes searching. I don’t feel his eyes. I feel his heart beating. It’s getting closer.” She swallowed painfully. “I hope I’m wrong. I hope he does want to kill me.”

Now he understood. Knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth, added tons to the weight of responsibility he already felt. His dad had taught he and his brothers’ two rules for dealing with the opposite sex: Do no harm. Don’t let anyone else do harm.

That covered a lot of territory, set a high standard that he hadn’t always lived up to. He was human. He had hurt Judith. Hurt her badly. Hadn’t meant to. That didn’t change the regret he felt at letting his dad and himself down. He found it easier to keep from stumbling again by not getting too close.

He was too close right now. He could see all the way to her heart. It was a brave one. She had guts. Her fear beat against his need to stay cool and calm. All the stuff he thought he’d shelved when Judith left rose up, trying to get into the act, trying to trip him up. With Hayes playing wild card somewhere, this was not a good time to even want to wrap his arms around her and tell it was going to be all right, that he would take care of everything.

It was going to be all right. He would do everything he could to make it all right. Except wrap his arms around her and tell her so.

It wasn’t in the job description.

His cell phone rang, making saved by the bell take on new meaning for him. He stood up, an honorable retreat was the better part of valor. Hayes wasn’t the only one who could pull up quotes.

“Kirby,” he said into the telephone.

“You gotta get out of there, Matt,” Sebastian said, urgently. “Someone’s been tapping into building security. Looking at your log in/log out record.”

He bit back a swear word. “Anderson know?”

“Yeah, he says go. He’s getting bad vibes, doesn’t even want to risk the airport without a plan. If you can handle it, he’ll wait for you to contact him. Only him. Wants this strictly need to know.”

“Right.” He had to think, not just react. That’s what Hayes wanted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke, who had gone to shower away his night shift in Homicide, rejoin them.

“Matt?” Sebastian recalled his attention. “Be careful.”

“I will. Thanks for calling. Tell him I’ll be in touch.” He shut off the telephone, thought for a minute, then looked at Luke. “We gotta move.”

Without missing a beat he asked, “The cabin?”

“For tonight, then we,” he hesitated, then looked at Dani, “then you decide what you want to do.”

She sighed like one shedding a burden, gratitude softening her eyes. “Thank you.”

Matt was giving her control, nothing else. “Thank me when it’s over. Then we’ll know if I deserve it. Now let’s get out of here. You coming with, Luke?” Luke nodded, Matt turned to Alice. He didn’t like leaving her to pick up, but he didn’t have any choice. It was her job. “Make sure she didn’t leave anything behind, then go. This won’t be a good place to be if Hayes is heading this way. I’ll be in touch.”

She nodded. “Good luck.”

Luke checked, then strapped on his gun. “Out the back?” Matt nodded. “I’ll take point.”

TWENTY-ONE

Dani sat between the two men as the sprawl of city fell away behind them. Ahead the road climbed steeply toward jagged, distant peaks lightly touched with snow despite the firm hold summer had on the plains below.

Was it just her imagination or did she already feel cold? How could she tell? Strategists always made such a big deal about the high ground. She couldn’t see what why. In the movies heroes and victims were always heading up, when it was obvious that would just get them cornered. Granted this rugged countryside was very different from the tops of buildings and such, but the principles were the same: always leave yourself room to maneuver and stay away from long drops.

The real kicker was, she had brought it on herself. In a heartbeat Matt would have sent her right out of this very high state, maybe even to a low lying one. Oh no, she had to have an attack of insanity and insist on staying to face the bogey man. And for what did she insist on this? For her life. The life, if Kelly was right, that she wasn’t even sure she wanted to have.

She had heard that sleep deprivation can make you do weird things. Obviously she had heard correctly. Now was the time to stop the madness, to tell him she had changed her mind and would prefer to run away and hide somewhere and she should do it now before her ears popped again.

She peeked at Matt, sitting next to her like something hewn out of granite, except for the slight frown pulling down his dark eyebrows. Granite was supposed to be good rock, very hard. He could be its poster guy. She had only been in his company just over half a day and already she could tell how annoyed he was by how far his eyebrows dipped.

When granite moved, she wasn’t ready. He arched one brow in a silent query and gave her one more reason not to give up. There was just so much she didn’t know about rock. It wouldn’t hurt to enlarge her knowledge a bit. If she ever did get home, she could be sure of one thing. The soggy swamp land of New Orleans was seriously deficient in hard stuff.

“You don’t by any chance play poker, do you?” Luke took his eyes from the road long enough to grin at her.

“A little.” One of her characters had been a compulsive gambler.

“Strip poker?” he asked, one brow arching in hope.

Beside her Matt stirred uneasily. “Luke—”

“It sounds diverting, but I think I’d have to watch it first, see how it’s done.” She smiled demurely at Luke. Matt chuckled. It was a nice sound, just enough rumble, hardly any gravel and lightly sun-warmed.

He was a nice man, a good man trying to do good things in a world that often wasn’t good or sympathetic to the good. She was, she realized, more worried about him than herself. He was so determined to make things right, so idealistic in a tough, no-nonsense way. Sometimes determination wasn’t enough to stop the evil that men do. She ought to know.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.

It was from the book of Matthew. She didn’t usually like symbolism, but this time it did seem like a good omen.

They stopped in Boulder so Dani could beef up her personal items for what could be a long haul. Matt looked at her when she spotted a purse display and stopped to buy one. The gesture was more defiant than useful, since she didn’t have much to put it in. It made Dani feel more connected to life. The only other stop was for gasoline. Luke stayed in the car with Dani while Matt paid with cash so Hayes couldn’t track their credit card use. While they waited, Luke beat a tattoo on the steering wheel in time with the country song playing on the radio. He turned suddenly and asked, “Why do I have a feeling you’ve got eyes for my little brother?”

“Why would you think I have eyes for your little brother?” It surprised her she wasn’t uncomfortable with him or his question. There was something steady and solid about him, like a teddy bear. A great big teddy bear, who just happened to pack a gun.

“Maybe it’s the way you watch him?”

Dani shrugged. “How could I not watch him? He has a great butt. For that matter, so do you.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, and a slight blush. His eyes stayed worried. “Matt’s marriage—”

“—broke up because he’s job obsessed. And no, I don’t have illusions that I can fix him. I’m a romance writer, not a masochist.”

Luke laughed again. “I’m glad to hear it. I like you. I’d hate to see you get hurt. Not that he’d mean to. Matt, well, he’s just not into personal. Screws his concentration. Can’t have it screwed when lives depend on you. He’ll do his best for you, we both will—but he’ll do it from a nice, safe distance.”

He was only confirming what she already knew. Now if she could just convince her body to quit going on hormone alert when he was around. The problem, she found, was that thinking about not thinking about him had the same effect on her as thinking about him, as evidenced by the heat creeping up the inside of her skin. She decided a change of subject was in order. A blush right now would send the wrong message. “What about you? How long have you been keeping women at a distance?”

Luke acknowledged her bull’s-eye with a smile that was tinged with sad. “Since my wife died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” She covered his hand gripping the steering wheel. She had learned from her own loss that talking about the person helped, even if it hurt. “How?”

“Ovarian cancer. Seems like one minute we were talking about starting a family, the next I’m looking at a headstone with Rosemary’s name on it.”

“Rosemary for remembrance. She must have been a lovely person.”

“Yeah.” He reversed the grip of their hands. “How did you know?”

“You flirt the same way I do,” Dani admitted, “with the surgical gloves on.”

“Either you have good instincts or you’ve been there, too.”

“Been there, done that, and bought the tee shirt, I’m afraid.” Dani gave him a wry smile. “At least I’ve been able to turn angst into a marketable skill.”

He got her hand again, raised it to his mouth. “You’re one tough lady, Louise.”

The passenger door opened.

“Am I interrupting?” Matt’s face was as inscrutable as ever but his tone was edged with something sour.

Luke kissed Dani’s hand before releasing it, then grinned at his brother in a way meant to provoke. “I don’t think so, little brother, but if you do start to get in the way, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Dani bit her lip and stared straight ahead as Matt clambered into the cab beside her.

“Uh,” she cleared her throat. “Is it much further?”

“Not much. Little bit more than an hour.” Luke reached for the gear shift between her legs, bringing his face close to hers in the process. He grinned, then winked. “If you’re tired, feel free to use my shoulder.”

Next to her Matt jerked, emitting a sound suspiciously like a snort. The lonesome lawman wasn’t as cool as he looked. It wouldn’t change what they both had to do, but it was nice to know.

“Thanks, I will,” she said, settling back in the seat between the rock and his soft-hearted big brother. Despite the guy/girl complications it wasn’t a bad place to be.

If she had been alone, she would have started humming. As it was, she just let the words flow through her head.

Through many dangers, toils and snares

I have already come.

Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far.

And grace will lead me home.

Grace and a couple of lonesome lawmen in tight jeans. Almost sounded like one of those sad country songs.

* * * *

Hayes slid into Kirby’s apartment with a silent tread, then stopped, his senses stretched out for signs of life other than his own. The man watching outside hadn’t posed much of a problem, though it disturbed him that Kirby had been expecting him. He was proving to be an adept adversary. If the game had been about anyone but Willow, he might have enjoyed this contest of wits.

His gaze shifted from side to side, his nostrils twitching as he tested the air for signs of Willow, while his eyes took in data for his brain to process about the man who had her.

Everything was orderly, neat, completely male. No sign of feminine occupation in either bedroom. He lived, Hayes knew, with his older brother, a widower whose wife had died of ovarian cancer. Amazing the information available on the Internet these days. Used to be much harder to dig it out.

Hayes completed his first pass through the apartment and frowned. Was he wrong? It wasn’t Kirby’s job to guard his Willow, but Andersen didn’t have her. Or anyone on his team. They were all at the office trying to set up an out of state transfer for her. He couldn’t let them do that. Someone had to know where she was. The only someone that made sense was Kirby, who hadn’t come into the office since the explosion yesterday.

It wasn’t like him. He had been there almost round-the-clock since the initial strike on the safe house. A look at his log in/log out patterns for the last year showed a similar dedication to the job. This wasn’t a guy who missed work in the middle of the week. He wasn’t home either. He could be on another case since Willow had showed up. Somehow he doubted it. He wasn’t the kind of the guy to back off until the fat lady had sung her heart out.

Hayes stood in the living room and turned slowly, his eyes looking for anything, any place he hadn’t looked. He almost passed it by again.

The refrigerator. If Willow had been here—

Bingo. Diet Dr. Pepper. Her odd addiction was useful for now.

Okay. She had been here. Where had he taken her?

He started searching again, but this time he wasn’t looking for Willow. He was looking for clues to the man who had her. In Kirby’s bedroom, Hayes went methodically through his closet. And learned that Kirby liked much the same things he did without discovering where he might take Willow. He sat down on the bed, fighting past a rising tide of pain, frustration and the clock in his head telling him he was running out of time.

This was a dead end. That was clear, though not a complete wash. He had learned much about his enemy. He gathered himself together, it was getting harder and harder to keep going. He put his hands on either side, he needed to push up against the exhaustion dogging him, and felt something hard under the blanket. The tingle along his nerve endings told him it was important. This was what he had been looking for.

When he pulled out the album and it fell open to a picture of Kirby standing in front of a mountain cabin, he knew it was what he was looking for. He even knew, within a few miles, where the cabin was. How could he not know, when it was his mountain rising in the background?

Kirby had taken Willow right where Hayes needed her to be.

He was so grateful, he might not kill him.

Unless he got in the way.

TWENTY-TWO

“Here we are.” Luke shut the motor off and looked at Matt, then down at Dani who was slept against Matt’s side. “I’ll go open up while you wake Louise.”

Matt nodded. Each breath she took was like Chinese water torture against his resolve. He was only human, all too only human. Lucky for him, falling asleep was such a good deterrent. Unlucky for him he had to wake her up.

He brushed her shoulder. “We’re here.”

Her struggle up through layers of exhaustion was painful to watch. She was too tired. How could she do this? How could she face down Hayes like this?

The lashes making half moons against her white cheeks fluttered, then lifted. Her eyes were green and foggy, bedroom eyes, that they reached deep into his gut and pressed all the wrong buttons. He swallowed, his throat dry. “We’re here.”

Above Long’s Peak, the gold sun was making signs it might set. They should have gotten up here sooner, if not for the stop in Boulder to buy her some things. He had almost lost patience with her when she lingered over buying and stocking a purse. Been ready to object, when something in the way she’d run her hand across the leather surface made him hesitate. For some reason, it seemed important to her. Weird, but if it helped her do what had to be done, he wasn’t going to complain. Back in the truck, she had removed the paper stuffing and stowed what she bought, tucked it against her side, and then disarmed him by falling asleep on his shoulder. Matt had endured this enjoyable torture because he hoped she would get rested, but her sleep remained as restless as the night before.

“Here?”

“The cabin.”

“Oh.” She turned her head, her body still nestled against his side, and examined her surroundings.

Sometimes the mountain wasn’t too welcoming, sometimes it was downright hostile. Right now, at the approach of evening, Mother Nature was playing it cool. Matt liked her best when she was cool. He knew Dani wasn’t wild about heights, so he was glad she was seeing this when the gold from the sun was making the color of sky, rock and trees as rich and crisp as the air going in their lungs. There was a majesty in the rugged sweep of rock that kind of lengthened the view, helped put things in perspective when life got too real, too close. Cut big things down to a more manageable size. Up here, even Hayes didn’t seem that important.

While Luke paused at the foot of log-hewn steps to stretch his tired muscles, Matt let Dani quietly soak in his mountain.

She sighed. “It’s very high, isn’t it?”

He looked down at her. “High? You, a writer, see one of the most spectacular views in the area and all you can find to say is that it’s high?”

She regarded him for a long moment, then looked at Luke, bending to unlock the door. “Some of it’s inspiring.”

Women. Who could understand them? Who would want to? He noticed Luke was having trouble with the lock and she was still looking. “Luke’s not over his wife’s death yet.”

“Really?” She sat up and looked at him, something in her eyes that made him uneasy. “Luke warned me against you, too.”

Outrage roared through him. “What’d he say?”

“That you’d do your best for me from a nice, safe distance.”

“Oh.” He stared at her, felt something inside him shift, something important that shouldn’t be shifting. “He’s right. I will.”

“I knew that.”

“You did, did you?” She was doing that woman thing again, poking around in his head, figuring things out, and then looking wise about it.

“It’s all right. I’m not looking to mess with this lonesome lawman thing you’ve got going here.” She gestured out the window. “I know I don’t fit in here. Besides, I’ve already driven one guy to drink. And yes,” her smile was slight, but dangerously tender, “it is very beautiful, but way too high for my blood. I’m sea level. You’re sky level.”

It should have made him feel better. If you took out the female variations, it could be the standard guy, “I’m not looking for a committed relationship” speech. He realized she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was staring straight ahead, her hands restless in her lap.

“For some reason my hormones would like our twain to meet somewhere between my sea and your sky. You’ve picked up on this and it’s put you in a difficult position. You’ve been assigned to look out for me not provide copy for my next book.”

How to feel like a bastard in one easy lesson. “Dani—”

“Please let me finish.” Her hands curled into fists. “I just want you to know that I feel the same way you do about this thing. I may get the occasional urge to jump your bones, but I’m a grownup and not so quick to jump as I used to be. Your bones are quite safe. All I want, need—” She stopped. “Get me home, please?”

“Okay.” Why was it, that when a woman gave you the space you asked for, it became the one thing you didn’t want? Would she ever do or say something he could see coming? In the silence, he felt his conscience telling him she deserved better than a terse, okay. “Dani?”

“Yes?” She stopped sliding off the seat, but she didn’t look at him.

“It wasn’t just you.” He rubbed the back of his head and shifted on his seat. “It was me, too. I’m having trouble with it, too.”

“Thank you.” There was a short silence, then she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, a tiny smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. “They say confession is the first step in overcoming temptation.”

“What’s the next step?”

She gave a tiny shrug. “Joseph fled Potipher’s wife, but we can’t do that.”

“No, we can’t.” There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

“You guys going to sit in there all night?” Luke called from the open door.

He would like to, Matt realized, he would like to sit here with her and watch the moon come up. When his hormones first started letting him know they were there, he’d lie in bed at night dreaming about the front seat of a truck on a moonlight night, dream about unwrapping the mystery of a pretty girl. There’d be plenty of moonlight tonight, but he wouldn’t be spending it in the front seat of a pickup truck unwrapping Dani.

“We’re coming.” He pushed open his door and went around and opened the door for Dani. Some things didn’t change near as much as you’d like them to. The dreams hadn’t. Neither had the timing.

It was still off.

* * * *

Timing was everything, Hayes decided, staring at the photo of the cabin he had taken from Kirby’s apartment. The chair he sat in rocked, keeping time with his thoughts and fidgeting feet. As soon as he grabbed her, the pursuit would begin. They would need time, more time than typical because Willow was a sea level greenhorn in the mountains. The hike would break her, then remake her. That took time.

How strong was she?

I bend, not break.

Well, there was breaking and breaking. She would make it. She had to. She always did what she had to.

They would need supplies. And there was the problem of Copeland. He was hunting hard. Couldn’t let him mess up things with Willow. Like a heartbeat, the pain in his head picked up the pace. He pressed a palm to its center, then pulled a sheet of paper toward him and started making a list of what he needed to do and how. Copeland was at the top.

* * * *

“I’ve never seen moonlight like this.” Dani stared into the night, snug in the bastion of Matt and Luke’s cabin. This dark didn’t bother her. It hid the steep terrain, let her pretend it was just a place, not a state of being.

“Where’s the moonlight you usually see?” Luke bent to pick up a poker next to the huge fireplace.

“New Orleans.”

“The Big Easy. Night is different without city lights screwing it up.” Luke poked at the fire, then set the poker to one side and picked up his beer. “Anybody waiting back there for you?”

She turned around and leaned against the window frame, the night at her back now. “A few friends, my next book, a new breed of mosquito.”

He laughed. “I can see where you’d miss that.”

“Hey, at least it’s not ten thousand feet in the air.”

“Worse and worse, in my book.” He hesitated, then shot her a penetrating glance. “Would you like me to yawn and pretend I need to go to bed early?”

Dani grinned. “This isn’t about that.”

He arched his brows, for a moment looking eerily like Matt. “With guys, it’s always about that. I’m surprised a romance writer doesn’t know this.”

She crossed her arms. “What the romance writer knows is that women don’t want to read about men the way they really are. They want to read about them the way they wish they would be. It’s less depressing and sells more books.”

Luke grimaced. “Ouch. Guess I walked into that one.” His gaze shifted behind her. “You arrived just in time, I’m taking a beating here, bro.”

“I’ve never known you to mind a good beating.” Matt sounded amused. He stopped next to Dani, not touching, but close enough for her to feel the heat from his body arc the distance with more potent force than the fire blazing up from the prod of Luke’s poker.

Their little non-involvement chat should have cleared the air and put her hormones back in mothballs. It hadn’t. The problem compounded by Matt’s admission he was feeling the heat, too. It wasn’t the words, but the way he said it. The husky rasp had scraped across her nerve endings like sweet sandpaper, telling her what his words didn’t. That he wanted her as much as she wanted him. One of those times when a little knowledge was a dangerous thing.

Dani looked at him. The worry in his eyes belied his light tone. “What’s wrong?”

Matt hesitated, looking at Luke instead of her. “Hayes has been in my apartment.”

Luke frowned. “They’re sure?”

“Oh yeah.” His gaze flicked to Dani. “He killed the cop watching the place.”

Earlier she’d been grateful for his toughness for his refusal to temper the wind for her. It meant he respected her personal strength, that he scorned subterfuge.

Now it sucked big time dead toads. Ruled out the option of going fetal, whining or fainting in his arms. Just as well, since he had his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Does he know where we are?” she asked.

Matt frowned. “I don’t see how he could. There was nothing in my place to show you’ve been there, no one but Luke and I know we’re here at the cabin. We should be fine for tonight at least. By morning Anderson should have a plan and a place for it to happen in.”

“I see,” she said. He was giving her what she had asked for. A chance to end it. Who was it said that thing about being careful what you ask for because you might get it? She used to ask Spook the quote questions. There was that irony again. Good old Spook, the other account in her life she couldn’t make balance properly. It was her math. Never could make things add up right, though even she could add one plus one. How many girls could claim two killers among her acquaintance?

When Luke again proposed cards, minus the stripping, Dani accepted with relief, glad to have a distraction for her thoughts. She’d never played poker, but found her research on the subject stood her in good stead, not to mention her amateur acting experience. Several hands later she frowned down at her cards, sighed, then said, “I guess I’ll call.”

“Lay them down,” Luke said. She did. He looked at their faces fanned across the rough wooden surface, then at his hand. He tossed his in. “I can’t tell if she’s just lucky or playing us for suckers.”

“Probably a little of both,” Matt said, remembering the world tour she had taken him and Sebastian on. He had finally learned not to underestimate the romance writer. He tossed his hand in. “I’m out, too.”

He rubbed his face, happened to see his watch. He looked up in time to catch Dani trying to hide a yawn behind her hands. Her eyes weren’t smudged with exhaustion, they were black with it. How did she manage to look like hell and heaven at the same time? He would sure like to do a Joseph right now. Or better yet, do Potipher’s wife.

Dani swept her ill-gotten chips out of the middle, then began adding them to the neat stacks in front of her. Neat and poker didn’t go together. Trust a woman not to know that. She looked up and caught him watching her. Looked at his chips, then Luke’s, scattered in front of them. He could almost see her struggle, then she toppled her stacks and stirred them together. He had to smile.

Her answering smile was rueful. “My deal?”

“No.” Matt pushed his chair back. “It’s time for you to hit the rack.”

She frowned. “You’re going to torture me?”

Luke laughed. “This is that ‘women are from Venus’ and ‘men are from Mars’ thing, isn’t it?”

Matt gave him a look, then said to Dani, “Go to bed.”

Dani looked at Luke. “He must be from Mars if he thinks he can tell me what to do.”

“I can see why Ralph wanted to kick Alice to the moon,” Matt said, then added, “Did you or did you not ask me to get you home? And did I just assume you meant alive?”

“The only thing worse than a guy who says, I told you so, is one who claims you asked him to do it.” She picked up the deck of cards and expertly shuffled it. She may not play poker, but she was addicted to Solitaire. “Have you ever wondered if this whole male/female thing was actually a punishment for something we did before we came here?”

“Absolutely,” Luke said. “Especially the part where we have to live in the same house, not just on the same planet. How can a man live with someone obsessed with picking up everything?”

“Guys’ dirty socks,” Dani shuddered, “the toilet seat, the empty cartons back in the frig and that cooking—don’t get me started. I mean, I know I write romances and all that, but fiction aside, wouldn’t it be so much easier if we each had our own place and could just get together now and then for sex and maybe a movie?”

Matt choked. He couldn’t help it. Luke grinned. She ignored them both and finished, “I’ll bet the divorce rate would plummet.” She yawned. “I’m feeling a little tired, Luke. Would you mind if I called it a night?”

It was Luke’s turn to choke, though his sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. “No problem. Just pick a direction upstairs. Beds on both sides are made up. I’ll try not to wander in and join you.” Luke gathered the cards she had abandoned and absently began shuffling them. “So will Matt.”

“Thanks.” With only the briefest hesitation, she pushed her chair back. “I’ll just wash before I go up.”

Matt watched until the bathroom door closed her in, then shook his head. “Women.”

“Yeah,” Luke said too enthusiastically. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep, too?” He started collecting the scattered chips. “I’ll take the first watch. This has been so entertaining, I find I’m not that tired.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself. Really.” The part that really pissed him off was that he felt like a kid who wanted to tell mom that Luke was being mean. He hated it when Luke did that, hated that he still could. “For that I’ll let you.”

He pushed back his chair, stopped when he heard water running in the bathroom behind him. The creak of wood as Dani moved around. Funny how peculiarly, instantly recognizable as female the sounds were.

Water sounds changed as she turned the shower on. It was all too easy to imagine her shedding her clothes, piece by piece. The room slowly filling with steam. The rattle of the shower curtain, a slight change as the water hit her instead of the tub. She would turn in it, wetting her body, then reach for the soap, rubbing up a lather between her narrow hands—

He took a shaky breath. This was not a productive line of thought. He didn’t miss a woman in his life. He couldn’t. Okay showers and sex were the up side of having them around, but also the bait they used in the trap. Balance it against the constant hassle of trying to make an unreasonable woman see reason and it wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t. Take tonight. A classic case in point. She’s tired. He notices, suggests she go to bed. Dog house time. Why? He didn’t know why. How could he know anything when what he wanted was to go in there and take over the soap…

The water shut off. The curtains rattled again. His thoughts turned to a towel moving across her wet body…

“I like your Louise,” Luke said, breaking into his thoughts.

“Her name’s not Louise and she’s not mine,” Matt muttered.

Luke dealt himself a hand of Solitaire, then looked at Matt. “You’re going to let her get away, aren’t you?”

The door to the bathroom opened and Dani came out. She wasn’t wearing his robe. She had purchased this one in Boulder. It was ankle length and made out of soft blue flannel. She’d cinched it in at the waist with a matching belt. She looked fluffy and soft, like a stuffed animal a kid curled up with. Matt didn’t feel like a kid, though he had the urge to wrap himself around her.

They both stood up at her approach. She appeared to find this amusing. She stopped, her scent wafting his way.

“Still with the coconut, I see,” he said.

“Not for long, I’m afraid. They’ve discontinued it.”

“Oh.” The robe lay open at her neck. Her skin looked dewy and soft. Her face was scrubbed clean and pink from the shower. She looked her age, but she had aged well. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

“Well, goodnight.” She continued on her way, leaving behind a trail of coconut. He watched her mount the stairs, remembering the last time her hips had done that side to side thing. If anything, the flannel was better than the leather. He was so hot he could have heated winter run-off. When she was out of sight, he grabbed his beer and downed half of it.

Luke looked at Matt with a look of awe in his eyes. “Since you’re not buying, mind if I take a pass?”

Even if he hadn’t been so tired, Matt wouldn’t have risen to a fly that obvious. “Better wait until after your watch. Wouldn’t want Hayes to catch you with your bare butt in the air, now would you?”

“Probably not.” Luke leaned back in his chair and grinned. “What time you want me to wake you?”

Matt looked at his watch. “Two hours?”

“You look like hell. I’ll wake you in three.” He pushed back the chair and headed for the kitchen.

“Luke?”

“What?” He stopped and looked back.

“Thanks.”

“Get your ass in bed before I do kick it up over your head.”

Matt nodded, left him reaching for a cup and the pot of coffee. Brothers. Can’t live with them, wouldn’t want to manage without them.

* * * *

Hayes wasn’t standing behind the door when Copeland came after him. He knew the late Bates’ second best hitter would expect him to be there. Hayes never did what was expected. He stood just past the expected place, a part of the wall, a part of the dark, the disk with the needle between his fingers. He was wearing night goggles so he could see the door slide open. He usually hunted by scent. The smell of fear and blood helped him home in on his prey better than a smart bomb, but tonight he would take no chances. Copeland was good. Not as good as him, but good enough to treat cautiously.

Hayes wanted to take him alive.

He needed him alive. This was not the time and place to kill him. This time and place didn’t fit the pattern. This time and place wouldn’t relieve his pain.

He needed relief from pain. He needed Willow more than that. When all the pieces were in place, it would fit together perfectly and he would get everything he wanted.

Everything.

* * * *

Upstairs Dani looked at the bed, but she couldn’t bring herself to climb in and close her eyes. What good was sleep without rest? Why seek out her demons? Let them find her.

She opened the window, then sank onto the covered rustic bench beneath it and leaned on the casement. Crisp, cool air flowed in, carrying unfamiliar night scents to tickle the inside of her nose. In the sky, the round silver moon hung low over the dark tree line between two snow-covered peaks. An owl hooted plaintively. For some reason it reminded her of Matt.

Probably because it sounded alone and happy to be that way.

Her problem, she decided, aside from lusting after him, was that she liked him. Which meant she respected his need for some distance, even while deploring it. A pity sex had to rear its far too enticing head to complicate the mix, though if Luke were right, pity had nothing to do with it. What was it Kelly told her that time she dumped her drink down the lawyer’s pants? Women need a reason, men just need a place?

Wanting wasn’t a good enough reason when put next to all the many reasons she had for not to giving in to her clamoring hormones, starting with Stephen and ending with Spook. What was it she and Liz used to say in college? Men were at least three credit hours. She may not be taking classes anymore, but there still wasn’t room for a man in her schedule or her life. At least not a real one. There was always room for the fictional variety.

I take my chances. The words of the song that had followed her all week came back now. Her mouth twisted. Easier to take a chance on something when there was a chance.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and turned in time to see Matt stop in front of her partially open door. He pushed the door wider. “Dani?”

“Over here. By the window.”

When he saw her sitting by the window, dangerously awake instead of safely asleep, frustration spiked again. “What you doing?”

“Admiring the sylvan splendor now that I can’t see how far up I am.”

How did she do it? How did she make him want to strangle her, laugh with her, and kiss her senseless, all at the same time? “You should be sleeping. You need the rest.”

“Sleep and rest aren’t always synonymous.” Her bare feet were starting to chill and she pulled them up under the robe, leaning her back on the casement. “Let’s just say that, like Shakespeare, my dreams give me pause.”

Matt rubbed the back of his neck. He knew she was having trouble sleeping, had read it, had seen it with his own eyes. Part of it had to do with what she had told him this afternoon, about her feeling Hayes hunting her. He didn’t understand it, wasn’t sure he believed it. She was a writer. An imagination was her stock in trade. Didn’t matter. People made their own reality. All that mattered was what she believed.

That he could do something about. He sat down by her.

“You don’t have to,” she said, dreamily.

“Have to what?”

“Do this.” She looked at him, her eyes gentle and sad. “You’re tired. Be a busy day tomorrow.”

He felt an icy chill take a run down his back. It was hard to match her calm, but he tried. “Like at the safe house?”

Her lashes covered her eyes. “No. Not like that. It’s just that—” She stopped, her shoulders rising and falling in a sigh.

He had seen the Mars/Venus guy’s commercials, too. Heard enough to know she didn’t need him to tell her what to think and feel. She needed him to listen. Not exactly his thing, but he did have the ears to try.

“Tell me what happened that night.”

She went tense. “The lonesome lawman does lonesome shrink?”

He smiled slightly. “If you want. Or you can think of it as two friends, one talking, one listening.”

“Alice has trained you well.” Her voice was too soft and husky for the attempt at humor.

Thanks to Alice, Matt knew when to keep quiet.

Her hands curled into fists, but her shoulders slumped in surrender. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If you can’t face him in your head, you can’t face him for real.” He waited, then prompted her, “You were awake when he came—”

She looked away, her hands twisting in her lap. “Yes.” She swallowed, the movement changing the way the shadows lay on her neck. The place where Hayes had cut her was a dark line just under the line of her jaw. “We were both awake.”

“Doing what?”

“Just talking. Chatting, really. She wasn’t feeling well. She got sick after we ate.” She drew her legs up to her chest, held them there with her arms, and rested her chin on her knees.

This wasn’t listening. This was a trip to hell. “Neuman took her to the hospital. But she came back. Why?”

She started rocking. “She knew I didn’t like waking up alone.”

“Because she knew about your nightmares?” She was wound so tight he could have played a tune on her. The cracks in her control were starting to show.

“Yeah. She came back for me. And she died. If she’d stayed in the hospital.”

“If she’d stayed you’d be dead.”

“Yes.”

One word, but it carried some heavy freight and a lot of mixed signals. Matt frowned. “Are you saying you wish you were dead?”

“You don’t understand.” She tried to get smaller, to keep the hurt and guilt localized, but it spread like a toxic spill through her veins. “I—she was sick. He was strong. I couldn’t…do anything. I just…watched.”

It was out. There was some relief in putting her shame and guilt on the table. She felt lighter. It hurt not to cry, but she wouldn’t use tears to sue for Matt’s mercy. He would give it. She knew that about him. Just like she knew he would never run or cower from a fight. He would never stand by and watch a friend die without trying to help. He would give his life for his friends in a heartbeat. His strict code of honor, his unflinching courage weren’t situational. They were him. He did what he had to.

Words came faster now that the guilt and shame dam was gone, pushing past her lips in harsh gasps. “I just watched. That woman. Meggie. I had a feeling I shouldn’t let her go with Stephen. But she wanted to so bad. And I didn’t want to be over-protective. Strange how we’re so afraid of that. I let her go. I didn’t take care of her.”

Hell turned into a minefield for Matt. She sat there, her back straight and her quivering chin lifted, waiting to be punished for something she hadn’t done, needing absolution for something she couldn’t have helped. No wonder she couldn’t rest. He wanted to touch her, to tell her it was all right, but Willow wasn’t breaking. She was detonating.

He wasn’t priest or the bomb squad, this was totally out of his league.

He wanted to back off, but here, in the room his mom had made into a temporary home for him and his brothers, he couldn’t retreat. His mom would never forgive him. He wished she were here right now. She would know what to say.

“Dani.” She didn’t look at him. His hand shook when he touched her chin, gently nudged her face his way. “You didn’t kill anyone. Hayes killed Margaret Oliver. Your daughter, well, that was an accident. Accidents happen. You know that.”

Dani shook her head. “It was my job to take care of her. I should have reminded him to buckle her. He always forgot to buckle her.”

Her face crumpled, but she fought it.

“It should have been me. It should have been me.”

“No, look at me, Dani. You’re wrong. If you’d died your baby would have been raised by the brother of a killer. The way things are, well, they’re the way they’re supposed to be. I don’t know how I know. I just do. My dad always told me you play the hand you’re dealt, the best you can.”

The first tears breached the dam she had tried to put up, rolled hot and wet down her cheeks.

“As for Oliver, she died doing what she was supposed to do. She kept faith with herself, with you, and with the Service. I can guarantee she’s resting easier than McBride.”

She wanted to believe him, but she didn’t know how to get from where she was to where he was. There was no bridge, just a chasm gaping wide as hell itself that she was being pushed toward. “You would never do what I did.”

“Because it’s my job. Just like it was Oliver’s job to keep you alive. She did it.” He grabbed her shoulders and made her look at him. “With your help. Staying alive was your job. And you did it. If you hadn’t her death would have been for nothing. Because you lived, her death means something.”

Dani stared at him, felt something shift inside. It hurt, but it was a good hurt, kind of like pushing out a baby. A really large guilt baby. She tried to make her mouth smile. It wobbled wildly. “My job sucks.”

He looked so relieved, she wanted to laugh, but when her mouth opened sobs, not laughs were waiting in the queue. The attempted laugh broke in the middle and she fell into the chasm.

Matt caught her and held her against the solid wall of his chest. It was a relief to have her here against his heart, even if she was scalding the front of his shirt with her tears. The silent, racking sobs finally quieted. Still following his mom’s lead, he lifted her onto his lap, glad when she burrowed against him. He kneaded the back of her neck, taking guilty pleasure in touching her, even if all she wanted or needed from him was comfort. He smoothed her hair back from her wet face.

Dani sniffed, used the sleeve of the robe to wipe her nose, then said thickly, “I really suck at this angst crap.”

He chuckled. He should have let her go then. He had done what he needed to. She would rest now. The problem was, he was tired, too. Tired made it harder for a man to do what he should, made it easier to do what he wanted. Right now he wanted to hold her. She felt right in his arms, like God had made her for him. When she had turned the front of his shirt soggy, it had soaked right through to his willpower. He tried to wring it out. “You should go to bed.”

“Hmmm.” She didn’t move.

His back hurt and his arm was going to sleep. It didn’t matter. Everything else was pain-free and wide awake.

“I’ll help you,” he squeezed out.

“Can’t,” she muttered. “Double.”

“What?”

She yawned. “Haven’t you heard song ’bout sleeping single double bed? Ver’ dangerous.”

He grinned, felt tender coming on and didn’t even flinch. She gave a shuddering sigh, her whole body going soft. He held her, counted to twenty while he breathed in her coconut scent and memorized how she felt lying heavy against him, then he did what he had to. He lifted her, carried her to the bed, lay her on it and let her go.

For a moment he studied the way her wet lashes lay in spikes against her flushed cheeks, the tumble of her hair against the white pillow, the way her body rose and fell in all the right places. As need rose in him like a wild fire, he tucked the thick quilt his mother’s mother had made securely around her body and turned away to shut the window and the curtains.

He had to pass by her one more time to get out. In this room thick with memories of his mom and dad, he paused by the bed they’d tucked him in as a kid. It seemed right to bend and smooth the damp hair back from her face, then press a kiss to her to the soft, salty skin of her temple.

He straightened and turned, walked away with the taste of her skin in his mouth, knowing he didn’t feel like a parent. He also did feel like he hadn’t let his folks down.

TWENTY-THREE

Dani woke lying on her face, merciless sunlight streaming in the window, the smell of bacon frying, and Matt standing by the bed wearing nothing but a pair of hip-hugging jeans and holding out a can of her favorite soda with the tab already popped. She appreciated the soda and the bare chest. The sun she could have done without. It stabbed into eyes almost swelled shut from crying them out last night. One hand burrowed free of blankets, accepted the soda and applied it to one eye.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten.” The bed sank from his weight. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just woke up.” She moved the can so she could see his muscled bare flesh and dark hair tapering into the waistband of his jeans. It was a reason to relent a bit. “Other than that, not bad.”

Matt grinned. Luke, after learning Dani had cried all over Matt last night, had offered some brotherly advice. “Go carefully into her den, bro. She’ll feel better, but, oh man, will she hate what it did to her eyes.”

“Luke thought you might need this.” Matt produced a cold pack he’d lifted from the first aid kit, twisted it to mix the chemicals, then handed it to her. “Might be easier to apply than the can.”

“Thanks.” Dani rolled over and exchanged soda for pack, then took a drink out of the can.

“When you feel up to it, there’s grub in the kitchen.”

“Grub?” She lifted one edge of the ice pack. “Grub? You’re a morning person, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t everybody?”

“No.” She recovered her eyes.

“So that would make you…a night person?”

“I used to be, when I could sleep. Now I’m not anything.”

It was obvious he was in sad shape. She even looked good to him all grumpy and icing her swollen eyes. He looked down where the hand holding the soda can almost touched his. His hand was big, the fingers square and callused, the nails blunt and serviceable. Her hand was slim and graceful, the nails perfect pink ovals. His skin was brown from a summer of work and sports. Hers was safe house pale. Soft and hard. Man and woman.

Trouble, he reminded himself.

“Men,” she murmured, “greet each other with a sock on the arm, women with a hug… the hug wears better in the long run.”

Matt gave her a wary look. “What?”

Dani lowered the pack. “Thanks. For the hug. And for letting me weep all over your chest. I feel like crap, but in a good way.” Then she smiled.

He had taken a bullet once. It had felt less lethal than her smile going into his heart. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Good.”

Somewhere under her morning mood, something else started to simmer. She took a long drink of soda. It took the edge off the morning grump, but left the sizzle unchecked. It wasn’t helping matters that his chest, his really fine chest, was almost in her face. She wanted to touch him more than she wanted chocolate. Not good.

She cleared her throat. “Where’s Luke?”

“Outside chopping some firewood.”

“For real?” Matt nodded. Dani chuckled. “This is a bastion of rustic isn’t it? I guess I should be grateful you have beds and a bath.”

Matt grinned. “You can thank my mom for that. She likes her rustic tempered with a few amenities.”

My mom. He had a mom. Of course she knew he had a mom. But—he had a mom. The lonesome lawman wasn’t as lonesome as the romance writer. For the first time it hit her how little, how very little of his life she was a part of. It worked better than the soda at killing sizzle. She smiled stiffly. “Thank her for me, if you think of it.”

His brows drew together. “What’s wrong?”

Bad time to find out it was possible for a man to be too perceptive. “I was just trying to imagine you with a mom. It doesn’t go with the gun any better than grocery shopping did.”

Matt examined her smile, found it missing the warmth and edged with strain. Her mom had died when she was eighteen. Tough time to lose a mom. Not that there was a good time to lose a parent, he thought, thinking about his dad.

“You’d like my mom. She’s good with a gun.” He grinned. “Had to be good riding herd on three boys and a husband.” His mom would like Dani, too. If things were different—

“Something’s burning down here!” Luke hollered up the stairs.

“Coming!” You play the hand you’re dealt. He stood up. “Take your time. I’ll keep your breakfast warm for you.”

“Thanks. I won’t be long.” All she had to do was get up and face a day that could be nasty. She could do the “life in review” thing or she could watch Matt leave. Since the guy couldn’t look anything but great in jeans, she opted for the latter. It was shallow, but she wasn’t in the mood for angst or for deep. Shallow was better anyway. Her crying jag had practically drowned her and Matt, but she felt more buoyant and flexible again. Taken with her clean sweep at poker last night, she had to wonder if her luck was changing.

Dani shed the pajamas, pulled on jeans and a long sleeved shirt. After a detour through the bathroom, she settled at the table with a plate of food she didn’t want, but would eat because he’d fixed it for her with his big, sexy hands.

“Do we have a plan for today?” She tipped her soda can back and felt the cool bite of it flow down her throat.

“Anderson won’t be ready until late this afternoon, so I figured, this is a popular wilderness playground. If we stayed off the beaten paths, we could do a little hiking or rock climbing—”

She spluttered, then coughed to clear shock from her throat, fixed an incredulous gaze on him and said, “Excuse me? Rock climbing? As in going perpendicularly up the side of something high?”

Matt arched his brows as he briskly scrubbed the frying pan. “That’s the general idea. Though I’ve never heard it put quite like that before.”

“You can’t be serious?”

Matt looked at her. “I can’t?”

“How could you know so much about me and not know I don’t do up?”

“I know you don’t like heights—”

“Saying I don’t like heights is like saying that Clinton waffles a little. I don’t climb.”

Matt’s lips twitched. “Not even stairs?”

“Only under duress.” She took another drink, looking at him warily over the can. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a phobia, because I don’t consider wanting to avoid plummeting to my death an unreasonable fear, but if you really need to climb something, I could watch. Probably.”

He smiled, shook his head. “Luke and I thought it might make the waiting easier. You want some toast?”

She shook her head. “No thanks. This is great.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but Luke came in, his arms full of chopped wood. When Dani finished eating, the three of them went into the living room so the men could check their equipment in preparation for the climb they were putting off for her.

Dani settled in a rustic chair in front of a wall of windows, her position such that she had a view of the panorama of mountain and valley and the men at work. Despite her doubts about the sanity of it all, she took an interest in the equipment Matt and Luke were assessing for worthiness. Just because she was afraid of heights, didn’t mean her characters had to be.

“What’s that?” she asked when Matt pulled out what looked like an emaciated speedo.

“This is a harness,” Matt held it up for her inspection. “It’s what keeps you from plummeting to your death.”

“Really.” She ignored his ironic tone. “Doesn’t look up to the job if you ask me.”

“Oh, it is,” Matt said. He stepped into the harness, then showed her how it worked, in concert with rope and carabiners, to forestall plummeting.

Dani was impressed—with the way it looked over his jeans. It emphasized all the right things. She looked up and caught him watching her, his grin one that told her he knew what she was getting out of the demonstration. She grinned back and felt her throat go dry with wanting what she couldn’t have.

“I think I’ll get me a soda. You guys want something?”

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.” Luke looked up from the rope he was checking for wear.

“Same here,” Matt said.

“Two beers. Okay. Anything else?” Two feet separated Dani from Matt, but it felt like they were chest to chest, heart to heart.

Matt stared at her for an endless moment, started to say something, stopped, then shook his head. “Just a beer, thanks.”

“Right.” She wanted him to say it, but how could he? The timing was wrong. It always had been.

Dani side-stepped their gear to the kitchen door, had her hand on it to push it open, then hesitated. It didn’t make any sense, but it felt like if she stepped through that door, she couldn’t go back. There’s nothing to go back to, she reminded herself. If you have any backbone at all, you won’t look back. You’ll just keep going forward until this is all over and you’re home. Too bad backbone got cried out of her with the angst.

She looked back and was glad she did. Matt was still watching her, something buried deep in his eyes that erased the strange chill and made her feel warm and safe again. She would be quite happy to just stand there forever looking her fill. He didn’t move.

If one of them didn’t do something, she realized, they’d start looking like coffee commercial clones. Since Dani didn’t like coffee, she pushed the door open and stepped through, then let it swish back into place. It swung a couple of times, giving her several brief, diminishing glimpses of Matt before it stopped.

She sighed, then realized just how much she had been doing that. She would have to style herself a weeping willow if she didn’t stop it. She started to turn around and felt something brush against her neck, feather-light, followed by a sting, like a bug bit her neck. She started to lift her hand to slap at it, but a strange numbness spread from the spot faster than she could think, let alone move. Like an onlooker of her own crash, she felt her knees buckle, saw the floor coming up to meet her.

Arms caught her, cradled her. Matt. Her hero. Her head fell back against his shoulder. Darkness spiraled in like a tornado, but it didn’t touch down in her head until after she saw Spook in the center.

Her lips formed a cry that couldn’t get out.

Spook smiled.

* * * *

Matt turned around to find Luke watching him with that big brother look on his face. He stared at him, wishing he wouldn’t.

He didn’t. “You gonna be able to get off for the climb?”

“I’d better be able to.” Relieved, Matt knelt and began stringing carabiners on a sling. “I need the rest.”

“Good.” He was quiet a minute. “I saw Judith the other day. She looked like Judith. Only happier.”

“Didn’t know she was back in town.” Matt kept coiling rope. He didn’t want to think about Judith. It reminded him how lousy he was at marriage.

“Parents having some big do. She asked how you were.”

“What’d you tell her?” Matt packed the biners in a pack, then started coiling rope.

“I told her you were the same. She thought that was funny.”

“I’m glad she’s finally developed a sense of humor.”

“She’s developing more than that. She’s with kid.”

Matt stopped coiling. “Now that’s news. I thought she was afraid of overpopulating the world.”

“Guess she changed her mind.”

“Guess so.” Matt started coiling again. It didn’t bother him that Judith was willing to give her lawyer-husband what she wouldn’t give him. Sometime during the seven days of Dani, that part of his past had lost its sting. He could look at the people they had been and see that their inability to stay married to each other had more to do with who they were than what they did. That he could have done what she wanted and they still wouldn’t be married right now. Was he happy for Judith? He was. Odd. When she cheated on him, it hit him hard, but only in his pride. He could see that now. It didn’t matter. Was this what the shrinks called closure? He almost shuddered. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up on one of those daytime talk shows sharing with America.

Whatever it was, he felt free—to do what? Let his hormones lead him into another mismatch? Take away the lust and what was left between Dani and him? He liked up. She didn’t. He was sports, beer, and pretzels. She was romance, Diet Dr. Pepper and M&M’s—Dr. Pepper. Had Alice found the cans in the refrigerator? He frowned. He had been thinking of Hayes like a killer, but he was also a man who knew Dani very well. Don’t go off half cocked, Kirby. Just because Hayes found some soda cans, didn’t mean he could find this place.

A climber. Hayes was a climber. Matt looked out the plate glass window at Long’s Peak. It wouldn’t be easy, but if Hayes knew the area well and had searched even half way thoroughly when he was in the apartment.

“We need to move, Dani now.” He stopped, a chill heading down his back with dry ice fingers. “How long does it take to get a couple of beers?”

Luke looked at the closed kitchen door. “Not this long.”

Fear kicked in, trying to mess with his head, but Matt knew how to block it out. He’d always known. He pulled his gun, signaled for Luke to go right. He went left. When they were on either side of the door, he mouthed, “Cover me.”

Luke nodded. Matt kicked the door, waited a beat, then went in fast. He could have gone in slow.

The kitchen was empty.

TWENTY-FOUR

The pungent odor of ammonia burned into the fog that Dani drifted in. She tried to get away from it. There was a reason she didn’t want to leave. A good reason. If she could just remember what it was. The smell followed her. She coughed. When she did, little spikes of pain made a headache crown for her head, digging deep into the fog.

“Come on, Willow. Open your eyes,” a man’s voice said. It was a nice voice, gentle and filled with love. God’s voice? she wondered, remembering she was probably dead. That’s why she didn’t want to leave the fog. The Queen of Denial. She giggled.

“Cleopatra,” she murmured. The smell stabbed into her nose again, sparking another cough. It seemed God didn’t have a sense of humor.

“Let me be dead a little longer. I’ll get up soon. Promise.”

She tried to roll to her side, but something or someone stopped her.

“Open your eyes.”

The ammonia zoomed in again. This time she jerked hard enough to do what he asked. And realized she probably wasn’t dead, unless heaven was the cab of a pickup truck. “I guess for a redneck it might be, but I was kind of hoping for something more comfortable.”

“What are you talking about?” the voice asked.

Not God. He would know. Whoever he was he sounded amused and a little puzzled.

“Let me help you sit up.”

Hands slid under her shoulders and lifted. Her head did a spin that raised a nausea echo in her stomach.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Hands guided hers around something circular, helped her spaghetti arms lift it to her mouth. Something cool flowed down her parched throat. It wasn’t her favorite brew, but when it hit her stomach, she did feel slightly better. Now if she could just get her brain to behave. Instead of an orderly queue of questions waiting to be asked, she had the Sesame Street segment from hell going on inside her head. Words kept spinning off in little tangents, while question marks and letters did a really lame Macarena—like Al Gore on Valium. She persisted and finally put together a sentence.

“Am I dead?”

“Of course you’re not dead. You’re with me. It’s the stuff I gave you. It’ll mess with your head for a bit longer, then you’ll have a little headache.”

“A little headache?” The questions were dancing at the base of her head, right where it hurt the most. She tried to rub the spot, but her fingers were mushy. She shook her head, but that just started the dance going again. “Who are you?”

“Spook. I’m Spook.”

She got the dancers to move left so she could turn her head toward his voice. Pale, malleable features. Blonde hair. Blue eyes, a little tired around the rims. Narrow mouth. Sure enough it was Spook a.k.a. Dark Lord, the whacked out hit man.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No! I love you.”

Even the dancers stopped to think about this. “Why?”

He grinned. He had a nice smile for a killer. “Why not?”

“Well,” she frowned, “for one thing, you’re a hit man and I’m a romance writer.” She frowned. “I think. Whatever. It’s weird. And probably illegal.”

He laughed. “Most things are. Don’t worry about it. We’re together, the way we were meant to be.” He lifted her hands to his mouth. At least, she thought they were her hands. They looked kind of familiar. “I won’t let anything keep us apart ever again.”

“I have to pee,” she said.

He grinned. “Except that.”

* * * *

“You aren’t the first person to under estimate Hayes,” Luke said to Matt as they drove toward the highway. “As far as I can tell, we’re only the second ones to walk away alive.”

It didn’t help. It wasn’t his job to stay alive. It was his job to protect Dani. He hadn’t done his job. Now they had to play catch-up.

It had been easy to find the place Hayes brought his four-wheel up behind the cabin. They even found his foot prints coming and going. Made him feel like Daniel Boone when he noted that those coming weren’t as deep as those leaving. So Hayes had followed his own MO by disabling Dani before he grabbed her. Would he continue to follow his MO and kill her? He usually moved his victims, but not this far.

It gave him reason to hope, though a lovesick Hayes wasn’t much easier to contemplate than a murderous one. He couldn’t think about what form Hayes’ love might take. He told himself that nothing was as final as death, tried to believe it before pushing away everything but the hunt.

His team was coming in by chopper, meeting him at the Long’s Peak ranger station where they would coordinate the search. Throughout the area, roadblocks were going up in a two hundred mile radius. The locals hadn’t liked it when he told them to search every building, to look under every rock that moved. They hadn’t like it but they agreed to do it. Big government had a long reach. Matt didn’t mind beating them with it if they could stop Hayes from leaving the area.

He wouldn’t let himself think about what would happen if Hayes got Dani out of the area. Just like he wouldn’t let himself think about how she had looked when she asked him to get her home.

* * * *

Hayes had put a closed sign at the entrance of the campground before driving in. He didn’t want to be disturbed at his work. While Willow took care of her bodily functions, the sight of the pit toilet had cleared her head more than the ammonia, he thought with a grin, he unloaded their gear and moved it to a safe distance from the truck.

Copeland was still out. Hayes had made sure Copeland would be, just as he made sure he kept the dosage below lethal. It wouldn’t be as fun to kill him this way, without him knowing who had taken him out, but he didn’t want any trouble with the bastard. Not in front of Willow. This would be her first kill. He wanted her to enjoy it.

With luck, Copeland’s body would buy them the time they needed to make their climb, then their getaway to a new life.

Hayes hadn’t decided where that new life would be. They would take it in stages, erase their old selves, make new ones. He did know it would be some place high. They would need a new mountain for their new life. For their new pattern. He lifted his eyes to his mountain, used his hand to block out the sun, and felt regret bit deep. She was magnificent. He would miss her.

The door creaked and he turned as Willow came out. She was pale, a bit wobbly, but the hike would work the rest of the drug out of her veins. It had served its purposed, easing the transition between her old life and her new. Now it was time for her initiation to begin. Time to introduce her to the wonder of blood and fire. Time to introduce her to his mountain.

“Come on, Willow.”

Dani looked at the gentle rise to the parking lot where Spook waited for her. He looked taller from her vantage point. She knew it was the drug humming in her blood that made it possible for her to stand and look up at him without hysterics or screaming. Instead of a killer and a romance writer, they might be a normal couple out for a day in the mountains.

“It’s time,” he said.

Time for what? She examined the rise doubtfully. “I don’t think I can make it up there.”

“You can,” he said. “You need to try.”

She didn’t know why, but it was easier to do what he asked than marshal thoughts to argue with him. There was a well worn trail. She followed that, felt gravity tug at her, then give way when she topped the rise.

“I made it.” She looked down, then at Spook. “I went up.”

“Of course you did. You’re Willow.”

She didn’t feel like Willow. She felt like Gumby. Even the green part. His eyes were still filled with love, but something else had moved in there while she was peeing. They had a glow like a dude in a Stephen King thriller. Didn’t Stevie boy live in Colorado, too? Unease tried to make a move, but it was hard going against Spook’s drug. The places inside her that hurt hadn’t changed. They still hurt. Still felt empty. She just didn’t care. If this was how Steven felt when he drank, no wonder he kept pouring stuff down his throat. Spook’s eyes looked like Steven’s when he drank, with matching dark circles underneath. “Are you all right?”

“I am now. Or I will be.”

He seemed to hesitate, then he took her hands, held them against his face. Their bodies were close. Too close, Dani decided, feeling claustrophobic at his nearness. Matt up close didn’t make her feel like this. Course, Matt wasn’t a murderer. And he had that really great butt going for him.

“It’s time for us to complete the pattern.”

Pattern? Even through the fog she felt the intensity behind his careful words. Knew she needed a clear head. If only the dancers would finish their party. If only she had her soda. It would kick butt for her.

“You don’t happen to have a Diet Dr. Pepper, do you?”

“No.” A flicker of impatience altered his face before he controlled it. “You have to pay attention, Willow. I know it’s not easy, but this is important to our future.”

What future is that? “Okay. I’ll try. It’s just my head—”

His smile was quick and strangely charming. “I know. Let’s sit here while I explain.”

He led her to one of the logs that bounded the parking lot. When they were seated, he pointed at the mountain rising against the stark blue of the sky. “Do you see that peak?”

He had the same tone in his voice that Matt had when he talked about all this mountain stuff. Good old Matt. She should have jumped his bones when she had the chance. Just because she didn’t jump men’s bones, was no reason not to, was it?

“Willow?” Spook’s voice had an edge to it.

She looked up, squinting against the sun. “It looks high.”

She was repeating herself, but what did one say about a mountain, for Pete’s sake?

“It’s over fourteen thousand feet above sea level.” He took her hand.

“That’s a lot of feet. At least, I think it is. I’m not very good at math. Too left brain for me. And they didn’t like to teach girls math when I was in high school, the sexist pigs—”

“Willow, shut up.” His hand tightened on hers. “We have to go there.”

Dani looked at him. “Go to high school?”

“No. To the top of that peak. There’s a trail—”

That got through the fog. “I don’t care if there’s a four lane highway. I don’t do fourteen thousand feet. I don’t do—”

“Willow,” his tone was so sharp it cut through her foggy panic with the precision of a knife, a reminder he carried one and knew how to use it. “We have to do this. It’s the only way we can be together.”

He obviously didn’t have a good grasp of motivation, if he thought that would make her want to drag her butt fourteen thousand feet above anything. She hadn’t wanted to date him before she knew he was a killer. She decided to tell him that—until she saw his eyes. They were the same as they had been in the safe house when he killed Peg.

“That’s not the only thing we have to do.”

Even the drug couldn’t take the edge off the chill skating down her back with razor sharp blades. “What?”

“The Feds will come after us. I’m wanted, you know.”

Duh. “I heard.”

The side of his mouth lifted. “It’ll take us at least two days to do the hike, then get down and get clear. It will be easier if they think you’re dead.”

* * * *

The locals had just finished updating him on the search and disposition of the road blocks when he heard the chopper coming in. Matt didn’t mind cutting short the report. It was a depressingly familiar litany that could be summed up in one sentence: no one knew squat.

“You were right, Matt,” Alice said. “When Hayes was in your apartment he found your photo album. They found it hidden in the blankets on your bed. Several photos, probably of the cabin, were missing. Rotten luck.”

“Yeah. Get set up. I want to move as soon as we hear something.” He stared up at Long’s Peak, every cell in his body straining for action. This time he had a solid hold on impatience. His week-long pursuit of Dani had reminded him that hunting was about more than looking. It was thinking, too. Something he had let himself forget in the last few years when the criminals were stupider.

Hayes was a thinker first. Matt could call up a state full of cops, but if he couldn’t figure out what Hayes intended to do, it didn’t matter.

Hayes had smoked him, no question about that. His pride had taken a hit, but it wasn’t a knock-out. Hayes was good. He knew the system inside out, knew how to exploit the weaknesses of it and the men tied to it. He was always careful to do what wasn’t expected. Knowing that could help him now.

Matt paced across the parking lot, his mind turning with everything he knew about Hayes, trying to turn knowledge into an arrow pointing where he had gone. When he ran out of parking lot, he turned around and headed the other way. If he had to wear a groove from here to China, he was going to crack the bastard’s brain. Then he was going to yank it out and stomp on it.

* * * *

“Please don’t do this, Spook,” Dani whispered, the words grating against her fear-dry throat as Spook arranged the limp body, then began pouring gasoline over him and the truck.

“He’s a killer, Willow, not worthy of your concern.”

So are you! her mind screamed. “John Donne. Every man’s death diminishes me.”

He looked up with a quick smile. “Very good. Coleman Dowell. ‘Life is a series of diminishment’s. A lightening of self that eventually makes our own death possible.’ Do you want to live forever, Willow?” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You’re not even sure you want your life to go on, why do you care about his?”

He hit hard. Dani looked down, trying to absorb his words without getting knocked out by them.

“Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t see the aura of death like a shadow in your eyes? Why would you sentence him to life, when you’re not sure you want it for yourself?”

He was good. His brain, the way he could argue a point without bluster was what had drawn her to him on the boards. There was so much bluster in the world, so little thinking. She had barely held her own against him, even after sharpening her brain against his for six months. What chance did she have now, with her brain riding the drug train? She still had to try. “It’s his life, not mine. ‘At birth man is offered only one choice, the choice of his death.’ I won’t be the one to take choice away from him.”

“I love the way your mind works,” he said, his smile tender, his eyes avid with delight. “You won’t be taking his choice. I will. For you. Because I love you. You don’t get it right now, Willow. But you will. When it’s over and your pain is gone, then you’ll understand.”

She opened her mouth to tell him that if he loved her, he wouldn’t do it, but he was through talking. His movements brisk and business-like, he grabbed the man by the hair, pulled his head back to expose the neck and pulled his knife across the arched flesh in a horrible mimicry of a bow across the strings of a violin.

TWENTY-FIVE

A scarlet flood gushed across Spook’s hand. He opened his hand and the man’s head thumped against the truck bed. He stared down at it with a slight smile, then knelt and wiped his blade across the white shirt before sheathing it. Nausea joined shock when he thrust his hand into the slowing gush of blood. His eyes warmed, then glowed hot as he washed his hands with it, his breath coming in short, panting gasps.

“Other things are very well in their way, but give me Blood,”he murmured, then looked at her.

Shock kept Dani still when he came to her and cupped her face with his bloody hands. Desire put an unholy glow in his eyes when he traced her features, the blood a lubricant between them. He followed his hands with his mouth, his tongue licking blood and skin. He murmured against her skin, “It’s coming together, just like I planned it, Willow.”

His thumb penetrated her lips. She tasted the salt of blood. Her stomach heaved. She jerked away from him, draped herself across a handy boulder. Got rid of the breakfast Matt had cooked for her in a bigger hurry. It got the taste of blood out of her mouth, but didn’t leave one that was much better.

When there was nothing left to hurl, she slid to the ground and huddled in a semi-fetal position against the boulder. It was warm from the sun. She was cold. Part of her cursed the drug that still fogged her thinking, kept her from feeling too much. The rest of her was grateful for it.

She didn’t look at Spook. Couldn’t close her eyes. That started the instant replay. She wanted to cry, but she was too dry, too brittle. He handed her a bottle of water with a hand still dripping red, then crouched down in front of her.

“Don’t feel bad. I threw up the first time, too. It’s part of the cleansing process.”

She rinsed her mouth, then wiped the drips away with the back of her hand. “Pretty messy way to cleanse yourself.” Her face felt sticky and she could still smell blood. “Can I wash my face or is that part of getting cleansed?”

“No, that was for me. I like you in red.”

“Every guy I know likes a woman in red.” She tipped her head back and squeezed the bottle, flooding her face until the bottle was empty. This was her idea of cleansing. She used her shirt sleeve to finish the job. Tried not to look at the red streaks it left on the fabric.

“Can you walk?”

Dani looked at him then. Something in his face made her nod instead of shake her head. She ignored the bloody hand held out to help her stand, used the boulder instead. The boulder was her friend. She wanted to cling to it, maybe have its children. Anything but go with bloody Spook.

He pointed up. “I want to be at the top of that hill before the timer goes off so we can see the fire.”

Dani looked at his hill. She had to tip her head back to see the top he wanted them to reach, almost fell backwards doing it. She didn’t know a lot of math, but she did know a ninety-degree angle when she saw one. “Oh.”

“This way, just over that rise,” Spook said, as easily as if they were out on an afternoon hike instead of a kidnapping.

Dani didn’t answer. It took all her energy to haul her “body by New Orleans” up the steep incline against gravity and her own fear. Spook’s drug was wearing off. Now she could feel the dread lodged in her throat making it even harder for thin air to get into her straining lungs.

She was alone in the mountains with the ultimate Jekyl and Hyde. As they climbed, Spook smiled and talked, helped her when she slipped on the rough, loose surface, his quick reflexes keeping her from taking a nasty tumble more than once. He pointed out landmarks, identified flora and fauna and told her how glad he was to be with her. None of it made her forget he had just cut a man’s throat as easily as she sliced bread.

There were rocks aplenty and she considered using one on the back of his head. Two things stopped her. She could barely lift herself, let alone a rock. If she missed, the nature of their interaction might change in a way she would like less than his devotion. Even if she did rally her resources to the task, she had a feeling that Spook wouldn’t be easy to take by surprise. Peg was trained to take on killers. Peg had the drop on him at the safe house. Peg was dead.

Even if she did manage to knock him out, they were in the middle of nowhere. Instead of being alone in the wilderness with a Loony Toon, she would be alone in the wilderness. The only thing she knew how to do in the wilderness was roll down a ninety-degree hill.

Dani didn’t look back as she climbed. She didn’t dare. Fear was only a motivator if living looked better than dying. Right now life and death were in a dead heat—no pun intended. After several more yards of crawling and slipping and pulling herself up using scrubby bushes that scratched her hands raw, death started to pull ahead. If the incline hadn’t leveled abruptly, death would have won the prize. She rolled over onto her back, her chest heaving with the double whammy of gravity and thin air.

“Was that great or what?” Spook, barely winded by the climb, sat by her grinning like the village idiot.

“Or what,” Dani said. It had been about as fun as a fun run, an oxymoron if she had ever heard one, with heavy emphasis on the moron part.

He shed his pack and jumped up. “We can see the parking lot from that outcrop.” He took her hand and pulled her up, then led her over and pointed down to the parking lot below. His truck looked like a Matchbox toy, an improvement since it kept her from seeing the dead guy in the back.

“It’s almost time. I wish we could be closer. It’s not the same when you can’t feel the heat, when you can’t see the blood sizzle as fire licks it up. But I promise you, next time you can experience it all.”

Next time? Maybe she should just do a nose dive off this outcrop and end it now. Even better if he did the nose dive. She took a cautious look. Darn, it only looked high enough to piss him off.

“Here,” he handed her binoculars, “you watch. I’ve seen it before.”

It took her a minute to adjust the focus and find the truck, but her timing was perfect. She didn’t know how he managed it, but the fire started on the man’s chest. Looked like it burst right out of his heart, flowing across his body in both directions. In the time it took for her to take several unsteady breaths, the whole truck was ablaze, sending black smoke to paint doom across the blue sky.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Spook whispered, his mouth close to her ear. Dani studied the dark column for a moment longer then lowered the glasses.

“I need to pee again.” Spook’s eyes looked the way her dad’s used to when she said that. She shrugged. “Hey, it’s a scientific reality that a woman’s bladder is smaller than a guy’s.”

He sighed. “This could take longer than I planned.” He bent and dug a roll of toilet paper out of a pack. “Hurry.”

She fingered the paper. How did she know he was the type to use the sandpaper variety? “I’ll squeeze as fast as I can.”

When she got back, Spook was fitting a tiny microphone in his ear. The wire from it followed his neck down, then disappeared inside his jacket.

“What’s that?” she asked, suddenly uneasy.

“A scanner. So I can listen in when the Feds talk on their radios. So we’ll know what they’re doing.”

“Oh.” Dani swallowed, but the tiny bit of spit she managed to suck off the sides of her mouth turned to dust before disappearing in the hollow pit of her stomach.

* * * *

Matt, his face wiped clean of expression, stood watching water flood over the burning truck. The fire had been spotted when the smoke topped the trees. They got there before the gas tank could blow. When the flames died away, Henry and a couple of forest service firefighters moved in.

“Nothing in the front,” one man called. Matt saw Henry ignore a warning from a firefighter and jump on the tailgate. He looked at Matt over a sea of heads. “We got a body.”

Alice rubbed a smoke-smudged cheek with the back of her flawlessly manicured hand, her shoulders slumping. “I thought—”

“I want a sweep of this area.” Matt shoved his hands into his pockets, the fingers clenched so tight his shoulders ached. “He can’t be that far. Even if he used some kind of timer, he didn’t have that much time to play with. And let’s keep radio traffic to a minimum. The guy was a Spook. Assume he got a scanning device with him.”

Did this feel wrong, or did he just want it to feel wrong because he didn’t want to accept the fact that Dani was dead? Just because he found Dani hard to resist, didn’t mean Hayes would risk life and business for her. Didn’t mean he would choose her over his reputation for always finishing a job. Logic said that Hayes would move to reestablish his reputation. Others would be happy to buy his killing skills in the absence of Bates.

“Somebody lost their breakfast over here,” Luke said, looking at the other side of a big boulder. “I wonder if someone came on this before the fire?”

With a frown, Matt went to look. “Sign said it was closed and no hiking trails head in here.”

Riggs slouched over to join them. “Yuck.”

Matt crouched down. Yuck was right. It also showed signs of everything he had fed Dani for breakfast a few hours ago. It didn’t mean it wasn’t her body in the truck. Lots of people probably had a country breakfast this morning. Or she could have lost her cookies before Hayes killed her. Hayes had to have drugged her to get her out of the cabin so quick and quiet. It was his MO. That would make her sick.

It all came down to the timing.

He stood up. “Give me your binoculars, Riggs.”

He ignored the look Luke and Riggs exchanged when he took the glasses and started scanning the hillside. A guy who liked blood, who liked fire, wouldn’t like to miss the finale. If he had wanted to watch from a safe distance he’d choose…that outcrop up there. He lowered the glasses and asked the ranger, “You got a tracker?”

“I got a man who’s pretty good.”

“Get him here. Have him see if he can find a trail to that outcrop up there. And don’t say why on the radio. Just assume everything you say is being listened to, okay?”

“Okay.” He turned away. Luke looked at Matt.

“Why would he head up there? He’d be ridged against the mountains. Not a smart move when he must know half the state will be looking for him.”

“It doesn’t seem smart, does it?” Matt started to turn away, then stopped and reapplied the glasses to his eyes. What had caught his attention? There. What—white, something white wrapped around a tree limb. He frowned, handed the glasses to his brother. “Look at the piece of white at nine o’clock from the ridge. Tell me what you think it is.”

Luke did as he was asked, then lowered the glasses, his frown a mirror to Matt’s. “It looks like toilet paper. Tied into a bow.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“And the significance would be…”

“Not sure.” He spun around. “How long until our tracker gets here?”

The ranger looked up. “ETA in fifteen. He’s coming in on a chopper.”

“Good.” He could wait fifteen minutes. He can feel me, Dani had said. Matt quit fighting his feeling she was alive. Instead he closed his eyes and took out the logic and the reasons why it couldn’t be so. Dani, are you out there?

He didn’t feel any different. No warm rush. No voice in his head. Just a certainty deep in his gut telling him she still lived and breathed and was counting on him to find her.

* * * *

“I’ve got to rest.” Dani stopped on the trail and bent over, resting her hands on her knees as she labored for more air. They had kept a steady pace in the hours since leaving the ridge, a pace he had only interrupted once when a helicopter flew over. If the stretch was particularly steep, he had let her stop and catch her breath, not easy to do in thin air. He never let her sit down. He said she would stiffen up if she sat down. What he didn’t seem to get was that she had never been loose. Stiff was her way, her reality. She wasn’t Amazon woman. She was a romance writer. Sitting down was what she did best. Sometime during their hike the effects of the drug, with an ironic sense of timing, had worn away, leaving her in full possession of her senses and with all her nervous pain centers functioning. Didn’t have to be a scientist to know there were a ton of the little suckers, all clamoring loudly. She glared at Spook’s back.

“I have to stop. Now.”

Spook spun around, impatience flaring. She was going to have to do better than this if they were to make it. Then he saw her swaying with exhaustion, her face drawn and pale in the waning light. If only they had more time. If only the world would leave them alone to do what had to be done. It wouldn’t. He smiled at her.

“I keep forgetting you’re not used to hiking.”

“That’s why I keep reminding you.”

He looked at his watch, then their surroundings. “The Feds don’t have a clue where we are. I think we can take a short break.” He added encouragingly, “Then it’s only about five miles until we stop for the night.”

Dani didn’t feel encouraged or wait for him to tell her she couldn’t sit down. With the sun almost behind the mountains, it was getting cold, not that she had felt warm since getting snatched by Spook, even when sweating buckets from the climb. Her middle felt as hollow as a politician’s promises. Matt’s breakfast may have sat heavily on her stomach, but at least it had sat. Now there was nothing but acid churning away in there, keeping the nasty taste going in her mouth. The up side was, she would soon be able to take him out with her bad breath. He still had the ear piece in, but hadn’t told her what, if anything, he had heard.

“So, did the Feds fall for your decoy?”

“Looks good so far. Even if they figure out you’re not dead, they won’t figure on us heading into the mountains.”

He dropped his pack, knelt and opened the top.

“I suppose not.” So Matt hadn’t found her bow. What did she expect? She wrote romance, not mystery. They would be looking in all the wrong places for Spook, leaving her on her own in this unnatural environment with Mr. Over-the-top Mountain Man. Great.

“You look cold.” He tossed her a jacket. “And I’ll bet you’re hungry and thirsty. I wasn’t going to eat until we got to Eugenia Mine, but there’s time for a snack.”

Dani wrapped the coat around. “I don’t suppose you’ve got M&M’s in there?”

“I have something better.”

Better than M&M’s? Maybe he wasn’t such a bad killer after all.

He pulled out a foil packet and tossed it to her. Her hands shook as ripped it open and dumped the contents into her waiting palm. “Trail mix?”

“You’d rather have a power bar?” He held out a water bottle.

“No.” Dani stared at the emaciated bits of fruit. How like a man. When he’s courting, he promises you chocolate chip cookies and the moon, but once he thinks he has you, its trail mix and hauling ass up a mountain. “How—healthy.”

Spook grinned. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, Willow. But chocolate and caffeine only give you temporary energy. You need real energy if you’re going to make this climb.”

Still hadn’t gotten that motivation thing down. It reminded her of a movie she’d watched with Kelly where a whacked out terrorist kept trying to influence the hero by blowing up her own relatives. “Please tell me you’ll have some nice, unhealthy energy food waiting for us at your cabin?”

He frowned. “My cabin? I don’t have a cabin.”

Dani had a bad feeling about this. “But…where will we stay tonight?”

“I told you. We’re camping at Eugenia Mine.” He stood up. “We should get moving again.”

Dani got up, aware that Spook was right about one thing. It was possible for her body to get stiffer. “Define camp.”

His pale brows arched. “Surely you’ve gone camping?”

“Surely I haven’t. New Orleans. Swamp. Alligators. Snakes. Mosquitoes. Why would I camp?”

He chuckled. “Okay, what about the characters in your books? Don’t they ever camp?”

Dani crossed her arms over her chest. He may be amused. She wasn’t. “My imagination isn’t that good.”

“Well, then think of it as copy.” He took her arm. “Let’s move out.”

Dani dug in her heels. “This camping thing. Does this mean if I have to pee…”

“You find a tree.”

“But it’s dark. And there’s already a moon.”

He sighed. By the time they got up Long’s Peak, she will have fertilized half the vegetation. “Is this your way of telling me you need to go again?”

She took the roll he held out and began gingerly edging her way through the underbrush, trying not to hear the rustling the preceded her. “I don’t suppose any of these trees have a shower?”

Spook laughed, like she was making a joke. The joke would be on him if she bolted. She would have, if she could figure out where to bolt to. There was only one bright spot, aside from her bare butt mooning the wildlife. Kelly wasn’t here to see her reduced to penis envy.

* * * *

Sorely in need of some fresh air, Matt stepped outside the ranger station they were using as their command center, searching the sky for signs of a dawn that couldn’t come fast enough. Now that he was alone, he let himself feel the relief of knowing his gut was right. Dani wasn’t dead. The tracker had found their trail, with its two sets of footprints, heading straight up the hillside to the outcrop. One set matched the shoes Dani had been wearing. That same set had been easy to follow from the outcrop to the toilet paper bow. In the dirt under the tree, he had also found a simple drawing of mountains and arrow pointing toward them. At that point, the shadows were too long for the guy to keep on the trail. The risk was too high he would miss any other markers she might leave in the dark. He would be starting again at first light.

The area had been sealed as good as a mountain range could be sealed. Matt, Luke and the team had withdrawn to their command center and spent the next few hours bouncing theories off each other about what Hayes might be up.

“It’s possible he has back up transport stashed somewhere inside the Park,” Luke had suggested. “But it doesn’t make sense. He should have gone for the quick getaway. Instead, he’s boxed himself in. Let’s face it, Dani will only slow him down. Unless he’s figuring on them doing a Rocky Mountain version of Tarzan and Jane?”

Matt cut off thoughts like that before they formed. He had to. It made him want to rip up the countryside to think of Dani in the control of that whacko. Hayes had a goal that only he could see. Dani had tried to tip them off about what it was, but it was obvious she had been interrupted or wasn’t entirely sure what it involved. He almost grinned, thinking about her tying that bow to the tree. She was keeping her head, keeping her cool. If there was a way to leave other clues, she would find it.

“He has to have transport laid on. Hayes doesn’t go any place without a way out. He torched the truck to slow us down, convince us Dani was dead. Had to know that at the most, it would buy him twenty-four hours, probably less. Best case scenario, traveling at 4 miles per hour on foot, where would that put them?” Matt asked.

“This isn’t best case,” the ranger put in. “The terrain is rough, not easy even when you’re heading downhill.”

“Let’s work with best case anyway. I don’t want them to slip through because we didn’t figure wide enough.” Matt looked at his watch. “It’s midnight now. First light is around 5:30. We’re looking at a radius of about 100 miles fanning out from where he torched the truck. I want to know every highway, road, foot or mule track in that area. Every possible route they could take, no matter how far-fetched. And then we’ll need men available to cover them.”

“What about some guys to leap tall buildings and out run locomotives?” Alice had asked, wryly.

Matt had looked up, a grin firmly under wraps. It would only encourage her. “If they’ve got ’em, let’s get ’em out there.”

TWENTY-SIX

Spook woke Dani just after midnight. It was the first time in a long time she didn’t want to leave her dreams.

“Why?” It came out half whine, half wail. “I’ve only been asleep for two hours.”

“It’s taking us longer than I planned on and we have to be on top by noon at the latest.”

“I’ll bet the sunset is lovely up there.”

“Have you ever been in a thunderstorm on a mountain top?”

She lowered her brows. “I’ve never been on a mountain top, period.”

“Well, you sure don’t want to be on one in a storm. Lightning is a bitch.” He handed her a wet wipe. “Use this to wash. We’ll have to start being careful with our water from here on out.”

Dani looked at the wipe. It was smaller than the sheet gynecologists’ nurses handed out. She sat up and washed until the scrap went dry, then crawled out, shivering as the chill air hit the few inches of damp skin.

It was at this point she realized that not only had she been seized by a crazed killer who claimed to be in love with her and was forcing her climb up a fourteen thousand foot mountain into a possible lightning storm, but he was making her do it without her Diet Dr. Pepper.

He’d gone too far. He was a killer and she was only a pissed off romance writer but he was about to find out that when a romance writer starts plotting, well, more people take notice than listened to E. F. Hutton talk. They hadn’t gotten that fifty percent market share just for writing sex scenes.

* * * *

Matt hated starting an op tired. The tough part of the hunt was still ahead of them, the part that would require them to think on their feet, to react quickly and decisively. They couldn’t afford to make mistakes on this one. The margin of error was too narrow.

He turned back to his team. “Give me an update.”

Alice looked up from the map she had been bent over for the last three hours. “I think we’ve identified all usable tracks within the target area, but there are as many places they could veer off and still navigate.”

“Wouldn’t be easy, but it’s possible in the lower foothills,” the ranger added.

Matt spread his hands on the table to support his weight. “Let’s start with the most likely scenario.”

The ranger nodded. “I’m guessing he’ll cut up toward Storm Creek Pass trail. He could hike cross country from where he torched the truck and hit the trail in short order. The cover’s good and they’d make good time on a well marked trail.”

“And then what?” Riggs asked, pale and bandaged, but upright and thinking.

“From that trail he’s got a lot of options. He could head towards us here at Long’s Peak Ranger Station. We got a parking lot for hikers. No problem leaving a vehicle parked there for several days.”

“That makes sense,” Luke said, crossing over to join the briefing with a fresh cup of coffee for Matt. “We can have someone start running the plates on what’s here.”

“Do it.” Matt lifted the hot brew to his mouth, felt it kick start in his tired system. “What are his other options?”

“He could drop down into Bear Lake here,” the ranger touched it on the map. “Again, the hike isn’t easy, but it’s not impossible. If they hiked all night, they’d be there within the next hour or so.”

Alice looked up from the map. “We’ve got people there.”

“That’s a busy area this time of year. Be easy for him to lose himself in the crowd. And there’s a regular shuttle to the parking lot at Glacier Basin,” the ranger said, pointing to an area on the other side of the park.

“We got people at Glacier Basin, too,” Riggs said. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt tail.

“What’s this?” Matt traced another line on the map.

“That’s the East portal of a water diversion tunnel that runs the width of the park. They could hike out on it. Put them outside close to the convention center.” The ranger looked up. “He likely to have help?”

Alice shrugged. Matt frowned. “Unknown,” he said, “but unlikely. He’s not the trusting type.”

Henry, a pencil threaded through his fingers like a cigarette, tapped a spot on the map. “That’s the convention center there?”

“Yeah, it’s not far from where the tunnel comes out. Another parking lot to check out.” The ranger rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve got people there, too.”

“If he goes into the park, the perimeter road is going to be a problem.” Alice pointed to a road that circled the park.

“If he has transportation waiting inside the park, he could circle around and try to slip out the Grand Lake exit over here. Or park it along the way and start hiking again.” The ranger looked at Matt. “How experienced a hiker is your girl?”

Matt looked at Riggs.

“She’s a romance writer from New Orleans.” Riggs slipped on his glasses.

“Who’s afraid of heights.” Luke lifted a coffee cup to his lips.

The man’s eyes widened. “Even at this altitude she’s gonna be one sick puppy. He tries to hike her higher…” Ranger looked grim. “He likely to ditch her if she gets to be too much trouble?”

“Probably,” Matt said, without hesitation.

“We think he’s got one of those obsession things going,” Alice said. “I don’t think he’ll hurt her unless she does something to piss him off.”

“Is she likely to do that?”

“No.” Alice looked at Matt. “She’ll keep her head. And keep trying to help us find her. Like she did with the toilet paper.”

“She’s a regular little Gretel. Let’s hope Hayes doesn’t start to notice the roll going down,” Riggs said.

First she had him staking out cookie counters, now he was following toilet paper bows. Had there really been a time when he thought the romance writer would be easy, Matt wondered?

“We gonna put choppers up?” Henry took the pencil out of his mouth to ask.

Matt hesitated, looked at the ranger.

The ranger looked doubtful. “Couldn’t do it without him knowing it. If he’s listening to our radio traffic—”

“What if we create a crisis, like a lost kid or plane gone down? We could put as many choppers up as we wanted.”

“Hayes would see through that, Matt,” Alice objected.

“Maybe, but we could insert chatter about the hunt for him, just him, into the traffic. He wouldn’t know for sure and it would help us stay mobile without tipping our hand if we do get a lead on where he’s headed.”

“It could work,” Riggs said, looking thoughtful. “Anything we can do to keep Hayes from knowing our moves can only help.”

“Let’s keep the number of people who know it’s bogus to a minimum. I don’t want any slip ups,” Matt told the ranger. “Have you warned your people that Hayes is extremely dangerous? I can’t emphasis this enough. No one approaches him on their own, no heroics. We don’t want dead heroes or the hostage put in unnecessary danger. Orders are to mark and follow only until back up is in place. Questions? Comments?” No one said anything and he was quiet, scanning for the weak spots in their planning. “Is that every way he could take her out?”

“If your hostage wasn’t such a novice, he could head up Long’s Peak trail.”

“Wouldn’t he ridge himself?” Luke asked.

“I thought there was a trail down to Wild Basin?” Matt said, trying to find the trail on the map.

“Yeah, there’s a trail—of sorts. It’s a real bastard. He’d have to know about it, have done it before to even find it, cause it’s not marked on the current maps.” The ranger pointed at the map, tracing a line down from Long’s Peak with his finger. “It would be crazy to try it with a beginner. Long’s Peak is over fourteen thousand feet above sea level. The altitude would wipe her out before they made the timberline.”

Crazy. It was the last thing they would expect him to do with Dani in tow. That trail was hard on seasoned hikers. Dani wasn’t even a hiker. Hayes knew that.

“Let’s put someone at Wild Basin, too.”

Luke arched his brows. “That doesn’t make any sense, Matt.”

“I know. It’s a long shot. But I’d rather err on the side of caution. One guy should be enough, have him check out any vehicles parked there.”

“Right.” Riggs nodded to Henry, who lifted his telephone. “You gonna stay here, Matt?”

“Yeah, I want one of the choppers so I can move once they’re spotted. You stay with me, Alice. Riggs, Henry, I want you at Bear Lake with the other chopper.” They nodded and moved off. Luke walked over to him, with a slight smile.

“You got marching orders for me, little brother?”

Matt looked up from the map with a quick grin at the mock-subservient tone. “Could you coordinate the license plate checks? I’ll have Alice get you any gear you want and hook you up with Sebastian. He can run checks on the names. If we can find his transport, we’ll know where he’s headed.”

* * * *

Dani choked down a breakfast of trail mix, half a power bar and stale water, with an ibuprofen chaser, pretending to listen to Spook as he gave her some hiking tips.

“We have to take it slow, you don’t rush a fourteener—”

“Fourteener?” The question was just an excuse to quit eating for a minute. Even to her it was obvious what the fourteener was.

“Our fourteen thousand foot mountain,” he said impatiently. “Air’ll get thinner the higher we climb. Makes your heart work harder. The trick is to do what they call the step-pause. Take a step, pause, then take another step.”

“Can’t I just do the pause part?”

He ignored her. “If you try to push the pace, you’ll get sick.”

“I’m already sick.”

“It’s worth it, Willow.”

“Sure.” And some day the literary world will take romance writing seriously.

He crouched in front of her, his face turning intense. It gave definition to its blandness, made him almost handsome. “When you get to the top, you’ll be glad you made it. You’ll know what matters, what doesn’t. You’ll know what I know.”

She already knew what he knew. Nothing.

“Let’s gear up.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ll have to carry your own pack now, Willow. We need the supplies when we start down and I didn’t have time to stash what we’d need at both places.”

Great. Bad enough having to haul her butt up hill. Now she had to do with a bunch of crap she didn’t want or like on her back. He was lucky she wasn’t premenstrual and soda deprived.

They started hiking. A slow plodding walk, using Spook’s step-pause routine, with the pauses as long as he’d let her get away with. Since they were cutting across the mountainside, the hike wasn’t too bad, though the ibuprofen barely took the edge off her headache. Her stomach wasn’t a fan of the putrid breakfast and the straps of her pack cut into her shoulders. There was no kindly light up here, just the pale flicker of Spook’s flashlight marking the trail for her between tall, ghostly lodge pole pines. At a junction of silvery Aspen trees, Spook stopped and looked at her. She started to sit down, but he shook his head.

“Don’t. It’ll just make it harder for you to start up again. Drink a little water and eat a little trail mix as you walk. It’ll keep your energy level steady.”

Her energy level was already steady at rock bottom.

“You’re doing good. Just keep using the step-pause technique and Willow?”

“What?” She ground a piece of dry fruit between her teeth and washed it down with a drink of water. Tried to pretend one was chocolate, the other her soda, but her imagination wasn’t good enough for that either.

“This is a busy trail during the day. There’ll be other hikers, both ahead and behind us. Don’t call attention to yourself unless you want them to die.”

The dry mix went dryer. Her lashes lifted, her eyes found his. “I’ll hate you if you hurt anyone else, Spook.”

His lids drooped and his mouth curved in pleasure. She was everything he had hoped for. And now the mountain was remaking her, just like it had remade him. She was exhausted, in pain, even frightened, though she tried hard not to show it. As she ascended the refining hell of the mountain, it just made her more beautiful. He could barely keep his hands off her. She was so perfectly formed for him. He had waited so long for her. It wasn’t time yet. This wasn’t the place. He was more than ready, but she wasn’t. Wouldn’t be until she reached the peak cleansed of her past and ready for the new life he had planned for them.

He reached out to touch her cheek. His hand trembled with the effort of keeping the caress light, when he wanted to dig his fingers into her bare flesh and taste her. “I’ll love how you hate me, Willow. Just like I’ll love how you love me when it’s time. But no one has to get hurt as long as you do your part.”

It was the first time since he had smeared her with blood and she tossed her cookies that she felt something sexual from him. Up to now there had been no passion in the restrained, almost fatherly way he shepherded her up his mountain.

Now he looked at her the way a man looks at a woman. His eyes stripped her, took her apart and probed the secret places of mind and body. Even as her skin and mind shrank from his touch, she felt his strange attraction reach out to her, the way it had drawn her to him on the boards before she knew what he was.

It would have been more comfortable if knowledge had killed attraction, but this place didn’t allow for comfortable fiction. She wanted to fight him, to hate him, but passion of any kind was dangerous, too easily mistaken for love, by your own body and by the enemy that provoked it.

His goal was to break her, pitting his will against hers to get at her body and her mind. She was his hostage, dependent on him for survival. He had isolated her, taken control of her food, limited her sleep and oxygen until she could barely think straight, then applied shock therapy every time she started to get her equilibrium back. If he forced himself on her, he lost the battle of her mind.

And if he mixed kind with the cruel? The stroke of his hand against her skin was dangerously comforting. Two steps to his shoulder and her burdens were his. It shouldn’t be tempting. He shouldn’t be tempting. But she was so tired. He was so close. It was a more terrifying combination than the thousands of feet he wanted her to climb above sea level.

She could quit now. Patty Hearst would understand, even if no one else did. If she could just figure out how to do that quitting thing. It wasn’t as easy as it looked. Especially when staring into the eyes of a killer.

“I’ll do my part.” She licked her dry lips, wished she hadn’t when the light in his eyes flared brighter. How much he wanted her, and his struggle to control that want, stabbed out of his eyes like his expertly wielded knife. “Shouldn’t we go?”

Hayes didn’t answer, didn’t hear what she said. He was too engrossed in what he saw. The defiant lift of her chin. The unconscious trembling of her mouth. She didn’t yet know how futile was her resistance. He had to show her. Now.

He slid his hand to the back of her neck. Her hair, soft as silk, brushed against the back of his hand. There was resistance when he pulled her toward him, but not enough to matter. Not enough to stop him from taking the shocked, moist circle of her mouth into his.

He only meant to take a small taste of her, but when pleasure speared deep in his groin, small wasn’t enough. He wanted all of her.

With teeth and tongue, he forced her mouth open and bit the soft flesh he found inside. A small explosion of blood filled her mouth, then his. One hand held her head so he could suck and bite. The other hand fumbled, tearing at her clothes—

Her elbow went deep into his gut, exploding the air from his lungs. A last minute twist kept her knee from delivering more than a glancing blow down below. Pain lanced through the pleasure. He shoved her away with a curse.

Dani staggered back, fell to her knees, blood dripping from her mouth. Pleasure pushed back the pain. Want rebuilt despite the pain. He stepped toward her.

That’s when he saw her eyes. Wide. Shocked. Void of want.

She had to want him. He had to see her want him. She would or she would die.

Every violated cell of her body screamed for her to run, but if she tried, he would be on her. His muscles were bunched to pounce again, his eyes those of an animal about to feed. She would never take him by surprise twice. If he got his hands on her again.

She moved slowly, so as not to provoke that attack, and wiped her bloody mouth. It was already swelling, the pain so bad it was all she could do not to weep her pain and fear. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She rose, straightening her body bone by bone until her shoulders were back, her chin up. Then she zipped her jacket, shutting the flesh he’d bared from his view.

“I guess,” she said with a steadiness of tone that surprised her, “those power bars do more for you than they do for me.”

He rubbed his mouth, found her blood there and licked it. “Soon, Willow, you’ll come to me. You’ll open your heart, your mind—your soul if there is such a thing. You’ll beg me to take you. You can’t fight what will be. If you don’t know it now, you will by the time we get up there.”

The towering pines kept them in shadow, blocked what warmth there was from a sky just starting to be touched by the dawn. Pink, yellow, a touch of orange softened the velvet blue. It didn’t soften him. He preferred the shadow to the light.

How was she going to escape his shadow except by dying? Dani had always understood why Alice stepped off that cliff in Last of the Mohicans, had even admired her courage. Now Dani understood this wasn’t about courage.

It was about running out of acceptable options.

“And if I don’t want you when I get up there, what then?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll kill you.”

“I see.” Between then and now she was going to have to answer Kelly’s question. Did she want to live? Because Spook’s offer came under the heading of guilt-free passage to the next world. And if she found she did want to live? She had assumed, based on no evidence at all, that Spook could be reasoned out of his fantasy. Now she knew he couldn’t. This wasn’t just about living or dying. This was about the survival of self. Dani’s self. If she lived, only one person would come down that mountain again. The person she was. Or the person Spook wanted her to be. He didn’t intend to lose, but she didn’t know how to quit.

She lifted her chin, not enough to be provocative, but enough to show him she wasn’t down yet.

“Nice to have a choice.”

He looked amused. It was a better look on him than brutal lover, but it wouldn’t make her want him. She brushed past, heard him fall in behind her. Still in shadow, they passed out of the protection of the timberline and into a world shrunk down to ground cover. Looming ahead of them she could see Spook’s mountain peak waiting like Tolkien’s Mount Doom for them to come up and play out the final standoff between the killer and the romance writer.

Too bad the lonesome lawman couldn’t be there, too. Or that last Mohican. She wasn’t too proud to admit she could use a little help.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Matt paced back and forth in front of the Long’s Peak Ranger Station, his mind turning over the information that arrived after the sun. He could only get the barest information from the tracker still following Hayes and Dani’s trail. They had to talk in code to keep Hayes from finding out Dani was leaving clues for them. So far the license plate checks hadn’t turned up a likely destination. Action was easy. Waiting sucked.

He saw Luke come out of the station carrying a sandwich and a cup of coffee. He held both out to Matt. Matt shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Eat or I’ll shove it down your throat. And sit down. You burn out before we find her, how you gonna help her?”

It was his big brother voice, his big brother face. Matt knew better than to argue with either of them. He took the food and propped himself on a railing. The coffee tasted good, the sandwich okay.

“You should know how to wait by now, bro,” Luke said, watching with his arms crossed, his feet planted.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” He looked at the sandwich, wanting to toss it. Luke would just pick it up and shove it down his throat. “Never been any good at it.”

“We should be experts,” Luke said, his eyes going distant. He was quiet for a bit, then he sighed and looked at Matt. “Do you think she’s a witch?”

“Who, Dani?”

Luke grinned. “She’ll always be Louise to me.”

“Why witch?” Matt asked.

“We talked a bit while you were inside paying for the gas,” he admitted.

“Is that when you warned her against me?” Matt asked.

Luke chuckled, sat down next to Matt. “Think she’s the one should come with a warning.” He hesitated, then said, “We talked about Rosemary. Rosemary for remembrance. That’s what she said. That she’d been there and done that.”

“She has. Her ex is a jerk.”

Luke looked at his brother. “Ex’s always are.”

“I’ll get you for that one later. Why does that make her a witch?”

Luke smiled. “I didn’t realize until later, the crappy part was gone. Only the remembering was left.” His mouth twisted. “This what the idiots call closure?”

Matt winced. “Don’t say it that too loud, we’re gonna find ourselves on Jenny Jones or Oprah.”

Luke raised a brow. “You too?”

“Yeah.” Matt drank the last of his coffee and shoved the cup and the rest of the sandwich in a nearby trash can.

“So, is she a witch?”

Matt turned and looked at his brother. “I hope so. It’s a big park and Hayes is a smart whacko. It’s gonna take all we can do and a little magic to pull this one off.”

“Let’s go do our thing.” Luke slapped him on the back.

Matt nodded and turned to follow him, then stopped looking at the mountains basking in the morning light. Normally the sight would have put peace in his heart.

“What?”

Matt shook his head. “I keep thinking about what the shrinks have to say about Hayes. That his killing has a religious edge to it.”

“What about it?”

“Just that I have a feeling that even if Hayes hadn’t grabbed Dani here, he would have brought her here. If I could just figure out why.”

“I lift mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my strength: from whence cometh my help,” Luke murmured.

Matt frowned. “What’s that?”

Luke shifted. “Something from the Bible Rosemary used to have me read to her when the pain got too bad.”

“Oh.” My strength. Some kind of religious fixation. Matt knew how he felt when he climbed. Like he was breaking free of everything that pissed him off down on the ground. Like he could see farther, see clearer how things were supposed to be. Was this the key to unlocking Hayes’ brain? Could it be that simple? He killed, he climbed? He had wanted to show Dani his mountains. He had been sure when she saw them, she wouldn’t be afraid of them. Might Hayes feel the same way?

“Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord,” Luke said. “She liked that one, too. I was glad her room looked out on the mountains.”

“I’m glad, too.” Matt swung around. “I got an idea.”

* * * *

It was almost eleven and they were just coming up on the Boulderfield. Spook looked at the sky, then back at Dani who had stopped looking at anything but her feet several hours ago. When she didn’t need her hands to climb, she rubbed at her temples like she had a headache. For some reason the altitude at this point bothered some people. She seemed to be one of them.

“Let’s take a break,” he said. If she got altitude sickness, she would never make it to the top. He would have to risk the time, get some water and ibuprofen down her. Without answering him she stopped, dropped her pack and half leaned, half sat on a rock. She hadn’t said much since he had kissed her, had withdrawn to someplace deep inside herself. He wanted to punch his way inside. Make her notice him again, make her give him her warmth and love. He needed her spirit broken, needed her to be rebuilt in his image. She couldn’t do that if he broke her so she couldn’t climb. He could bide his time for now. In the end, she would come to him. He would make her.

“Take these,” he said. “They’ll help your headache.”

Dani looked at the tablets. She didn’t want to take them. Didn’t want him to know he was right, that she did have a headache, but the pain was getting worse, in her head and her mouth. At some point, Spook had given her an ice pack to put on her mouth. It reminded her of Matt, which started a different kind of pain, one located around her heart. Matt thought she was dead. If Spook had his way, by the time he found out he was wrong, there would be no trail for him to follow. They would be deep in the nether world that Spook inhabited.

If Spook had his way.

“Take them, Willow. You won’t be able to plot your revenge if your head hurts.” He sat down beside her. She tensed, but he didn’t try to touch her. He was right, so she held out her hand. When she had taken them, he asked, “Are you still mad at me?”

Dani stared straight ahead. He might control the physical part of her, but he would find her spirit harder to force into line.

“Sex is only interesting when it releases passion,” he said. “I’m sorry my passion hurt you.”

“No. You’re not. You enjoyed it.”

She was right. He ached to do it again. “It was Camus that said we live to hurt others, Willow. He wanted to live his life without touching anyone. I don’t. I want to touch you every way a man touches a woman. I’ve wanted you so long, I can’t remember when I didn’t want you.”

“What about what I want?”

“When this is finished, you’ll want what I want.”

How different he was from Matt, who had cared more about what she needed than what he wanted. She would take Matt’s friendship over Spook’s so-called love any day. Though here, where she was going to die, she could admit she would have liked more than friendship from him. And more than passion. If she wasn’t already in love with him, then she had been falling his way when Spook removed her so forcibly from temptation.

For a minute she let herself go back there, let her imagination have free rein to write the scene the way she wanted, with the happy ending waiting in the wings. Just thinking about him made her go soft, weak with longing—No!

She couldn’t think about Matt. It was too dangerous. She couldn’t afford to be soft. She had to be hard. As hard as the rock of these mountains that both men loved in their very different ways.

She wouldn’t pretend they could have a life together if she could only somehow survive. She had to do this herself. She had to live or die herself. She had depended on others too much. It’s what got her into this mess. If she hadn’t chatted with Spook—

He would have killed her in the boarding house.

She would be dead already, without that time with Matt at his apartment.

There was that irony again.

Spook said in her ear, “You hear it, don’t you?”

Dani had forgotten he was there. Not a good thing to do around a sexually frustrated killer.

“Hear what?”

“The silence. And the music in it.”

“Music?”

“The music coming out of the rocks and valleys, the hills are alive with it. Don’t tell me you can’t hear it.”

And here she’d thought they had gone about as weird as they could go. “I’m not Julie Andrews, Spook. Only thing I hear is my brain asking me what I’m doing up here with a guy who thinks he is.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Dani knew that calling a killer a girl probably wasn’t the brightest thing she had ever done. It was hard to be bright at this altitude, with the sun reach-out-and-touch-me close. For really thin air, she was having a terrible time pushing her way through it. Getting oxygen out of it, a critical component for intelligent thought, was like pulling teeth out of someone who didn’t have any. On top of that, gravity, which she should be getting farther from, seemed to be getting stronger, not weaker. She was having to tap into her energy store on credit, which didn’t leave room for real bright. She braced for meltdown, choosing a spot to dig in what was left of the acrylic nails Mama had applied.

He did kind of rear back. Then he grinned. “Trust me. Before we get up top, you’ll be hearing all kinds of things.”

“Oh, goody. Just so I can separate it from my impending hallucinations, what exactly will I hear?” She didn’t really care. It was just a reason to keep him talking, so she didn’t have to start walking.

“It’s not like anything you’ve ever heard or will hear again.” He sank back, his face lifted toward the Peak. A beam of light cut through a cloud and lay across his face, lighting up the lines cutting deep around his eyes and mouth. “When we get to the Keyhole, the pain will be so bad, you’ll think you can’t bear it.”

News flash, mountain boy, I’m there already. She didn’t tell him that. She was pissed. She was miserable. She wasn’t entirely stupid. To him that would be good news. It meant she was close to breaking.

“When it’s the worst, then you’ll hear it. Softly at first, like the first quiet notes of a great symphony.” He stood up, his hands slack at his sides. “At first you won’t realize the pain is leaving. You’ll be lost in the music. Slowly, like dying, the music will fade. You’ll miss it, the way you miss life. You might even think it took your heart with it. Until you realize your heart isn’t gone. It’s at peace. Finally, finally at peace.”

He looked at her and there was a kind of peace in his eyes. She would rather live in torment her whole life than inhabit his kind of peace. She did feel something close to pity for him. Because of the strange place he lived his life and the pain he lived with. He was so alone. At least she had had friends she could turn to when her pain got too big to handle. Knew that she did have a soul and when it left her body, it wouldn’t belong to Spook.

She would walk away from him, away from the bumps and bruises of this life into the light where Meggie was. She would lay down her burdens, float free of the weight of trying to live and fill her empty arms with her baby again. Smooth back her baby hair, smell her sweet scent, kiss that place on her baby neck until she giggled, and sing her the songs Dani’s mom had sung to her. Then they’d go see her mom and dad and she could be the little girl again, be the one to get her hurts kissed better and told it was all right now, because mom and dad were here.

There were worse things than dying.

There would be no contest if it didn’t mean leaving Matt behind, too. She felt the drag of feelings she didn’t want to feel, holding her down, holding her here.

She looked around. Ahead lay a tumble of boulders, behind a barren stretch of mountain shaped by the howling wind that roared out of the sky. It was terrifying, but beautiful. Like life. She had never done a sad ending. Too literary. Had never not finished something she started.

Two choices so clearly laid out for her.

Go up and die. Descend and live.

Funny, it would be the first time going down might be harder than facing high.

What was she thinking, Hayes wondered. Her eyes were so deep, so mysterious and sad. He didn’t want her to be sad. “What are you thinking about, Willow?”

She looked at him, hesitated, he didn’t like that, then said, “My little girl. I was thinking about my little girl.”

He didn’t like that either. Why would she be thinking about the child she had made with another man? Would they make a baby together? The idea was unsettling, troubling almost. He didn’t want to share her with anyone or anything. But to see her belly swell with his seed, to create instead of destroy? It might be interesting. Could be part of the new pattern. He would have to think about it, decide what they would do later.

“Let’s go.”

She nodded. Hayes watched her stand up, assessing how hard it was for her, how much energy she had left. It would be a close thing, which gave out first, the path or Willow. Risk was part of the pattern. If she couldn’t make it, she wasn’t who he thought she was. It was that simple. Though his feelings weren’t quite that simple as he watched her start through the Boulderfield.

* * * *

“Tell me I’m right, bubba,” Matt said to Sebastian, after what seemed like an interminable wait for the telephone to ring. He knew he was right. When the tracker found the camp site at Engenia Mine, Luke told Matt he was afraid he was right. They had to be sure before they pulled resources off other possible routes.

“It’s not good for you, but you are right,” Sebastian said. “I ran the plates like you asked and one is definitely a big time bogus. I know Hayes is a son of a bitch, but he does good work.”

“I’ll buy you a beer when I get back,” Matt promised, before cutting the connection.

Luke looked resigned. “Don’t tell me. Wild Basin.”

Matt didn’t answer, just bent over the map again. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“That’s crazy,” the ranger objected. “She’ll never make it up that trail.”

Matt looked up and said with instinctive certainty, “She’s never quit anything in her life. If she hasn’t shoved Hayes off a cliff, she’ll be there sometime around noon. We have to be there before that without tipping Hayes that we know they’ll be there. Pay attention, people. Here’s how we’re gonna do it.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Gravity was winning. Dani was losing. It wouldn’t have mattered if gravity wasn’t helping Spook. Unfair of it to take sides. As she grew weaker, she could feel him growing stronger, as if her waning strength was feeding his. She could feel his lust grow, too. It beat against her will, adding its demand to the other forces allied against her.

Each foot higher, with only trail mix for fuel, made it harder to launch a rallying cry to rouse flagging body and spirits. A good rally required some unhealthy, wholly satisfying junk food. Spook and his mountain were all there was, all there ever would be.

Though the ear piece for the scanner had stayed in place during most of the hike, Spook hadn’t told her what he was hearing and she had been afraid to ask. Afraid that if he thought she still had hope, he would move to take that away, too.

Dani saw Spook look at her and lowered her lashes against the invasion.

She was breaking, Hayes noted with a quick, fierce surge of elation. His body was about to explode from waiting for her. Wanting twisted in his gut like a knife against a neck.

He scanned the sky. They were late, but so far the weather was holding. He heard a flurry of activity on the scanner and turned up the volume.

“—no sign of him or the woman at all—”

So they knew Willow wasn’t dead. He had expected that. The chatter was interesting, and just what he needed Willow to listen to. It was time to administer another dose of reality.

He smiled. Did she think he didn’t know the hope that lingered in her stubborn heart? Did she think there was anything he didn’t know, or wouldn’t soon know about her? Did she think he didn’t know how to take her hope and turn it to his purpose?

“Listen to this.” He pulled the headphones plug out and turned up the volume.

There was no warning for Dani. One moment Spook was speaking, the next she could hear Matt talking.

“Yeah, our expert thinks he found a likely vehicle at Glacier Basin. We need to start moving our resources that way, form a loose perimeter, get ready to close up the holes when they’re spotted.”

His voice was balm to her wounds, manna in her wilderness, a gift she never expected to have. Spook couldn’t know how she felt about the lonesome lawman. That was something.

Alice answered Matt. “I just hope our girl knows enough to duck at the right time.”

Dani licked her dry lips, as faint hope flared to a wild fire in her veins. Spook’s gaze narrowed to an x-ray point and scanned her face. She had to dig deep to turn it back, wasn’t sure she would entirely succeeded.

“Glacier Basin?” she asked.

“It’s a long way from us. In the other direction.”

The scanner crackled again, this voice unfamiliar to Dani. “We got a lost kid in the Arrowhead, Lake Solitude area. Do you think you can spring a couple of choppers and some men for us to use for a search?”

Spook frowned. “Arrowhead is just the other side of Long’s Peak.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Matt said.

His voice dropped out of the discussion replaced by a flurry of transmissions between rangers.

“Kid’s name is Mary Louise Martin.” A description of the little girl followed, a description that sank slowly into Dani’s exhaustion and added fuel to hope. A description that sounded like someone was reading it straight from her book Don’t Call It Loving. Could it be? Had God answered “sudden and sharp” her prayer?

Damn Spook and his quotes. She shook it away and concentrated on the words, the hope giving words.

“Mary Louise?” A voice broke in. “I knew a Mary Louise once. She was a Kelly girl that got fired for making a scene at Buns’n Roses.”

“Let’s cut the chatter,” the first voice snapped. “We got a kid lost, not a stripper.”

The sound cut off abruptly.

Kelly. Buns’n Roses. Louise. “A gauntlet with a gift in it,” if she could just pick it up without Spook noticing.

“Something interest you about that, Willow?”

Dani looked out of her thoughts, found Spook watching her, his gaze still trying to penetrate her outer hull. Dani held his gaze with steady desperation. If he suspected the transmission was a fake, he might abandon their Rocky Mountain high.

“That girl’s parents are sick with worry over their little girl and they’re making jokes. It’s tacky.”

His gaze didn’t change. He suspects I got a message, Dani felt, panic tightening its grip on her throat. The effort of holding herself still was almost more than she could do.

Maybe he could feel hope beating in her heart. The only emotion that could mask hope from him was the one she feared the most: defeat. To show it was to let it in. Not to show it was to lie down with the enemy.

She could see it in his eyes, could see the barely contained lust, the violence threatening to break free of restraint. Only her spiral into defeat would hold him off.

Like Alice’s leap off the cliff, Dani let go of her dark thoughts, let them wash over her in a dark wave. Her ghosts, past and present rode the wave. They were glad to get out. Glad to dance on her hope.

“At least they have a chance.”

“A chance?” Hayes stepped closer, a frown putting lines in the bland surface of his face.

“Of getting their daughter back.”

Some of the tenseness went out of his body. “You won’t have to grieve forever, Willow. Up there, you’ll be free.”

“Sure.” Dani leaned against rock and closed her eyes against his high beam eyes.

“You don’t believe me.”

What had Matt been trying to tell her? “Why should I believe you?”

“Because it worked for me.”

Now there was a yardstick to measure the world against. How could he take himself seriously, let alone expect her to?

“Why did you need all this high altitude healing? Where does your pain come from?” It had better be good. Catastrophic class crap. His whole family wiped out by cholera or a tornado. And that was just for starters.

He remained silent for so long, Dani almost forgot what she had asked. When he did speak, he sounded far away. “From nowhere, from everywhere. I was born empty and never filled with anything except pain.”

I was born empty? What a whiner. He was more interesting when she thought he was a woman.

“I killed someone who wanted to kill me and I was afraid. I came up here to escape, to end it. And I came down renewed. I had purpose and peace.”

Dani yawned. “Killing people isn’t exactly a peaceful purpose, Spook.”

“Life is ‘a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.’ If it eases my pain, why shouldn’t I be the one to make lives vanish?”

“Whatever happened to…” she yawned again, quit trying to fight her heavy lids open, “…no man is an island?”

“Don’t you see, peace has always come at price. I bought it, I bought you, with death.”

Bought from whom? A mountain? Mountains don’t buy people. Her thoughts were spinning now, like the merry-go-round the last time she had gone to the county fair with her mom and dad. She had been eleven…

“The mountain is hard for a reason. We shape ourselves against it and are renewed…”

The lights were spinning faster now. The music, loud and wild, drowned out his voice. The horse was hard between her thighs, but her dad was holding her so she wouldn’t fall. She looked at him with a wide smile. No, it wasn’t her dad. It was Matt. He was smiling, too. She tried to reach for him…

“Wake up, Willow.”

“Mmmmm. In a minute.” She had to find them…

“You can’t sleep now. We have to keep going.”

“Yeah, sure,” she murmured, “keep going in a minute.”

The slap knocked her head back against rock, shattering the merry-go-round and everyone on it. The side of her face stung. She tasted blood again, didn’t like it any better than the last time. She touched the spot, looked at the red on her fingers, then looked at him.

“You hit me?” Steven had hit her once, but he had been drunk. He had only done it once. She moved out the next day. Richard, she recalled with a stab of pain, had helped her.

“Yes. I’ll kiss it better.”

“I’d rather breathe, thank you.”

“Willow…” He reached for her, but she flinched back.

“Don’t touch me. Just…” She stood up. “Just leave me alone.”

She turned and started up the trail.

“You shouldn’t go so fast…”

“Shut up. You wanted me to move. I’m moving.”

“Damn it, Willow, you’ll burn yourself out. You can’t.”

She rounded on him. “Can’t. Got to. Do this. Don’t do that. You’ve been calling the shots all the way up this stupid pile of rock. You want me to get to the top. So I’m going to the top.”

“You’ll make yourself sick!”

“News flash, mountain boy. I’m already sick. Now shut up and let me climb or kill me right now.” She glared at him, her heaving chest wrenching the oxygen it needed from the paper thin air.

“All right. Climb.” His lips twitched as he gestured toward the trail.

She wanted to wipe the grin off his face. She wanted to wipe his face off his face. She threw herself at the incline. Almost immediately it blunted her drive. Spook’s mountain wasn’t generous. It would probably kill her if Spook didn’t, but at least it wouldn’t screw her first.

* * * *

The weather started to turn on them just as the choppers dropped Matt and his team on the far side of Long’s Peak. It felt good to be on the move. As soon as the chopper pulled away, he heard Luke, who was taking a team up another side, say in his radio, “Great. Looks like the afternoon storm is moving in early today. Gonna make the search for the kid real fun.”

The pretext they had crafted to disguise their movements was also going to make it hard to coordinate the various teams’ movements toward the Summit.

One of the climbers on his team, a cop in his work time, said, “If he’s a climber, he’ll turn aside. He could take the old cable route, then head down into Wild Basin.”

Matt slung his pack over his shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe not. Depends how bad he wants up there. Doesn’t matter. We got it covered. I’ve even got people at the foot of the Diamond.”

“No way he could take a romance writer down that, even by rappelling,” the cop scoffed.

“I’ve learned not to take chances with this bastard. He’s got more lives than a cat and more twists than a phone cord. And the romance writer? Well, let’s just say she’d surprise you, too. Do not, I repeat, do not under estimate this guy. He’s better than you’ll see in your lifetime. You got any question about him or the safety of the hostage, shoot first, ask questions later. I’ll cover your asses if there’s heat later. That’s a promise.”

“Uh, I see something moving along the south side of Lake Solitude. Could be the kid,” the voice of Matt’s helicopter pilot came over the radio.

Matt lifted the radio. “Thanks, bubba. We’ll try to work our way toward her from the South.” A confirmed sighting. Now they were getting somewhere. He took his finger off talk and said to his team, “Okay, they’re in the Trough. Let’s gear up and try to beat them to the Summit. Last one there buys the first round of beer tonight.”

* * * *

It was like drowning. If there was oxygen in the atmosphere, she couldn’t find it. Dani wanted to quit but she didn’t know how. Didn’t know why she kept reaching for the next rock ledge. It was what she did. One hand, then the other. Feet to follow. Higher and higher, she inched her way up against the rising howl of the wind. She had to get to the top of Spook’s world. Fourteen thousand feet below was her world. She didn’t look up or down. She didn’t dare. Like the opening salvo in her personal war with Spook, she heard the first clap of thunder over head.

As exhaustion began to edge past her will, her mind spun slowly off into disjointed fragments, pictures from the past mingling with those from the present.

The look on Matt’s face the last time she saw him in his mountain cabin.

Kelly dancing with that stripper to Abba music.

New Orleans. Damp and warm. Beignets. The hum of cicadas and the scent of flowers drifting up from the courtyard of her French Quarter apartment.

Matt in his hallway asking her to come in.

Sunday dinner with Elizabeth and Richard, their babies and hers in high chairs throwing food.

The cold sun shining down on a tiny coffin.

Steven staring into a bottle instead of looking at her.

His fist heading for her face.

Richard’s face disappearing in a ball of flame.

Matt holding her as she cried.

Where did the will come from to keep struggling up the side of the mountain, against the wind, against her own fears?

In some deeply buried place, Dani marveled at what she was doing, even as she put one hand, one foot up on the next ridge of rock.

After a time she climbed into the swirl of dark clouds crowning the peak of the mountain. The pictures in her head swirled, too, with Matt’s face at the center. Each time she reached up to him, he dissolved and reformed higher.

* * * *

Matt pushed the climbing cam in the crevasse and released the spring load, then tested it to make sure it was secure before looping his rope through it.

“Taking in,” he called to his climbing partner, a guy named Malloy. He heard a faint, “Climbing,” from below that the wind tried to blow away. Hayes and Dani would be close to the Summit, too. Their last sighting before they disappeared in cloud cover, had them still climbing toward the Home Stretch despite the storm moving in. The wind was already making their climb more dangerous and difficult. When the rain came it would be harder still. He blessed his training in search and rescue. Was glad the men joining him in this race against Hayes and the storm knew the mountain and were used to pitting their lives against it.

The wild passion in the building storm beat against detachment and cool thought, but Matt fought it back. Pushed out thoughts of Dani up there with Hayes and a storm moving in. Instead he put Hayes in his mental cross-hairs and started the next pitch.

* * * *

The ground leveled out so abruptly, Dani wasn’t ready and sprawled onto the rocky surface, gasping for air that still wasn’t there. Never would be there.

“You did it.” Spook had to yell to be heard above the building wind. His eyes were wild, his face lit from within. The storm had cut off the sun and sky above, cut off the ground below, leaving only the mountain top.

Leaving her there alone with a wild man.

The wind beat against her as if it longed to throw her back down for daring to come. Hair whipped her face in tiny, stinging lashes. Terror whipped her insides, but distantly, as if Spook had drugged her again.

“Can we go now?”

He shrugged off his pack, then helped her off with hers.

“The storm is almost on us.”

Almost? The guy had a serious problem with reality.

“We’ll have to hurry.”

Hurry? Incredibly, she felt the urge to giggle. Luckily, when she opened her mouth to do it, the wind rushed down her throat and made her choke instead.

The air around them crackled and snapped like hyperactive Rice Crispies, making the hair on her arms stand up—in between the brief moments of calm between fierce gusts of wind. Above her the clouds crashed together, sending the first drops of moisture smashing into her face like pellets from a gun.

Spook grabbed her arm and dragged her against wind and will to the center, the place where all the forces of the storm seemed poised to strike.

The rain picked up its tempo. The lightning flashes came with the thunder on its heels. Spook grabbed her shoulders, his face lit from within by fanaticism and without by lightning.

“It’s time!” He had to shout to be heard above the wind.

“You’re kidding, right?” He wouldn’t, would he? No one could be that nuts.

Her hair soaked up as much water as it could, then sent the over flow cascading down her face. Her clothes were soaked, her teeth chattered with cold and fright. The ground she stood was soaked, too.

If he really was looking for a good lay, he’d chosen the wrong place for it.

He grabbed handfuls of her hair and yanked her against him. If she had any lingering doubts he was seriously mental, he was putting them all to rest.

Behind him she saw a jagged flash of lightning sizzle through the rain and strike the peak just over from them.

“We’re gonna get toasted. Spook!” She tried to twist free of his iron grip. “This isn’t a good time! I have a headache!”

For an answer he crushed his mouth on hers, his hands moving roughly over her body. He tried to push tongue and teeth into her mouth, but she fought him. His passion for her beat against her passion to resist. His was fueled by madness and the charged storm. Hers got a boost from adrenaline.

She twisted her mouth free. In a burst of lightning she saw his eyes. It was going to take more than elbows and knees to stop him this time.

* * * *

Matt tried to call to Malloy, but the wind took his words as soon as they left his mouth, then brought them back with a roar as it tried to tear him from the rock face. He rode out the gust with his toes and fingernails, then reached up, feeling for the next crack. In a flash of lightning, he saw the rim. He was there. He eased up and peered over the edge, but it was too dark to see anything. He topped the rise and crouched behind a boulder, anchoring himself to belay for Malloy.

He had to lean over nothing to give him the signal to start. A grim-faced Malloy gave him a thumbs up sign, then started his turn at the difficult pitch. Malloy was only halfway up it when Matt heard Dani cry out.

* * * *

“NO!” What to do came naturally from the self defense class she had taken with Kelly. “NO!”

The storm provided the perfect punctuation.

Spook’s grasp loosened. Dani broke free. Spook’s body was already bunching for round two.

She needed a flash of brilliance or a miracle from God.

The devil looked out from Spook’s eyes. “What’s it going to be Willow? We live together or you die on this rock.”

It was only now, when she knew she was going to die, that Dani realized how very much she wanted to live.

It didn’t matter that life hurt. It didn’t matter that she mourned her baby every day and every night. It didn’t matter that she loved Matt and he didn’t love her. In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, in sorrow and in joy, in all ways and all things, she wanted to live.

She wanted to see the sun rise and set. She wanted to turn the ideas in her head into books that would make her readers laugh and weep for people that didn’t exist. She wanted to go to Kelly’s hunky dentist and get her teeth cleaned. She wanted to get a cavity filled.

She didn’t have to have a happy ending, as long as she didn’t get an ending.

She wanted to live.

She was going to die.

If she was lucky, she would die before he got what he wanted.

“If thou must love me, let it be for naught, except for love’s sake only,” she shouted above the storm, trying one last time to reach the sane part in him.

For a moment, she thought she had done it.

He smiled, the lust in his eyes replaced by amusement. “Elizabeth Barrett Browning. You’ve learned much since we met, Willow. What about her Sonnets from the Portuguese? ‘Guess now who holds thee? Death’, I said, but there the silver answer rang… ‘Not Death, but Love.’ I love you, Willow. Do you love me?”

He reached for her. She stepped back. The hand reaching for her curled into a fist. His eyes hardened.

“Love chooses its own path. Don’t you see? I can’t. Maybe I can’t love anymore. Maybe Steven killed the love I had left. I just know, I can’t love you. I can’t.”

“You didn’t try hard enough!”

The sky flashed again. Was that a movement she saw over by the edge? She saw Spook’s eyes narrow and yelled, “No, I didn’t try. I didn’t want to try! I didn’t want to love you!”

That got his attention. “Why? Why didn’t you want to love me?” He grabbed her arm, roughly pulled her against him, his face thrust into hers.

She had his whole attention. Meant to keep it.

“You kill people!” His grip on her arm tightened until she almost cried out. “You don’t love me! You don’t know how to love! You only know how to lust. To want. To take. To hurt! That isn’t love.”

“Shut up!” His rage found expression in the back of his hand against her face. She would have been knocked on her butt if he hadn’t kept his grip on her arm. As it was, she saw stars wheel over his head.

The third time he had hit her. They say it’s the charm. Dani didn’t know about charms. She did know those wheeling stars had turned red.

“No! You can’t make me!” Somehow she jerked her arm free. Maybe he let her go. He looked like he merged with his mountain, his face turning to cold, hard rock. “You didn’t break me, Spook. You or your stupid mountain.”

“Didn’t I?” His eyes narrowed to knife points. “Then I’ll send you to hell, you bitch!”

Lightning lit them up again. Now he held a gun. Behind him, near the edge, Matt was still tethered to his climbing gear, rope trailing from him over the cliff edge, trying to rip his gun clear of the holster.

“Hold it, Hayes!” His gun wasn’t clear.

Hayes whirled, his gun already lining up on Matt.

“No!” Dani threw herself on his gun arm just as he fired. He shook her off with embarrassing ease. She rolled until she hit a boulder. Still dizzy from the blow, she scrambled around it and crouched in its shelter.

Spook had vanished in the raging dark, his silhouette lost against the darker rise of tumbled boulders. Above them, the sky gathered itself for another electric discharge. Dani could feel it in the air, in the rising of the hair on her body. Something brushed past her shoulder. She thought it was Spook and flinched back. The rain sizzled. For an instant she saw Spook crouched a few feet away. Then light exploded between them, throwing her backwards.

* * * *

“Son of…” Matt felt the coming discharge as Malloy started to scramble onto the ridge next to him. He turned, not stopping to think his thanks he hadn’t had time to take his rigging off. There was only time to act. He shoved Malloy back, then threw himself with him, falling over the edge just before a shaft of light split the ground like the wrath of God.

He hit his head against a rock outcrop and saw stars against the dark clouds as he dangled from his ropes.

Matt shook his head to clear stars and water from his eyes, then grabbed Malloy.

“What did you see?”

“Nothing.” Blood ran down from a gash on his temple.

Matt reached up. He had to get back up top before Hayes killed Dani.

* * * *

Dani opened her eyes, not sure how long she had been out or even if she’d been out. Her sense of direction was gone. She didn’t know where Matt and Spook were and her brain was saying go!

She didn’t stop to argue with it. If Matt was out there, maybe there were others. All she had to do was get far enough from Spook and close enough to them. Instead of sanctuary, Dani found the steep pitch of the Home Stretch.

Behind her she heard Spook cry out. He sounded close, closer than the shouts that answered him. The incline was steeper than the devil’s nose, but it was away from Spook. Without stopping to think, she crawled over the edge.

* * * *

The Summit was the obstacle course from hell when Matt topped the rise again. Black as night, with pale figures darting here and there. He didn’t dare shoot at one for fear it would be one of his good guys or Dani. Hayes, on the other hand, could shoot at anybody. Everyone was his enemy.

Keeping low and using the tumbled boulders, Matt started working his way across the top. The storm was moving away. A shaft of lightning hit the next peak over, illuminating theirs. He saw someone drop down the Home Stretch.

He still didn’t dare use the radio to mark positions. Might as well put a big arrow over his guys heads if he did. He pulled it out, thought for a moment, then said, “Luke?”

“Glad to hear your still with us, little brother. Didn’t fancy facing mom and trying to explain all this.”

“Any idea where our boy is?” And our girl, he mentally added.

“I saw someone heading home just a minute ago.”

“Me too. What about Louis?” Would Luke recognize this shortened version of Louise and realize what he was asking?

“I think he went down first.”

He rubbed his face. “Any idea how close the home front boys are?”

“No,” Luke’s radio crackled with static, “but I don’t think they’re close enough to be much use. At least the storm’s bailing on us. It’s gonna get real light up here soon. I say we get the heck out of Dodge now.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you at the exiting end of town.” Matt stowed his radio, checked his gun, then rose and headed across the exposed top at a jog. Behind him, the first crack of sunlight broke through the dark clouds.

TWENTY-NINE

Dani had always been lost in rock and rain. Her other life was a dream. This was reality. She was glad she couldn’t see anything as she scrambled her way back down the trail she had so laboriously climbed such a short time before.

Gradually the rain began to ease, the sky getting lighter. Above she heard the scrape of feet against rock and knew, the way she had always known, that Spook was almost on her again.

Panic couldn’t be resisted. Dani fled into the Ledges, a maze of twists and turns with no way out. She looked up, then down. In her other lifetime, this kind of up scared her. Now it was her only reality. Was that Keyhole she could see up there? Had she climbed down that far? She couldn’t remember. It looked right and Spook was getting closer. She reached up, found a foot hold. In a few moments, she had reached the ridge, scrambled over it. Instead of the trail, she found a slope to nowhere.

This wasn’t the right place, was it?

It had to be. She scrambled down. Found an unequivocal dead end. Now what?

As she hesitated, the now distant storm threw one last violent salvo, then broke against the peaks and let the afternoon sun pierce its clouds. Her spirits rose. It was a good omen. Maybe she would get her happy ending…

Above her, she heard a rattle of stones. She looked up.

Spook stood at the gateway to freedom, looking down at her.

* * * *

Matt faced Luke, frustration spiking in his veins. “Where could they be? This mountain isn’t that big!”

Luke looked around. “The False Keyhole? Be easy to get lost up here in the dark.”

“I’ll check it out. Why don’t you head down to the Keyhole, see if you see them there? One of us spots them first, just radio it’s a bust.”

“Right.” He started down. Matt looked up. The sky was clearing fast. He lifted his radio, “Bring in the birds, Riggs. I need some eyes up here.”

He waited for Riggs to acknowledge the request, then started up the rock toward the False Keyhole, his mind blanked clear of everything but the hunt.

* * * *

There was no where left to go, very little left to do, Dani realized. No energy left to think of something. Fatalistic took over from flight-or-fight. She had fought the good fight. It was time for a little dignity.

Her clothes were soaked. The wind had eased, but not enough. She wrapped her arms around her middle and leaned against the rock face so she wouldn’t shiver herself off her precarious perch. No sense doing the job for him.

She didn’t even flinch when, with a small flurry of stones, Spook dropped down on the ledge next to her.

“Willow.”

The killer was still in his eyes. She didn’t care. “I’m not Willow. I’m Dani. Just—Dani.”

He stopped, a momentary confusion altering the cold blankness of his face into something more normal. Or maybe she just wanted to believe it had.

“Dani?”

“Dani.” Water ran down her face from her hair, blurring her vision. Her teeth chattered with the cold. “Not Willow. Not Spook. Just Dani and Jonathan. Or do they call you Jon?”

He frowned. “Jon. Only my mother called me that.”

“Oh?” Was that good or bad? Did she care?

Water poured from him, too, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He frowned. “You’re soaked. You should’ve put on your rain gear.”

“Yeah.” She rubbed her upper arms and stamped her feet. This was way weird, but she didn’t fight the compulsion to respond to the strange script. “I should have.”

“It was in your pack.”

“I lost it.”

“I tried to take care of you.” Frustration pulled down his features. “Why are you doing this? I was only doing what was right for us.”

It didn’t matter if she pissed him off now, so she didn’t pull her punches. “Right for you, not me. This was all about what you want. It’s called being selfish, which can’t make anyone happy. Didn’t your mother ever teach you this? Or did you kill her, too?”

He looked at her. “My mother still lives in Connecticut. In the suburbs.”

“Connecticut?” Dani felt an insane urge to laugh. “Was she a liberal?”

He looked sulky. “Actually, she was. What of it?”

“I’ll bet she didn’t spank you when you were a poor, empty kid.” Dani sighed in frustration. “You’re such a jerk. Your problem wasn’t too much suffering. It’s not suffering enough.”

“Who are you to lecture me? You can’t even decide if you want to live or die!”

“As usual, you know absolutely nothing about me. It just so happens I don’t want to die, okay?” Dani glared at him. Water ran into her eyes. She pushed her dripping hair back and saw blood running down her wrist.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Yes.” Anger faded, leaving something that felt like peace. Had Spook’s mountain delivered what he had promised?

“What do you want?”

Dani saw both the killer and the friend fighting for supremacy in Spook’s eyes.

“Remember that guy you quoted once, the one who said, ‘We can believe what we choose. We are answerable for what we choose to believe?’”

“Newman,” Spook said, absently. “Cardinal Newman.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So you can’t—choose to believe what I believe—even if it means you’ll die?”

“Can you really see me serving a fourteen thousand foot mountain?”

His smile was rueful. “No. I guess I can’t.” His face turned sad. “I’ll miss you. You—lit up my nights.”

No way to know if he’d just passed a death sentence—or given her reprieve. She pressed back against rock and made herself look down. At her feet the ledge sloped away to a really nasty fall. She closed her eyes. Be the final irony of her acrophobic life if she ended it by falling to her death.

“What’s it going to be, Jon? Do you just push me or am I supposed to jump ala Last of the Mohicans?”

“You got guts, Dani.”

Unless he splattered them across a couple of feet of rock. She braced, digging deep for her last bit of courage, then looked at him.

“My guts want to go home.”

Spook took the two steps to her side.

Now she could smell him, earthy and slightly sour. Could feel the heat from his body and see the steam rising from his wet clothes. Saw his eyes reflect his battle for her life. Time slowed until she could feel the tick of each second passing.

“It would have been—amazing.”

“Only if we were both different.”

“Even all beat up you’re beautiful.”

Her smile wavered at the edges. “You are nuts.”

He laughed. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Together they teetered on the knife edge of his madness, then his eyes shifted. In them she saw her death.

He wasn’t going to let her go.

* * * *

Matt reached the ridge and crouched behind a boulder. He could hear voices, but he couldn’t see them without giving away his presence. He lifted his radio and whispered the signal, heard Luke respond. Matt checked his gun clip and loaded a bullet in the chamber with a quiet snap. There probably wouldn’t be time to take a look-see, assess the situation. Down there was a ledge, a deadly fall and a mad man who didn’t like to lose.

When he showed himself, he would have the space of a heartbeat to find Hayes and act. He did a mental three-count, then stood up.

First he saw Dani. Then Hayes standing too close to her for a clean shot. Hayes shifted his weight toward the edge. Matt pulled the trigger.

* * * *

Hayes leaned into gravity. His hand gripped her arm.

Dani heard the flat crack of gunfire, the shots so close she wasn’t sure there had been more than one or just an echo.

Spook flinched once, then again. His eyes widened, then turned dreamy. He tried to speak. Instead of words, blood bubbled out his mouth and dribbled down his chin.

He swayed, his grip on her arm tightening. It was instinct to try to help. Then he started to pull her toward the edge. He was dying.

He meant her to die, too.

Now she fought him, clawing with hands and teeth to get away as life surged back in her heart.

He didn’t let go.

She tried to brace herself.

There was no purchase on the wet rock. Nothing to grab as he arched out over empty space, taking her with him. A last, desperate wrench broke Spook’s hold. She fell to her knees far out on the curving rock.

Maybe gravity would be satisfied with Spook.

It wasn’t. Even as hope made a brief appearance, its hungry hold reached up to pull her forward as ruthlessly as if Spook still held her. She slid forward, in perfect position to see Spook go first.

His rag doll body followed the line of the rock at first, but then gravity got more demanding. He arched clear, falling in a graceful somersault that ended against rock. On his back against the mountain he worshipped, Dani saw his empty eyes stare up at her in a mute invitation to join him.

She wanted to refuse. Gravity wanted her to accept. She slid forward, faster now. Clawed at the rock face. Left bloody, fruitless trails against stone. An incoherent prayer whispered out her lips as she reached the point of no return.

* * * *

Matt was over the ridge before Dani broke free of Hayes. Too far away to help her as she slid down the sloping rock. He leapt onto the rock ledge, went down on his stomach. His hand just missed her foot.

He cursed silently as he tore the coiled rope from his shoulder, all the while knowing it was useless. Hayes had lost his life, but won the final toss. He had finished what he started.

* * * *

I’m going to die, Dani thought, surprised even after all that had happened. The thought splintered as a stray bit of sun caught on something sticking out of the rock.

A last, desperate stretch and her hand closed round it.

She felt the shock in her joints as her body slid past and down, then stopped with a jerk that almost broke her grip when she slammed into rock.

She wasn’t falling. She wasn’t dead.

Not yet. Blood ran down her arm, warm and slick. The piton turned slick with it. And she was so tired.

* * * *

Matt couldn’t believe it when Dani stopped falling. How had she managed to grab that old piton, left in the rock years ago? The wave of relief left him light-headed. He rubbed his face, then found something to tie the rope around. A few quick turns and he was back on his stomach looking down. He dug deep for calm control, then called her name.

She didn’t move, didn’t look up.

If he startled her, she might fall, but she needed to know he was here, that help was at hand.

“Dani!” He saw her body jerk. She didn’t fall. Her head tilted back until he could see her face. She looked like she had been in a street fight. Her mouth was bruised and swollen. A cut on her forehead bled sluggishly. Her eyes were wide and empty of recognition. “It’s Matt.”

Matt? She blinked. The lonesome lawman?

“What you doing down there?”

It hurt when she smiled up at him. “Oh,” her grin wavered on both sides, “just hanging around.”

“How bout I join you?”

“If you don’t,” she tried to get a better grip on the piton, “I’m gonna ask Luke to kick your ass.”

Matt laughed, kicked the rope over the edge, and started rappelling down to her.

He had better hurry. Her arms were bunching with the strain of holding on. This wasn’t over yet. In a rush he dropped the last few feet, jerked back on his brake rope when he was below her. She couldn’t stop her hand from opening…

She cried out. Then again when his hand closed round hers with punishing force.

Matt took the full force of her falling weight in his shoulder. They spun in a circle, first scraping, then smacking into the rock face. Matt tried to cushion Dani, but couldn’t with one hand on the brake and the other holding Dani’s blood slick hand.

She grabbed his coat sleeve, twisted her hand around it. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

“Can you grab my legs, or even better, my belt?”

“I’d have to let go.”

“I won’t let you go.”

They hit rock again. She let go of his sleeve, missed the first time, made the edge of his pocket the second time.

“Good girl. Can you wrap your legs around mine?”

Dani laughed breathlessly. “This is hardly the time for that.”

Matt’s laugh was just as breathless. “I can’t do this forever.”

“I think…” Dani hooked one leg around his “It’s very mature of you to admit you can’t do it forever.”

Matt chuckled. He could now that the strain on his shoulders eased. “I’m going to spank you when we out of this. Then I’m gonna prove I can.”

“Promises, promises.”

“I want you to get up where you can put your arms around my neck. Use my shoes.”

“Shoes. Right.”

Dani grabbed his belt, got one foot under her. Her weight came down on one foot, then his other foot. Her body scraped along his. Dangling over rock didn’t slow his body’s response one iota. He hoped she wouldn’t notice.

Her arms slid around his neck. She wrapped her legs around his middle, settling right where he didn’t want her to. Okay, he would think the problem away.

It was hard to think with her face inches from his. She looked like hell. She felt like heaven.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He cleared the husky out of his voice and added, “What are you going to do for your next trick?”

A smile broke across her face like the sun on his mountain.

“I’m going to live.”

Before he could think of a response, Luke dropped onto the ledge above them. They both looked up. He grinned.

“Gravity’s a bitch, ain’t it, Louise?”

“No.” She laughed, a full throaty sound that worsened his problem. “Gravity’s a guy.”

Luke looked severe. “I think we’ve just been insulted, little brother.” He looked over his shoulder. “The cavalry’s arrived. How about we get you up here?”

Dani spun in a slow circle in Matt’s arms. It was over.

The sun was back for a last hurrah before setting. Somewhere some birds were probably singing. She felt like singing. And laughing out loud. She was hanging by a rope halfway between earth and sky, and she’d never felt more at home.

The only thing that would make it better was him kissing her. Her kissing him back. His mouth, his hands erasing the memory of Spook’s touch from her mind and body.

When someone up there began pulling them up, the sun dimmed a little. It dimmed a little more when Matt’s eyes turned professional and detached. Hands reached out to help her onto the ledge. She didn’t want to leave the safety of his arms, but she did. She could still do hard things. Her poor lungs still weren’t getting enough oxygen to satisfy and there wasn’t a part of her body that didn’t hurt, but with or without Matt, she had told the truth. She was going to live. And she was glad.

THIRTY

November 1, All Saints Day, New Orleans

The miniature city of the dead was quiet as the morning sun crept across dew damp grass and carved stone toward the Hastings’ family crypt. Dani put a bouquet of daisies in the fixed vase on one side of the steps, then turned and traced her daughter’s name where it was carved into the stone above Richard’s name.

There were a few other family members filtering into the cemetery to pay their respects, but none were close by.

Dani slid her capacious purse off her shoulder and sat on steps still cool from the November night. In a few minutes the sun found her. She smiled wryly. She and the sunrise were still greeting each other, despite the seventy times she’d tried to miss it since she left the mountains and Matt’s mile high city.

She was back in her apartment, back in her life.

Too bad she wasn’t the same person. She didn’t fit it anymore, her only hope that she would grow back into it in time.

She opened her purse and found the bag of M&M’s and soda she had tucked inside. Opened both and relaxed against the warming stone, her cheek against her daughter’s name. “I’m trying to do better this time, Meggie. I’m trying to live my life, not just trying not to break.”

She put one M&M in the vase, one in her mouth.

“Liz is still pretending I don’t exist. I miss her, but I’m okay with it. Don’t feel too bad about your dad. A short stint in jail is good for him.”

She added some Diet Dr. Pepper to the vase. “I shouldn’t let you drink this stuff, but you’re ten now, so you can have a taste.” She took a drink. “Did I tell you that my book is going to be a Valentine release? The cover is awash with hearts and ribbons, but I’m trying not to notice. At least there aren’t any breasts larger than mine pressed against a manly chest. They’re in the step back cover. That’s right, a step-back cover. I’ve hit the big time. They’re even talking about releasing my next book in hard cover. That’s the one I just finished. Pat thinks it could make the NYT list.” Dani smiled. “Kelly says if I make the list before her, she’s going to have her dentist fill my tooth without Novocain. That’s right, I have a cavity. At my age. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about them.” Dani saw movement among the crypts and her smile widened. “Speak of the devil, here she comes.”

Kelly picked her way to Dani. “I thought I’d find you here. Trying to avoid the relatives from hell, are we?”

Dani moved over. “Watch your language in front of my kid.”

When Kelly was seated, Dani offered her the bag of candy. They both munched for a bit, then Dani said, “Isn’t today your anniversary?”

Kelly smiled. “Three years. I’m telling you, Dan, dentists are the best kept secret of the modern world.”

“It makes sense, I mean the guy is used to operating in small spaces.”

Kelly’s smile turned wicked. “If he treats me any better, I might have to give up my beyond bitch status.” She helped herself to a drink of Dani’s soda, then asked, “Do you still miss him?”

Dani didn’t look at her. She stared at the tomb across the path. Saw Matt’s face the way it was when they were hanging in space. “Yeah. Silly isn’t it?”

“You should have jumped his bones. At least you’d have some memories to keep you warm during our one cold night a year.”

Dani smiled. “I have a good imagination. I’ll make up some memories.” Dani’s smile faded. “They want me to do a Valentine’s tour. Six cities in seven days.”

Kelly took the soda can. “Any city in particular?”

“The last one is Denver. I told them I didn’t think I could do it and got a homily on getting back on the horse.” She looked at Kelly. “I thought it was the hero that was supposed to ride the horse?”

“It’s all this politically correct crap. It’s messed everything up.” Kelly hesitated, “So, are you going?”

“If I don’t, they’ll think I’m a wuss. If I do—”

“Matt will think you’re chasing him.”

Dani sighed. “Yeah. Maybe by February, I’ll be over him?”

“Yeah, and maybe all the world’s men will figure out how to make us happy.” Kelly twisted to look at Dani. “Have you ever thought about just telling the guy how you feel? It works in our books.”

“I did tell him—kind of.”

“So go beyond kind of.”

Dani shook her head. “Love isn’t about what you want—or it isn’t love. I think he loves me, but is afraid of hurting me, of not being what I need. It’s sweet, but if he can’t figure out that as hard as it is to make being together work, it’s still better than not being together. If he won’t ask me to be part of his life, if he doesn’t know I would in a heartbeat and that I want to be with him more than I want to be at sea level, then he isn’t right for me.”

Kelly sipped some soda and handed it back. “Too bad we can’t mix a little more reality into our fictional men and a little more fiction into our real men.”

Dani dumped out the last of the candy, offered part to Kelly. “Yeah, too bad.”

“What you gonna wear to Denver?”

Dani smiled. “Something red.”

“Good choice. If you can’t get him to bite the big one with you, you ought to make him regret it for as long as he lives.”

Dani looked at Kelly. “That’s the plan.”

* * * *

January. Denver, Colorado

It was the start of a new day, but the end of a long, hard night for Matt. He should have headed home, but he didn’t. He didn’t like climbing the stairs to his apartment. He didn’t like looking at the window seat at the end of his hall and remembering Dani sitting there. He didn’t like opening the door and walking down the hall to where she’d danced wearing his robe, hated passing into a bedroom where she slept in his bed. He couldn’t escape her in the mountains or in the cabin that had been his refuge. She’d even stopped by the office before she left, bearing chocolate chips cookies and thanks for everyone who helped her—leaving the fresh scent of coconut behind.

She was everywhere he went.

She was in New Orleans, he reminded himself, where she wanted to be. Get me home, she’d asked him with words and with her big green eyes. He had booked her flight and driven her to the airport. Watched her walk away from him, endured her last look back. He had kept his promise, though it had been a near thing. He still broke out in a sweat thinking about Hayes trying to take her with him to the rocks. Night after night, in his dreams, he tried to change the outcome. Night after night it played out the same. He had to watch her slide away from him. Then he had to hold her just long enough to get addicted to the feel of her in his arms and against his body.

And every time she slid away from him, every time she walked onto that plane, his heart followed, no matter how hard he tried to keep in his chest.

It didn’t make sense. He had known her one week, seven days plus one to say good-bye. Spent just over two days of that time face to face with her. She didn’t belong to him. She didn’t belong here. She was sea level. He wasn’t.

So why couldn’t he forget how it felt to spin at the end of a rope with her in his arms? Why had she felt so right when they were so wrong for each other?

He tossed his briefcase on his desk, dropped in his chair and looked at the pile of papers waiting his attention, saw them stretching out into a future turned bleak by a romance writer with a smart mouth.

“Matt, what are you doing here?” Alice stopped in front of his desk, her brows bracketing the surprise in her eyes.

“My job.” He grabbed a handful of paper, stared at it without seeing a word.

Alice shrugged. “Just thought you’d be catching up on your z’s. Heard you guys had a rough night.”

He didn’t look at her. She might notice how bloodshot his eyes were. “Got some stuff to do first. What is this?” He shoved the papers at her.

Alice looked at them, turned them right side up and handed them back. “Try it now.”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No problem.” She started to turn away, then stopped. “Do you remember Dani Gwynne?”

Did he?

He forced himself to look up and say casually, “Uh, yeah. The romance writer, right?”

“That’s right.” Her voice was ironic.

The look in her eyes made him want to shift in his chair and look away. His pride wouldn’t let him do either one. Did she suspect the romance writer had almost made a believer out of him? He looked down at the sheets in his hand. “What about her?”

“I’m on her Christmas card list.”

Why wasn’t he? He’d only saved her life.

“Just got this flyer from her. She’s coming back to Denver for a book signing.”

She was coming back. She’d be here. Not New Orleans.

Here. He could see her again. Yeah, and an alcoholic could walk into a bar. Didn’t make it good for him.

“On Valentine’s Day.” She held out the pink sheet. Matt eyed it for a moment before accepting it. Was it his imagination that made it smell like coconut? Too many hearts and flowers mixed in with the copy. The book was called One Near One. Under it was a quote by Robert Browning. “If two lives join, there is oft a scar. They are one and one… One near one is too far.”

In the margin next to the cover, she’d scrawled, “My publicist thinks I need to get back on this particular horse or be doomed to forever live in fear of your mile high city. She obviously doesn’t know her Kafka. My “fear” is my substance, and probably the best part of me. But she’s the one who calls the tune, so the worst part of me is coming. Can we do lunch or cookies while I’m there?”

She had signed her name and inked in an emoticon grin. Her handwriting was like her, nearly indecipherable.

Sebastian came up and read the flyer over his shoulder. “Cool. Can I come, too?”

Henry, seated at his desk, looked up. “To what?”

Sebastian explained. Henry wanted to go, too. So did Riggs. Matt couldn’t believe it. Dani brings them a box of cookies, smiles and thanks them, and they all forget how much trouble she was. Maybe Luke was right. Maybe she was a witch.

Less than six weeks until her broom landed here. Less than six weeks to figure out how not to care.

Easy. If you routinely did the impossible.

* * * *

Valentine’s Day. Denver

Dani wasn’t the only author signing books in six cities. Her publisher was calling them the Valentine’s Six Pack. By some strange twist of fate, she was the only one who chose to wear red, the others having opted for virginal white.

It was harder than she expected to land in the mile high, to walk off the plane without hoping he’d be there waiting. Happy endings paid her bills. It was a good thing her finances didn’t depend on the lonesome lawman. He wasn’t there. Caroline was.

“You don’t look like you’ve been through hell,” she had said with a broad smile after they had hugged.

“If you could see under the make-up you wouldn’t say that,” Dani had answered. There was a radio interview. She became an actress again as she assured the citizens of the city that she didn’t hold them responsible for Spook’s rampage and loved their city. When asked how she researched her sex scenes, she smiled and said, “Very carefully.”

During the drive to the mall Dani played the part of a woman catching up with an old girlfriend. Alice met her inside. She lunched with her and all the guys—minus one—still acting at a level worthy of an Oscar nomination.

Alice walked with her to the bookstore, both of them chuckling over how quickly the men sheared off, after giving Alice money to buy books for their wives and sweethearts.

She was running out of time to ask about Matt. Decided she wouldn’t, her mother always used to tell her not to pick at wounds or they wouldn’t heal, but the words came out anyway. “So, how’s Matt and Luke?”

She endured Alice’s glance with composure, but was glad when it was over.

“I hear Luke’s dating someone. I haven’t seen Matt today, but he’s fine, too. I think he took some comp time so they could go climbing. A couple of real romantics.”

Dani smiled, shook her head over the foibles of the male sex, and in her head plotted his castration. Couldn’t even face her. The coward. She earned two Oscars signing and smiling, while cursing the cooling off period that kept her from buying a gun. She looked up to hand a woman her signed book and there he was.

Standing smack in the middle of a bevy of romantic women, holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a bottle of coconut perfume and a single red rose.

With a face like the storm on the mountain.

Their gazes connected like thunder on that mountain.

Dani rose to her feet, her mouth curving in a smile edged with evil. This was going to be good.

It was the hardest walk of Matt’s life. Harder than walking into a den of Uzi toting drug dealers. There were women everywhere he looked, all wearing that knowing look that made him want to swear or worse. He wasn’t a romantic guy. Didn’t want to be a romantic guy. If he hadn’t finished her book, he probably would have just waited until she was done signing and said something normal like, “Want some dinner?”

If he hadn’t read that book. Put a lot of pressure on a guy to keep up with a hero straight out of a romance writer’s brain. As far as his could tell, the only thing he had in common with the guy was that they were both male.

And they were both in love.

It still made him wince to admit it. He had given up trying to get over it. It was an incurable disease. Probably terminal, too. He’d almost bought a book of love poems before he caught himself. Since he couldn’t get over it, he might as well offset the misery with some of the benefits.

He could still hear her voice on the radio saying she researched her sex scenes very carefully. She looked up and saw him, her eyes widening into pleasure, sucking the air right out of his lungs. She stood up and his heart stopped beating, too. Her dress, so red it made his eyes bleed to look at her, hugged her body everywhere he had fantasized about hugging her.

Her mouth, the mouth he’d dreamed about for six, long months, widened into a smile that parted the waiting women like the Red Sea. Made it easy to walk toward her.

When only the table separated them, Dani put her hands on her hips. “Well, well. If it isn’t the lonesome lawman.”

His throat went dry with wanting her. He dumped the crap he had bought on the table. Shoved the whole thing aside, vaguely aware romance writers were scattering like startled white chickens. He stepped in close, let his hands settle on her shoulders. The relief of finally touching her almost took out his knees. He slid his arms around, pulled her in that last little space that separated them. Her head tipped back so he could see all of her face.

He took a minute to compare memory with reality. Reality was better. All the things he had rehearsed, liberally plagiarizing from her book, went right out of his head. All he could remember was that he loved her. He wanted to marry her more than he wanted to live. He wanted to make a life and babies with her. Wanted to grow old with her. He opened his mouth to say it, but all that came out was, “I give up.”

The sighs of thirty romantics ruffled Dani’s hair. She had written, then rewritten this scene every day and night since she left him standing in the airport. She’d never written it like this. This was real. Matt was real. She could see in his eyes all the things that went with his surrender.

Awed by the tender desperation in the way he held her, she touched his cheek. Because she finally could, she spread her fingers across skin, found it both soft and rough. Felt how ragged her touch made his breath, how fast it made his heart beat. Hers accelerated to keep up.

“Of course you do.”

When her smile turned cocky he had to do something about it. Her green eyes were sizzling with enough anticipation to melt rock. Fine. He could take anything the romance writer could dish out. First he was going to take care of that smile.

He bent his head and erased it.

* * * *

BYTE ME

Book two in The Lonesome Lawmen series.

PROLOGUE

Overhead, tiny pinpoints of light gave depth to the moonless night sky, while thirty stories down, miniature streetlights made a path for the occasional car to follow. The silence was so deep, Phoebe Mentel heard her own breath whispering in and out of her lungs. She leaned on the parapet and studied the tower across from her and her companion, taking the moment to find her focus and quiet her mind.

“You ready?” he asked. She turned as he dropped his bundle of equipment at her feet and knelt to extract the rocket launcher. He was dressed to steal in deepest black. Only his eyes gleamed out of the dark, eyes far too blue to be true.

Lucky for her, she didn’t need true. She needed there.

“I was born ready.” She pitched her voice low, but her voice, laced with her mother’s Southern charm, sounded loud in her ears. Also dressed to blend with the night, she’d covered her chin length hair with a black stocking cap and smeared her face with blacking until only her brown eyes were visible.

His smile came fast and white, cutting into his dark silhouette like a lost Cheshire cat before fading back into the night. He readied the launcher, then used the parapet to steady his arms as he sighted in on the shadowy outline of the tower opposite.

A pop. A hiss. A double strand of rope snaked across the gap between the two buildings in a gleaming, silver arc. A muffled clunk found its way back to their ears.

He tugged on the rope until the grappling hook resisted, tested it for give. There was none. He leaned back, using his full weight. It still held. He secured their end with brisk, practiced economy, then bent to check his climbing harness. When he’d shouldered his pack and was anchored to the rope, he looked at her.

Phoebe adjusted her earpiece. “You receiving?”

He nodded. “You?”

“Soft and clear.”

“Catch you on the flip side.” He gave her a cheeky salute and vaulted over the parapet into space. The double rope sagged but held as he disappeared into the night. After a time the tension on the rope eased.

“It’s a go.” His voice in her ear confirmed what her eyes saw. Her turn to step up and do or die.

In a perfect mimicry of his actions, Phoebe took her place at the parapet. A confident vault, her body kept angled against a gravity more imagined than felt, then the slide into darkness. Slow at first, she quickly picked up speed. The side of the building formed out of shadow. She curled her legs and thrust out with her feet, using the resulting bounce to swing up and hook the edge of the roof. Her partner, programmed to be gallant, reached down and pulled her up beside him.

Phoebe shed her pack and knelt by the grill over the building’s airshaft and removed it, while he got out their equipment, all of it the latest in high-tech gadgetry. When she’d exposed the alarm wires bypassed them, they roped up again and started down the shaft, following a route laid out in her head. It was a gift, a talent, an instinct that was as much a part of her physiology as her eyes and hair and what she’d heard was her father’s nose. If there was a way to get to something, a path to follow, she could find it.

Deep in the building’s bowels, cutting-edge technology opened the wall they needed to access as easy as a whore spread her legs, giving them the prize they sought. They lost two minutes when a guard broke routine, but made up the time on the trip back to their starting point. Phoebe released the rope and drew it in with a sigh of relief.

“I think that was our best time yet,” her companion said, the English accent giving the words more importance than they deserved.

Phoebe frowned. “If we could shave off another sixty seconds—”

The muffled shrill of her telephone, followed by the harsh whine of two computers attempting communication, cut across her words with a warning that her virtual reality game was about to be invaded.

Phoebe looked around, wondering where, from which direction, the invasion would come, but when Phagan spoke, his voice, disembodied and synthesized, came at her from the star-studded night “sky.”

“Playing with Steele again, Pathphinder?”

“Phagan.” Phoebe touched a button on her headset, deleting the virtual Remington Steele she’d used as her partner-in-crime. She crossed virtual arms. “Coming down? Or are we playing God tonight?”

It was his favorite role, in virtual or real reality.

The darkness to her right rippled, and a figure stepped out from behind a ventilation stack. On Phagan’s cue, not Phoebe’s, the moon rose to light his entrance as Deputy US Marshal Samuel Gerrard from “The Fugitive.”

She grinned inside her headset. Trust him to crash her B&E game with a lawman. The boy had always had a dark sense of humor.

“Some say my best role is Lucifer,” he drawled, his voice less disembodied now that he was “earthbound.”

“I’ll pretend to disagree if you’ve cast me decently this time.” Phoebe trusted Phagan with her life but not her dignity. Never with her dignity.

He walked a circle around her, his purloined visage showing a wicked appreciation for the female form. “I’m feeling benign tonight, with a taste for Meg Ryan.”

“I look like Meg Ryan?”

He arched “Sam’s” brows. “Do you mind?”

“Why should I? She’s cute and her thighs are smaller than mine.”

Phagan laughed, throwing “Sam’s” head back. The faint, artificial light was kind to the craggy face and dark tumble of stolen hair. Sam seemed amazingly real—as long as Phagan kept his mouth shut. When he didn’t, he sounded like the android from hell. Phagan never used his own voice. Like God, he preferred a mouthpiece.

She’d been playing his games for seven years and still couldn’t put an actual face or a voice to him. Sometimes, in her real world, she’d study the faces around her, wondering if one of them belonged to him. There were things he’d said, things he did that told her he’d seen her more than once.

“You do it?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the building across the way.

“Despite you wanting the timing tighter than Meg Ryan’s thighs.”

“You needed a challenge. The last one was too easy.”

“Not my fault,” Phoebe said. “You’re the wizard of virtual world.”

He straddled a ventilation pipe, sat and flashed his stolen grin.

She smiled back, but it was perfunctory. She had to tell him, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to keep the past at bay, but she couldn’t. It nicked her present like paper cutting skin, welling scarlet from the breach, burning like acid.

“What?”

Instead of speaking, Phoebe produced a couple of virtual cigars, handing one to him and “lighting” hers. Virtual smoke was no threat to her lungs and it gave her something to do with her hands. A wise precaution, since even in virtual world Phagan could read them like a Gypsy.

With a purloined brow cocked, he took his and lit up, blowing smoke out in a stream before asking, “We celebrating something?”

Phoebe looked at Phagan but “Sam’s” cool dark stare deflected her ability to read him, even as she felt his X-ray scrutiny rake her from top to toe. She blew a series of perfect smoke circles, with a little help from the computer program, before saying as flatly as she could, “I found him.”

Phagan stood up, took a drag of the cigar, then rolled the brown cylinder between his fingers as he considered her words. “You sure?”

Phoebe lowered her cigar, her hands a work of rock-steady art. “I’m sure.”

Phagan turned his virtual high beams on her, waiting for more. With a frustrated sigh, she gave it to him. “He’s had some work done on his face. But I’d know his eyes if he’d turned himself into a woman.”

“Sam” looked thoughtful. He sent some smoke rings out to ambush hers, before asking as if it didn’t matter, “Where?”

She looked at him, feeling a brief moment of real amusement take the edge off her angst. “Denver.”

Phagan had Sam do surprise. “How’d we miss him?”

“He’s been playing Howard Hughes recluse.”

Phagan crushed out the cigar. “So how’d you spot him?”

“Apparently he’s decided to come out. Caught his mug in the newspaper. It seems—” Phoebe couldn’t stop the quiver in her hands from playing out in front of Phagan, “he’s almost engaged to a prominent widow.”

“Sam’s” gaze got sharper. “Kids?”

“Two.” Phoebe licked her dry lips inside the VR helmet. “Girls.”

He nodded. “Right. I’ll contact Ollie. Make sure he’s ready to move when you are.”

“I’m ready.” Inside the headset where he couldn’t see, Phoebe’s mouth curved in a smile seared by her acid past. “He made me ready.”

ONE

One year later

“His name is Oliver Smith.” Jake Kirby looked across the body at the detective, Mac something-or-other, kneeling on the other side. Jake never forgot who he was hunting or any details about them, but there were just too many cops in too many towns and he’d met most of them tracking fugitives for the U.S. Marshals Service. “Ollie to his friends. He was on my least-likely-to-die-violently list.”

Mac, middle-aged and showing signs of awe at working a crime scene with a Deputy U.S. Marshal, gestured toward Ollie’s face, taking care not to touch the hole punched between his bruised eyes. “Someone sure worked him over good before they killed him?”

Mac didn’t say it, but Jake heard the “why” in his voice. A good question with no answer. Had the killer got the answer he wanted?

Jake rose, his senses on full alert as he studied the one-room apartment that had been Ollie’s last stand. It had one official entrance, though a fire escape was visible out the lone window. Two other doors led to a closet and a bathroom, now being rummaged through by what passed for crime scene techs in this small Montana backwater. Shabby furniture and a clutter of dishes around the Pullman kitchen affixed to one wall looked odd sharing space with the high-tech computer being dusted for prints. The smell of blood mingled with that of old food, older building and Ollie’s slowly dissipating aftershave.

“What’d a geek like him do to get federal attention?” Mac asked, giving Ollie’s innocuous-looking face a last glance before straightening his own fifty-something body with a grimace of pain.

“Failing to do his time for a variety of computer-related crimes and high-tech burglaries,” Jake said. “He is—was—a hard man to hang on to.”

“What put you on his trail?”

“He used an old alias to book his flight out of Denver. Must have been in deep trouble to make a mistake like that.” Jake signaled to the tech emerging from the bathroom with various bagged toiletries, examined each bag, then frowned. “No Old Spice. So Ollie didn’t live here.”

“Old Spice?” Mac asked.

“Everybody has something they can’t give up. Ollie’s was Old Spice.”

Mac gave him a skeptical look. Jake got a lot of skeptical looks, so he wasn’t offended. “Smell him.”

It was obvious Mac didn’t want to sniff Ollie’s corpse, but he didn’t know how to get out of it, so he did, a look of surprise chasing distaste from his face.

“Landlord says the tenant’s name was Jones. John Jones. Young guy,” he offered in lieu of anything better to say as he got up and followed Jake to the kitchen area.

Jake studied the debris, looking without touching. A tech dumped the contents of the trash can out onto a plastic sheet; a tiny shower of pistachio shells caught his attention and began sorting it into evidence bags.

“Speaking of things you can’t give up.” A lot of people liked pistachios, but few liked them as much as Dewey Hyatt. Did that make Hyatt the tenant or another visitor? With luck, fingerprints would tell the tale.

“I want you to compare any prints with—”

A stir in the doorway swallowed up the end of his sentence. Jake turned in time to see Bryn Bailey flash her FBI badge at the cop trying to stop her from coming in. The cop, not surprisingly, fell back. It was a common reaction to Bryn, even without the badge.

Vigorous and driven, this poster girl for FBI affirmative action was high gloss, with a near-regal beauty wrapped in a sexy black power suit that concealed her practical side. Beneath the suit and the flawless makeup was a farmer’s daughter, a lass of the soil. Yeah, she wore spiked heels, but she used them like boots. Wasn’t afraid to mess up her hair tackling a perp either. Not that her assignment to electronic crimes required a lot of body contact with the bad guys. Wasn’t too hard on her manicure either, if the red pointed tips were any indication.

If Jake had to hunt with a “Fibbie,” then it might as well be Bryn. She had a good nose for following a trail and was less averse than some to following what seemed like a wild-goose chase. Couldn’t relax with her, though. Anyone dumb enough to give Bryn even the slim edge of the wedge would find she’d taken a big chunk of the credit. And she’d look surprised if anyone had the guts to object.

Right now she looked annoyed.

Bryn was more than annoyed at finding Jake here before her. She crossed her arms and looked at him, fighting to stop the mixture of chagrin and resignation bubbling up her inside appearing on her outside. “Jake Kirby. Why am I not surprised?”

Bryn was tall, but Jake topped her by at least four inches, which did nothing to help her shake off the “little woman” feeling she always got around him. Maybe it was a genetic response. Or a primal one. Lean to the point of lanky, he had a graceful strength only apparent when he was in motion. Worn blue denims and a soft white tee shirt hugged his lean body the way half the female population would like to.

Something about a guy not in uniform, she decided with an inward sigh.

As if he caught her thought, his signature charm-intensive grin spread across his absurdly young-looking face. Amusement lit eyes too blue for any woman’s good and piercing enough to see through lead. The nose between the eyes was straight, the full mouth below sweet in repose, wicked in response.

His tousled, light brown hair was brushed straight back from his high, broad forehead, except for a few tendrils that fell forward, adding to his little-boy-lost look. His eyes weren’t lost or young though. They were old and wise. Set deep beneath run-amok brows and framed by worry lines a girl had to curl her hands into fists to resist smoothing away, they saw everything, were surprised by nothing. His deceptive air of innocence put a smoke screen around a just-shy-of-ruthless determination. This wasn’t a man who feared anything or gave up ground. He was the Marshals Service’s top tracker. If he didn’t get his man, no one could. Or the quarry was dead, like poor old Ollie Smith soon to be tucked into a morgue drawer.

“Let me guess,” she said on a deliberate drawl, “you found him?”

Jake’s shrug and quick grin was her answer. It was almost spooky the way he could feel his way to the fugitive of the hour. The guy was a born hunter. Pity the poor woman he finally set his sights on. She’d be shoeless and in the kitchen before she knew what hit her.

For an instant Bryn let herself wonder what she’d be like, this mythical woman Jake might someday hunt, might someday want enough to keep. To her annoyance, it wasn’t pity she felt. It was envy.

She walked up to Ollie and looked down, directing her attention to the problem at hand. His killer had saved the taxpayers a bunch of cash in court and incarceration fees, but had cost her a lead in her own investigation. Like Jake, she was hunting. “Wish I knew how you did it.”

His grin got wider and whiter. His dentist must love him.

“Magic,” he said.

Bryn didn’t grin back, but only because she wouldn’t let herself, not because her mouth wasn’t entirely willing to oblige him. He didn’t need to be encouraged in his pain-in-the-ass behavior.

Jake looked at his watch. “You take a rocket out of DC?”

“I was already on my way.” Just thinking about why took away all desire to smile. The quick, questioning arch of Jake’s brow didn’t improve her mood. “I got a hot tip.”

Her mouth tightened as she thought about her hot tipper, the mythical and mysterious hacker known only as Phagan. It was him she hunted, though apparently not very well, or he wouldn’t be sending her leads. She wouldn’t allow herself to stop and think why he did that. It just made her crazy.

She saw questions in Jake’s eyes and put up a do-not-ask sign in hers, then went on the attack with a subject change. “This closes the file on Ollie-as-fugitive, so why are you still here and not already after your next fugitive?” She waited a beat, then added, “And don’t give me that curiosity crap.”

“I am after my next fugitive,” Jake said, then made her wait for whom.

He hadn’t been spanked enough as a child. She gave him a look, so he gave her what she wanted.

“Hyatt.”

“Dewey Hyatt?” Her smile was slow and loaded enough to make Mac catch his aging breath. “Maybe you are magic, Kirby.”

* * * *

Peter Harding stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring out the window without seeing the panoramic view of Denver spread out below him or the distant Rocky Mountains acting as frame. What he saw, what he always saw, was the reflection of himself.

The handsome man, flawlessly turned out in a custom-made silk suit of softest gray, was still a stranger, though a pleasing one. The hair flowing thick and sleek from a high, proud forehead, and the kindly gray eyes, were his, though the blond hair color came from a bottle. The patrician face, newly restored to vigor by a visit to the plastic surgeon, and that gave him the air of a statesman, had become his own years ago. He liked to think it was the way he’d always been meant to look. He hadn’t changed, just trimmed away the rough edges.

The discerning found him almost too perfect. Sensed the elusive aura of a man playing a part and playing it very well. Buried deep beneath the superficial warmth of his light gray eyes was the cold heart of a completely amoral, utterly ruthless man.

The charm with which nature had so generously endowed him dazzled those who knew him slightly. Got caught in the radiance of a personality that knew how to beam wide from a shallow base.

Those who knew him well fell into two camps. Those who were the fortunate beneficiaries of his schemes and those who were the victims of the ruthlessness with which he used the bounties nature had given him to get what he wanted. The lucky ones got only moderately singed by the casual contempt he had for their lives or hopes.

There were few lucky ones in his world.

Fools, all of them; in his opinion they deserved what they got. The cosmos allowed only a few winners and a lot of losers at any given moment. Fate had constructed him to be a winner. Now, after years of planning, fate had brought him within reach of achieving all he’d ever wanted.

His reflection showed neither satisfaction nor guilt over his ways and means. Guilt clouded the issue, though he sometimes found it useful for others to be caught in its toils. Satisfaction would be premature. He was too careful to fall into that trap.

Impatience was his choice of the hour. He looked at his watch yet again, bit back an imprecation, and noticed the wrinkling of recently smoothed skin in his reflection in the glass. He smoothed the area with the tip of one manicured finger, enjoying the feel of almost young skin.

Amazing how easily youth was restored if you had enough money. He adjusted some wayward strands in his expensively cut hair. Defying his paternal genes, his hairline was the same as it always had been.

Nice to exceed the paternal model in every way possible.

Was the petty thief looking up from hell proud of what his genes, combined with those of a third-rate prostitute, had wrought?

Probably not.

Peter smiled; the coldly satisfied smile that few rarely saw, certainly not his soon to-be-announced fiancée. Only a fool let the quarry see the cold steel jaws of the trap ready to close with bruising force around them.

Peter was no fool.

The door opened soundlessly behind him, but he’d been watching for it and turned with concealed relief as Barrett Stern stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Bumps and delays were all too common on the road to power, but in the past few months Peter seemed be experiencing more of them than usual. With luck, Stern had once again removed one for him.

“You’re late,” Peter said.

A tall man with the ability to look shorter when needed, Stern had pale hair and flat, cold eyes that looked as if light couldn’t penetrate, let alone warm them. He had a thin, bland face, a thinner mouth that neither smiled nor frowned. The knack to pass almost unnoticed was a skill he’d taken pains to cultivate, content to leave the limelight to Peter. The power he sought was the kind that couldn’t survive scrutiny. Like the ancient gods, he found that only the taking of life satisfied his needs.

He walked to the middle of the room and stopped, sliding his hands into the pockets of his off-the-rack pants.

“No. I’m not,” Stern said, his voice flat and even.

Peter stiffened at the lack of apology in Stern’s voice. Perhaps he thought that knowing where Peter’s past was buried gave him a get-out-of-awe free card. He was wrong, but now wasn’t the time to tell him. Only a fool poked a snake with a stick when the bloodlust was on him.

Peter dropped into his leather chair, taking care to arrange the creases of his suit for minimal wrinkling. He nodded toward one of the wing chairs in front of the desk, but Stern strolled between them instead.

This also annoyed, but Peter didn’t let that show either as he leaned back, his fingers making a steeple for his chin to rest lightly on. “I hope you have something good to report.”

Stern’s shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug. “He’s dead. I’m not sure if he’s gone.”

“Did you find—”

“If he had anything, it wasn’t on him. Could’ve been taking a pass, planning to go back later.”

“How did he get into the RABBIT files? He didn’t have clearance. If the Feds find out—” Peter shuddered, a frown once again pulling at his refreshed skin until he realized it and stopped himself. RABBIT, a highly specialized supercomputer chip they were developing for the military, was responsible for most of the bumps plaguing him right now. Stern had warned him about getting involved with government contracts, but the money had been too good to pass up.

“How are they going to find out?” Stern shrugged; the movement made his ill-fitting jacket gape and exposed the holster at his waist. “I got his company ID. And if someone does happen to make the connection, I’ve erased all records of his incursions into the secure files.”

Peter wasn’t convinced. His instincts, the only thing he trusted, were twitching like they hadn’t since the night he lost Nadine. Just thinking about her started a tic below his right eye. “We have no clue what he found or if he told anyone?”

“Nope.” Stern stood unmoving except for the rhythmic flutter of his light lashes. “I was on him as soon as the computer flagged the intrusion. Took the same flight. Followed him all the way to his bolt-hole. But I couldn’t see him every minute.”

“Did you question him?”

Stern stirred, a flicker of pleasure passing through his dead eyes. “He wasn’t very resilient.”

Peter looked away, disquieted by the sudden urge to make sure that if push came to shove, Stern died first. “Great, so we don’t know who his contact was?”

Stern shrugged again. “Only thing I found in the dive was some very fancy computer equipment and a bunch of flyers.”

He extracted a sheet from his inside pocket and tossed it to Peter, who opened the sheet, studied it, then frowned.

“He headed for Montana like an arrow. Why would he have flyers for a bar in Estes Park?”

Stern looked bored. “No way to know if he brought them or they were already there.”

Peter crumpled the edges of the flyer, then loosened his grip, smoothing the sheet and studying it again. “Do you think it’s important? Maybe you should check—”

“I’ve already sent one of my men. Country-western bars aren’t my natural habitat.”

“I guess not.” Peter looked amused before worry over took him again. “Lucky you were here to see the security flag come up.”

“Maybe.” Stern didn’t believe in luck.

“What a mess!” Peter jumped up and paced to the window.

“That’s why we have a backup plan.”

“I don’t like the timing. We’re announcing the engagement and my candidacy on Sunday.”

“How is the prospective first lady?”

Peter’s expression turned feral. “Eager. Her daddy not quite as much, but he’ll come round when I’m governor—and the grandchildren start arriving.”

Stern joined him by the window.

“Grandchildren. Interesting concept. Course, you’ll have to curb your appetites to make it work. The press isn’t as careless as they used to be about politicians’ hobbies.”

Peter’s face lost its complacency, his gaze shifting away from Stern. “I am aware of the need for discretion.”

“The question isn’t do you know it, but can you do it?”

“Yes.” He’d give up what he must to get Audrey and her father’s political clout. If need pressed, there were ways to get sustenance on the side. “I have my memories to sustain me.”

“Stick to memories they’ll be calling you Governor.”

“Yes.” Peter smiled. Governor. That all-important next step toward more power over lives, land, people. A different kind of lust sent an electric charge across his newly tightened skin. When that power was his, he could do whatever he wanted. And Audrey? He’d do what he wanted with her, too. In time, after he’d properly schooled her, her life would be his to do with as he pleased. Her life and those of her daughters. He smiled, thinking of the smaller, perfect versions of their mother.

Were they strong enough for his love? He didn’t know. He hoped so. He wanted them to be strong—though not as strong as Nadine who’d gotten away from him and Kerry Anne who almost hadn’t. It still surprised him that they were both stronger than their drunken slut of a mother who’d taken a voluntary dive down her oh-so-elegant stairs. Two suicides in two months turned out to be too much, even for the laid back small town cops of his former home. Immediately after her funeral, he’d retired his Montgomery Justice identity. It was in the interim between that one and his present life as Peter Harding, that he’d met Stern, who had also been someone else.

“You slip up, Peter, you’ll be getting a number and strip searched instead of sworn in,” Stern said, breaking into his side trip down memory lane.

“I know what’s at stake.” Peter shifted irritably at the tiny cloud of old business that shadowed his vision of the future. Where was Nadine? Could she have found him? Was she the one—?

“It hasn’t stopped,” he admitted. “I’m still getting the messages.”

“He might have left something behind to foul up our computer systems. I’ll check it out.” Stern looked at Peter. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“I got a note,” Peter admitted. He unlocked a drawer and extracted a folded sheet of cheap notepaper.

Stern took the sheet and opened it. Letters cut out of a newspaper formed the words: I know.

“Cryptic.” He was quiet for a moment. “If someone is pulling your chain—”

“How could they know to pull that chain?” Peter heard the rising panic of his own voice and reined it in. “How could anyone know?”

“We don’t know they’re pulling that chain. Relax. I made sure that no part of your past can be traced to this present.”

“Unless it’s Nadine.”

Stern shrugged. “What if it is? She has no proof. The person you were is gone.”

“The press feed on innuendo like piranhas on flesh. All it would take is a whiff of suspicion to end my political career.”

Stern turned, walked back around the desk and dropped into Peter’s own chair. He stretched out his feet; his hands unnaturally still on the armrests, that look of pleasure coming back to his eyes.

“Not if I take care of her before she gets to the press. The same way you took care of her big sister.”

* * * *

The sun was hanging low on the horizon by the time they hauled Ollie out in his body bag. Outside the window, the low-rent district where Oliver Smith met his end looked sad under the fading August sun. Inside, the light was as merciless when it found its way through the dirty windowpanes. It bumped up the smell of garlic, old deer meat, and onion and outstripped the pitiful air conditioning, and put beads of sweat on poor Mac’s face. The detective was already showing stress at being caught between the immovable FBI agent and the hard-as-a-rock Deputy Marshal, Jake noted, with amused sympathy.

The techs faded away in a discreet hurry, leaving Jake to finish up with Bryn, who was seated in front of the computer. Mac went out, too, muttering something about getting them all something cold to drink.

“How long has it been since we’ve had a whiff of a trail on Hyatt?” Jake stood in the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle. In one corner, shoved up against the peeling green paint of the wall, was a rumpled bed, in another a lumpy chair and crooked floor lamp. But it wasn’t the place he was straining to pick up on. It was the people who’d been there. Even in the most generic of settings, it was hard not to leave some traces of your personal taste behind.

He stopped turning when he got to Bryn and the sturdy desk tucked in a kind of alcove next to the closet. She’d been sitting there for what seemed an hour, like a virgin trying to make up her mind to have sex, while the crime scene slowly cleared.

“Two years, almost to the day. The Interplex Technology heist,” she said.

“I remember that one. Almost perfect piece of work. Like to meet the guys who plan their heists.”

“You and half the law-enforcement agencies in the country.”

Something in the way she said it triggered Jake’s instincts. Jake walked over to her, propping a shoulder against the doorjamb. “It’s not one guy, is it?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “I had my hands on one of Phagan’s kids for a very short time. He let slip a nickname.”

Jake arched a brow.

After another hesitation she said, “The kid called him Pathphinder. Apropos, isn’t it?”

“Almost, too.” Pathfinder. More modest than mastermind, Jake mused. Not a lot to go on, but then, if the file Bryn had reluctantly shared with him was accurate, the FBI knew about that much about the notorious hacker who called himself Phagan. They knew a little more about Dewey Hyatt, his second in command and the fugitive Jake now had his sights set on, and that their operation somehow involved teenage runaways. Precious little, unless Bryn was still holding out on him, which was possible, since interagency cooperation was a contradiction in terms.

“Kid could’ve been blowing smoke up my skirt, but it didn’t feel like it,” Bryn said. “As usual, Phagan spirited the kid away before I could find out more.”

There was something in her voice that told Jake she’d let this particular hunt get a tad personal. Big mistake, but she already knew that. Bryn was as strict with herself as she was with colleague. It was what made it both pleasure and pain to work with her.

“Fagan?” The question came from Mac, who had returned bearing soft drinks. He handed them out while Jake looked at Bryn for direction. She gave a slight shake of her head. No reason to make Phagan more of a legend than he already was. Besides, if the locals smelled a big fish, they’d start withholding information, hoping to make a big collar on their own. Why make it easier for Phagan to elude them? Not that he was having any trouble now.

“The thief in Oliver Twist,” Jake said.

Mac rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “Oh.”

Jake hid a grin with a long, cool drink from his cup, not too surprised Mac wasn’t into classic literature or musicals.

Bryn took a drink, then a deep breath, one that seemed weighted with purpose, and turned back to the computer. Her hands hovered above the keyboard as if it were a bomb that might go off. The screen was dark, but the green cursor glowed in the lower right-hand corner.

“Anyone touch the computer while securing the scene?” Bryn asked with a reluctance that was out of character.

“No, ma’am,” Mac said, “except to dust for prints.”

She wriggled her fingers, like a maestro, then lowered her hands and tapped a few keys. Nothing happened. The computer wasn’t going to give up its secrets without a fight. She scowled. Mac shifted, dabbing at the sweat on his brow.

Jake leaned across her and picked up a plastic wrapped sheet from the clutter of evidence bags. It was a simple flyer advertising a country-western bar called JR’s located near Estes Park, Colorado. Though Jake was assigned to DC and had an apartment there, he called Denver home. He’d been born and raised in Denver and his mom and brothers still lived there. He knew Estes, too, and thought he remembered the bar. His family had a cabin just outside Rocky Mountain National Park. It took him a bit of thinking to pull up a memory of a log structure east of town on 34. Good music. Better beer.

The flyer was an odd thing to find so far from its home. Even odder, the series of numbers and letters written down one side.

“Any idea what this is?” he asked, distracting Bryn from her attack on the computer.

She seemed relieved at the distraction, rather than annoyed as she took it. “It’s an Internet address for a MUD.”

Jake blinked. “A mud?”

Bryn smiled with a decidedly superior air. “A multi-user dungeon. A place on the Internet where people meet to play games. Looks like home is in Colorado.” She gave at Jake with a tense look. “Dewey and his friends like to play games.”

As if on cue, Jake heard a humming sound. A small airplane flew across the computer screen dragging a banner that had written on it: You’ll have to do better than that, darling.

Bryn choked and banged on the keyboard with her fists. The airplane did fly out of sight, but it wasn’t over. A small Yugo putted across the bottom of the screen with the words Love, Phagan on a sign on the roof.

Jake opened his mouth, but Bryn’s look shriveled the words in his throat. He took a careful step back, avoiding eye contact with Mac. His elbow bumped a pile of evidence bags, starting a small avalanche that spread to the other side of the desk and continued onto the floor. He bent to pick them up.

Bryn looked at Mac, her eyes scary and her smile steely. “I don’t want anyone but you near this computer, until this person,” she scribbled a name on the back of her card and handed it to him, “comes to pick it up. Don’t show that name to anyone. Don’t tell it to anyone. You, yourself bring the guy here to pack it up, and stay with it all the way back to the airport. Understand?”

He nodded. “But…”

“We might still be able to pull something off the hard drive.” She stood up and stepped close to him. “No mistakes. I’d hate to have to come back and rip your heart out.” She stared at him for a long beat. “And eat it.”

Mac gulped twice before he managed to say, “No, ma’am, I mean, yes, ma’am. Whatever you say, ma’am.”

Jake started to dump the bags of evidence back onto the desk when he saw what the bags had been hiding. An answering machine, with a blinking message light.

“Looks like somebody has a message.” Jake crouched down and studied the machine, then looked at Bryn.

Bryn turned to stare. “Somebody wouldn’t be that stupid, would they?”

Mac craned to see. “It wasn’t doing that before.”

Jake still had on surgical gloves, so he tilted the machine. Fingerprinting powder fell off it in a mini-shower. He found the volume at zero on both ringer and recorder. With the volume turned up, he rewound the tape, then pushed play.

A tinny voice came out of the speaker.

“If you’re there, pick up.” A pause, then a sigh. “Call Pathphinder ASAP. And if you see Phagan, tell him the egg’s in the nest—should hatch right on schedule. If we still have a schedule. You know where to reach me.”

A hesitation. Then a click.

“Well, I’ll be—” Bryn looked at Jake in awe. “Pathphinder is a woman.”

“What was that about an egg?” Mac asked, the effort of trying to keep up written in neon across his face.

“A cuckoo’s egg.” She hesitated, as if she’d like to stop there, but Jake arched his eyebrows for more. “In cyberspace, an ‘egg’ is a computer program laid in a host machine where it will ‘hatch’ at some later time or from some specific action.”

“Laid?” Jake frowned. “To do what?”

“Anything the Cuckoo wants. Give unauthorized access. Crash, maim or destroy. Phagan’s used them to disable security systems and to download sensitive data. Like the Trojan horse, they’re bad news for the ‘nest’ computer.”

Jake nodded then looked at the phone. “I wonder…”

He lifted the receiver and punched in the callback code. In a few moments it was ringing. He held the phone out so Bryn and Mac could hear a voice with a decided Texas accent say, “JR’s in Estes Park. What can I do you for?”

Jake replaced the phone without answering and then grinned at Bryn whose jaw had dropped.

“It couldn’t be that easy, could it?” she asked.

“If the bad guys were sensible, our job would be harder.” He looked at his watch. “Just enough time to catch the last flight to Denver.” He grinned at Mac. “Thanks for the assist.”

“No problem.” The detective looked at Bryn gathering her stuff up. “No…problem.”

Jake held the door for Bryn. “Ladies first.”

She grinned, looking like the easygoing farm girl her parents had hoped for. “Let’s go catch us some bad guys.”

* * * *

“Who was on the phone?”

Mert Mentel, lead singer in Cattle Call, slung the pay phone’s receiver back on its cradle and turned to find Phoebe leaning against the office door jamb. She leaned real good. Had the best rack in town and a waist he could span with one hand even falling down drunk. Which was the only time to make a run at the girl. Something in her brown eyes stopped him in his sober tracks. Her eyes had always been sad, like grief had a permanent home there. And her smile was usually wry, as if life were a joke only she understood.

“Dunno. They hung up.”

He strolled closer because, sad or wry, she didn’t seem to mind displaying her bounty. Her brief denim shorts and briefer white lace top were the perfect frame for her breasts and curving hips. Even better, the shorts left her long legs bare all the way to her boots. Her hair was a straight fall of dark silk that curled under a stubborn chin on either side, her skin was tanned satin.

Her mouth—well, a guy could take half a day thinking of ways to kiss her mouth. Maybe longer if his big brother didn’t come along and kick his ass back into the real world.

Mert sighed and reached out to smooth some of the hair back from the chin, wishing he could smooth the sad from her eyes with some hot sex. “Some asshole break his promise to call you, girl?”

Phoebe grinned up at Mert, aware of, but unaffected by, his signature Mentel charm. “Like I’d believe any man’s promises. Last time I checked, sucker wasn’t listed on my resume.”

“Think I’ll go kick Jesse’s butt for ruining you. Or you could let me heal your broken heart.” He gave her a hopeful smile.

Like those of all the Mentel boys, Mert’s mouth had been made to smile and placed in a face too pretty for anyone’s good. Even worse, his body was long and taut, with a vaguely designer air despite his country leanings. Blond hair tumbled halfway down his back; wicked, green eyes and too much charm were given dangerous fuel by his honest worship at the shrine of the female body. A religion made easy to practice, since women loved to worship him back. The lacing of Texas in his deep, smooth voice completed a formidable arsenal.

Luckily Phoebe had received an early inoculation against the Mentel charm at the hands of his big brother, Jesse.

“I don’t have a heart,” Phoebe said. She didn’t glory in knowing this. She even missed it, but before becoming “Phoebe,” before this life Phagan had helped her create; she’d placed that heart in her sister’s dead hands. Now it was buried with her six feet under the Georgia soil. And there would be no resurrection until the man now known as Peter Harding paid for his crimes.

What she’d learned as Phoebe, what she’d learned from working with Phagan, made it possible for her to smile at Mert even though her nerves were stretched as tight as the strings on her guitar. Just like her ears told her when her guitar was out of tune, her senses were telling her the game was out of sync.

Where was Phagan? He sometimes dropped off her cyber-map, but never when a game was running. Ollie and Dewey were MIA, too, though that wasn’t so unusual. A lot depended on where Phagan had them deployed.

Too bad her senses hadn’t been online when she placed that phone call. Hadn’t made a mistake like that since she first started playing Phagan’s games. Might as well put a neon arrow in the sky, pointing to the bar. To her.

Mert’s grin turned wry. The change didn’t lessen its impact. “Then why not just use me for sex?”

“Because I respect you.” Phoebe patted his cheek and in doing so caught sight of her watch. She cussed. “Look at the time.”

“Don’t need to with you around. Could take a whiz, though.” He headed toward the john.

Phoebe, heartless but not blind, watched him walk away. He had a great butt, and a girl had to get her pleasure where she could, while she could. He disappeared into the john, leaving her to turn her attention to the upcoming set. She fingered the buttons of her Daisy Mae shirt. It had only four, so she’d done up all of them. Now she wasn’t so sure. The trick was to show just enough cleavage to keep attention off her face. She’d changed what she could, short of plastic surgery, but she knew the wrong people could recognize her if they got a close enough look.

Leg, youngest Mentel and boy behind the keyboards, poked his head in the door that separated the hallway from the bar. From under his mustache he gave her a toothpaste-ad grin.

“Your groupie’s back.”

Phoebe made a face. “Not Earl?”

“The one and only duke of.”

“Great.” She sighed. “Thanks for the heads up, even if you are enjoying it.”

Leg laughed and disappeared. Smart boy.

It was a public bar. Couldn’t kick out her most ardent fan. Maybe if she kept her buttons closed, he’d only drool tonight. She frowned. Who was Earl? He looked harmless, but she couldn’t afford to assume he was harmless. Not when she was a shining example of the hide-in-plain-sight school of thought.

She studied her cleavage. If the doughy and disgusting Earl was other than what he appeared to be, maybe she ought to make sure his blood flow headed south. She undid two buttons. The push-up bra did the rest.

Mert came back from the john still zipping his jeans. His eyebrows shot up when he saw her. “Taking show time to a new low, aren’t you, girl?”

“Earl’s here.”

Mert grinned. “And you’re gonna kill him with kindness.” He studied her “kindness” with a connoisseur’s eye. “What about collateral damage?”

“You’ll heal,” she said.

TWO

Jake stopped the rented truck in front of Bryn and their small pile of luggage and jumped out. He opened the passenger door for her before tossing their luggage into the truck bed.

Bryn put her hands on her hips. “What is this?”

Jake finished stowing her laptop computer in the front on the floor before looking at her. “Transportation?”

She looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

“We’re in cowboy country. What else would we drive?”

She heaved a pointed sigh before approaching the open door, where her short skirt, high heels and the truck’s threshold defeated her before she got started. She gave Jake a now what look. He grinned and stepped behind her. His hands gripped her waist, offering her a brief sensation of flight, then a landing on the seat. She felt color flood in her face, sent there by her pounding heart. She smoothed her skirt and collected her scattered dignity while Jake made the journey around to the driver’s seat.

He slid in beside her and fired the engine, an expression of masculine pleasure lighting his eyes as the truck responded to the pressure of his foot on the gas. Bryn buckled her seat belt, then grabbed on to the armrest as they shot into the flow of traffic. Before she could assimilate the highway signs, Jake had committed them to head south.

Jake handled the truck well. He was a confident, not reckless, driver. She just didn’t like being driven. Which explained her volatile reaction to Phagan, since he was driving her crazy. With an inward shrug, she forced her feelings to the back burner, where she put all the things she couldn’t control.

“Did you get a hold of your brothers?” she asked, looking away from the road.

Jake nodded. “Luke, the one with the Denver PD, is checking out the local angle with a buddy of his in Estes Park. I think I mentioned our family has a cabin near there?”

Bryn nodded, resisting the urge to tense when he changed lanes.

“And Matt, he’s a marshal, too, said he’d have his computer guy check out the address of that MUD. If it is local, we should have an address by tomorrow sometime.”

“Two marshals and a cop in one family?” Odd to learn Jake was a sibling. He seemed such a loner.

“Guess it’s in my genes.” Jake pushed a hand through his hair, rumpling the surface boyishly. “Dad was a cop.”

“Was?”

“Died. Line of duty.” His face closed.

“I’m sorry.” Bryn shifted. Her own parents were hale, hearty, and baffled by their daughter’s law-enforcement inclinations. A regular, though rural, Ozzie and Harriet in a world of disposable marriages.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Phagan?”

Bryn stiffened. “There is no deal.” Not a complete lie, because she didn’t know what was going on or how to explain it to herself, let alone to Jake.

She still remembered the moment she realized Phagan was doing more than feeding her leads to his unsavory targets. That she understood. His jobs were targeted to maim and destroy bad people, so of course he’d need her to clean up after him. But why would he feed her leads to where he was? It made no sense.

Then he’d started leaving her gifts, both on her desk and inside her apartment, places he shouldn’t have access to. It was infuriating to do her job, to live her life, all the time wondering if he was the repairman who came to fix her television or one of the people cleaning the office. He knew too much about her. He’d invited her to a meeting in virtual reality a few months ago. She’d been hesitant, but determined to try to smoke him out. And she’d found herself, she remembered with guilty amusement, in Ozzie and Harriet’s world. All black and white and her with a fifties hairdo and clothes, down to a white apron tied around her dress. But, no shoes. In the kitchen.

The guy had a dark sense of humor that she was having a hard time not responding to.

How did he know what she had never acknowledged out loud? Terror had faded into laughter she couldn’t hold in check. Phagan was a high-tech criminal whose butt she was determined to toss into jail, but he was also a benign, eager-to-please-without-getting-caught suitor with a sense of humor she secretly enjoyed. She hadn’t lowered her guard, but she had grown bolder about following the clues he sent her. The idiot seemed determined to make sure she stayed on his trail and she was learning from him. She hated to admit it, but it was the truth.

How could she not like the guy a little? Wouldn’t stop her from plotting his downfall, but it helped to like your work. It helped a lot.

“How about we stop to grab some grub?” Jake asked.

Grub? Boy, were they ever in cowboy country.

* * * *

The lights were dim, glowing just enough to add a sheen to black satin sheets on a bed overhung with an ornate mirror. A panel slid back, revealing an expensive entertainment center. Peter scanned a row of unlabeled videos, selected one and shoved it into the machine. Drink and remote in hand, he went to the bed, made a nest with the pillows, then settled himself at its center. Before he could activate the VCR, the phone on the nightstand intruded.

Muttering a curse, Peter grabbed it and took a calming breath. “Harding here.”

“You alone?” Stern asked.

“Why—”

“You need to come back to the office.”

“I was just going to bed.”

“Tough. Get back here.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Not on the phone.”

Peter cursed silently. “Fine.”

He banged down the phone and stood up. This had better be worth it. He shed his elegant robe and picked up the pants he’d laid over the suit valet. Before pulling them on, he started the video, putting his clothes on as the young girl on the screen took hers off.

* * * *

The music reached out the wide double doors of the log building. In a swirling haze of smoke and beer it extended a cheerful invitation to come on in and join the party. If the number of trucks crammed into the dirt parking lot was any indication, there were a lot of takers.

Jake pulled the truck into place at the end of one crooked line. He shut off the motor and studied the poorly lit exterior. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been here with his big brothers. The day Matt’s divorce was final, Jake remembered, after a little mental time travel. They’d climbed every cliff in sight, then gotten stinking drunk. Brutal, but effective. Matt had felt so bad, it left him one way to go: up.

The people milling in and out the front door looked much the same as the clientele had then. A mix of old and young, a few tourists, some genuine cowboys on a tear ogling clusters of barely clad cowgirls, and several older couples serious about doing some dancing. Jake glanced at Bryn. She didn’t appear to appreciate the bar’s country charm.

“How—” Bryn started, stopped, then settled for gesturing toward the bar.

“We go in. We buy a couple of beers. We nose around. See if we smell anything interesting.”

The bouncer chose that moment to eject two struggling figures. They staggered, took a couple of wild swings at each other, then tripped over the low lodge-pole fence that separated the parking lot from the entrance.

Her eyes widened. “O-kay.”

Jake hid a grin. “But first we do something about you.”

“About me? What do you mean?”

“You’re too buttoned down. Lose the jacket, undo some shirt buttons and mess up your hair a bit,” Jake directed. “And when you walk, do it like that.” He pointed to a sassily twitching female butt in tight jeans passing in front of the truck. “If our guy is in there, we don’t want him thinking too much.”

“No,” Bryn said, “we wouldn’t want that.” With her teeth gritted, she made the necessary adjustments. “Better?”

Jake grinned. “Let’s see that walk.”

He jumped out and trotted around the truck to help her down. Was it her imagination that he’d acquired a slight bowleg? She showed him her walk, ire adding extra oomph to her walk. She turned to face him, letting a raised eyebrow ask the question.

“By George, I think she’s got it.” Jake gestured toward the open doors. “Let’s go.”

Good thing she hadn’t been expecting high praise. She fell into step beside him, stowing female angst in a well-used compartment in her brain. Hot on the outside—despite Jake’s tepid approval, she knew she was—a cold professional on the inside. She was hunting now, and she had a scent.

Her nostrils quivered. Too bad it was beer.

Jake paid their cover, then followed her to the bar that ran the length of one wall, his touch light and impersonal against her back. She pretended to sip the beer he bought her as she studied her surroundings.

The place hadn’t been well designed for acoustics. Canned music blared from somewhere besides the stage, which was empty of people if not instruments. That and the sound of too many loud conversations started an ache behind her eyes as she made mental notes about the layout.

Bar to the right of the entrance. Minute stage opposite. Restroom signs over door on the left. Tables past that. Dance floor dead center and circled by milling groups of people. She noticed a short ladder that lead to a sad little balcony half way up the wall where the haze of smoke and dust was the worst; a sound and light tech hunkered over a control board.

Her survey brought her back face to face with Jake. He wiped a film of moisture off his upper lip with his sleeve, but the level of his beer hadn’t changed.

“I’ve died and gone to hell,” she muttered.

Jake hid his grin behind his beer. “Think you’ll have more success with the guys than I will.”

“Do you?” Bryn managed to hold back a shudder. Despite his doubts about the importance of the bar, Jake’s brother, Matt, a US marshal working out of Denver, had faxed him sketchy bios he’d scraped up on the most likely suspects: the barkeep and the band members. They’d all been around for a couple of years and one of the band members, a woman named Phoebe Mentel, managed the bar. Who owned the bar was under investigation.

Jake had taken particular pleasure in telling her about the men in the band.

“Four guys—Jesse, Mert, Leg, Toes—”

“Leg and Toes?”

“Fraid so.” Jake had grinned. “And the woman. Same last name. Mentel. Three brothers, one cousin and one ex-wife. Bar keep’s name is Chet Jones.”

“Right.” Oh, for the peace and quiet of the Internet. When she caught up with him, Phagan was going to pay for this. “I don’t see any of them yet.”

“There’s one,” Jake muttered, “heading to the stage. Go get ’em, tiger.”

Bryn spotted the guy as he leaped the wooden barrier, picked up a guitar and started adjusting the strings. She gave a soundless sigh. She’d seen his type before. The hard part wouldn’t be getting his attention. It would be losing it.

“You—” she started to say, when someone pushed past her.

“Phoebe!” The nasal voice of the man who bumped her was as grating as chalk on a blackboard. The body emitting the voice even less appealing.

A woman, apparently the Phoebe he was after, froze, then turned to face him with obvious reluctance.

“Earl.” The name came out a Southern-scented sigh, one edged with irony. It suited her.

She was a bit taller than Bryn and had a flawless complexion and wonderful bones, the kind that aged well. Only a tiny frown marred the skin between her dark eyebrows. Her dark hair swept out from under the edges of her cowboy hat in smooth, dark sweep, then curled under her strong chin. Eyes the color of her hair regarded Earl with something less than enthusiasm.

“I wanted to ask you—” Earl began

“I have to get ready for the set, Earl.” She softened her dismissal with a slight, though charming smile. Her husky voice had been created to stroke the pleasure centers of men, Bryn noted. Add to that her country-fresh vigor and generously curved figure, and it was no wonder Earl looked whipped.

As if she sensed Bryn’s scrutiny, Phoebe’s gaze swept the crowd and found Bryn watching her. She shrugged and gave Bryn a “men!” look, but there was a watchful quality behind her rueful glance. Bryn had no choice but to return her smile.

Phoebe turned to go, just as Jake moved into position behind her. She slammed into him with enough force to take him back a couple of steps and knock off her hat. Like a scene from a movie, her hands spread across his chest as she tried to catch her balance. His hands went to her waist to aid her. Gaze slammed into gaze and just for a moment, Bryn thought she saw…something happen between them. Something electric and elemental. Then the shutters slammed down in eyes blue and brown.

She saw Jake rub the back of his neck. A red flag, to those who knew him, that the US Marshals Service’s best tracker was worried.

* * * *

Peter pushed open the door to his office but stopped when he found it lit only by the glow from his computer screen. “Stern?”

In the darkness Stern lit a cigarette. The red flare of the match helped Peter find Stern in the shadows.

“This better be worth dragging me out—”

Stern gestured toward the computer with the red end of his cigarette. “Someone’s been messing with your kinky screensaver.”

Peter stalked around the desk and dropped into his chair. The benign desktop looked normal and unthreatening. “What?”

“Just wait.” Stern nudged the mouse to take the monitor out of energy saver mode.

A soft hum from the clock on the desk was the only sound that broke the silence until the screen flickered, went dark, then glowed again as a picture formed of a naked young girl sprawled on satin sheets. She went into her routine and sweat broke out on Peter’s forehead.

The program featured a varied menu, but this was his favorite. The camera moved in closer and her lashes lifted. She licked red lips. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” he muttered, tugging at his top shirt button. She rolled onto her back again, but here the familiar sequence took a strange turn. The video cam homed in on her mouth, moving in tighter and tighter until her crimson lips filled the whole screen.

“I know all about you, Peter,” she said. “I know…all…about…you.”

“What the—” He started up out of the chair, but Stern’s hand came down on his shoulder, forcing him back down.

“She’s not done.”

The camera zoomed out again as she rolled back onto her stomach and gave him a sultry smile. “And soon everyone else will, too.”

Then the screen went blank.

Peter looked at Stern.

He blew smoke out his mouth and nose. “Was it worth it?”

* * * *

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. His other hand was wrapped around a waist so small, his fingers reached past her spine. He needed time to figure out what had just happened. He didn’t get time. She was in his arms, in his face. And she smelled great. Like really fresh flowers.

Almost as tall as he was, the body brushing against his went in and out where it was supposed to and did it with extreme prejudice. Something red hugged her breasts. A brief bit of denim played second skin to her hips. Bare flesh above and below. Long legs disappearing into boots. Smooth dark hair, except for the crease from her hat. Face done up to look cheap, failing to look anything but classy. Her features were too cleanly cut, her dark eyes too intelligent. Her mouth—

Better not go down that road, Kirby.

He blinked and took a mental step back. His body wasn’t responding yet.

“Sorry,” Phoebe said, staring into eyes a cool blue drink of water. Eyes that gave but also took. An intriguing sleight of eyes if you had nothing to hide.

She had plenty to hide.

She spread her hands defensively across his chest, feeling heat push through the soft cotton of his shirt as she applied enough pressure to put a little air between their bodies. Instinct had her curving up the edges of her mouth and putting on her bedroom look, the way a wild thing donned protective cover. Adrenaline did a rising scale along her nerve endings as her hands did a slow slid down cotton and muscle, then dropped clear.

“I’m not.” The grin he followed this with managed to be both wicked and little-boy innocent. It also packed about a thousand watts of charm.

“Phoebe?”

Earl’s plaintive whine cut between them with all the delicacy of a chain saw. Instead of relief, she felt regret as their eyes broke contact. Earl had her hat in hand and a mournful expression pulled down his face.

“Thanks, Earl.” She took the hat, rammed it on top of her head and adjusted the angle. The brief respite gave her confidence to look at the stranger again. “Sorry bout almost mowing you, cowboy.”

“You can mow me anytime you want, Reb.”

Against her design, her smile lost its provocative edge, and the shadows in her soul retreated, leaving a girl looking at guy looking at a girl.

Damn the boy was cute—looked good enough to eat, drink and be merry with.

If only—

If only every single thing in her life were different? Who was she kidding? Guys came to the bar looking for a slam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Just because this one looked like a heart wouldn’t melt in his eyes didn’t make it so.

She made herself turn away from his might-have-been eyes and tasty mouth, made her heart turn away from the dangerous promise of safety he gave off like after-shave. “If you boys’ll excuse me, I got a set to play.”

Jake watched Phoebe slip into the crowd, then looked at Earl. Dogs looked like Earl when they begged. He looked in the mirror behind the bar and saw the same expression on his face.

Not good. He’d learned to read eyes and body language, but Phoebe shape-shifted like a kaleidoscope, the changes so fast his impressions were disjointed and laced with lust. Only thing he was sure about: there was a great huge well of sadness at her center. Even when she smiled her eyes were shadowed, as if she already knew that life sucked and always would for her.

He saw Bryn watching him. It helped him find his focus. Reminded him he wasn’t here to feel desire or pity. Phoebe Mentel was connected to JR’s. JR’s was connected, somehow, to Phagan and Dewey Hyatt. That’s all that mattered.

“Looks like we’ll have to postpone further contact till after the show,” Bryn said when he rejoined her.

Jake nodded, lifted his beer to take a real drink and felt a change ripple through the crowd. He looked up, turning to face the stage. Without ceremony, the band launched into their first number, a fast-paced piece about small towns on a Saturday night that made the rowdy crowd theirs even before the chorus.

The band members were a good looking bunch of people, the guys as poster pretty as Phoebe, but it was more than that or the audience’s level of intoxication, Jake decided, that lifted their competent musical rendering into something damn near mesmerizing.

It wasn’t easy to hang on, to focus, with Phoebe so easy on the eye and the music pushing out thought for feeling, but after a time Jake found the group’s interaction interesting enough to mute the call to the senses they sent out as they worked their way through songs, slow and fast, old and new, mixed with the occasional request.

The men were cocky, but seemed able to table ego when they changed lead singers to get the right sound. They constantly interacted with the audience to keep it pumped. Jesse, the eldest appeared to be in charge. Phoebe stayed toward the back of the stage, so it took him a while to realize she was the one running the show.

Throughout the set, Earl stayed front and center before the stage, paying bizarre homage to Phoebe with his doughy body. Sometimes he sang along, his voice both loud and bad. In his tight jeans, greenhorn boots and too new hat, he sweated until the thin wisps of his hair plastered to his white skin.

Toward the end of the set, Jesse Mentel, a big, shaggy man with a huge white smile, stopped the music with a gesture. He leaned into the microphone, said with easy confidence, “Everybody having a good time?”

The audience responded with enthusiasm.

“Good enough. Time to introduce us to you. Have to before I get too drunk to remember who the hell we are.” Egged on by the stamping of many feet, he took a long drink from his beer. “On keyboard—damn it, boy, where—” He turned in a listing circle, “oh, there you are. How’d you get back there? Never mind, this here’s my little brother, Leg.”

Leg waved from his keyboard, then did some fancy stuff on the keys. He was young, lean and blond, with a cocky mustache and matching attitude. His smile lit his green eyes and beamed good will all the way to the back of the hall.

A young woman answered its siren call. “He single?”

“Totally single and alone only when he has to be. You can leave your phone number and vital statistics in the tin cup here at the front of the stage, little darlin’.”

The guys groaned, and the girls laughed.

“On bass guitar is my other little brother, Mert—who also has needs.”

Mert touched his hat, his smile sweet and hopeful. His long fingers moved in an intricate riff across his guitar strings.

“On drum is my cousin, Toes. And let me assure you, ladies, he didn’t get his nickname for playing drum with his feet.”

Toes grinned wickedly from his place behind the drums. His hair was blond, too, and reached half way down his back. Like those of his cousins his eyes and his smile were unashamed come-taste-me. He flipped his hair off his face, bent over his drums, and pounded out a short, pagan, mini solo that had the women rocking and stamping up puffs of dust from the floor.

“I’ll take one of him,” a girl called out.

“Nothing he likes more than being taken—unless it’s taking, sweet thing,” Jesse assured her with a good-natured leer. He took another swig of beer, wiped his mouth and said, “I’m, uh, oh, yeah, Jesse. I sing and play a little fiddle when called for.” He played a few clear notes. “All together we’re Cattle Call.”

“Uh, you forgot Phoebe Ann again,” Toes said into his mike, giving his hair another flip.

Jesse turned to Phoebe with a start, then swept his hat off and over his heart. “Damn, girl, I’m sorry—”

“Sorriest man I know,” Phoebe said, leaning into her mike.

He put his hat back on and grinned. “Ah, hell, you know I was just fooling. I couldn’t never forget the shining light of Cattle Call, our lead guitarist, my wife—”

Jake’s hand tightened involuntarily around his beer.

“Ex-wife,” she inserted.

Jesse’s grin was loaded for bear. “I keep forgetting, honey. It was such a friendly divorce.”

She rested her arms on her guitar and looked reflective. “True. You got friendly with that waitress—and I got a divorce.”

The crowd whooped and hollered their delight.

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and looked rueful. “But you still love me, don’t you, darlin’?”

“Course I do, honey—now that I don’t have to live with you.”

“Ouch!” He threw up his hands in a mock surrender. “Lead guitar, the lovely—shrew, uh, sweetheart—Phoebe Ann.”

Phoebe laughed, then bent to play her solo riff. She was good, better than her companions were, her fingers plucking the strings with a technical precision that pleased without quite satisfying.

It might be imagination, Jake thought, that she seemed to hold something back. The riff was, after all, just a bit of flash to take the dull out of the introductions. But it wasn’t imagination that Jesse’s smile was edged with intimacy when he held out a hand to Phoebe and said, “Let’s sing, girl.”

She took his hand and let him draw her into the spotlight next to him, her answering smile affectionate. Her hair fell across her face when she bent over her guitar, plucking the strings with a haunting delicacy as she led off. Jesse started the vocal, his deep, soothing bass perfect for the wistful song about love spurned. At the refrain, Phoebe’s voice blended neatly with Jesse’s, sweetly husky, strangely familiar, as if Jake had heard her sing this song before.

On the next verse she started the vocal, her lightly Southern phrasing a pleasing underpinning to the melody line. On the dance floor, lovers leaned into each other, swaying in place amid the smoke and dust making eddies on the plank flooring. Caught up in the thrall of her wistful stage presence, Jake didn’t find Earl quite as pathetic. The music, her voice, her sad eyes, all made her performance seem personal and intimate, as if she sang only to him.

Jake turned his back to the stage, to her, and leaned on the bar. He wrapped his hand around his cold bottle and wished he could apply it to his face. Wouldn’t his brother Matt hoot if he could see Jake trying not to moon over a honky-tonk singer who was also a suspect? In fact, his gut had just moved her to the head of the line.

He lifted the bottle and drank because he needed something cool and wet running down his dry throat. Behind him Phoebe started singing a song about taking it like a man. Jake downed half the bottle, but it didn’t near do the job. He set the beer down just as the bar keep thrust a plastic cup filled with electric pink fluid at him.

“I didn’t order that.”

“The lady bought it for you.” He pointed down the bar to a barely dressed blonde. She lifted a matching cup to him and wet her pouting lips. Beside him Bryn choked. Behind him the husky sex in Phoebe’s amplified voice hit him in waves. Jake swallowed and said to the keep, “What is it?”

The keep grinned. “A Hot Damn.”

Jake looked at the blonde who leaned on the bar, her upper arms squeezing the sides of her breasts until they nearly popped out of her shirt. Bryn turned away, her shoulders shaking. Phoebe repeated the refrain about taking it like man.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck and wished for a cold shower.

* * * *

Phoebe left her guitar for the guys to stow and jumped off the stage, moving fast to avoid another encounter with the incoming Earl. She ducked through a door marked Management Only, circling the storage room to her office. Inside, she flicked on the light, closed the door and leaned against it.

Her blood still hummed, her heart still pounded with the buzz of performing. The guys used the buzz as foreplay for sex, but she couldn’t afford to let her motor get so revved that it took over her thinking and had her acting on her impulses. Celibacy kept things simple. It kept her safe. Until tonight, she’d never been tempted to change that.

She pushed away from the door and reached for her water bottle, but it was empty. She threw it at the trash can, circled the desk and sank onto the stool in front of a spotted mirror hanging over a small shelf. Instead of her reflection, she saw the cowboy with the high-voltage smile and might-have-been eyes.

He ought to be required to wear a bag over his head, she decided. He ought to have to register his mouth as a lethal weapon. She traced her own mouth, thinking of his. Guys shouldn’t be allowed to have mouths that yummy. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already have the advantage in the battle of the sexes with his good-guy face and tousled dark hair. Her throat went tight with longing. Not good. She gave herself a shake.

She’d have to turn her thinking down less inflammatory paths or she was gonna burn to ash and blow clean away. Think about the game, girl, only the game.

It had got her through worse things than an attack of lust.

* * * *

Peter’s computer went dark. Having spewed its poison, it subsided back into a state of indifferent neutrality. Peter wasn’t as lucky. His face ashen, he looked at Stern.

“Don’t sweat it,” Stern said. “If they had anything, they’d have used it by now. They’re gas-lighting you to try to shake your past loose.”

“They? Or she?” Peter rubbed his face. Was it possible, after all these years?

“Nadine?” Stern shrugged. “Maybe. Or could be that guy you told me Kerry Anne was dating.”

“The geek. Makes sense. He was into computers big-time even way back then.” Peter’s expression turned ugly. “I shouldn’t have let him get away.”

“Shit happens.” Stern crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray.

“Not to me,” Peter snapped. He rubbed his face again. “Can you fix this computer?” Stern had a bit of geek in him, too.

He flexed his fingers. “It’s only a screensaver, and you were going to get rid of it anyway, weren’t you?”

Peter avoided his gaze. “Of course.”

THREE

The bar emptied soon after the last set ended, a whining Earl nudged out by the bar keep. Bryn homed in on Jesse, who finished stowing their equipment and headed for the door to one side of the bar. She plucked him off course with one bat of her lashes, then let him lead her through the door marked for management. This left Jake alone with the bar keep.

Jake leaned companionably on the bar and sipped his soft drink, watching the guy clean up with quick, practiced movements. When the guy moved into range, Jake held out his hand. “The name’s Jake.”

He got a wary look with the reluctant shake. “Chet.”

“Pleased to meet you. Since I’m driving, how about a Coke for the road?”

Chet found one and shoved it toward Jake. “Two dollars.”

“Thanks.” Jake paid and popped the top, taking a drink before asking, “So, is JR in?”

Chet looked up. “JR isn’t in much. You looking for work?”

“You got any?” Music still filtered through Jake’s mind. His fingers tapped the beat on the wooden surface of the bar.

“Phoebe does all the hiring and firing.”

“Really? She’s the guitarist in the band, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How is she to work for?”

“Phoebe’s okay, but the pay isn’t great. JR’s a tight-fisted Texan.” Chet looked morose as he polished the bar.

“What about bands? You book them?”

Chet shook his head. “JR takes care of that. He manages Cattle Call, too. When they tour, usually in the summer, he books in replacements. They’ve stuck close to home this year though.”

Jake nodded, holding back a yawn, as he made a mental note to compare the band’s past tours with Phagan heists. This kind of chat was the lifeblood of an investigation, but it was also boring. “I appreciate the info, man. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” Chet found himself a beer. “You want anything else?”

“I’ll just finish my Coke. But how about something for Phoebe? Whatever she usually drinks.”

Chet looked at Jake. “You want to buy Phoebe a drink?”

“It isn’t against the law, is it?”

“You gonna ask her about a job?”

“Maybe.”

“She don’t screw around.”

Jake looked up from his wallet. “I don’t screw around either.”

“If I was you, I’d tell her that right away—” Chet slid a Diet Coke to Jake and took his money.

“Tell me what right away?”

Jake and Chet turned together. Phoebe stood at the end of the bar with her hands on her hips.

“That I bought you a drink.” Jake popped the top on her can and held it out with a friendly smile. “Chet here seems to think that’ll piss you off.”

Jake knew Chet watched them, but he found that the closer Phoebe got, the harder it was to concentrate on anyone else. Her hand closed around the cold can, her fingers meshing with his for a moment. Instead of telling her he wanted a job, he stared into brown eyes that didn’t give much away and said, “I really enjoyed the show.”

She took the can, drank, then rubbed away the moisture that lingered on her mouth. “Thanks.”

“Well, I’m damned.”

She looked at Chet, her eyebrows arched. “I thought you’d been saved by the blood of the Lamb.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, then grinned, gesturing toward the back. “I’ll just go do something—”

“Good idea.”

Chet looked relieved as he left Jake alone with Phoebe in the echoing barn of a room.

Phoebe turned back to Jake, her eyes showing amusement against a background of sad. He wondered if it ever went away. She tilted her head back for another drink, the movement exposing the smooth column of her throat. That drew his eyes down to plunging cleavage framed in lace that the denim jacket she now wore did little to hide.

The air was close, still heated from the recent press of bodies, thick with smoke, and smelled of beer and sweat. He ran a finger around the neckline of his tee shirt and realized she was looking at him with question marks in her eyes.

What did she want to know? Jake narrowed his eyes, probing deep because he had a knack for reading eyes, but before he hit pay dirt, she lowered her lashes and took another drink of her soda. When she looked at him again, there was nothing to see but cool inquiry.

“So, what can I do for you, cowboy?”

“Name’s Jake Kirby.” He thrust out his hand.

“Phoebe Mentel.” Her voice was cool and she kept her hand to herself.

He wiped his on his pants and held it out again. “I’m pleased to meet you, Phoebe.”

With a laugh that shattered the cool of her face and eyes, she relented. His first thought was how right it felt when his fingers closed around hers, his second, that he was on the edge of deep trouble this time.

The sudden widening of her eyes that told him she felt it, too, only made it worse.

He’d always prided himself on being the heart-whole Kirby brother, the free-spirited marshal tracking down the bad guys, a modern-day Marshal Dillon whose Dodge City was the world. A tracker with few opportunities to stay in one place long enough to meet a Miss Kitty who would cheer him on, let alone wave him off into the next sunset.

Phoebe didn’t look inclined to cheer. Retreat was wisdom but not in his job description, so he indicated a chair sitting askew by a table, mutely inviting her to join him.

Phoebe turned and straddled the chair next to the one Jake had pointed at, needing any barrier she could find to put between them. His eyes were wary, which meant he’d gotten the same jolt she did when their hands touched, but his smile was still loaded with enough wattage to take her breath away. She opened her mouth to say—what? The door behind her opened, and Jesse came out, trailing a woman. What a surprise.

“You ready to go, darlin’?” he asked, looking at his companion with a dazed expression that could have been from the beer he’d consumed, the woman or both. To Phoebe’s surprise, it was the woman she’d noticed watching her earlier. Right before she ran into Jake. For some reason this made her uneasy, but a quick scrutiny found no indication that the two knew each other, and the woman looked like a natural to play bimbo to Jesse’s bozo.

Phoebe hesitated, but even if the woman wanted more from Jesse than sex, she wouldn’t get it from him while he was plastered. “You can go without me. I’ll catch a ride with Chet when he’s—”

“Or I can take you home,” Jake said.

It was crazy. It was dangerous.

It was irresistible.

Phoebe liked games almost as much as Phagan, but this was one she hadn’t played in a long time. It was more dangerous than B&E, but that she shouldn’t be playing it only made it seem more enticing. What kind of opponent would Jake make? Was he worth the risk?

Professionally, Jake needed her to let him take her home. The personal part of him was hoping she’d say no. Her gaze locked with his. Hard as a drill bit, it mined for motive. Jake didn’t flinch, but it wasn’t easy. He was used to giving, rather than receiving, penetrating looks. Just when he was sure she’d bored straight through to his ulterior motive, she smiled.

“I’ll catch a ride with Jake.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jesse approached them with a weaving, uncertain stride, not stopping until he was in front of Jake. He leaned forward, sending a strong wave of sweat-and-beer-drenched air in Jake’s direction. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jake Kirby.” Jake didn’t lean toward or away from the cowboy. He chose his move, his spot to hit, if Jesse turned nasty.

“He’s looking for work. Jake, this is Jesse. You may have noticed him singing and getting plastered up on the stage tonight.”

“Howdy.” Jesse held out his hand, intensity at the back of his blurred eyes.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Phoebe cautioned Jake. “He can chin himself with his pinkies.”

Jake looked puzzled, so she added, “Rock climbing.”

“Done a bit of climbing myself,” Jake said and held out his hand.

Jesse tried to grab it but missed. Phoebe gave him a shove with her booted foot. “Go home and sleep it off, Jesse.”

Jesse tried to grab her but missed again. Bryn moved forward, wearing a pout that looked almost real. “I thought you were taking me home, honey?”

Mert came out the office door and Phoebe turned to him with relief. “Would you drive these two?”

“I was—whoa!” Mert caught sight of Bryn. “Have we met, darlin’?”

“I don’t think I’d forget meeting you,” Bryn said, fluttering her lashes.

Role was the right description, Phoebe thought. Quite the performance, if you didn’t look in her eyes.

Mert offered his arm, shoved his brother out the front door, then turned and said to Jake, “Mind how you go with her, mister. She’s family.”

Jake nodded, no sign of worry in his eyes or manner. Either he didn’t consider the guys a threat or he wasn’t planning to hit on her, Phoebe decided. When the door closed, Phoebe said, “Sorry.”

“I’ve got two brothers,” Jake said. “Both older than me. And dedicated to keeping my ass in line.”

Her smile was slow but potent. “All God’s children need a goal.”

Jake’s laugh came natural, felt good. “Yeah,” he said, “they do.” Then his brain reminded him what his goal was, and he sobered.

Her eyes registered this. Her lashes flickered, turning her expression into bland and pleasant. She stood up with an abrupt movement that tipped over the chair.

“Got a bit of a performance buzz to burn off. Can we go?”

“Sure.” She vibrated with tension, her gaze bouncing around, looking everywhere but at him. He stepped close, and she stepped back, reaching for her can of soda.

With a quick movement, Jake pulled it out of her reach. “You won’t work off a buzz chugging caffeine. Come on, let’s go get some food into you.”

She looked startled, then grinned.

“You might regret the absence of buzz,” she said with a sidelong glance as they headed for the door. “When I crash, I’m out like a light.”

“You think my ego can’t take a girl falling asleep on me?” he said, as he stepped past her to push open the door.

“Don’t know what you can take, now do I?” She stopped for a moment, rendered briefly breathless by the fit of blue jeans across his very nice ass. She gave a little shake and stepped through the doorway, but couldn’t resist murmuring her thanks for the courtesy—and the view.

“What?” Jake looked at her, as if sensing her layered emphasis.

“Nothing.” She grinned. “But you’d best—feed me, Seymour.”

He matched her grin as he opened the truck’s passenger door for her. “Are you dangerous when you’re hungry?”

She paused in the act of sliding across the car seat, leaving her long, bare legs extended for maximum viewing. He inhaled sharply, then looked up. She gave him a provocative look. “There are those who say I’m always dangerous.”

* * * *

Earl watched them from the shadows as they got into the truck, which pulled away and turned toward town. He slid into his SUV, pushing aside his snoring date. In a moment, he took off with a spurt of gravel, turning in the same direction.

* * * *

“Not exactly what I had in mind when I offered you food,” Jake said, pulling limp pastries from the convenience store’s microwave oven. The pungent scent of hotdog wrapped around—without making palatable—a body of smells comprised of stale cigarette smoke, popcorn, gasoline, various body odors, wet dog and something that fell under the general heading of dirt. The mix permeated every corner of the dingy store, even the pastries Jake carried to their tiny table. A scratchy radio dispensed a country-sounding wail into the chilled air while the middle-aged clerk desultorily turned the pages of a tattered National Enquirer.

“Small-town Friday night,” Phoebe said, the look in her eyes equal parts amused and resigned.

He crowded the pastries onto the tabletop with her watery juice drink and his over-strong coffee, then squeezed into the seat across from her. The table, wedged between a line of self-serve soda machines and the bathrooms, put them knee to knee and nose to nose. Since she had a nice nose, it wasn’t a problem.

Even with tiredness and fluorescent lighting bleeding the color from her face, she gave off a wholesome, sexy vibrancy that was dangerous to someone who’d been on the go for over twenty-four hours and without feminine contact for longer than that.

Bryn, being a colleague, didn’t count.

He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping exhaustion was why he was having trouble routing out a pesky elemental masculine response to Phoebe Mentel. Suspect he reminded himself, adding with more emphasis, prime suspect who could lead him to Dewey Hyatt. Just thinking about catching Hyatt helped Jake to sharpen his gaze, probing her expression for weak spots. What he found was strength in her steady gaze and in the line of her strong jaw. He’d seen unlikely people in unlikely places before, but Phoebe wasn’t just an odd peg in a strange hole.

She was on the wrong pegboard.

She sat on the cheap plastic bench in her long-tall-Texan getup with the natural aplomb of a royal, systematically crumbling a cardboard pastry into cardboard crumbs.

A sign she wasn’t stupid.

Her body hummed like a banjo from her performance high, one booted foot tapping out a tune only she could hear while her sad, cynical eyes went over him with laser-powered thoroughness. What she concluded, she kept to herself. A sign she was smart or just had nothing to hide? No way to know without delving into the puzzle of her mind and life further. He did wonder why he kept seeing her sitting under the spreading branches of a magnolia tree. She seemed made to wear something white and drifting, one of those wide-brimmed hats framing her face, her dark eyes slumberous with longing, her full lips parted for fine crystal instead of Styrofoam, and a big old plantation as a backdrop.

The straight line to knowledge begins with a question, so he asked, “What’s a nice accent like yours doing in a place like this?”

The well-defined line of her eyebrow rose. “From where I’m sitting, cowboy, you’re the one with an accent.”

He acknowledged the hit with a lift of one eyebrow. “Georgia?”

The pause before she answered was just a beat too long. “Texas, actually.”

“I could’ve of sworn I heard Georgia in your voice.”

She pushed aside her mangled pastry, picked up her napkin and dabbed the edges of her mouth. “You have a good ear. My mama hailed from Georgia—moved to Texas when she married.”

Nice and cool. He almost bought it. He took a cautious sip from his Styrofoam cup. “How did you end up in Colorado?”

“Colorado’s got more up than Texas.”

“Up?”

Jake’s puzzled look shored Phoebe’s shaken confidence. She smiled lazily, relaxing in her seat so that her leg brushed his long enough to maybe be an accident, maybe not. Her jacket fell open a bit. A deep breath raised and lowered her cleavage.

Nothing. Not even a quick look. She’d swear his gaze hadn’t left her face since that first thorough scrutiny when they’d bumped into each other back in the bar.

“Rock climbing requires vertical terrain; otherwise it’s just hiking.” She moistened her lips with her tongue while her cool gaze turned back his probing one.

He swallowed, a dry sound, and rubbed the nape of his neck.

“Okay.” He met her gaze and raised it a grin that curled fire in her belly and her toes in her boots. She took the charm of it on the chin, a glancing blow that nonetheless went deep, mining for a response she couldn’t afford to feel. Before she could stop it, an answering smile bloomed on her mouth. That only made it worse. His grin deepened, and his blue eyes opened on his soul, giving her a quick, tantalizing peek at things she could never have.

Regret hit her next. She wasn’t expecting it. She’d committed to her course and never looked back. Until today. To stop her fingers from forming fists, she grabbed her napkin and started folding it in an intricate pattern. It calmed her mind, muted despair. To distract him, she added, “And then there’s the garage—”

“Garage? I thought—”

“Climbing is too expensive to support just by playing honky-tonks. The guys are stupid about girls and booze, but they can make an engine purr like a satisfied woman. So they also run a garage here in Estes Park.” She finished her tattered origami bird and set it between them. What could she do with her hands now?

“Everybody’s gotta be good at something, I guess.” He picked up the bird she’d made from the napkin and studied it, giving her a brief respite from his X-ray gaze. “Nice.”

Just when she needed the knife-edge of tension to keep her head clear, it dissolved, letting exhaustion rush in to fill the void. Heaviness settled around her eyes, pulling down the lids with an insistence hard to ignore. She fought a yawn and lost. When it faded, she felt boneless and drifty. Made it harder to remember why she couldn’t lean across the tiny table and taste his yummy mouth for herself. The guys claimed denial wasn’t good for you, but that was just because denial didn’t suit them.

“I can understand the climbing bit, but—” He looked puzzled. A very good look on him, Phoebe conceded, her defenses eroding faster than sand on an ocean beach. “—I thought Texans couldn’t leave Texas?”

“Why not? It’s just a big, flat place.” She heard the words leave her mouth and tensed, waiting for God to strike her down, but He didn’t have to. All He had to do was leave her in the sun of Jake’s smile and wait until she melted from the inside out.

Her gaze slipped its leash, running over the lean, lanky lines of his body as a lazy heat built in her midsection. She huddled in on that warmth. She’d been cold so long, she’d almost forgotten what warm was. Her gaze continued roving. Until she ran into a big question mark in both eyes.

That cleared her head faster than a lightning bolt. She’d heard him asking Chet about the bar. If he was looking for work, why hadn’t he asked one question about a job?

Past his beckoning eyes, past the uniform of worn jeans and flannel shirt worn over his tee, beyond the relaxed air was something else, something that put him outside her world, with its rare questions and rarer confidences. The people in her world usually had something they wanted to keep in the back of the closet.

To distract him from her closeted secrets, she leaned forward and held out her hand. “My turn.”

“For what?”

“Your hand. I wanna read it. Learned from my mama, during one of her rare moments of sobriety.”

The tiny piece of truth came out so naturally, Phoebe almost missed it. Phoebe’s mama hadn’t been a drunk. She hadn’t lived long enough. She was mixing her real past with her fictional one. Not smart. Adrenaline entered her bloodstream in a slow but steady stream, then subsided as the question marks in Jake’s eyes faded like snow in the sun of his smile.

A pity truth was so dangerous. It was so effective.

“Hand? Isn’t it palms?”

“Anyone who reads just your palm is a quack—according to my mama. The palm tells only part of the story.”

“Okay.” He opened his hand for her viewing.

The pouting curve of his full lips started that warm stuff shooting through her blood again. It fused the tiny split in her personality, patching over the pain that tried to push out through the gap. But now she’d have to touch him.

Good move, Phoebe. The skin of her palm tingled in anticipation—

The jangle of the bell over the door as a customer came in made them both jump. Phoebe tucked her hair behind her ear. Jake looked back her way, then, as if he knew she couldn’t do it, did the touching for her.

The feel of his hand on hers sent a tiny shock of delight spiraling up her arm. It felt warm and heavy, the skin pleasantly abrasive where it brushed against hers. Phoebe let her fingers curl up around it, shivering when the pads of her fingertips found skin. Her gaze lowered, a move both defensive and imperative. She wanted to see, smell—she inhaled filling her lungs with his singular scent—and hear, wanted to engage all of her senses, if only in her imagination. Her exhalation came in a shaky rush.

Good thing restraint had been one of her first, hard-learned life lessons.

Her free hand hovered over his before making a soft landing so she could lightly trace its narrow length. His long, strong fingers were well kept but showed no sign of pampering. The pads were softly callused, the flesh beneath firm and capable. Her nose quivered as it homed in on his scent under the smell of soap and an echo of aftershave, as if it had been awhile since he’d shaved. Going for a Don Johnson scruffy look, or just circumstances?

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice turning husky. Did that mean he felt the current running between them?

Her forefinger made a path down his ring finger, her face taking on a sultry look that was easy to assume with her insides doing a slow lava boil. “All sorts of things.”

He cleared his throat. “Good thing I have nothing to hide.”

Maybe he didn’t. She explored the place on his finger where a wedding ring should be, her gaze never leaving his face. “No ring. No wife?”

What would he do with that question?

Jake swallowed, wishing he’d gotten a drink with ice. “No.”

For someone who was supposed to be reading his hand, she was spending a lot of time looking at his face. “Past or present.”

Her low murmur could have meant anything. Each finger was touched, and turned, all surfaces tantalizingly explored. Her smoky gaze pinned him in place and stirred heat in his gut.

“This is interesting.” She waited several seconds, a hundred heartbeats. “You’re a hunter.”

She wouldn’t have felt the flinch if she hadn’t been holding his hand. His brows drew together in a quick frown.

“Hunter?”

She gave him a smile edged with triumph. She’d got him off guard. Good. “Hands can’t hide what you’ve done to them.”

Jake’s stomach felt as if he’d taken a big drop on a roller coaster. He got a grip and asked lightly, “What—do I hunt?”

She shrugged. “Just know it’s personal. And you’re more driven than most.”

His stomach did another drop, until he saw a swiftly veiled gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. Not magic. Just an old fashioned lie-detector test, watching his eyes with her finger on his pulse. Damn, she was good. “Driven by what?”

Her lashes lifted, her eyes meeting his. “Justice.” Her fingers stroked his palm, stealing his breath. “But—”

Jake lifted a brow in a question his tight throat couldn’t voice.

“There’s mercy there, too. Like the horns of a dilemma.”

Her gaze locked with his for a long, hot moment while Jake struggled to clear his head. With an effort, he leaned into her space, determined to turn the tables on her. “Aren’t you going to tell me who I’ll marry, how many children I’ll have? My mom would like to know.”

Her lashes hid her eyes. “Let’s see.”

She turned his palm up, tracing the lines inside, a sultry abrasion from a finger pad roughened by contact with guitar strings. “This is your life line. It’s very long but bumpy. You take a lot of risks.”

“Is that the tactful way of telling me no woman would have me?”

“That—and this.” The nail of her forefinger, just long enough to be squared and serviceable, marked the place where another crossed his lifeline. “Your commitment line.”

“Commitment line? I’ve never heard of that one.”

“Really? Yours is very short.”

He studied the line she indicated. It was very short. He looked up, his face just inches from hers, and chuckled. The sound emerged huskier than he liked. So far this game was a draw. “Is the divorced pot calling the unmarried kettle black?”

She leaned back with a sultry laugh. “I was sixteen.”

That got his attention. “Sixteen?” He shook his head. “Was it legal?”

“Don’t know. Made sure the divorce was.”

“How long before the waitress?” He was convinced that story was true.

“Six months, more or less. Our Jesse isn’t naturally inclined toward monogamy.”

“Why did you marry him?” Jake hadn’t meant to ask, but their game had turned unexpectedly serious. Her eyes didn’t change, her body didn’t tense at the question. So why did it feel as if she’d moved away from him?

“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” At the time. For a moment that time weighed in against her. The girl she’d been pushed at the barrier holding her in. Jake was dangerously easy to tell things to, she’d felt it when they touched. Everything about him invited confidence, promised security, but there was no security for her. She broke contact, sitting back as far as the plastic seat would allow. “And Jesse, well, I think he confused himself with Sir Galahad, what with me being a kid and on my own and all.”

For an instant he caught a glimpse of that kid in her eyes before the protective veil of her lashes dropped. He felt an unexpected distaste for his duplicity. I’m the good guy, he reminded himself. “I can understand the compulsion to play white knight.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve learned to look out for myself.” Her mouth thinned and firmed, clearly setting out a No Trespassing sign. Her eyes warned him to heed it.

He’d never been known to read posted warnings.

“Phoebe—”

“Time to head for the barn. It’s past late, and I was up real early.”

Her withdrawal turned into a pain deep in his gut, but he just nodded. “Sure.”

He slid out and helped her up. He shouldn’t have, but he kept her hand for the walk to his truck. She didn’t pull her hand away, but she didn’t hang on either. Just accepted it. How did he know she’d had to accept a lot of things in her relatively short life?

Inside the truck, she leaned forward, her hand on the radio dial. “Do you mind?”

Jake wasn’t eager for silence either and nodded.

She played with the dial and soon music flowed out of the speakers, filling the silence with a country love song. She relaxed, her fingers absently picking out the chords of the song on an invisible guitar, her musky scent drifting on the cool air coming in the window.

At a light, the sound of her soft vocal added to the mix invited him to look at her. He found her face unevenly illuminated by a nearby streetlamp, her lips in the right shape for her song about shutting up and kissing.

Phoebe felt him watching and looked. The heat in his eyes stopped her in mid-hum, her lips still pursed around the words. She gave a nervous laugh and switched off the radio.

“Good song,” Jake said.

“Yeah, we get a lot of requests for it.” She brushed her hair back. “Light’s green.”

“Is it?” He let up on the brake. “I thought it was yellow.”

She gave a tiny cough that might have been a laugh and said, “Turn right at the next street. It’s up that rise on the right.”

A single lamp glowed behind the curtained window of a small cabin of a house. The light from a streetlight hinted at a well-kept yard, and the porch light showed the way down a straight, neat sidewalk through trimmed grass to a blue door.

He got out and started around the truck. She didn’t wait for him. He wanted to take her hand again, but it was a line he shouldn’t have crossed the first time.

He walked beside to her up to the blue door, watched her dig a key out of her pocket, insert it in the lock and push open the door. When she turned to face him, an undercurrent of desire made a circuit between them.

Shut up and kiss me. He could hear the words in his head, waited to see if they’d be in her eyes when she faced him.

Phoebe wanted to kiss him so bad, her lips hurt. It made her nervous as a teenager on her first date as she stepped across the threshold and turned. In the dim glow of the porch light he looked as calm and steady as a rock.

“Thanks—for the food and the ride.”

“Next time I’ll do better.”

Next time. She shouldn’t feel a surge of pleasure. How much time could she spend getting probed by those eyes without spilling her secrets? Her brain sent down excuses, but her mouth said, “Sounds good.”

“Good night, Phoebe.”

“Night, Jake.”

While he waited, just out of reach, she backed up until she could shut him from her view. It seemed a long time before she heard the slam of the truck door, the fire of his engine, the slow fade as he drove away.

She’d taken her share of missteps rock climbing, felt herself tumble through space, waiting for the sharp tug of the belay to stop the imperative summons of gravity. Felt the jarring collision of flesh to rock. But this—this was falling without a belay—

Course, the up side was, it wouldn’t be flesh smashing into rock—

She shook her head and tossed her purse onto a table. Only took a moment to shrug off her jacket. She fought with her boots in little hopping steps that took her down the short hall into the living room. The boots got kicked into a corner.

She started working at the stubborn zip of her jeans, determined to be undressed by the time she hit the bed. She needed to get unconscious, the faster the better. There was no tingling, no sense of premonition. Just a sudden awareness of movement behind her.

She felt a hand touch her shoulder.

“Took you long enough to get home, Phoebe,” Earl said.

* * * *

Jake had followed his instincts into a lot of places, some dangerous, some boring, some that led nowhere, though most of the time they led him right where he needed to go. He had good instincts, accepted them as a gift from God, the same way he did the desire for hunting that Phoebe had so neatly nailed.

What kept him sniffing until he was certain there was nothing left to smell—well, that was sometimes gift, sometimes curse, depending on the situation. The fact was he couldn’t stop going forward until he got what he was after. It was the way he was. He’d put his life on the line, come close to losing it more times than he admitted to his mom, but this—Phoebe—was uncharted territory for him.

Not the desire, he knew about desire, knew how to channel it into less dangerous byways before it got out of hand. Now his instincts were broadcasting a warning he didn’t want to hear.

He wanted her, not the fugitive she might lead him to. Alone in the truck, he could admit it, could admit that something about her made him want to try a different kind of hunting—the kind a man did when he met the one woman exactly right for him.

He could feel lust drawing him off the scent, beckoning him to try this new direction, despite the question marks hovering over her. Some blanks he could fill in. Her mother was a drunk who’d probably been knocked around by her dad. She sang and played guitar in a honky-tonk band, talked tough while retaining the air of a lady. Had a good brain, great verbal skills, despite the fact she’d apparently run away from home before graduating. Married too young, divorced too young, but still on good terms with her ex.

And she managed the highly suspect JR’s.

None of it added up. Yet.

Phoebe didn’t lend herself to a straightforward equation, like two plus two equals four. No, she was an algorithm of unknowns, where y was a lot of questions and x stood for something he shouldn’t be feeling. He was afraid the final equation could be…explosive.

He picked up his cell phone and punched in Matt’s office number. His brother was assigned to the Denver office of the US Marshals Service and could give him access to the kind of information he needed to clear the lust out of his head.

Their different investigative styles sometimes caused friction, but that didn’t stop Jake from calling when he needed help. When his brother answered, Jake asked, “Don’t you ever go home to your wife?”

“She’s gone until tomorrow.” Matt’s voice had an undertone of contentment that Jake still wasn’t used to hearing coming from his tough big, brother. His marriage to the romance writer he’d been assigned to guard last year had changed Matt, Jake decided. Happiness had actually sharpened his instincts. After all, he had Dani waiting at home.

“Tomorrow is today,” Jake said after glancing at the clock on the dash.

“Cut the crap, Jake. You find anything?”

Matt had been derisive about Jake’s lead. Figured it for a cold, dead end. He still wasn’t sure what it was, but cold and dead it was not, he thought, thinking about Phoebe. “Maybe. You find anything when you ran JR’s under the big microscope?”

Matt was quiet a moment. “Maybe.”

Jake sighed. Matt hated being wrong. Too bad Jake had wanted him to be right this time. Because if JR’s was dirty, then so was Phoebe.

“Give me what you got.”

“I got nothing but suspicious indicators right now. Got my best guy hound-dogging it for you.”

“Appreciate it.”

“No problem. You coming in to my office tomorrow?”

“Not until the afternoon.”

“What are you doing in the morning?”

“Applying for a job.” Jake grinned and broke the connection.

* * * *

Bryn pushed the door of her motel room closed and leaned against it with a sigh of relief. It would take a long, hot shower to get rid of the palm prints on various parts of her anatomy. Fortunately Jesse Mentel had been overcome by alcohol before she had to cuff him. Good thing, too. She had a feeling he’d have enjoyed it.

She flicked on the light, shuddered at the sight of the ugly little room’s aging cowboy décor and headed for the bathroom. She was almost past the bed before her brain registered what her eyes had seen. The single red rose and square white envelope on her pillow.

In the space of one breath, she pulled her piece and did a fast but thorough check of the room. She wasn’t surprised when she found nothing. Phagan’s style was definitely hit-and-run. She sank onto the bed and eyed the envelope with equal parts ire and resignation. Phagan was getting bolder and way too romantic.

“I’m too tired for this.” Instead of sympathy, the A/C kicked on, indifferent that the temperature outside had dropped too many degrees for the modified bimbo Jake had insisted she wear. She wanted to ignore the note and step under the hottest shower this dive could summon up. She wanted to tumble into bed and dream of lying on a recliner with a box of Godiva chocolates on the table and a romance novel in hand.

She picked up the envelope, opened it and two gift certificates fell out. One was for Godiva chocolates. The other for a bookstore. There was also a flyer advertising the latest Dani Gwynne romance novel. Across the bottom, Phagan had written TelTech, Inc. Beneath it was a heart with an arrow through it.

With a moan, she fell back on the horseshoe-patterned bedspread and stared at the ceiling. It didn’t help, so she rolled to her side and pulled the rose within reach of her nose. The rich, sweet scent drove out the stale room smell. The soft petals brushed her nose like a lover’s caress and—

A sudden knock at the door sent her heart skittering into pound mode.

“Bryn?” Jake’s voice was muffled but easily identified.

Bryn hastily tossed the rose and scrambled to open the door.

Jake held up a white sack.

“Followed my nose to an all-night bakery.” He put her aside and strode into the room, stopping when he saw the rose.

“I didn’t get one of those on my pillow.”

“Someone has a sense of humor.”

“Uh-huh.” Jake took the lone chair and opened the bag. “Bagels and cream cheese. No coffee. Don’t want to mess with your beauty sleep.”

She sat down on the end of the bed, taking the sliced, cream cheese smeared bagel he held out to her.

“How did it go with Jesse?” Jake took a hearty bite out of his bagel.

“He was probably an octopus in another life. Has the same size brain,” she said. “If he’s a master thief, there’s something not right in the universe. What about you?”

On the other end, Jake paused, reluctant to throw Phoebe to Bryn. Mercy wasn’t exactly Bryn’s strong point. On the other hand, Phoebe’d be fine if she was clean. A big, unlikely if.

“The lady has secrets,” he said, and added to himself, lots of them. “Think you can work on your own tomorrow?” He stood up, reaching the door in two strides.

Bryn looked at the note sitting on her nightstand. “I think I can manage something. What’ll you be doing?”

He opened the door, then turned to face her. “Gonna apply for a job.”

He was out of the room, the door closed behind him, before Bryn could get out, “Why—”

“Men.” She looked at the rose, then at the bagel. At least they weren’t totally useless.

FOUR

Phoebe reacted instinctively to Earl’s hand on her shoulder.

She grabbed it and in one smooth movement twisted around to face him. This turned his hand under and forced him away from her. His muffled exclamation turned to a yelp when she pushed his hand up between his shoulder blades and shoved him into the wall, using her knee to hold him there.

“You got two seconds to explain what you’re doing in my house,” she growled into his ear.

He cussed, the words muffled by his proximity to the wall.

“That’s not an explanation.”

This violation of her space had adrenaline singing through her bloodstream in an out-of-control flood. She twisted her fingers in his hair and shoved his face into the wallboard, then went to jerk his head back for round two. Instead of his head jerking back, the hair came off in her hand.

“What the—”

“It’s me! Dewey!”

“Dewey?” Her heart was pumping fight-or-flight so loud, she almost couldn’t hear him. She stared at the wispy wig in her hand, then the tufted, full head of hair on the back of his head. “Dewey Damn Hyatt?”

She threw down the wig and stepped back, her body shuddering with a reaction that now had nowhere to go.

“In the slightly bruised flesh.” He eased his arm down, flexing the fingers once before turning around. Using the wall for support, he dabbed at the red trickling out the corner of his mouth, then rubbed it between his fingers. “I guess I shouldn’t have sneaked up on you.”

“You forget I don’t do victim anymore?” She pushed her hair off her face with hands that shook from the surge of violence she hadn’t known was in her. She didn’t waste time asking how he got in. Hadn’t made a lock that Dewey couldn’t pop. “Let’s get some ice on that.”

His face and body might be Earl, but his grin was vintage Dewey, though crooked now as one side of his mouth began to puff out.

Her kitchen was a pleasantly impersonal room with carabiner wind chimes hanging above the tidy sink. Even at night, the white walls and yellow countertops appeared sunny and cheerful. Phoebe rummaged through a first-aid kit until she found a disposable ice pack and twisted it to break the seal between its chemicals.

While she waited for it to chill, Dewey began to shed his “Earl-ness,” removing the prosthetic weight from around his belly, the mouth device that changed his jaw line and teeth and pulled off the bulbous nose. Flecks of the adhesive he’d used to keep it in place stayed on his skin, and he looked like a deflated clown with Earl’s clothes hanging off his rangy frame.

She tipped his chin toward the light and dabbed away the blood. She started to apply the pack, but Dewey took it from her, holding it against his rapidly swelling lip.

“Next time I come at you from behind, I’ll wear a bell.”

“Next time don’t come as Earl.” She straddled a chair as her knees went from fight to flop. “You been Earl all along or you just look like him for tonight?”

“If you don’t know, I ain’t gonna tell you.” His grin widened toward unrepentant, but quickly shrank into a wince.

“You just did.” She was gonna have to find a way to exact justice from his sorry hide. “What’s so important you had to scare ten years off my life to tell me?”

His suddenly sober expression told her it was bad.

“Ollie’s dead.”

Beyond bad. She was glad she was already sitting down. “What?”

Despite her turbulent past, Phoebe and all of Phagan’s young thieves were careful to avoid violence. Dewey had been known to joke that a gun added a nickel or more to your basic B&E time, but their caution had more to do with their refusal to embrace the methods of those who had afflicted them in the past. Each job, each game, was meant to disarm their target covertly, electronically if possible. First they went after the money, then after their freedom by tipping off Phagan’s Fibbie—who they all knew by name and reputation, but not by sight.

Their success rate was remarkable, despite the Fibbie’s unrelenting pursuit, and had been, until now, casualty free. Until Phoebe’s turn to avenge the past, until her game. She tried to pull up Ollie’s picture in her head, but how could she? In their shadowy, chameleon world, reality was whatever they each decided it was. Her lips numb, Phoebe said, “Harding?”

“His pit bull, Stern, probably.”

They’d done their homework on Barrett Stern before starting the game, but apparently they hadn’t done it well enough.

Phoebe shook her head, rejecting the reality of his death, not Dewey’s guess on who might have killed him. “This wasn’t Ollie’s game.”

“He wanted in.”

“He didn’t want to die.” Phoebe looked at Dewey, feeling the pain of loss from the present and the past combine inside her like the chemicals in the ice pack interacting. Phagan’s first rule was never to let the past intrude on the present, but it was hard to manage when she was facing that past head on.

“He knew the risks.”

Risks Phagan wouldn’t let her take. The gallantry factor. No feminists in Phagan’s world. That was about to change. Pain, rage, and frustration combined to form a new emotion: resolve.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

“Phagan sent me a new kid. He’s pretty good. Lots of potential. He could do what Ollie was going to—”

“We’re out of time. My egg is hatching as we speak. We can’t push back the time-table now.” She looked at him. “There’s only one person who can do it. Me.”

It was Dewey’s turn to shake his head.

“Yes. I planned it. I’ve played it more than anyone.”

“In virtual reality,” Dewey objected. “It’s not the same thing.”

“It’s my game. Harding’s my target. My risk.” She stood up and crossed to the refrigerator, anxious to avoid his eyes for a few minutes. They were far too penetrating and might see the profound, poisonous terror welling up from deep inside her.

“Phagan—”

She cut him off. “—will know I’m right.”

“You think so?”

She turned in time to catch a slight, crooked grin turning up the side of his mouth that wasn’t puffy. “I know so.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Doesn’t matter.” She lifted her chin. “I’m going all the way with this one.” She popped the top on the soft drink she’d taken out and drank deeply.

He stood up, too. “Okay. We move on Harding’s RABBIT Sunday night.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more.

“What?”

“Phagan gave me the green light to up the ante—and the heat on Harding if you’re up for it.”

Phoebe tensed, powerless to stop herself. “When?”

“Harding’s got his engagement party tomorrow. Rumor has it he’ll be announcing his run for governor tomorrow, too.” He waited several seconds before adding, “I’m going to try to get you an invite. If you can you face him?”

Face him. Face Peter Harding in person. Could she do it? She was stronger than that girl who had run from him. Run from what he’d done to her sister. She could feel the roots she’d put down in Phoebe’s life anchoring her on one side, while the sucking mire of the past pulled at her from the other. It was like being a schizophrenic Pandora facing that closed box, debating whether to open it.

Phagan thought she was strong enough for the game. And Phagan was always right. No reason not to believe him now. It was time she stepped onto this path and faced her demons. A sort of peace pushed back her fear.

“I’ve been waiting seven years to face him.” Dewey didn’t look convinced, so she added, “I’ll do what I have to.”

He flicked her cheek gently. “You always do, darling.”

He hefted the spent ice pack, then tossed it into the trash and took a handful of pistachios out of his pocket. He shelled them, tossing the hulls in after the ice pack.

“You staying the night?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Kevin, the new kid, isn’t ready to be left alone all night.” He finished his pistachios and brushed his hands down his pants, then gathered up his Earl accoutrements. He hesitated, then said, “I’ll beep you if—”

“I know.”

When she’d let him out, she padded down the hall to her room, not expecting to sleep, but her body was wiser than her mind. It ejected thought and surrendered to the sleep it needed, sending her deep and sound until close to eight, when the sun found a space in her blinds and put a beam of light across her face.

For a moment she lay there listening to a robin’s cheery sounds outside her window while last night’s events crept back to the forefront of her mind. With a quick movement she tossed back thought and blankets, stripped off the tee shirt she’d slept in, replacing it with bike shorts and a brief top. When her hair was secured in a rubber band, she left, passing through the kitchen like a comet. She needed to clear her mind for what was ahead. Forward motion always helped her more than twisting in the wind of thought.

On the street, her feet pounded the pavement. She ran hard until halfway up the first hill, then settled into a steady rhythm. This was a dangerous time for her. That the past was stalking her future gave fuel to her run.

She had to control the game or lose it all.

* * * *

Jake pulled his truck to a stop on the other side of the street from Phoebe’s house. He set the brake and studied the tidy structure in the daylight, forcing himself to wait to get out and cross the street, fighting back an unprofessional and unwelcome eagerness to see her again.

Her property was almost picture perfect, with neat flowerbeds outlining the house and front walk. A row of pine trees divided the approach to the garage from the tiny back yard enclosed in a picket fence. In the center of the backyard was a swing set, minus the swings, with a small trampoline underneath.

Before he could puzzle out the why of that, a tingling on the back of his neck had him twisting to look down the street.

It was well worth the lost sleep, this first view of Phoebe jogging down the hill toward him with an effortless grace and a minimum of clothing. She’d pulled her dark hair back with something and it swung from side to side with each concussion of feet to ground. Her tanned body was sleek, glistening with exertion.

Without a break in stride, she vaulted the picket fence, jogged to the trampoline and used it to launch herself up until her hands closed around the crossbar of the swing set. She hung for a moment, then, with the full drag of her body on her arms, she pulled herself up in a series of chin-ups.

It looked as if Jesse wasn’t the only Mentel with a good grip. Jake resisted the urge to flex his arms as he got out and crossed the street. She was lifting a leg to hook it over the bar.

While he was still wondering how to make his presence known, Phoebe spotted him from her upside down position. He saw her hands open and swore, bounding over the fence. As he ran toward her, she tucked, pulling her legs in, trying to bring her body around. If the clearance had been an inch less, she wouldn’t have made it. An inch more, her feet wouldn’t have hit the tramp at an angle that sent her rebounding forward to slam into his chest.

He had a couple of seconds to brace himself before she hit him dead center, knocking the wind out of his lungs and his feet out from under him. As he went backwards he wrapped his arms around her and tried to relax into the collision with mother earth. It helped, but not enough.

When he could speak, he said, “Nice tackle.”

She laughed breathlessly. “I’m sorry—are you all right?”

“Oh, yeah—” The words came out a bit more emphatic than he’d planned and he quickly asked, “Are you all right?”

“Hey, I been slammed into rock. This was much nicer.”

“Yeah.” Sandwiched between hard earth and her body, Jake only had to lower his gaze slightly to get an eye full. With an effort, he looked up at the clear blue sky and tried to count away temptation. He was well past ten when she rolled off him.

“That better?”

He grinned. “Yes and no.”

“Diplomatic.”

“My mom required it of all her sons. Sometimes quite forcefully.”

The thought of anyone requiring anything of Jake made Phoebe smile. As if he heard her thought, humor lit his eyes. Her gaze was hooked by his and she sobered as pleasure bloomed in her midsection. He’d looked good in the night. He looked even better in the light.

Live it all the way or don’t do it at all, Phagan was wont to say, without ever defining what living was, but it was now quite clear she hadn’t been.

She sat up, wrapping her hands around her knees. “You ever heard that country song about the difference between lonely—and lonely for too long?”

“Yeah, I have.”

“I think—” she looked at him, her gaze sliding the length of his body before returning to his face— “I been lonely for too long.”

Before he could react, she jumped to her feet.

“Do you want a cup of coffee or something? I need to shower before we talk.”

Talk about what? He scrambled upright and followed her inside, led by the sway of her hips in tight shorts and by curiosity about the questions she didn’t ask him. In the kitchen, she pointed out the coffee paraphernalia. “Just help yourself. I won’t be long.”

He took her at her word and rummaged through her cupboards, assembling the necessary items for a bad cup of coffee, since she didn’t have the makings for a decent one. He spooned stale crystals into his cup and went to the sink to run some hot water. Stirring the nasty-looking brew with a spoon, he studied his surroundings. The kitchen was clean enough for the small piece of debris on the floor to stand out like a sore thumb. He knelt, felt a kick of shock when realized it was a pistachio shell.

Inside the trash were more shells, as well as a spent ice pack. He sighed, hearing the water start in the back of the house. After a pause, the flow changed from tap to shower. To get rid of his mind’s inclination to ponder Phoebe in the shower, watering sliding off her body, he headed down her hallway. There wasn’t anything to see but an unused guestroom without invading her bedroom, so he turned back. He took one sip before deciding he didn’t need coffee that bad.

The other door out of her kitchen led to a living room, rustic but comfortable, the furniture light and blocky. Two crossed ice picks hung above the fireplace. Only scenery shots on the walls. No books. No magazines. No newspapers. The boots she’d worn last night were tossed in a corner, her purse on a table just inside the front entry. He walked into the room, then wheeled in a circle with his senses stretched out. The room was almost impersonal, but still managed to exude a comfortable sense of permanence and serenity that he tried to fit into the Phagan and Dewey Hyatt setup—and couldn’t.

He heard the shower shut off and turned back to the kitchen, his thoughts spinning in a kaleidoscope that wouldn’t make a pattern. He almost didn’t see the mark on the white wall, a few inches below eye level.

He leaned close and studied the brown flecks without touching them.

Blood.

Odd place to find it. Did explain the ice pack. Sort of. If you had a good imagination, which he did.

He headed for the kitchen, frown between his brows and regret in his heart. Even without the lust factor, he liked her. Obvious that life had kicked her around more than a little bit, without making her bitter or mean.

Sometimes he hated his job.

FIVE

Phoebe stopped in the doorway of her kitchen, taking the opportunity to study Jake before he noticed her. He’d implied he was job hunting while talking to Chet, but Jake didn’t look hungry enough to be job hunting. And he was too Boy Scout to be one of Harding’s goons.

He reached up, making her carabiner wind chimes perform with a flick of his wrist and rational thought fled. Sunshine from the window flooded over him, finding the gold buried in his dark hair and putting shadows in the laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes. He’d exchanged last night’s boots for comfortable tennis shoes but stayed with the tight jeans, tee and flannel, this time a soft blue plaid. He’d left the shirt unbuttoned, its sleeves rolled almost to the elbow, giving her an unrestricted view of every curve and hollow of his strong wrists and long-fingered hands.

Her blood warmed, as if Jake were a reflector for the sun. His chin angled her way, leaving her no time to prepare for the jolt when his blue gaze found her. He smiled, deepening the laugh lines and igniting a sultry hunger in her midsection.

“All done?” He grinned a welcome that made her insides go soft.

He was far too sexy to be trusted. She propped a shoulder against the doorframe, her smile emerging from the deep well of her own longing. “You aren’t looking for a job, cowboy.”

Did he stiffen? His grin turned crooked, but wariness crept into his eyes.

“I never actually said I was looking for a job. That was Chet’s idea.”

“Chet’s not too observant.”

“And you are?” Jake picked up the coffee he’d made. One sip reminded him why he’d set it down in the first place.

“I try to be.” She straightened, pulled open the fridge, and bent to retrieve a Diet Coke from a lower shelf.

Jake watched her snug shorts ride high, the fabric stretching over the taut cheeks of her bottom. He tried to look away but found the path of least resistance irresistible, since it let him follow the smooth, tender length of her legs. Cool air flowed out the open door but it made no headway against heated want. He rubbed the beads of sweat from his forehead and told himself he was in serious trouble if he didn’t pull himself together. He didn’t care.

Phoebe straightened and slammed the door shut, then turned to face him as she popped the top on her can. “So tell me, why are you standing in my kitchen, not drinking my lousy coffee?”

He hesitated, his brain lacking the needed blood for a clever response. That left only a plunge into an explanation without any idea where he was going. “I could try to bullshit you with a story about being a reporter, or an author doing research—my personal favorite—or maybe a guy looking to buy a bar.”

“But you won’t?” The arch of one dark brow was openly skeptical.

“No.” He tried to look straightforward. It was easier to produce an honest expression when he wasn’t telling the truth. Honesty was far more nerve wracking. “I have too much respect for your intelligence to bullshit you.”

Phoebe’s laugh was throaty, full of sex. “That’s a good line. I can’t wait to hear the rest of it.”

The rest of it. Right. “Yeah, well, there isn’t much more. I hate to admit it, but I’m just…curious.”

“Curious?” The word pursed her mouth, still moist with soda.

“That’s right.” He gave a mental wince, but there was no going back, so he went with it. “It’s the way I am. Sometimes I just wonder how things work. I mean, I’ve probably been in hundreds of bars since I reached the age of consent and never thought about what makes them work.” He shrugged. “Then I’m in JR’s last night, and it hits me. Like a bolt of lightning.”

“Curiosity.”

“That’s it. No deep, dark secret. Just…curiosity.”

He swallowed dryly and smiled an invitation for her to trust him into the skeptical furnace of her gaze.

The kicker was, Phoebe almost did trust him. It was just screwy enough to be true. He could be a curious guy. Yeah, and I’m the president’s lady.

The look in his eyes made it easy for her. Phoebe couldn’t, wouldn’t trust easily. Whatever he was, whether his interest was in her or the bar, she couldn’t afford to trust him. He didn’t have to be a bad guy to be dangerous to her.

She had to know and know fast, what he was after, so she straightened and stepped close to him, giving him a smoky smile. She’d played the vamp before, but this time it wasn’t playing. Or maybe it was that playing didn’t feel right.

“Well, Curious Jake, I hate to see a man with an itch he can’t scratch. So why don’t you come with me today and I’ll share with you the deep—” she smoothed the collar of his flannel shirt, her hands just brushing the sides of his jaw— “dark secrets of bar management. Then you won’t have to be curious anymore. You’ll…know.”

Again Jake swallowed dryly. “Sounds…interesting.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s interesting all right. About as interesting as watching grass grow.” She snagged a minute bit of lint from the collar of his shirt and flicked it away, knowing she’d moved past research to playing with fire. Lovely, warm fire. “That just leaves one important point to be decided.”

“What’s that?” His voice was husky, and his eyes had little flames at the back of them.

It looked as if she’d rubbed the right materials together. She just hoped she could control the fire.

“Whether you want to take your truck or pile in with me.” She stepped back, against her own inclination and just shy of outright conflagration. “I should warn you, though, I probably won’t be coming back here until…bedtime.”

For a moment he didn’t have breath to answer. He tried for casual, but his smile wasn’t the only thing woody. “Then I guess I’d better take my truck. I gotta run a couple of errands this afternoon.”

Like get some ice to shove down his pants. Lots of it. And maybe take a couple of cold showers. He rubbed the back of his neck and wondered what he’d gotten into.

Her amusement should have taken the starch out of him, but the mischief in her eyes was contradicted by some obvious signs that he wasn’t the only one popping with lust, he decided as his gaze skimmed across that part of her tee shirt lifted by curving breasts.

It felt good to look at her, but it wasn’t good. She was almost certainly involved with Phagan and Hyatt. Maybe if he made that reminder his mental mantra, his body would get the message and quit sending his blood supply south.

“Fair enough.” Her lashes hid her eyes. “You can follow me over and sate your curiosity.”

“Yeah, well.” He stepped back, putting distance that didn’t help between them. “I make it a policy not to get too curious. You know what they say about curiosity and the cat.”

Her face went blank, her eyes ice cool. “Yeah, I do.”

It was, Jake thought, more sobering than a cold shower.

* * * *

Stern was still at the computer when Peter Harding let himself into the office. He looked up, surprised to see Peter standing there.

“You been here all night?” Peter asked. He surveyed Stern’s unshaven chin and rumpled clothes with distaste.

“The whole network was compromised. I had to restore from the backup.” That was the short version of his night but all he’d offer, since Harding wouldn’t understand his pleasure at battling, and beating, who ever had altered the screensaver.

“Bet you wish you’d known about it before you killed the little bastard.”

That was true, but not for the reason Harding thought. Perhaps he’d been hasty where Smith was concerned. It was satisfying to kill the good, but even more satisfying to turn them. And Smith, if he was the author these annoyances, might have been able to make RABBIT run.

Harding’s intercom buzzed.

“Who else is here?” Stern asked.

“Just the guard.” Harding depressed the button. “What?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but an Agent Bailey from the FBI is asking to speak with you. What do you want me to tell her?”

“Her?” Harding looked to Stern for guidance.

Did he realize how often he did that, Stern wondered? “You’d better see her.”

“Show her up,” Harding said.

Stern shut off the monitor. “I’ll wait next door. Leave the intercom open.”

* * * *

Phoebe unlocked the double doors of JR’s, releasing the stale smell of bar nights to rush past Jake. There were no windows in the main part of the building, so the rectangle of daylight from the open door was the only illumination in the dark. Jake hesitated, but Phoebe took off her sunglasses and walked forward, the beat of her feet against the wooden floor not faltering once.

Who was she? And why was she willing to accept “Curious Jake” at face value, give him carte blanche to snoop around JR’s unchecked? Did she suspect him? Was she using this tour to demonstrate she had nothing to hide? Maybe she didn’t have anything to hide. If she didn’t, why did her face keep changing like a turning prism, until he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t? Was she part of Phagan and Hyatt’s game or someone caught in it like he was?

It was possible that Hyatt was using her to cover his trail without her knowledge.

Yeah, and it was possible he was reaching for straws in a high wind. Or even worse, thinking with the wrong brain.

In the middle of the room one spotlight came on, casting an almost perfect circle on the wooden floor. He pushed the door closed and took a couple of steps forward, then halted when he saw her emerge from shadow, stopping at the edge of the light’s heart.

“Here it is, Curious Jake.” Her voice was a husky, evocative echo in the big empty room. “The country bar in all its bare, tawdry glory. Go ahead and sate your…curiosity.”

Would he take the bait, she wondered, trying to slow her wildly beating heart. It was as provocative, as dangerous as climbing without a proper belay, but Phoebe couldn’t help herself. You know what they say about cats and curiosity. Was it a threat? If he was dangerous, why did she feel safe around him? There was no way to know anything for sure, only her instincts to guide her on a path that even Pathphinder couldn’t see the end of.

On the other side of the light she heard Jake walking toward her, his measured footsteps on the wooden floor beating the same tempo as her heart. He stopped just shy of her circle. She wanted to invite him to step in, and wrap herself around him. She wanted to heal herself in his eyes and to warm herself against his body. She didn’t dare move toward him, couldn’t make herself move away from him.

All she could do was wait and see what his next move would be.

He stared at her, felt the pull behind her neutral eyes and still body. Longed to close the space that separated them. He’d felt lust before, even felt a longing for the emotional completion his brothers had found with their wives. He remembered Luke saying he’d known the first time he looked in Rosemary’s eyes that his life would never be the same. At the time, he’d thought it was Luke’s hormones talking. Now he understood what Luke meant. How ironic that he was feeling it for the one woman he couldn’t have.

He couldn’t cross the line. This was business, not karma.

He looked past her with the bitter bite of regret tightening his chest and stared at the stage, where he could see the muted gleam of musical equipment. In his mind he peopled it with Phoebe and the other band members, saw them playing, their music fueled by audience excitement, felt again the strange synergy between singers and audience.

When he thought he could trust his voice, he said, “What’s it like to be up there, on stage?”

“What’s it like?” She hesitated, then said, “It’s like…safe sex that feels wild and dangerous.”

Heat came back like flames shooting up a flue, feeding the longing that cycled between them in unsteady bursts, trying to burn through his control.

He jerked his gaze away. He counted to fifty, mentally added an arctic wind, and managed to ask, “You ever dream of the big time when you’re playing? Of a bigger audience?”

“No.” She walked around the circle toward him. “I have almost everything I want in the little time.”

He walked away from her around the circle. “Almost?”

“If I had everything, there’d be nothing to—want.”

Even in the dark he could see the bewildered pain, mingled with longing in her eyes. His control slipped, and he took a step into the circle toward her. “Phoebe—”

The door opened and a moment later the place was flooded with light. The shadows fled, leaving the questions dancing in the air with the dust motes.

“I came to log in a load of booze,” Chet said from the doorway.

For a moment longer Phoebe stared at Jake, then she turned from him and said, “I’m glad it came. I was worried we’d run out tonight.”

“No fears,” Chet said.

She hesitated, then looked at Jake, her eyes showing only friendly interest. “Have you seen enough, Curious Jake?”

“No.” He stared back. “I’d like to see more.” And understand everything.

“Come on then.” She turned and walked away from him, the sassy sway of her butt laced with bravado.

Jake gave himself a little shake and followed, knowing in his gut that something important had just happened. He wasn’t sure in what context—business or personal—it mattered. He did know he had to find out before it was too late.

* * * *

Peter Harding shook hands with Agent Bailey, smiling at her with his patented charm. She smiled back. All women did. They couldn’t help themselves. It had always been like that and always would be until he didn’t have to play the PC game any longer, didn’t have to disguise his contempt for women like this one. Women who thought they were powerful enough to play men’s games.

Women never should have been given the vote. It was too late to turn back the clock now, but there were other ways to punish their presumption.

“I’ll be in touch if and when we know more,” she said, her voice brisk as she tried to pretend she was as good as a man. “Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”

“I feel safe knowing you’re on top of things,” Peter said. He held on to her hand a little longer than he should have, squeezing it just enough to bring a satisfying flash of annoyance to her eyes. “Thank you for keeping us informed.”

When she pulled away, he let her go. Let her walk away in her power suit and do-me heels. He waited until he heard the ping of the elevator before relaxing his guard. He heard Stern come back.

“She thinks we might be a target for a burglary.” He laughed as he went to pour himself a drink.

Stern lit up and blew smoke, looking as amused as he was capable of.

Peter looked at his watch.

“Gotta go. Mind the store.”

Stern watched Peter saunter out like a man on top of the world. He crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, then pulled a slip of paper from his inside pocket and unfolded it. Inside, the words hadn’t changed since the last time he read them: Knowing isn’t always a good thing. Hope you have your back covered.

Stern re-stowed the note, pulled his piece and checked it. The clip was full. He restored it to the holster and sauntered over to the bar. It might be time to reconsider his association with Peter. He was getting cocky, careless. That business with the FBI agent was stupid. Peter thought all women were stupid. He was wrong.

About so many things.

* * * *

“There he goes.” Dewey Hyatt looked away from the computer screen, which was tapped into TelTech’s security system, and smiled at Kevin. “Like a lamb to the slaughter.”

Kevin’s grin was still wary but had the promise of great charm. He’d picked up on their basic course in hacking with admirable speed. Definitely a natural. Trust would come when the bruises his stepfather had left on his face had faded. There had been a lot of Kevins in the years since Nadine had died and there were a lot of Kevins and Karens still out there. Phagan couldn’t save them all, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

Dewey grabbed the phone and punched in the numbers for Phoebe’s beeper. When prompted, he punched in the code that would let her know it was time for the white queen to make her move. He grabbed his coat and started to leave, but a tingling on the back of his neck made him pause.

He looked around the apartment, then at Kevin. “Think it’s time to move out of here. Can you break it down while I take care of business?”

Kevin nodded, trying, like any teenager, not to look pleased. “The fallback?”

Dewey nodded. “When I’m done, I’ll meet you back here to do a sweep.”

A look of anxiety crossed Kevin’s face. “Do you think they’re on to us?”

For Kevin, Dewey knew, everyone was a they, with only a few us that he wasn’t all that sure he could trust yet. He grinned. “Kev, my friend, they are always on to us, always close, but it’s a game. A dance. Sometimes they lead. Most of the time we lead. If they do pick you up, we’ll have you out before you have time to get used to that great jailhouse food. The trick is to stay calm and say nothing. Got it?”

The anxiety didn’t leave, but Kevin nodded.

“Good.” Dewey mock socked his chin. “Be gone an hour, two tops.”

* * * *

Jake prowled the tiny room while Phoebe sat at the desk, running figures on an adding machine. It looked normal but felt wrong.

There was no computer, no sign there’d ever been a computer there. The only other machines in the room, besides the adding machine, were the telephone and a manual typewriter. Off to one side were some file cabinets, off to the other a stool sat in front of a modest shelf that was attached to the wall beneath a substandard mirror. A row of bulbs ran along the top of the mirror and some cosmetics dotted the shelf. Next to it was a door that was probably a closet, since it was on an inside wall. On the opposite wall was cloudy window.

She wasn’t making it easy. He didn’t realize he’d sighed out loud until she looked up and asked, “Disappointed in bar world?”

He grinned. “Maybe a little. You got any family besides the Mentels?”

Phoebe looked at him, felt his curiosity, but that wasn’t what fueled the compulsion to be honest. She couldn’t deny her sister’s existence. Not now, when the game for her was running. “I…had a sister. She died…young.”

“I’m sorry.”

Phoebe looked down at her pencil, rolling it between her fingers. “Yeah, me too. I still miss her.”

“My sister-in-law, Dani, lost a baby. She says you never get over the missing.”

“She’s right.”

A beeper went off, and the pencil in her hand snapped. Jake groped for his pager, but found a blank screen. He looked at Phoebe.

“It’s my chess partner. He’s finally made a move.”

“Chess?”

She shrugged. “I like games.”

Jake felt his gut tighten. “Okay. Chess?”

“It’s more interesting than checkers.”

Jake hesitated. “I’m curious again.”

“He lives in Australia. Beep is cheaper than a phone call. See.” She showed him the beeper. Queen to king’s three scrolled across the tiny screen.

Jake didn’t stiffen against the kick of instinct in his gut, but it wasn’t easy. His smile easy, his voice light, he asked, “How did you get an Aussie chess partner?”

“Same way I got a Curious Jake. Met him here in the bar. He was in Denver for a convention a few years back.”

“Oh.” She played chess. She played chess with an Aussie? He felt as if he’d missed a beat and rubbed his face. “Australia. You can’t play with someone closer to home?”

Phoebe tossed the beeper onto the desk and leaned back in her chair. “Sure, I could. But I have to keep taking his hand off my knee, and, besides, it makes a better story to play an Aussie.”

“A better story?” Jake dropped into the chair across from her. “You play intercontinental chess because it makes a better story?”

“According to my mama, ‘story’ is everything.”

Jake propped his elbow on the armrest, his face crinkled into cute confusion.

Phoebe grinned. “My mama wasn’t a prize, but every now and again she’d sock home an important life lesson with a story.”

“And having a better story was one of those important life lessons?”

Jake may have an ear for southern accents, Phoebe thought, but not for their idiosyncrasies. “Ever try to say, ‘don’t do that,’ to a thirteen-year-old?”

“No,” Jake admitted. “What were you doing that your mama didn’t want you to?”

She smiled. “I was in love for the first time. He was the pastor’s wild child, and I was heading for trouble. Mama took me shopping, I saw these red shoes in a window, and she had me.”

“Had you? With red shoes?”

“I was thirteen. I wanted those shoes bad. Real bad.”

“First love and red shoes. Sure, I’m getting this.”

Phoebe shook her head. “I have to lay the threads of my story before I can draw them together, cowboy. You Yanks are so impatient.”

Jake crossed one leg over the other and relaxed in the chair. “Lay your threads, I’m patiently listening, Reb, but you’d better deliver.”

“If I don’t, I’ll buy you a drink. Now where was I?”

“Red shoes and first love.”

“Right. Well, naturally I asked my mama for those shoes. I was sure my future happiness depended on having them on my feet ten minutes ago.” She smiled at Jake and almost lost the thread of her story when he smiled back. “My mama told me that she’d buy me those shoes if I’d dump the boy.”

Jake straightened. “That’s cold.”

“No, that’s ‘story.’ She knew I’d break up with him sometime anyway.” Jake faded away, and she was back on that hot street with her mama. “My mama smiled this smile that was part evil and part wise, then she said to me, she said, N—” Phoebe faltered, almost losing herself in the near slip. “—now—girl, you and I know you’re not gonna love this boy forever. When you’re old like me and your young’uns ask you about your first love, which’ll make a better story? I broke up with my first love? Or—and she smiled again—I gave him up for red shoes?”

Would he understand? Phoebe wondered, as she smiled at him.

Her smile, Jake suspected, was her mama’s. There was evil round the edges—and a boatload of charm.

“You took the shoes, didn’t you?”

“Course I did. Mama was a drunk, but she was a smart drunk, ’cept when it came to men.” She shrugged, her eyes filled with bygones that weren’t really gone.

“Great story,” Jake said.

“My mama had her moments.” For an instant sadness almost overwhelmed her. There were so few of those happy moments kicking around her memory; it had been easy to push them into the deep, dark recesses of her mind. Was it the game that was bringing them bubbling to the surface, or was Jake somehow the catalyst, opening up her personal Pandora’s box by making her feel again?

Because she couldn’t help it, she looked at him and found him looking at her. Was that the same longing she felt, peeking out of his eyes, or was she projecting what she wanted, needed, to see? There was no way to know with this liquid fire creeping through her veins.

She tried to fight it by getting up. She pushed back her chair and started around the desk with some papers in her hand. She should have stayed put. The room wasn’t big enough. There wasn’t enough space left to spit, let alone breathe, on the other side of her desk. He was so close, his blue eyes and wide shoulders filled  her horizon. A move, any move, and her mouth would be against his. And the chiseled, pouty curve was more tempting than a puff pastry. Her mouth strained toward him, but she reined it in. The only outward sign of her struggle was a slight tremor that lit new fires in those heady blue depths. She wasn’t too proud to retreat, so she stepped back.

“I should run my errands,” he said, a husky edge to his voice. “See you back here tonight?”

The question sounded more important than was allowed, than was safe. She didn’t know who he was or what he wanted, but he couldn’t have it. She couldn’t give it. There was only the game.

She nodded without breaking the lock he had on her eyes. He didn’t move, despite his stated intention. The moment stretched out until she was certain she was going to burst into flame or climb over the desk and throw herself at his chest. Then a knock on the door broke passion’s link. She dropped into her chair like a popped balloon and shuffled the papers from one side of her desk to the other.

Without waiting for a response a big man opened the door and slouched in the frame.

“You Phoebe?”

“Yes.”

“I’m looking for a job.”

She had to glance at Jake then. Needed to see the answering gleam of laughter light his eyes more than she needed air to breathe. She made herself look away, made herself look at the intruder. His beefy profile and mean eyes made him easy to place in Harding’s column. No surprised he hadn’t gone for the subtle approach. This was a bar.

“Got nothing right now.” She hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts. “You can leave your name and number and—”

“I’ll just check back.” His mean eyes did the guy thing over her assets. Phoebe didn’t flinch. She was used to it.

Jake wasn’t. He had to rein in the urge to punch the guy’s mean lights out, even as he assessed the subtle change that had come over Phoebe. Her demeanor had lost all softness or warmth. No quarter visible.

The man looked at Jake and stiffened, his narrow eyes thinning to malevolent pinpoints. Jake didn’t know him, but he could tell the man was a con.

And that the con knew him for a Fed.

SIX

Out in the hall, Billy Books cussed silently. Stern hadn’t warned him there’d be a fed with the broad. That would cost him.

He saw the pay phone, looked both ways, then with his back to the wall, he dialed Stern’s cell phone number. It was gonna cost him big time.

* * * *

Seated at a borrowed desk in the local Bureau field office, Bryn was going through reports, hoping they’d take the bad taste out of her mouth from her visit to TelTech. It galled her that the law forced her to be on the side of someone so subtly scummy. She’d use him to catch Phagan, but she’d make sure she found his nasty secret and took him out, too.

An agent cleared his throat and Bryn realized she was scowling. She used a red tipped finger to mark her place in a report, before looking up at him. “Yes, what is it?”

“I think we got ourselves a laundering op running out of that bar you asked me to check out.”

“Really?” Bryn gave him the nod to sit down. Resting her elbows on the pile of reports, she applied pressure to her temples.

Once seated, he leaned forward, using his hands to emphasize his points. “It’s got all the markers. A complex trail of dummy corporations leading to more dummy corporations, dead or MIA directors.” He shrugged. “Sure haven’t found a JR anywhere in the mix.”

Bryn frowned. “Local PD says he’s a big-deal Texan.”

“More like a big-deal invisible man. I’m betting it’s an ID built on a grave. Vintage Phagan work. Missed on our first, quick check on them.”

“You running background checks on the employees?”

He nodded.

“Good.” She rubbed between her eyebrows, noting absently that she needed to pluck. “Keep digging. Find me the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. ASAP.”

“You want I should put someone in the bar?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Jake Kirby’s already in. So far he’s cooperating. Let’s not muddy the waters.”

“Right.” He left, but Bryn didn’t go back to her reading. The reports were dull stuff for whirling thoughts to light on. Phagan was there, a shadowy figure just out of her reach.

What was he up to now? Where did an obscure country bar fit into his plans? Was this one of his crumbs, leading her where he wanted her to go? Or a clever diversion planned to keep her attention away from his real objective? Or was its discovery, like Ollie’s death, just another piece of bad luck, one Phagan was hoping she wouldn’t notice?

Please, let it be door number three.

* * * *

Phoebe headed for her SUV, while her thoughts circled around the summons from Dewey.

Queen to king’s three.

How did she feel about it? Was she really ready to face her sister’s murderer?

For answers to these and other questions, stay tuned to this brain, she thought, with a wry calm that surprised her. Somehow she’d expected to feel more. This was it. Closure time. She shined a light inside her head and found no sign of triumph and plenty of fear. It had been seven years, but some things wouldn’t have changed. He’d still be a dirty fighter, a mean survivor, and a dangerous adversary.

Obviously his guy had found the fliers when he killed Ollie and he’d moved to get his gnarly guy in to check out the bar. Though he hadn’t sent his best man, Phoebe noted as she spotted, without seeming to, the beefy goon lying in wait across the road, somewhat shielded by trees.

Hard to know whether to be insulted or relieved.

She slid behind the wheel and fired the engine, her wheel-spinning start sending a wave of gravel flying out from beneath her tires all the way to the paved road. She turned toward town, noting without surprise the man’s truck sliding into place behind her.

Halfway to town, Jake’s truck popped up behind the tail.

“Who are you following, Curious Jake? Me or him?”

She’d noticed he’d smelled what was rotten in the guy’s Denmark, but what had the guy smelled about Jake? They hadn’t circled each other snarling, but there’d been a hair-raising tension crackling between them. The explanation that fit best was that Jake was some kind of a cop. But what kind? He didn’t act like any cop Phoebe knew, despite her long association with the less-than-law-abiding Phagan.

Of course, this deal with Harding was the first time Phagan had let her get close to the action. Other than a couple of new recruits, Phoebe was the only one in Phagan’s little gang without a record for even a small infraction. Never even got a speeding ticket, though she knew one of the local cops. He used to hang out at the bar until he got married. Well, the search for light and knowledge about Jake Kirby would have to wait until after she jerked Harding’s chain. Which meant she had to lose both the tail and the tail’s tail.

She passed into the outskirts of Estes Park and prepared for the first turn, checking her rearview before moving over. Both tail and Jake moved over, taking the turn with her. She took several more turns, random ones now, and the truck followed, with dumb, dogged persistence, letting her lead him astray.

“Guys, any other day I’d enjoy this.” Now was not a good time to be lead car in a three-car parade. She lifted the armrest between the seats where her cell phone nestled out of sight and punched in a phone number, then left it on speaker, because she didn’t want her quarry to see her making a call that might give away the surprise.

“Estes Park Police Department.”

“Is that you Honk?”

“Well, as I live and breathe, Phoebe Ann?”

“The one and only, darlin’.”

“What can the Estes Park PD’s finest do for you?”

“What you do so well, Honk. Arrest someone.”

* * * *

Jake watched the patrol car with lights flashing come between him and Phoebe’s tail. Phoebe’s SUV turned a corner. Jake hesitated before deciding to stick with her tail and not with her. He pulled into the curb well back but with a good view of the truck.

The officer slid out of his cruiser and approached the truck. The guy got out, his hands visible. He’d done this scene before. The officer said something. The guy protested. The cop went to the rear of the truck, kicked out a taillight, then pointed to it.

A setup. Jake hated it when a lead got busted. He shifted into drive and pulled around the two stopped cars. As he passed, the guy took a swing at the cop. Jake’s last view as he rounded a bend was of the guy spread-eagled on the ground getting cuffed. Nice work Phoebe. He had a feeling she’d be one hell of a chess opponent.

* * * *

When Jake didn’t follow her, Phoebe took a few random turns to make sure she really was clear, then got back on course. Jake, she admitted, wasn’t the only one who was curious. And her curiosity wasn’t as impersonal as she would have liked it to be.

Jake could have noticed the guy’s interest and followed to protect her, but just because he was her enemy’s enemy didn’t make him her friend or mitigate the very real threat he could be to her and her friends. It was one thing if just she was at risk, but it wasn’t.

Her loyalty belonged to Kerry Anne first, her friends second, and the game they were running next, with her hormones coming in a distant last. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by Jake, not right now. He wasn’t, she could tell, going to go away, and not because she was spinning his hormonal wheels. He had a law-abiding interest in their game, probably because of her stupid phone call to Phagan’s last apartment in Montana.

She pulled into the parking lot in front of an office bearing a brass plate in the window with uninformative inscription, Smith’s and stared ahead without seeing it. She was on the tightrope. There was no going back just because a curious stranger with a fine ass was swinging in and out of her view.

She gave herself a firm shake and climbed out. This was not a good time to lose her concentration, not when she was about to face him. She let herself in, locking the door—and all thoughts of anything but her next step—behind her. The door secured, she passed through the silent office with its skeleton furniture without turning on any lights until she came to a bathroom with a lighted vanity set up in one corner. A cabinet held the basic bathroom necessities, with a locked closet next to it.

Phoebe dug out her keys and opened the closet, revealing a small wardrobe and a theater-style make up set up, complete with wigs and prosthetics.

She thumbed through the clothes on the rod until she found the item she needed. Along with the red shoes she’d mentioned to Jake, there was a photo of Kerry Anne and her white high school graduation dress hung on a pole. Kerry had given it to her the day she left for college. Those three things were all she’d brought with her to her new life. Had she known that someday this moment would come? Had the subconscious “path finder” been able to see this far ahead and anticipate this moment?

She fingered the soft white organdy, releasing a faint whiff of Kerry Anne’s flower scent, and a host of memories, into the air around her. Phoebe lifted the sleeve to her cheek and closed her eyes, letting the whirlwind of the past engulf her in its part-pleasure, part-pain embrace.

Their mama had been an incipient drunk before, Montgomery Justice, the man now known as Peter Harding, entered their lives. Phoebe had wondered what he saw in their mama back then. Mama had been Junior League, but her drinking had made sure her daughter’s weren’t invited to join. Now, when it was too late, she knew what he’d seen, what he wanted. Had her mama known, too, at the end? Had she accidentally fallen down those stairs like the newspaper said? Or had Justice finished his work of destruction and moved on, thinking he’d left the past behind?

“He’s wrong, Kerry,” Phoebe said, the dress as soft against her cheek as Kerry’s hand had been the day she died. “Neither of us can escape our past.”

Her internal tightrope gave a quiver that almost tumbled her off, but Phoebe managed to steady herself, inside and out. She took out Kerry’s picture and propped it on the mirror’s ledge, pretending she couldn’t see the cracks to the past that showed in her eyes and in the tension around her mouth. Taking her time, she began the process of remaking herself in the picture’s image careful not to look down, careful not to see the chasm opening at her feet.

As Kerry Anne began to edge out Phoebe, apprehension was edged out, too. By the time she was ready for the contact lenses, her hands were steady enough to insert them. Kerry’s eyes were blue and had always been true. She’d died trying to be true to her little sister. Now her little sister would be true to her.

The outward changes she made seeped inward, changing her walk, the way she used her hands. Memory gave her back her sister, or maybe Kerry Anne’s gentle spirit invaded Phoebe’s soul, seeking to aid her this one last time.

She smiled her sister’s smile, then took that image with her as she left, used it to keep at bay the other image of her sister. The one with slashed wrists and blood spreading across white tile. Outside she got into a small car and turned it toward Denver where Dewey waited for her.

* * * *

Stern’s cell phone buzzed discreetly. “Mr. Stern?” Billy’s voice was muffled. “I got a problem.”

Stern gave a silent sigh. Billy had been Harding’s uninspired pick for their team. As usual, Stern was the one having to fix the mess the choice caused. “It’s not your job to have problems, just to collect information.”

“Can’t do nothing if you don’t bail me.” Billy sounded sulky and a bit threatening.

A tiny crease appeared between Stern’s eyes. He didn’t like being threatened. By anyone. “Bail you?”

“I got stopped by a local yokel. Claimed I had a taillight out, but I know the bastard kicked it hisself.”

“Why would a broken taillight require bail?”

“It don’t.” Feet shuffling were audible despite background noise. “Bail’s for punching the hick cop.”

“I’m glad you kept your head.” Sarcasm was wasted on Billy, but Stern used it to vent his own frustration. “What did you find out about the bar?”

“You gonna bail me?”

“If you give me what I want.”

“The manager’s a woman—Phoebe I think they said. Foxy—could get—”

“I’m not interested.” Stern kept his voice even with an effort. “How did you give yourself away?”

“I didn’t do nothing. I asked her about a job, and she told me she didn’t have any openings. I did the nice and left, then waited for her to come out. Was following her when I got copped by the brownie.”

“Not the information I was looking for.”

“It could be her.”

Stern could tell by the man’s voice there was more.

“Give it all or you’ll need protection from me.”

“She had heat with her. Not a local lame-ass. A Fed.”

Billy didn’t have to tell him the Fed had made him. Sounded as if half the town had made him. “You just made bail.”

Stern rang off without adding that Billy’s employment was going to end very soon.

* * * *

“Okay, I got it.” Jake wrote down the MUD address Matt had gotten him, then eased the drifting car back into his lane. Good thing Bryn wasn’t with him or there’d be a coup d’etat on the driver. “Tell Sebastian thanks for me, Matt. I’m just outside Denver now. Gonna go check it out before I come in.”

“Bryn and I’ll meet you outside the building,” Matt said.

“You don’t—”

“I don’t care if they are computer geeks, you’re not going in without backup. Now wait for me.”

“Yes, big brother.”

“You wait or I’ll kick your ass.”

“Kiss my—” Before Jake could finish, Matt broke the connection. Jake grinned as he stowed the phone, then keyed the address into his laptop, his fingers tapping the steering wheel until a map came up. He was close. That was good, gave him reconnoiter time before Matt and the troops got there.

* * * *

Peter Harding felt like a god as he looked out the window at the gathering below. This was it. This was the beginning of his rule, his first step into Denver society as Audrey’s fiancé. The day he declared for governor with her powerful father standing behind him. They didn’t know it yet, but they were there for him. It was as it should be, as it was always meant to be. He was destined to be supported by lesser lives, to absorb their strength to power his own.

How he’d hated the years of hiding, the sneaking around like some common criminal. He wasn’t meant to live in shadow. Now, today, he was stepping into the light. True, it was borrowed light from Audrey’s father, but that wouldn’t be for long. Power was fluid, a liquid-gold energy that continuously sought the one most qualified to wield it. He was that person.

Norma Jean Beauleigh and her daughters had been a mistake. He could admit that now. He’d let himself be sucked in by the small perfection of Kerry Anne and Nadine. He hadn’t learned to take the long view back then.

A small tremor of unease disturbed the surface of his satisfaction at the thought of Nadine. She had to be the one sending the notes and now the black rose that had come this morning in the box that was supposed to hold his white lapel rose. But if it was she, why had it taken her so long to act? Had she, like him, been consolidating her power?

His first reaction had been to cancel today’s event. What if she showed up at the party? Stern, in that enigmatic way of his, said he hoped she would. Now that he was here, he hoped she did, too. How could he fear her when he was at the apex of his power? There was no way a mere woman could take it away from him. He stroked the black rose pinned to his lapel and smiled.

Behind him the door opened. Reflected in the window, he could see Audrey, dressed in the trappings of her father’s wealth.

“Are you ready, darling?” she asked.

He smiled before he turned to face her. “Oh, yes.”

* * * *

Jake pulled his truck to a stop across the street from the apartment building and checked it against the address Matt had given him. It matched, so he got out and looked around. It was a quiet street, sort of middle-class. Clean, but the trees were on the scraggly side. Looked like they could use water. Still, it was a long way from the low-life place in Montana.

No sign of Matt or Bryn. He looked up, but the angle was wrong for him to see anything but the sun reflecting on the windows of the apartment. All the buildings within the immediate area were similar, but the apartment house to the right of this one was a twin, right down to the trim around the windows. A narrow alley separated them. Both walls had fire escapes snaking down the sides and fire doors across from each other. It got Jake thinking. He decided to check out the non-MUD building, just for the heck of it. He had a few minutes to kill. If the buildings were identical on the outside, chances were, they were identical on the inside, too. He could get a feel for the layout without tipping his hand to anyone who might inhabit the apartment they were interested in. And have a chat with the super.

* * * *

Dewey was waiting for Phoebe next to a sleek black limousine. Phoebe shook her head, Dewey was a character, but he was a character with style.

She parked her car in the mall lot next to him and got out, feeling Kerry’s dress drop softly into place, feeling Kerry all around her as she walked toward him. With each step the soft fabric whispered against her calves like echoes from the past, soothing her fear and shoring up her resolve.

“I’d never have known it was you,” Dewey said, his eyes hidden behind mirrored glasses. His voice was flat, almost too flat. Was he worried about her? That must be it, because he hadn’t known Kerry. It was Phagan who’d known Kerry, who’d talked her into running away with him. Who’d lost her when she insisted on bringing her little sister along, too. If only—

Phoebe cut that thought off at the knees.

“Harding’s gonna shit a brick when he sees you.”

“I hope so.” Phoebe smiled her sister’s smile as she slid into the limo through the door Dewey held open for her. She leaned back, not thinking about what was ahead. Not just yet. Right now was for her and Kerry.

As if he sensed this, Dewey didn’t speak either, just directed the driver to take them to the country club. He did take her hand in a comforting grip. She held on and let the past engulf her.

* * * *

Jake was sitting on the stoop sipping a soft drink when Matt and Bryn arrived with some local cops.

Matt climbed out of one of the cars—the driver’s seat of course—and looked at his little brother. He had a powerful, stocky body and blunt, weathered features that his marriage had softened some. As always, he reminded Jake of their dad.

Jake finished his drink and tossed it into a street-side rubbish bin. “Took you long enough.”

“Got caught in some traffic.” Matt looked tense, but compared to Bryn he was positively mellow.

Bryn was giving off tension vibes like a hot sidewalk. Being a wise man, Jake refrained from commenting on anything but the job at hand. When they’d deployed the local cops outside the building, he led Bryn and Matt inside to the elevator.

* * * *

Phoebe moved through the crowd like a ghost, sliding between clusters of rich, smart people like a will-o-the-wisp. At some level her senses were on alert for a sign of Harding or his goon, Barrett Stern, but it was hard to feel real when no one even acknowledged her presence in this gathering of the powerful and moneyed of Denver.

It was like being split into pieces. Kerry Anne was in full and firm control of Phoebe’s outside, but inside who she was now and who she’d been wrestled like twin babies in a womb. A gateway to the past had been opened. Her demons were out of the box and couldn’t be sent back because she needed them to make the game happen. She just hoped she could control them. The stakes were high. If she lost this one, she lost big, she lost it all, and she lost without hope of recovery.

This wasn’t a news flash. She’d known the risks when she signed on to the game. What she hadn’t anticipated was meeting Jake. He was a wild card in their game, who, totally against her will, made her wild with longing for a life outside the game. Meeting him had introduced a bitter regret to the emotions seething below the surface of the Kerry Anne façade. It was like adding propane to a flame, turning it bright, hot and dangerously unstable. Unstable was not the way she wanted to be for her first meeting with her sister’s murderer.

She found a leafy bower near a small artificial lake and sank down onto the decorative bench. There was one person she could summon right now, one identity that would bind them together into a cohesive whole.

Pathphinder.

With the thought came the path she needed to follow, step by careful step. She sighed, feeling the tension give way to purpose. She, they—all the people she’d been in the last seven years—would do what was necessary. No matter what the cost. No matter what she would never have because of it.

She stood up, but before she could turn around, she heard his laugh behind her. It was charming, even infectious. Only those who truly knew him heard the edge of evil buried in its heart.

She turned and found him standing in the full sun with the black rose on his lapel. Light loved him, though he didn’t love it. He fooled it, as he did most people, with his easy, addictive charm. Like taking a drug, being around him was intoxicating at first. Only when it was too late did you realize the pleasure of his company was a soul-destroying poison.

She took a step back as her flight instinct overcame her fight. Then she saw him smile down at the two little girls standing next to a woman who was obviously their mother. He touched the older child, his eyelids drooping in pleasure, then lifted his glass and drank.

It was at that moment he saw her.

* * * *

“Here it is,” Bryn said, stopping outside a solid wood door just around the corner from the elevator.

“Guns and badges?” Matt asked.

Jake shook his head. “These guys pack pocket protectors, not guns.”

Bryn hesitated, then nodded her agreement, but she kept her hand on her weapon.

“Ollie Smith’s death might have changed that.” Matt stepped to one side of doorjamb with his hand also on his gun.

Jake took the other side, then knocked on the door. “Might already be an empty hole—” He stopped at the sound of movement from inside. Someone fumbled with the lock, then the door opened a crack, the safely chain still on. A young, scared face peered out.

“Yes?”

“I’m Jake Kirby, US Marshals Service.” He held up his badge, shifting his weight to put his shoulder against the door, a precaution that proved wise when the kid tried to slam the door.

Matt saw it coming and shoved his foot into the opening to help Jake, giving a grunt of pain when the door crunched into his foot. “I hate nice neighborhoods. The doors are too heavy.” He slammed his shoulder into the door and this time it gave as far as the chain would allow.

“He’s running.” Jake pulled his gun, stepped back, and kicked the door. The chain gave up and the door popped open.

“Cover me,” Matt said. He went in sideways, with his body turned to present the smallest target, with Jake and Bryn were on his heels. Moving fast but careful they fanned out. Jake took the kitchen and found the rear exit swinging on its hinges.

“He went out the back!” Jake yelled. “I’m heading down.”

As he went out, he heard Matt shouting instructions into his radio. Out in the hall, Jake looked down the flight of stairs, then turned and headed for the elevator. He had his own idea of where the kid would come out.

* * * *

Peter Harding couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Kerry Anne Beauleigh, standing in a flower and leaf frame? Could it be? The dress. He remembered it. Graduation. In a rare moment of sobriety, Norma Jean had taken her to pick it out. The girl had looked magical in it. Hopeful, ready to fly free. She hadn’t known yet that she’d never be free. Not until he’d explained her options to her. Her eyes—they looked at him now with the same expression she’d had that night.

Wide, shocked. Accusing. Defiant even as her blood dripped her life onto the white tile. He’d left her for Nadine to find, so she’d know what would happen to her if she defied him. Instead, she’d run away.

His hands curled into fists as a red mist formed before his eyes. It had to be Nadine. Kerry Anne was dead. He’d watched them wheel her lifeless, naked body away. Made all the arrangements to put her in the ground since Norma Jean was, as usual, too drunk to cope.

“Peter? Are you all right?” Audrey’s face came between him and Kerry Anne.

“I’m fine.” He lifted his arm to shove her out of the way, but someone grabbed it, the fingers biting into his flesh like a vise.

“You’ve cut your hand,” Stern said, interposing himself between Harding and Audrey.

Harding looked down, saw blood and drink dripping onto the broken shards of glass. Pieces of the glass still cut into his palm, but he felt no pain there.

“Looks like you had a cracked glass.” Stern spoke again. His eyes told Harding to pull it together.

Harding took a shaky breath, realized his heart was pounding like a piston. He licked his lips. Stern shoved a glass of water into his good hand and lifted it to his mouth. Harding drank, then pushed it away.

“I thought I saw…an old friend. You should bring her to me.”

“I will, when I’m sure you’re all right,” Stern said. He stepped aside for Audrey.

In control was what he meant. Harding managed a reassuring look for her. “Sorry, darling. Those flowers over there reminded me of my mother’s funeral.”

Behind Audrey’s back, Stern’s eyes told him it was a good save.

Tears filled her eyes as she took his hand in hers. “You’re bleeding.”

Her touch, combined with the smell of his blood, was intoxicating. He could feel the power, the violence rise within him. Could imagine his fist smashing into her face. Blood spurting from her mouth and nose. Seeing the look in her eyes change from love to fear—

“We’d better find a first-aid kit,” Stern said, breaking into his thoughts with a firm voice and a vice-like grip. “Perhaps Mrs. Dilmont could hold down the fort with your guests until we get you taken care of?”

The only thing Peter wanted to take care of was business. As if Stern sensed it, his grip on his arm tightened until Harding winced.

“I know you don’t want to leave your guests alone for long.”

“No, I don’t.” Now he could feel the throbbing pain radiating from the cut. Could feel the warm, wet slide of blood across his skin. He managed a smile that was almost normal, helped on by the watchful stare of her powerful father a short distance away. “I won’t be long.”

As he turned away, he looked toward the bower. It was empty.

He waited until they were out of range to snap, “Find her.”

“When you’re in control.”

Normally he’d hang on to these feelings, then take it to the red-light district and find a prostitute to pound on, but he couldn’t do that right now. Not with the glare of publicity shining on him. He had to hold it in, keep it all on a leash. He could do this. He could. He was in control. Not even his passions would master him. He was stronger than all of them. And Kerry Anne, or whoever she was, would soon find out how dangerous it was to play games with him.

* * * *

The kid—his name was Roger, but he carried ID that said his name was Kevin—cautiously opened the door to laundry room. Heated air that smelled of bleach surged into the stairwell. He heard the murmur of the dryer off to one side, broken by the occasional thump of something heavy hitting metal.

The sounds of pursuit had turned away at the first floor, heading out into the street. He slipped across the room, past the spinning clothes and through the doorway to the storage area. He counted cages, stopping at the fourth one to insert a key into a padlock. It took only a moment to move the boxes within aside and expose the door just where Dewey had said it would be. He leaned against the wall to catch his breath as relief took the flight out of his legs.

He’d wanted to trust Dewey, wanted to believe his life could be different, but he’d been fed the “We’ll keep you from your stepdad” line before. He’d gone through the system, done what he was told, then been delivered back to his mom by the same people who’d promised to help him. Each time they’d told him it would be better this time. And it just got worse. He’d run away once before, but they’d caught him.

Then he’d happened onto Phagan’s web site, while cruising around on the school computer. A few e-mails later, he had a bus ticket and a destination. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Phagan’s gang to turn out to be some kind of male prostitution ring or something but Dewey hadn’t laid a hand on him. Had given him a key to lock his bedroom, in fact.

So far, Dewey had been real cool. He’d almost begun to believe this could work. Then the Feds banged on the door. Well, first thing Dewey had taught him was where and how to retreat. He slipped through the door and pulled the boxes back into place behind him as best he could, feeling as clever as the fox he’d chosen to follow.

Bet the Feds didn’t expect this, he gloated, his mind moving ahead to the next thing Dewey had told him to do if this happened. He’d taken careful mental notes because there was no way he was ever going back home. He’d die first.

* * * *

From where he sat, getting his hand bandaged by a doctor friend of Audrey’s father, Harding couldn’t see the gathering, couldn’t see Kerry Anne. She had to be flesh because he didn’t believe in phantoms. He’d feel more at ease, though, when Stern got his hands on her. Not that Stern made any effort to do so. He’d been staring out that window since they came inside.

“Why don’t you get back to the party? As you can see, I’m in good hands.”

Stern turned to look at him, his gaze both assessing and probing. It was also annoyed, though only someone who knew him very well would know it. His normal expression was stone, cold rock.

“I have such a good view here, I thought I’d take a minute to look for our friend. So far no sign of her.”

Was he telling the truth? Peter couldn’t tell.

Stern wasn’t telling the truth, of course and he could tell from Harding’s expression that he suspected but didn’t dare ask. Hadn’t the idiot learned by now that it was always better to let the quarry come to you? Let her find what she was looking for, then pounce.

Stern didn’t sigh as he turned back to the window, because it wasn’t his style. What was it about this Nadine that pushed his buttons? She’d been clever so far, poking and prodding him from a safe distance, but she had made a mistake today. Never pull a tiger’s tail in person. Even the caged ones could be dangerous.

Behind him the doctor said, “There, that should hold, though you should go in and get a tetanus shot on Monday.”

“Thank you.”

Stern waited for Harding to join him, then heard his indrawn breath as they saw their “phantom” at the same moment. Approaching Audrey Dilmont. She’d chosen a good place to apply pressure. Clever girl but not clever enough.

“Get her.” Harding started to clench his hands, but a sharp stab of pain reminded him why he shouldn’t as he forcibly relaxed his fingers and waited for Stern to move to intercept. He had to keep her away from Audrey. And her beautiful little girls. He would not let the bitch ruin this for him. He needed their innocence like a junkie needed coke. It was his reality, his imperative, and his life-giving air. There was no fighting it; he could only postpone it for a time. That time was running out.

Instead of following Stern, he stepped out onto the balcony. He was right above them. He could see Audrey’s smile, see the question in her eyes as “Kerry Anne” stopped her.

“These are your daughters?” she asked in a rich Southern accent he’d thought lost in time and the warm, wet ground of Georgia. The rich timbre of it carried him back to those sultry nights when she’d been his—

“Amy and Simone.” Audrey’s voice, filled with the pride of a mother, was a cold shower on his hot memories. He saw his girls give brief, shy curtseys. So polite. So obedient. Just the way he liked them.

If Audrey could see the phantom, then she was flesh and bone that could be bruised and broken. He spotted Stern trying to work his way through a sudden flow of people heading for the refreshment tables. Picked a hell of a time to start serving food.

“Getting a new stepfather. How exciting.” Some tree obscured her. The branches hung between him and her, but he could see its leaves brush her cheek as she knelt in front of the little girls and smiled the smile he’d never thought to see again.

“Peter adores them, and they adore him,” Audrey said.

“I’ll bet he does,” she said. “I heard he likes the young.”

* * * *

Kevin was relieved when the door opened under his hand, releasing him from the dark tunnel running between the buildings. It was only fear of what was behind him that had kept him walking forward in black darkness. He was surprised to find the matching storeroom dark, but it was lighter than the tunnel he’d left, thanks to a row of windows just at street level, and he moved forward without hesitation.

He eased around another set of boxes and unlocked this last gate. Once it was locked again, he turned to leave, but a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and a gun barrel was placed against his temple.

“Gotcha,” a voice said.

SEVEN

When Jake brought a handcuffed Kevin out of the other building, he saw a worried-looking Matt lower his radio.

Matt glared at him, then raised his radio to say, “Jake’s got him. Get a forensics team over here ASAP.” He looked at his brother with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm as Bryn came out the front door. “How did you do it?”

Before Jake could answer him, Bryn said, “Let me guess. Magic?”

Jake grinned. “Let’s take him back inside while we secure the premises.”

Bryn signaled to a couple of men, who hustled the kid inside.

“Don’t feed me that magic shit,” Matt said. “How did you do it?”

“Talked to the super while I was waiting for you.” Jake shrugged. “Told me there used to be a tunnel between the buildings, so I checked it out. When the kid bolted, I figured that’s where he was headed.”

“In other words, pure dumb luck,” Matt said with a big brother’s scorn.

“You wish.” Jake held the door open before following him and Bryn inside.

* * * *

Phoebe saw Barrett Stern pushing his way toward her. Above, Harding watched from the balcony, nursing his bandaged hand. Her work here was done. She blew Harding a kiss and saw him flinch. He’d always hated to be thwarted. It was his Achilles’ heel, the pressure point they planned to jab over and over until he betrayed himself and gave them the game.

She’d have to gloat later though. The game would be over if Stern got his hands on her. He was covering ground fast, despite the sudden surge toward the now-ready refreshment table. Phoebe picked up her pace, counting off the distance to the clubhouse in footsteps and heartbeats. There was always risk when you pulled the tiger’s tail, but she didn’t intend to be counted out just yet.

She passed through the door with quick thanks and a smile to the someone who might have been the attorney general of the state—who held the door for her and let it swing in Stern’s face. The combination of gallantry and rudeness gave her just enough time to duck into the ladies’ room ahead of his reaching hand. A couple of shocked women kept Stern from following her inside.

She made a face at him over their shoulders before the door swung closed, then ducked into a stall and started shedding Kerry Anne. Under Kerry’s drifting dress she wore a sleek beige number that hugged her body like another skin. Out of a pocket came a bag that she stuffed the dress into. The wig she tossed down behind the toilet. The blue contacts came out. She peeled the white surface off her shoes, turning them beige to match the dress. She made sure no sign of the dress was poking out of the bag, fluffed her hair, and stepped out.

Three chattering women preceded her out the door where Stern waited, his thinning patience apparent in the chilling of his eyes. He didn’t give Phoebe a second glance as she passed. In a moment she was outside. The limo pulled forward and Dewey opened the door for her. She pulled the door closed behind her and answered the questioning lift of his brows with a shrug and a smile.

“Any problems?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She didn’t quite meet his glance and kept her hands pressed against the seat. Her heart was pounding, which made them tremble. It wasn’t fear. There’d been no time for fear. It was pure adrenaline pumping through her veins. “He was wearing our rose on his lapel.”

“And he sliced his hand open when he squeezed his glass too hard.”

Phoebe twisted in the seat to stare at Dewey. “You just had to watch, didn’t you?”

“Performance art is nothing without an audience, darling. Brava.” He clapped three times, but his eyes looked worried. “He’s a lot more unstable than I realized.”

“The guy likes little girls, beating women and killing them. Exactly what made you think stable was a word that even remotely applied to him?”

Dewey grinned. “I guess it was that whole running-for-governor scenario. I mean, you sort of assume some level of stability, even factoring in the politician mentality.”

“In other words, you didn’t think about it.”

His grin was crooked. “Like you, I try not to.”

She looked away. “Yeah. Well, what happens next?”

“You go back to your strumming and wailing, and I go help Kevin move. I’m having intimations of impending discovery.”

Phoebe looked down the street as they turned the corner and saw the cop-filled block ahead. “I think your intimations were a little late.”

“Damn.”

“How bad are we screwed?”

“Hard to say. Kev’s new to the game, but he doesn’t want to go home. He’ll hold, for a while anyway.”

“So, he’ll need a lawyer.”

Dewey nodded. “Coldhearted bitch or warmhearted public defender?”

Phoebe studied the truck mingling with the cop cars. There were lots like it, but not with the same tag as Jake’s. “Coldhearted bitch.”

“Something in black?”

“With a touch of red.”

* * * *

Matt found Jake sitting in the kitchen of the apartment staring at three ice packs in evidence bags lined up in a row on the table as if they held the answer to some cosmic, universal question.

He looked up when Matt came in. “Everything all right?”

“Who knows?” Matt picked one pack up by the corner. “Looks like somebody had a run-in with a door—or a fist.”

“Yup.”

Matt waited for more. When he didn’t get it, he added, “So?”

“Look at this.” Jake shoved the trash can toward him.

Matt looked inside. “Someone likes pistachios.” He hesitated, then said again, “So?”

“Hyatt loves the things.”

“Prints?”

“Everywhere.” He turned back to the ice packs and rubbed his chin. “With a little luck, some will match Hyatt’s.”

Matt stared at his brother. “I can keep trying to dig it out of you. I could pound it out of you. Or you could just tell me.”

Jake looked up and grinned. “Sorry. I thought you could still read my mind. You always seemed to know when I was going out the window.”

“That’s ’cause Mom could read your mind and tipped me off.”

Jake arched his brows. “Well, I’ll be—”

“Do I need to get Mom in here to save your ass from me?” Matt snapped. He jerked a chair around and straddled it.

“Sorry. It’s just, this morning I saw an ice pack and pistachios in Phoebe Mentel’s kitchen.” Jake shrugged. “Could be a coincidence.”

Matt snorted.

The fingerprint tech stuck his head around the corner and said, “We got a match. It’s your guy.”

Jake looked at his brother.

Matt stood up and paced away, then turned back to his brother. “You’ll need more than an ice pack and a few shells to get a search warrant on her place, but I’ll concede, you got yourself an honest-to-goodness lead.” He picked up one of the bags again and shook his head. “Damn, maybe you are magic.”

It was a handsome admission, but Jake wasn’t elated. He didn’t want to be magic where Phoebe was concerned. She was gutsy and sweet in a prickly cactus kind of way. Put together in a very un-cactus kind of way. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt attracted to a suspect or had regrets at taking one down. But it was the first time it felt like a betrayal. As if he were in league with whoever had put the sad in her eyes. He didn’t want to be the one to add another nail to her unhappiness coffin.

“You okay?” Matt broke into Jake’s reverie.

Jake pulled out his grin and tried to shake away the ache in his chest that had the same insistence as a tooth going bad. “Sure. Heard anything about the kid’s ID yet?”

Kevin’s ID looked authentic but was probably more bogus than a hooker’s orgasm—and would take longer than one to unmask if Phagan was running true to form.

“Not yet. I got Alice checking it out.”

Jake nodded. “How’s the kid doing?”

“He should be about to piss his pants,” Matt said, easing the swinging door open so they could study him.

“Looks pretty cool to me,” Jake observed. “Maybe he doesn’t know he’s been harboring and abetting a federal fugitive.” Jake grinned. “Let’s go tell him.”

Matt gestured through the door. “After you, Mr. Magic.”

Kevin watched the two Marshals approach and braced for the encounter. Stick to the script, he reminded himself, even as he felt sweat slick his body.

The two men stopped in front of him. He had to look a long way up to see their faces and found them filled with a detached pity. They didn’t speak, just stood there looking down at him. Kevin fought a compulsion to fill the silence himself.

Don’t speak until spoken to. Dewey’s voice in his head, coaching him, gave him the courage to return their stares without speaking. Behind his back, he flexed his cuffed hands and reminded himself they didn’t know his real name. As long as they didn’t have that, they couldn’t send him home.

When the silence was two beats past unbearable, the one called Matt asked, “Why’d you run, kid?”

“You can’t question me without a lawyer. I know my rights.” He tightened his lips against the other protests that wanted to leak out. Keep your cool. You can’t incriminate yourself if you keep your cool. “You should read me my rights.”

The one called Jake rubbed his chin, then sat down opposite Kevin, his elbows propped on his knees. In his hand was one of the ice packs Dewey had used to take down the swelling on his mouth.

“Ran into a wall,” he’d joked, his grin more crooked than usual.

“What was his name?” Kevin had shot back.

“You’d be surprised.” Dewey’s smile had been amused enough to make him really curious.

The FBI agent broke in on his thoughts with a hard insistence, “We don’t have to read you your rights until we start questioning you.”

Kevin frowned at this deviation from the script. “He asked me a question.” His nerves were jumping like a grasshopper, and his voice tried to follow their lead. He made a valiant try to smooth it out, but puberty was against him, too.

“Well,” Matt said, “there are questions, and there are questions.”

“We’re just making friendly conversation,” Jake chimed in. He smiled as he tossed the ice pack up and down. Up and down.

Kevin tried not to follow the hypnotic motion, but it was like trying to stop the tide.

“You can join in or not, whatever you want,” Jake added, snatching the ice pack out of the air and standing with a quick movement that made Kevin’s heart leap in fear.

The three of them stared at him, their eyes relentless and unblinking. He could smell himself, smell his own fear, but he was cold, too, shuddering cold. In the silence, he heard the air conditioning switch on. He gritted his teeth when they showed signs of chattering but couldn’t stop the shudders from shaking him and the couch he sat on.

“What—no, that would be a question,” Jake said. He looked at Matt. “Never realized how hard it is to not ask a question.”

Both men settled down on either side of him and gave him friendly smiles that didn’t warm or remove fear. Kevin tried to relax, too, but it was hard to get comfortable with his hands cuffed behind him and his body jerking to its own rhythm. The need to shift, to move, to speak, grew in direct contrast to the utter stillness of the three of them as they stared at him.

“Let’s just read him his rights, and then we can ask him whatever we want,” the Fed said, looking at him like something she’d like to slice up and eat with salt.

“Not without a lawyer!” Kevin said before he could stop himself. To his annoyance his voice broke on lawyer, making him sound like a kid. He hunched into the couch and glared at them.

Jake leaned back, relaxing into the cushions, still tipping the ice pack from one side of the evidence bag to the other, as if the wet mass was somehow critical to life on earth or something.

Matt frowned and rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I kind of like to know who I’m reading and talking to before I do the rights reading.”

Kevin was trying to figure out what this meant when the bag slipped from Jake’s hands, thudding softly against the carpeted floor. Kevin jumped, heart and body. His insides twisted with the need to do something, anything but just sit there.

They’ll try to do a good cop, bad cop on you. Try to get you to trust one of them. The nice one is as much your enemy as the mean one.

Jake shrugged. “Matt’s got a point, Bryn. Wouldn’t want to give a lawyer a loophole to slide him through. Kid’s so puny, it wouldn’t have to be a big loophole.”

“So,” Bryn asked, “what’s your name, kid?”

“You know my name!” The ID was his Achilles’ heel and Kevin couldn’t stop the words bursting out. “You got my ID!”

“This?” Jake held up Kevin’s wallet, open to his license. Kevin nodded and Jake held it out, as if comparing the photo with the real person. “It’s nice work. Almost looks real.”

“Almost—it is real! You—” Kevin swallowed the words, his cuffed hands clenched in support of his fight for control. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“We know you’re not Kevin Jones any more than I’m Barney Google with the googly eyes,” Matt said, rising to stand over him with his arms crossed over his powerful chest, the same way his mom’s new husband did before he popped him one.

Kevin cowered against the couch, waiting for the blow to fall.

“That’s goo-goo-googly eyes,” Jake corrected Matt with utter sobriety.

“Really?” Matt looked at his brother. “You sure?”

“As sure as I am this is crap,” Jake said, tossing the wallet onto the coffee table in front of Kevin.

The wallet flopped open, the ID photo staring up at him. Kevin Jones it said. Your name for now, Dewey had said. Roger’s gone forever. Going forward won’t always be easy, but you never have to go back. Trust me. They are always on our heels, but if you hang on, we’ll be there to bail you out.

Kevin looked at Jake, then at Matt. In both faces he found no mercy, but some pity. He looked at Bryn and found no mercy in her face or her eyes. She leaned forward. “We don’t want you. We just want Hyatt. Give him to us and you can go home.”

Home. When hell froze over he’d let them send him home. Now he knew who he trusted and who he didn’t.

“I want a lawyer.”

Jake sat back with a sigh. They’d almost had him. He’d seen it in the kid’s eyes. Until Bryn mentioned home. He studied him, noticing now that he was looking for it, the almost faded bruises on his face.

* * * *

Through the window of the interrogation room, Matt and Jake watched Kevin pace around the small room. He looked nervous, but resolute.

Matt looked at Jake, one brow cocked. “What’s scarier than we are?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Home?”

Matt looked less than thrilled.

“No kidding.” Jake leaned against the wooden frame of the one-way glass. The kid was probably new to Phagan’s operation. Jake explained to Matt that besides thieving, Phagan also ran an extensive underground operation that helped runaways the way society was supposed to. This inspired an almost fanatical loyalty and made the kids impossible to turn. All they had to offer them was a trip into foster care or a return to their nightmare.

“So the only way to crack him is to be worse than whoever was beating him?” Matt asked, sounding rightly uncomfortable. “Great.”

“If we wait for Bryn,” Jake said wryly, “she can do bad Fed for us.”

He heard a cough behind him. They turned around.

“Neither of you,” Bryn said, “were spanked enough when you were little, were you?”

Jake grinned. “I’m not spanked enough now.”

He could see her struggle, but she did manage to hold back an answering grin.

“Take it on the road, or let’s go crack the kid before Phagan sends in a lawyer to—”

Before Bryn got her hand on the doorknob, Jake saw his biggest brother, Luke. He was an older version of Matt, more weathered, but a tad softer. Not that Jake spent much time comparing his brothers. How could he when next to Luke was a…woman. No, he thought, dazed. Make that a woman.

Dressed in sexy, slinky black, she sliced through air and space like a weapon, wearing heels so high she should have needed oxygen. Her dark hair swung on either side of green eyes and a mouth so red it made his eyes bleed just looking at it.

“Kid’s lawyer,” Luke said, trying not to laugh.

She was close enough now for Jake to see that she had nothing on under the power-suit jacket. He almost went up on his toes to confirm this, but his toes lacked the needed stiffness, which was all concentrated in one central place in his body.

Jake knew he needed to say something, anything, but nothing sprang to mind except something he couldn’t say out loud. Actually, he wasn’t sure he could say anything at all. The moisture in his throat and eyes went right up in the smoke of her gaze. Nothing he could do to get it back. He felt lucky his eyes didn’t fall out and roll across the floor, where she could impale them with her heels.

He sort of knew that Bryn was staring at him, but that didn’t stop his jaw from dropping or his tongue from trying to fall out the opening. When the lawyer passed him, he turned in concert with his brothers and watched her move through the door to the interrogation room.

The kid looked as shocked as Jake felt, but at least the glass provided Jake with a small measure of protection—enough for his power of speech to return anyway, he thought, rubbing the back of his neck. At least he was hoping it would return.

“I’d like to be a fly on the wall in there,” Matt said, not quite flattening against the glass but not far from it.

“That wall.” Luke pointed to the one that would give the best view of the lawyer’s impressive cleavage.

Jake laughed and found it helped clear his head. Bryn’s frown further boosted the process. “What I’d like to know,” he said, “is how she knew the kid needed a lawyer when he hasn’t made his call or even been formally charged yet?”

That got Matt and Luke’s attention, but Bryn was the one with the answer.

“Classic Phagan maneuver. We gotta find a way to block bail or we’ll never see the kid again.”

Matt and Luke paused in their gawking to give Bryn politely incredulous looks. Her answering smile lacked humor.

“Trust me. This guy could make the Statue of Liberty disappear,” she said.

Luke rubbed his face and scowled at the oblivious lawyer through the glass. “Like to help you take this Phagan and his gang down. Hate people who prey on abused kids.”

Jake felt his defenses come up at his brother’s words, but before he could speak in Phoebe’s possible defense Bryn said with more than a hint of defensiveness in her own voice, “He doesn’t exactly prey on them. At least, not the way you’re thinking.”

Both Jake’s brothers turned to stare at her as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were hearing. They were so much alike, that it was almost spooky.

Bryn was still staring at Kevin and his lawyer, so she didn’t know she was in trouble yet. “You’re thinking he’s like Fagan in Oliver Twist, but it’s not like that at all. He…well…helps them.”

The silence that followed these words seeped into her distraction and alerted her too late to the danger. With lifted chin she turned to face their amusement.

“Are you saying,” Luke asked, “he’s a good thief?”

She stared at him for a long moment before replying with tight annoyance, “Of course not. He does get these kids in school, he finds them places to live, helps them become useful citizens.” The polite incredulity in his brothers’ faces slowed her down some, Jake noted with an inward grin. “At least, that’s what the word on the street is. His actual…band…of thieves is a very small, very limited…group. And their targets are not even close to being upstanding citizens.”

She kept her chin up and gave them a cold stare, then turned back to the window, leaving Jake to grin at his brothers.

“Actually,”—Jake offered a bit of support, since he happened to agree with her—“their targets are downright gnarly.”

“And if,” Luke asked, “we figure out who their current target is here, we have to protect them?”

Jake nodded, noting out of the corner of his eye that Bryn started to say something, but then stopped. He made a mental note to probe this later, when they were alone.

“Well, that sucks.”

Jake nodded again.

“Maybe we shouldn’t try so hard here?”

Matt shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe their attitude. “If we identify their target, how about we take him out ourselves?” He pointed his hard gaze at Luke, then at Jake before asking, “I supposed you’ve tried to infiltrate?”

“Of course.” This question put Bryn back on more comfortable ground. “But we couldn’t come up with a cover deeper than Phagan could penetrate. We even tried using actual runaways.”

“What happened?” Luke asked.

Bryn compressed her lips into a grim line, then opened them far enough to admit, “He turned them. He has a reputation for being quite the charmer.”

It was obvious to a blind man that this was touchy ground for Bryn, and neither Jake nor his brothers were blind. As one, they all gave silent whistles and turned to the far more fruitful activity of pondering the wickedly attractive lawyer in the interrogation room, who now had Kevin grinning like an idiot.

* * * *

Phoebe closed her briefcase and stood up to leave. When the curtain of her hair swung forward to cover her face, she told Kevin, “They’ll move you to juvie after I get done with them. Hang tight. We’ll have you out of there before they can spoil your palate.”

Kevin stood up and wiped his hand on the side of his ragged jeans before taking the hand she held out to him. “Uh, thanks.”

His voice cracked in the middle, but Phoebe pretended not to notice. She’d stayed longer with Kevin than she’d planned to, because of a mix of pity for his obvious terror and her own self-preservation. She’d needed the time to achieve internal equilibrium again. She could feel Jake watching her through the one-way window. Coldhearted bitch had definitely been the right choice.

It had been quite a shock to come face to face with him, especially so close on the heels of running into his brother the DPD cop. Jeez, looked like the whole family was into law enforcement, though she still wasn’t sure exactly what Jake was. She sure knew how to pick a guy to lust after. If Phagan ever found out, there’d be no virtual reality peace for her ever again.

She gave Kevin’s clammy hand one last, comforting squeeze, squared her shoulders and turned to face her problem. At least she’d soon know exactly what he was and what she was up against.

The impact of Jake’s gaze was every bit as unnerving as she’d expected it to be. To avoid direct eye contact, she pulled out fake business cards and handed them around.

“He’s got nothing to say,” Phoebe said in a clipped northeastern accent that she’d picked up on a gig with the band many years ago, “and you’d better move him to juvenile detention or your asses are grass. I feel certain that you’ll charge him within the required time?”

With smiles that were half-dazed, half admiring, and one that was very bitter, the three men and one woman handed her their cards.

Luke signaled to a uniform. “Move the kid to juvenile,” he directed, then turned back to Phoebe. “You’ll be the first to know when we file charges, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” She turned and found Jake looking at her, a frown between his wild-boy brows. Time to get the heck out of Dodge before he figured out what puzzled him. It took all her control not to let any sign of recognition light her glassy green eyes. Her fingers gripped the handle of the briefcase so tight her arm ached. Turning away from him was like breaking free of gravity. She didn’t lose the force of his pull until she was outside.

Dewey was waiting, but she wished he wasn’t. She needed time and some space to regroup. During that Maine gig, where she’d acquired the accent, she’d taken an early-morning walk down to the wild, rocky shoreline. The wind roaring in from the sea had almost knocked her back on her heels. She’d dug in and taken the buffeting until she was tired enough to sleep again.

That’s how she felt now, only this time the wind wasn’t coming from just one direction. It was hard to dig in her heels against this multi-directional buffeting. Her instinct was to hit the ground and hope it all would pass her by, but that instinct had to be suppressed. She’d brought this on herself by trailing her cloak in front of Harding. As always, there was no retreating, only forward until some kind of ending was reached. Then it wouldn’t matter what happened.

She felt the sun’s light hit her without giving warmth. She missed warm, missed the warm she’d felt around Jake. There was tonight, she reminded herself. He was meeting her at the bar. It wasn’t wise to look forward to it, now that she knew he was a federal marshal. Course, if she’d been wise, she wouldn’t be getting into a limo next to a thief.

This made her smile as she climbed in beside Dewey.

“I take it things went well?”

“He’ll hold,” Phoebe said. “But he’s made some interesting new friends.” She handed him the business cards she’d collected. She should tell him about Jake, but she didn’t think she could without giving away more than she was ready to.

Dewey studied the cards, his eyebrows arching like rising half-moons. “Impressive. Kev’s definitely hit the big time.”

“The woman and this guy,” she tapped Jake’s card, careful to keep her voice neutral, “were at the bar last night. You may have noticed them, too. She left with Jesse and he was my ride.”

Dewey made a face. “The flyers. Phagan thought he got them all. He won’t be happy to know he didn’t.”

“I called Phagan from the pay phone in the hall. I know better.”

“Hey, hounds have been closer than this. Don’t sweat it. Just do what you do best. Find us our next step forward.”

The next step? She frowned. Their game was picking up the pace. She could feel it the same way she felt an avalanche coming. They needed to move faster or they’d get buried. “You got your phone with you? I need to call Phagan.”

He pulled it out of his jacket pocket and pushed the power button, then gave it a shake. “Guess I let the battery run down. Sorry.”

Phoebe leaned forward and opened the glass between them and the driver. “Pull over here and wait.”

She slid out, leaving Dewey alone in the car. He pulled the door to and watched her walk over to the pay phone, her walk hitting somewhere between the bitch lawyer and Phoebe. She fed it coins, punched in the number, and a few seconds later his cell phone rang. Sometimes he thought he should just tell Phoebe he was Phagan. But, it protected them both. As long as she didn’t know who he was, she wouldn’t have to choose between her freedom and his if the Feds picked her up.

He fitted a voice synthesizer over the mouth of the phone and then pushed Send.

“Yeah.”

“The missing one returns,” Phoebe said, her voice sardonic and relieved. “Jeez, Phagan, the shit’s hitting the fan here. Not a good time to go AWOL.”

“There’s never a good time to go AWOL, darlin’,” he said, grinning when he saw her shake her head. “Besides, the brown stuff is your specialty, not mine.”

She leaned against the side of the phone booth and rubbed her face, her wry smile lighting her face.

“What you gonna do about it?”

“I think we need to move up the timetable.” They’d planned to hit TelTech the night before Harding was due to turn RABBIT over to the military, going for maximum embarrassment, but she could tell in her gut that things weren’t going to hold together until then.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. I think we need to go tomorrow.”

“Okay. You want to tell Dewey or should I?”

“He’s waiting for me in the car.” She hesitated, then added with sudden mischief, “I met your Fed. You know, she’s more likely to kick your ass than jump your bones.”

She hung up before he could bite back. He stowed the phone. “Smart-ass. I knew you’d figure something out.” He sighed. “Wish you weren’t right about my Fed.”

He leaned forward and told the driver, “Find me a flower shop.”

Phoebe heard him as she scrambled back in beside him. “Don’t tell me you’re in love, too?” she asked, sliding in next to him and closing the door. “You and Phagan will have to start a club.”

He grinned. “I won’t. And we won’t.” He leaned back. “So what did Phagan say?”

EIGHT

Jake stared after the lawyer, his instincts screaming a message he didn’t quite understand. Or maybe he didn’t want to understand. Because what he was feeling just wasn’t possible, was it?

Behind him he heard Bryn saying, “Somebody check this name and address. See if she’s local. If she’s not—” She didn’t have to spell it out for them. If her ID was bogus, she was a link to Phagan, however tenuous. “Check this card she gave me. You should be able to get her thumb and index. Also, check here where she touched the doorknob, the table and the chair she pulled out and sat in. Get me a good set of latent prints and I’ll buy you a round at the local bar. Get me a real name to go with them and I’ll have your child.”

Jake heard their chuckles but from far away as his brain played with the pieces of the puzzle, trying to find a pattern. The bar. The game seemed to be shifting to Denver, but he still felt JR’s was important. Or did he just want to keep his promise to meet Phoebe there later? Wasn’t like him to lose his focus in the middle of the hunt. Or was his focus getting clouded? It was obvious someone besides him was interested in the bar. Could it be someone sent by Phagan’s current target?

Okay. Phagan targeted people who hurt kids. If past patterns were any indication, it wasn’t enough to just hurt them. He’d want his target to know who was after him and why. Not a surprise, and on the advice of their lawyers, Phagan’s past targets weren’t talking about their experiences with him. No information available on whether Phagan engaged in a little judicious gas lighting prior to the main move. If he were Phagan, it’s what he’d do, even if an alert target was harder to move on.

Just thinking about Phoebe’s being involved in something so dangerous sent cold chills down Jake’s back.

Queen to king’s three.

Her beeper message abruptly came back to his mind, this time weighted with more significance. Was it really a chess move, or a call to some other action? There’d been no chess set at her office and he hadn’t seen one at her house this morning.

If the king were the target…

The queen was a key piece.

Was this Phoebe’s game? Or was she Phagan’s Pathphinder? Their initial investigation on Phoebe Mentel had turned up no sign of criminal priors, but that didn’t mean much. With Phagan involved, Phoebe wouldn’t be her real name. In Phagan band’s past priors there was no hint of a woman. Despite their care and obvious expertise, the FBI had picked up Dewey Hyatt, Ollie Smith and a couple of the runaway kids. Hadn’t managed to hang on to them, but they had been picked up. If Phoebe was Pathphinder, as he was beginning to suspect more and more, then it was possible that her role was that of planner, strategist, and not active participant.

Until now?

She was one tough lady, but she wasn’t superwoman. He could feel the heat, the subdued rumble of trouble about to blow out of control, more trouble than even she could manage. That’s what his gut was telling him, and he always trusted his gut.

“What you gonna do?” Matt asked him.

“Heading back to JR’s and keep a close eye on the lady singer. She’s gonna make a move soon and I plan to be there when she does.”

A pat down for his keys helped him avoid his brother’s eyes. He found the keys halfway through a long pause. Nothing for it but to look up. Some things couldn’t be avoided. His brother’s eyes were among those things.

“What?” he asked, resenting the fact that his brother could still make him feel defensive and about fifteen years old.

“What’s going on?” Matt asked.

“What’s always going on—the hunt.”

“Just the hunt?”

Jake met his brother’s probe squarely. “Just the hunt.”

It wasn’t a lie. Even if he felt something for Phoebe, there was nothing he could do about it except follow the rules. Jake followed the rules. Always.

“Call me,” Matt ordered.

“It’ll be late. Don’t think Dani would appreciate the wee-small wake up,” Jake said in lieu of agreement as he headed out the door.

“Call me.”

Jake stopped, his shoulders rising in a sigh as big as Phoebe’s Texas. He looked back. “You’re worse than Mom.”

“That’s ’cause I’m bigger and meaner.”

He had a point. Jake grinned. “I’ll call you.”

He waited until his back was to his brother to mentally add, when I’m damn good and ready. He tossed his keys up and neatly caught them coming down. A pretty, policewoman coming into the building smiled back.

Jake held the door for her, then forgot her as his thoughts turned once more to Phoebe and JR’s. Those thoughts were as twisted as the road back to Estes Park, and like some bizarre version of a Monopoly game where all moves led to jail, with the Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free cards in the hot hands of Bryn Bailey—who wasn’t known for passing them out.

Bryn hadn’t said much about her investigative efforts today but he had a feeling she had a good lead to Phagan’s target. Obvious she didn’t want to talk about it, either in the police station or in front of his brothers. He’d dig it out of her later.

Jake turned his truck into the parking lot at JR’s, surprised to find Phoebe’s SUV missing. It was well past the time for the band’s sound check. Somehow it didn’t seem like her to be late.

Inside JR’s he found two Mentel boys hunkered down in front of the bar nursing a couple of beers. The other two were hanging from the ceiling with climbing gear.

Jake had known guys like that; climbers who just weren’t comfortable unless they were suspended over something. Once again, Jake was struck by what a pretty group of boys they were. No wonder girls flocked around them like buzzards to a carcass.

All four returned Jake’s examination with varying degrees of interest, ranging from the outright bored to the mildly curious.

“You seen Phoebe Ann?” her ex-husband asked Jake. “Ain’t like her to be late for a sound check.”

Jake shook his head. Worry took a big bite of his gut and held on like a pit bull. Maybe he should have stayed on her tail instead of following the con. “Not since this morning.”

The one called Toes lowered a bag to his brother at the bar, drawing it back up when it held a couple of beers. “Think she headed into Denver,” he said. “Something about needing strings for her guitar.”

So she had been in Denver today. Trouble was, he couldn’t see how she could have pulled off what he suspected she’d pulled off. How she could change herself that much? How she could face him down in the freaking police station without even a flicker of nerves? It didn’t seem possible. So far the prints Bryn had collected had turned up a big, fat negative match with Bryn’s Phagan gang files but it would take several days to get a definitive answer back from the national database.

Leg spun himself in a slow circle, snagging one of the beers from his brother as he went by. “One of the amps is acting up, too.”

Their comments reinforced his initial impression that Phoebe was the linchpin that held this group together. The insight aroused his professional interest as much as her earthy sensuality aroused his body.

“Wouldn’t she call if she was running late?”

From the doorway, Phoebe watched the guys look at each other. Mert said, “Dunno. We’re usually the ones who are late.”

“Well, that’s surely God’s truth,” she said. She stared at the waiting men, holding herself erect with an effort. She was both glad and sad to see that Jake had beaten her here. She’d wanted to see him as bad as she needed air, but not yet. Not without some time to put Phoebe back together. She’d been too many people today. She felt fragmented, her hold on Phoebe uncertain and fragile.

With the lights behind him, Jake’s eyes were in shadow, but the light still managed to find all that buried gold in his hair, then slide forward to stroke some of that gold along the strong, smooth jaw line. It also threw into sharp relief the strength and grace of his body.

Longing slid through her veins, a semi-painful tingle of life returning to a sleeping limb. Why him? Why was he the one to make her feel what she shouldn’t? For a brief instant the fog in her head cleared and Pathphinder got a clear view of the two courses available to her. One, bright and enticing, leading directly to Jake. One, dark and dangerous, leading away from him forever.

Only the choice was an illusion. She was already on Phagan’s path, and there was no way to leave it. There was no way to get to Jake from where she was. Her choice, if she could call it that, had been made long before this day. She’d see this game to its finish and then disappear into Phagan’s shadow world again, leaving even her memories behind. If she survived.

She lifted her chin, straightened her back and walked toward Jake, but she was really walking away from him. It hurt more than she’d expected, but her mind, her body was already adapting to the loss and the pain.

She’d had plenty of practice.

With Jake’s gaze on her, she dug deep for resolve and approached him.

Jake let her come to him, noting with concern the brittle quality that hadn’t been there earlier. It put his senses on alert as she stopped, her gaze meeting his for a long moment that put the heat on under his heart.

“You all right?”

She nodded, then looked at the guys. “It’s late. Let’s get this over with.”

“You’re a hard woman,” Mert grumbled good-naturedly as he lowered himself from his piton perch.

“You got that right,” she said, sounding as if she were passing sentence on herself.

It didn’t take them long to get their instruments ready, once a broken guitar string had been replaced and the amp fiddled with. Jake noted the store logo on the bag Phoebe pulled the replacement string from—it was in Denver—even as he admired the comfortable confidence with which she mobilized her boys. Chet came in with his radio on, playing a Wynona Judd song. He quickly turned it off, but the band picked up the tune, and turned it into their warm up song. The segue was smooth between radio and real life. Too smooth. Close his eyes and he couldn’t tell the difference between Phoebe and Judd. The band switched gears, and it happened again. This time she sounded like Martina McBride. In quick succession she crossed a wide range of the voice spectrum of female singers. It was uncanny. It was…enlightening, and made him feel a lot less crazy about suspecting Phoebe of being Pathphinder.

They stopped to let Jesse work on his C-string, and Jake knew he had to probe a bit. “Is it just me,” he asked, carrying his soft drink closer to their tiny stage, “or did you just sound like Martina McBride?”

Phoebe’s head came up, like that of a wild thing scenting danger, but her eyes showed no fear, no emotion, when Toes grinned and said, “Our Phoebe is a first-rate mime.”

Leg looked up from his keyboard. Jesse shook his head as he explained, “Kid’s young.”

Toes looked around. “What?”

“A mime,” explained Mert, “is what Phoebe almost slugged in New Orleans that time.”

Jake looked at Phoebe, who shrugged and smiled. “He made an obscene gesture,” she explained.

“Oh.” Toes looked crestfallen. “So what’s Phoebe?”

“I think,” Jake said, holding Phoebe’s gaze with his, “the word you’re looking for is mimic. Phoebe’s a very…good…mimic.”

Phoebe smiled, her eyes neither denying nor confirming his suspicion. “Only very good? You’re a tough critic.”

Jake managed a slight grin, but inside he was wishing everything was completely different. Next to her, Jesse’s long-fingered hands pulled a gentle ballad from the strings of his guitar. The others filled in the holes, loosing love’s lament into the big, empty hall.

Phoebe tried to resist the song’s invitation to give in to feeling and failed. With a fatalistic shrug, she put down her instrument and leaped from the stage, landing a few feet from Jake. There was harm in it, but not too much, what with the guys watching her every move. Of their own volition, her feet started her toward him. The closer she got, the more fluid she felt. The pain melted away, leaving only anticipation. She wanted to be in his arms. She had to be in his arms or die. It was as simple as that. She had to clear the huskiness from her throat before she could get the words out. “Dance with me, Curious Jake.”

Jake’s throat went dry at the husky-voiced invitation. She stood motionless, but the air around her pulsed with an ancient, unmistakable need.

“I never get to dance,” she said.

It would have been easier to stop breathing than say no. He couldn’t do either, so he held out his hand, felt his breath catch as her fingers meshed with his, her other hand settling on his shoulder like a pigeon come home. He pulled her closer, leaving a single important inch between their bodies to salve his conscience as his hand cupped her waist, half on cotton, half on skin left bare by her brief top.

It felt right to have her in his arms. Like she’d always belonged there.

They began a shuffle that could be taken for dancing by someone on drugs. No one led. No one followed. He didn’t look at her. Knew she wasn’t looking at him.

As the song wound toward a climax, he couldn’t stop his gaze from doing a slow slide in her direction. He breathed in her scent, felt her body heat arc that single inch that separated them. His gaze found hers, dark with longing. On some level his brain registered that his nostrils smelled a lingering trace of expensive lawyer mixed with her usual clean scent. Another link in the evidence chain toward her, but he didn’t care. His arms were full of woman. The right woman. The only woman, he was afraid, for him.

The music died away. They stopped shuffling. He stared at her, wanting to say something, but before he could think of anything, her lashes drooped, shutting her longing from his view. She stepped back, her hand sliding free of his.

He wanted to hold on, to pull her back. He didn’t.

“You out there, Phoebe?” Jesse asked, trying to peer past the footlights to their shadows.

“Yeah, I’m here.” She turned and walked away from Jake.

He wasn’t sure what was worse—that she could do it or that he could let her.

* * * *

Stern stood staring into the dark, smoking and thinking, while behind him Harding argued with someone on the phone. The smoke soothed as he mulled the situation.

The sun was setting over the city and, it seemed, on Harding. It was becoming obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to hold it together. It was a pity. He had the right stuff to be a serious contender in the political power game. Charm, ruthlessness, native wit and “vision.” A pity he had that dark side that so many of the bright ones seemed cursed with.

Power, real power, was a balancing act that required the holder to never let one factor overwhelm the others. Once balance was gone, a long fall was inevitable. Stern had done well with Harding, but he wasn’t about to go down with him. Not for something as stupid as a sexual addiction the asshole couldn’t control. Not to mention the nasty temper. Behind him Harding slung the phone back on to its cradle the rest with a mumbled curse. Stern turned and found him sprawled in his chair looking like a sulky teenager.

“So, Billy thinks the woman could be Nadine?” Harding asked.

Stern nodded, lifting the cigarette and inhaling deeply.

“Go get her. I want…to see her with my own eyes. Be sure. This time I want to be sure she won’t ever be a problem again.”

Sure, that’s why he wanted to see her. And I’m blind, deaf and stupid. Stern stubbed out his cigarette. Smoke spiraled up from the stub where an A/C current caught it and dispersed it—not unlike the chilling reality bringing his association with Harding to an end. He’d bring the girl back, not because Harding wanted her, but because, by messing with Harding, she’d messed with him. No one messed with him without paying a price. Harding would settle part of the bill. And when Harding finished with the girl, she would beg him to kill her.

He would. Eventually.

He headed for the door, feeling an odd sense of anticipation at the coming meeting. Been a long time since he’d had an adversary this talented. Should be an interesting encounter.

“Stern?”

Stern stopped at the door but didn’t look back. He knew what was coming.

“No more waiting. We go tomorrow night.”

We? Stern bit back a pointed reminder that Harding would be sitting it out safely on the sidelines. Asshole already knew how Stern felt about pushing up the timing, so there was no point in arguing it further.

As if Stern was arguing with him, Harding said, “I never did like the idea of having RABBIT get grabbed the night before we were supposed to turn it over. General Hadley’s sure to smell a rat.”

“You think a couple of days is going to affect his sense of smell?” Stern turned, shoving his hands in the pockets of his ill-made suit. He could pull his guys together, but they wouldn’t like doing it as a rush job any more than he did. “Bromfield might still get the thing to work.”

“No,” Harding shook his head. “He won’t. He’s as big an idiot as the others. Make him disappear. He knows too much.”

“People who know things are dangerous.”

Harding looked sharply at Stern. Stern met his with look kept carefully blank, before spinning on his heels and striding out.

Harding waited until he heard the distant swish of the elevator before saying softly to himself, “Yes, they are, my…friend.”

Did Stern think he hadn’t noticed the way he’d been watching him? Or the vibrations of unease between them? He hadn’t gotten this far by not knowing when to trust. And when not to.

He unlocked a drawer of his desk and pulled out a handgun. He checked the clip, making sure it was full, then shoved it back into place and returned the gun in the drawer.

“People who know things are very dangerous, my…friend.”

* * * *

Now that she was committed to making the move on TelTech, Phoebe was aware that her life as Phoebe Mentel could be counted in hours. Twenty-four, to be exact.

With sharpened clarity, she picked up her guitar and looked out at the foot-stomping, hand-clapping patrons waiting for the first twanging note. She couldn’t call them friends—she couldn’t have friends—but they were familiar strangers who had been a part of her life for several years. She would miss them, and she would miss her guys. She would miss singing with them, climbing with them, laughing with them, even fending off their occasional advances. They’d made her feel real when grief had left her hollow and wanting. They’d filled her with their buoyant life force and let her hide in their shadows. They’d been her family, and it grieved her to leave then without explanation or farewell. They deserved better, but they couldn’t know anything and would never understand if they did. The Feds on her tail would come down on them hard but would eventually have to admit the guys didn’t know anything and let them go. As long as none of them hit anyone.

Did she dare give them a hint, a warning not to lose it? It worried her, wondering how they would manage without her, but they would learn. Even if she did stay, she wouldn’t be around to help them. She’d be in jail. And, knowing them, they’d try to bust her out and end up behind bars, too.

And then there was Jake.

She didn’t want to look at him through jail bars. For the brief now, she could see him across the sea of heads, see him watching her from the bar. When he caught her gaze, he lifted his can in a discreet toast. It hurt to think of never seeing him again. She didn’t know how it had happened that he’d come to matter so much, but there was nothing to be done now but live with it.

She’d had lots of practice at living with things.

Leg gave her a discreet nudge and she realized the guys were all looking at her, wondering why she didn’t start the set. She gave the nod for the last time, and they launched into their opening number, her fingers flying across the strings with angst-driven precision. Luckily the song was fast enough and loud enough to make thinking near impossible. After a time, the music smoothed over the rough edges and carried her along. It was easier to ride the sound, to ride the surface. Just this once, she took the easy way. Hey, there was no one to tell her she couldn’t. Besides, it wouldn’t last. Nothing seemed to, except maybe the pain. That outlasted everything.

* * * *

Other than a brief run during the last set to bring back Chinese food, Jake watched the whole show from his seat at the bar. Chet didn’t push him to buy drinks, as if sensing that something bigger than drinks was on the line. There was an air of finality about Phoebe that no one but Jake seemed aware of.

She was getting ready to move, to act. But on what? All night he sat discarding plans to stop her from going so heedlessly into the danger zone. He knew in his gut that he didn’t have the power to stop her. God probably couldn’t stop her, he decided. She was one hell of a woman.

He knew he was losing her, either to the shadow world or to jail. It might be a body blow he couldn’t recover from. There were, he believed, people who were meant to be together. Like his mom and dad. Like Matt and Dani. Like Luke and his Rosemary that he’d lost to cancer. A perfect fit was rare in this world of disposable marriages. If you found your perfect fit, you sure as hell didn’t let her go.

Just his tough luck to find his perfect match singing in a honky-tonk and involved in some kind of high-tech heist on some rich asshole who might be under observation by Bryn and her FBI cronies. If Bryn did know the target, as he suspected, then she had a good chance of catching Phoebe in the act. Captivity would, he knew for sure, be hell for her, a hell she might not survive. If the sad in her eyes were any indication, life had already given her some good, hard kicks. Did it have to administer the final, soul-killing blow? Did he have to watch?

The music called him from his dark thoughts. She’d never played better. Somehow he knew that, though his days with her could be counted in the single digits. No one left the bar until the final note sounded, and then they left in reluctant bunches. Jake waited until the stage and room were clear to commandeer a table for the Chinese food. He spread it out and then took a chair where he could watch for her. He didn’t have a lot of memories to take with him into the future. No sense passing up even one.

* * * *

“It won’t be long now,” Stern said. With his two best guys, Harley and Farley Hicks, he sat in his car in the shadows cast by two huge evergreens, watching as the full parking lot emptied until only two vehicles were left. The SUV, he knew, belonged to Phoebe Mentel, who might or might not be Nadine. The other was the Fed’s truck. He didn’t like messing with a Fed, but when you were already screwing over the military, it seemed nit picking to worry about it.

He didn’t mention it to his boys, though. The thought of a death sentence if they got caught might mess with their aim.

A bag crackled as Farley stowed it, wiped his hands on his polyester pants and checked his weapon. Farley was a large man, partly because of his passion for junk food and partly because of his gene pool. His father had been a pro wrestler who married his mother after she whipped his ass in a mud-wrestling ring. Evidently his family liked to be dominated, which made him the natural choice for lieutenant in Stern’s private army.

His brother, Harley, was his younger duplicate in everything but IQ, which made him a good soldier. Harley finished a bottle of Yahoo and got out his gun.

Stern screwed a silencer onto the end of his. “There’s a rear entrance and one window on the right. Farley, you take the back door. Harley, you get the window. There’ll be one guy with her. Take him out, but not the girl. We need the girl alive.” He checked the clip before adding, “Bruising is optional.”

* * * *

Phoebe found Jake waiting for her by a table cluttered with distinctive white cartons. The odors of the evening retreated in the face of his personal, oh-so-male scent that filled her nostrils and her insides with painful desire.

“I hope you like Chinese,” Jake said. His voice was husky, as if they were already ripping each other’s clothes off.

The vision was so real, for a moment she wondered if she’d acted on it.

“What’s not to like?” She cleared her head before she said, “Let me lock up.”

Her looking had to last a lifetime, so she walked backwards reaching behind her to snap the lock into place and reduce the lighting to one beam on the table and Jake. In the shadows, she let her eyes be hungry and longing, then reined it in for the walk back to him. At least she thought she’d reined it in, but the closer she got to him, the more her body throbbed for him, for the painful peace of passion acted on. She wanted him so bad it hurt like a sore tooth not to do something.

She stopped on the opposite side of the table. If somebody didn’t do something—

Somebody did.

In the heated silence, they both heard the sound of a silenced gun fired into the flimsy front door lock.

NINE

Passion made an abrupt departure as Jake’s training took over. Before the sound of the lock giving faded away, he had his gun out and was taking aim at the light. Phoebe shook her head. “Wait.”

She was right. No reason to warn the intruders they were armed.

“Is there another way out of here?”

Before she could answer, they heard glass shatter from the direction of her office, followed almost immediately by the sound of the back door being kicked open.

“This way,” she said, heading for the dubious cover of the bar.

The front door gave just as they reached the bar. Jake crouched down beside Phoebe and realized she was still one step ahead of him when she opened a panel to reveal the breaker box. He only had time to grin at her before she took out the lights. That left only a triangle of light just inside the door.

“Phone’s dead,” she said, her lips against his ear.

“I’ve got a cell phone.”

“Let’s find some better cover first.”

She was right, behind the bar was the first place anyone would look for them.

“We could use another gun.”

“As much fun as it would be in a shoot-out at JR’s bar with you, I think we can do this with less mess.”

“They’ll have the exits covered.”

“Not this one.” She shifted closer, until he could feel her body against his. “You said you can climb?”

His eyes were adjusting to the pitch black. Now he could see her outline against the reflection from a row of bottles. He nodded, wondering if she could see the movement.

She could. She’d always been able to see like a cat in the dark. Despite this useful skill, Phagan had refused to let her participate in their real heists—until now.

She touched his arm, then followed it down until she found his hand, their fingers meshing like yin and yang. It touched her that he didn’t hesitate to follow where she led. Not many men would have, particularly when it became apparent she was leading him into a corner.

It was too dark to see her but he felt the warmth from her body when she stopped.

Behind them, the search was heating up. Flashlights flickered in the back rooms, coming closer. She took Jake’s hand and placed it against the log wall, urging him forward until he could feel the junction of the logs. “We can climb up to the support beams and get out the roof access panel.”

Jake started climbing. She was glad he didn’t waste time with any ladies-first crap. The guy knew his stuff, knew he’d be in a better position to provide cover above her than below. As soon as he was higher than her head, Phoebe started up, too, the path a familiar one for her. She’d raced the guys up every corner in this room. Most of the time she’d won. She made the beam before two flashlights stabbed white light into the main room. The intruders found the bar. Footsteps moved that way, separating to cover both ends.

She tapped Jake’s arm and pointed toward the center of the ceiling where all the beams came together. It wasn’t a perfect path—they’d be moving toward danger and if they were heard, they’d be exposed and vulnerable—but it was better than the inevitable shoot-out. Jake nodded, gesturing for her to go first.

Phoebe had walked this beam at least a hundred times, but never without light. She wished she’d had time to take off her boots. She did better when she could feel the surface with her feet. It was slow going, trying to place her boots squarely without making a sound. She sensed, more than heard, Jake following her.

They were halfway to the center when the hunters below went quiet. Phoebe and Jake froze, too. Phoebe halted her breath, then let it out slow and easy. Time for a distraction. She patted down her pockets. Empty.

“Where the hell did they go?” a male I’m-in-charge voice asked.

“Dunno. Thought they’d be behind the bar. Only cover in the whole room.”

“Maybe they slipped past us in the dark,” a third voice spoke.

All three voices came from the same general area—almost directly under them. That helped the odds a bit. Jake tried to recall how far the drop was, estimated how far they’d climbed and came up with something definitely in the leg-breaking range.

“I wonder…” the in-charge guy said.

One of the lights started to track toward the rafters. Jake sighted his gun along the light, but before he could shoot, he heard a soft ping in the direction of the doorway. All three figures did a stampede in that direction, making just enough noise for Phoebe to say softly, “Button.”

Jake chuckled.

“Farley, you go out the back. Harley, you take the front. Do a circuit of the outside and check their vehicles. I’ll check the office again. If we come up empty, head for the car and we’ll get the hell out of here.”

They sounded as if they knew they’d lost, but Phoebe didn’t start moving again until they were well out of range. Careful and clever.

In short order they were beneath the panel. Phoebe popped it open, Jake helped her push it up, then gave her boost up onto the roof. She lowered the panel quietly and soon he was beside her on the sharply peaked roof. They lowered the panel back into place.

“You come up here often?” Jake whispered. It felt good to be out in the fresh air. The towering pines cast a long shadow on their position, so there was little fear their silhouettes would be visible against the waning moon. He followed her to the peak and peered over, careful to keep low as normal night noises got lost in the sounds of the search. Finally they heard a motor start and tires spinning against gravel.

The car moved out from the cover of the trees, but when Phoebe had thrown the breaker, she shut off the big parking lot lights, too, so there was no way to see the color or a plate.

“I couldn’t tell,” Jake said softly. “Did they all leave?”

“I think so,” Phoebe said. “Saw at least two for sure.”

“How—” Jake began.

She rolled onto her back, tucked her hands behind her head and gave him her toe-curling smile. She looked as relaxed as if she were on her own bed instead of the steeply peaked roof. “Ate a lot of carrots as a kid.”

Jake laughed, even as he fought back the urge to just kiss the girl. He rolled over, careful not to make contact, and stared up at the night sky, where the moon was fading as fast as his self-control. Maybe if he didn’t look at her, he could do this.

“Another story?”

Her chuckle was husky and bedroom soft. “No stories tonight, Curious Jake. I’m too tired, and—”

She stopped, but her mind finished the thought. She was too curious about what would happen if she just rolled toward him. But if she breached the wall, broke the rules, she’d be breaking faith with herself and Kerry Anne, not to mention Phagan, who had loved Kerry, too. Kerry Anne had sacrificed more than her life for her little sister, more than any sister should have to sacrifice for anyone.

She hated bringing the poison of the past into this moment, but she needed it to keep her from making that roll Jake’s way. It was almost Harding’s moment of reckoning, and she couldn’t sell that for a roll on a roof, no matter how enticing the guy.

She was an outlaw, he was a lawman, and even Pathphinder couldn’t find a way between them.

Jake sighed, but not so she could hear him. Not good for a suspect to know her pursuer was in coyote position, howling for the impossible moon. Her breathing was soft but even, almost contented. Maybe she was just glad to be alive. Maybe it was his ego telling him she was glad to be with him. Maybe.

He didn’t know how long he’d have stayed there, staring at the stars and listening to her breathe, if his cell phone hadn’t rung. Her sigh matched his almost perfectly. He turned his head to look at her and found she’d done the same. Her smile was wry now, her eyes sad.

“Guess you should call the cops when you’re done.”

Jake nodded, then sat up and pushed the button to take the call.

* * * *

Bryn felt almost cheerful as she came out of the dingy motel bathroom trying to dry her hair with a towel that was too small and too wet. She gave it up as a bad job and tossed the towel back into the bathroom. She could let her hair air-dry while she watched a little TV or did some work on her laptop. She was too restless to sleep.

She was trying to decide between television and work when she saw two roses wrapped in green paper and ribbon lying on her bed next to a box.

The thought of Phagan’s being in the room while she was naked in shower sent her adrenalin soaring. She wanted to scream and kick things, since he was no longer here to kick. Because she was a grownup and a professional, she opened the box instead. Inside she found a virtual reality headset and gloves, as well as a note with an internet address on it.

She examined the gear, which, though obviously homemade, was better even than the last set Phagan had given her.

“Damn,” she said, sinking down on the bed, “the guy is good.”

Though her trust surprised and dismayed her, she tried on the gear. It was a perfect fit. She went to her laptop. It was easy to connect. She logged on to the internet and then typed in the address Phagan had given her. She opened and prepped her online search program so she could run it when Phagan appeared, then put on the head set.

After a moment in the dark, she found herself in a pleasant little park around a gushing fountain with a statue of Venus, the goddess of love in the center. She almost turned around and left then, but curiosity and her desire to get Phagan kept her there. She walked around the fountain and found a bench with a single rose lying on it. When she picked up the flower, a mariachi band appeared out of the park’s greenery, playing and singing a Spanish love song.

Bryn chuckled. At least this time he’d let her keep her shoes  and stay out of the kitchen. She sat down to enjoy the music until Phagan showed his virtual face. When he did, she’d track his ass back to his hiding place, kick it up over his ears and throw it into jail.

She brushed the rose across her mouth, inhaling deeply. Almost smelled real, but he couldn’t be that good. She had to be picking up the smell of the roses he’d left in her room.

Unnoticed, Dewey approached from the other side of the fountain. Bryn was smiling, so he figured she must be plotting his demise. He knew he’d tried her patience, when what he wanted was to win her heart. Nothing like falling for the impossible dream. After Kerry Anne died, he’d thought he would never feel anything again. He sure hadn’t expected to feel something for a women he could never, ever have. Talk about unlucky in love. He didn’t feel guilty about his feelings for Bryn. Kerry Anne wouldn’t have expected a permanent state of mourning from him. Mostly he felt stupid. Only emotion he seemed to arouse in Bryn was rage. Of course, she was magnificent in a rage.

He grinned, remembering the first time he’d been caught by the FBI. Maybe he shouldn’t have made a pass at her, but hell, he’d been handcuffed. Not like he’d grabbed her ass or something. He’d simply told her he’d like to kiss her. He hadn’t actually done it.

She still hadn’t noticed him, so he took a minute more to enjoy her rare—to him—smile. It was a great smile. No matter how hard she tried to look all business and tough as nails, she stayed all woman.

He was taking a big risk meeting her like this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. As soon as she saw him, she’d start trying to track him, and she was good enough to do it if he wasn’t careful. Too bad he stopped being careful as soon as he got around her. As Phoebe liked to put it, he was thinking with his southern brain.

Bryn’s smile narrowed to a scowl, and he knew he’d been spotted. He deleted the band and walked around the fountain toward her as she rose to meet him. She’d be starting her search program. He started his clock, too.

“Phagan.” He’d come as Mr. Green Jeans this time and she wanted to chuckle, but she refused to let him see any sign of softening. If he was this bold when he thought she hated him, what would he do if realized he was making headway? Because the sad fact was, he was making headway. Not that anything could come of it, but how could she resist a man who was her intellectual equal? Who seemed to like her tough side as much as her soft side? Who wasn’t afraid of her?

He ambled closer, carrying a rake, of all things. He realized it and looked around for a place to put it, then settled for making it disappear.

“Evening—” He looked around and realized that in their VR it was day and changed day to night. “Hi.”

She should be patient and let him engage in small talk. The longer she could keep him with her, the better chance she had of tracking his location, but she’d never been a patient person. “What?”

Mr. Green Jeans grinned. “You don’t like games, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” She turned away from him and made herself take a couple of deep breaths. On her VR screen a little timer showed her that she needed to keep him talking for three minutes to have him. She turned around. It was more than she could do to smile at him, but she did sit down. Let him think he was in control. “Nice little park, though. Does it have a real counterpart anywhere?”

He joined her on the bench but didn’t crowd her. “It’s sort of like one I saw in New Orleans a few years ago. I liked New Orleans.”

Liked. Past tense. But maybe she could backtrack and—

“You’re going to miss the here and now, Bryn,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.

“It’s Agent Bailey—”

“You called me by my first name,” he pointed out, giving her a smile that seemed less Mr. Green Jeans and more something—or someone—else. Had his real smile broken through VR?

“You only have one name that you’ve shared with me,” Bryn said. The time was down to sixty seconds and falling. She rose and stepped away from him. “I don’t know why I came. I always end up talking in circles with you.”

“You came to catch me,” he said, standing up behind her. He turned her to face him. He’d changed, but she didn’t think he was showing his true face.

“And why did you come?” she asked.

“To tell you I’m not your enemy. But—”

He stopped. The clock was almost run.

“But,” she prompted. Thirty seconds…

“Believe me when I say, my enemy is your enemy. Be careful.”

“You’re not the good guy, you know. If you’d just—”

“Turn myself in? You’d cut me a deal?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “In exchange for information I’d—”

“Could I be your partner?” He gave her such a hopeful look, she dang near nodded.

Her frustration surge. A red mist obscured the timer. “When hell freezes over!”

His grin was a warning, but his hand was quicker than her eye. He vanished and the landscape turned into his version of hell. Frozen over.

She ripped off the head set and threw it against the wall to keep from moaning long and loud. The clock on her search had stopped at one second.

* * * *

Phoebe’s cop friend, Honk, did a good job of securing the crime scene, but it still took an hour before she was seated beside Jake in his truck driving to town. Phoebe left her SUV there in front of the bar. She wouldn’t need it again. At first light, which was about an hour from now, Dewey would be picking her up. They were hitting TelTech tonight, and once the game was played, Phoebe Mentel would vanish, never to be reborn. Somewhere Phagan was already working on her new identity.

She didn’t talk and Jake didn’t seem inclined to chat either, until he reached the turn to her house. He braked and looked at her.

“Is it possible they went to your house…”

The same thought had occurred to her. Even if there was no threat at home, she didn’t want to see the place again. It was something else she had to give up. If the weight of things and wants got too heavy, she might not be able to break free.

“Maybe.” Dread was a dead weight on her chest that made even that one word a labor to say.

“I’ll bet they have a free room where I’m staying.” He seemed as relieved as she was that he didn’t have to drop her off right away, but the trip to his motel kept them together only a few more minutes. Estes Park wasn’t that big.

When the truck stopped outside the office, she turned to him. “You don’t—”

“I’ll wait,” Jake said. All night if need be. Probably wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight anyway. She got out, moving stiffly, as if she’d aged in the last couple of hours. He knew there were things he should do, but he sat there staring through the plate glass window at her profile as she arranged for a room. Only when she came out did he get out of the truck.

In silence they walked to her room, both of them looking everywhere but at each other. Bryn had the room next to her, and he had the one after that. The thought of Bryn stuck in the middle made him smile.

“What?” Phoebe asked.

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

A silence.

“I’m just down here, if—” He stopped. “I’m sorry about the Chinese food.”

“Tacky of them to take it.”

“Might help your cop friend catch them. If he waits an hour and then stakes out that convenience store.”

Phoebe chuckled. “Maybe.” She hesitated. “Thanks.”

It sounded more like good-bye, but he just nodded. “If you need—”

She looked at him then, regret written large in her eyes. “I—”

Can’t. She didn’t say it, but he knew that’s what she meant. Words crowded in his throat, but all that came out was, “I know.”

She was almost too tired to do it, but she did. She turned her back on him and opened the door. There was nothing left to say, so when she’d stepped through, she smiled, then shut the door between them.

Jake stood there, trying to summon the energy to walk away. He was tired in a way he’d never been before. This was losing tired. And he wasn’t used to feeling it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, then touched the closed door, spreading his fingers against the cool surface. Pretended that she was doing the same thing on the other side.

Only she wasn’t. And he shouldn’t be.

He sighed, turned and went back to the office. Inside, the clerk was starting to drift off to sleep again behind the counter. He showed her his badge. “The lady who just checked in? She makes any calls, you let me know immediately.”

The clerk glanced down at the switchboard. “She’s dialing right now.” She wrote down the number and handed it to Jake. He waited until the light on the panel went out, then dialed the same number. After one ring a male voice said, “Video rentals.”

Jake hesitated, then said, “Sorry, wrong number.”

Jake dialed his cell phone again, as he left the office. “I got a phone number I need an address for.” At Phoebe’s door he hesitated, then moved on to Bryn’s and knocked. Before she answered, he had an address.

“Saddle up. I think I’ve got Dewey Hyatt’s address.”

She nodded, shut the door in his face, then, it seemed, almost immediately opened it again. Course, he could have nodded off. He was that tired. He handed her the keys to the truck.

“You’d better drive.” Last thing he saw before he nodded off was her pleased smile as she fired up the engine.

TEN

Phoebe closed the door between her and Jake, her fingers spreading across the cool surface as if sheer longing could push it and her through to the other side to him. In her mind, he was doing the same thing. When she heard him leave, his footsteps headed back toward the office instead of his room, she let her arm drop to her side.

Lightheaded and adrift, she reached for the phone he’d already be moving to monitor and dialed. She’d give him something and protect her knight.

Queen to king with a check and mate in sight.

When Dewey answered, he seemed to understand she wasn’t in the mood to chat and arranged where to meet her. He had to drive from Denver, so she had time, too much time, before he could come. Too much time to linger at this intersection between past, present and future.

She sat on the edge of the bed and listened as Jake came back. Did he hesitate outside her door? Then he was past her and knocking on the next. Phagan’s FBI agent. It appeared her feint had worked. It was the logical move for him to make, since his job was pursuing fugitives like Dewey. Phagan’s Fibbie would probably go, too, since she’d figure Dewey could lead her to Phagan. A neat little game of move and counter move with cold, hard logic controlling the board.

After a time, she heard both of them get into Jake’s truck, his engine fire, and then pull away. Good old logic that left the queen standing alone.

She looked around. Some palace. The room was shabby and sad, the thick air resistant to being anything but stale. It was the kind of place that made her want to leave. It was inevitable, she supposed with a weary sigh, that the past would creep in now. Intersections were for reflection and assessment. They weren’t intersections if you didn’t stop to think, to choose. Or to at least remember why you’d chosen the present course. She wasn’t a dewy-eyed innocent. Her stepfather had made sure of that. But she hadn’t known everything, though she felt it on a subconscious level. It was only later, when it was too late, that she’d put all the pieces together.

Things like his footsteps in the night. He’d come and look in on her, but it didn’t make her feel safe or watched over. Some deep instinct had her pretending she was asleep until he closed the door and moved on to Kerry’s room. She’d be asleep before he walked past again, but some nights, too many nights, muffled sobs dominated her nightmares.

With adult clarity, she knew she’d been too young at the time to cope with what she knew on that subconscious level, but reasoning couldn’t stop her from feeling she should have done something. She’d spoken the truth when she said that Peter Harding liked the young. Her blessing and her burden were that her sister’s sacrifice had saved her from Harding’s attentions. Kerry Anne had made a bargain with the devil that she kept even after she left for college.

Back then, Phoebe had wondered, when any wondering could breach her burgeoning adolescence, why Kerry Anne came home every weekend when it was clear she hated it and hated him. Only when it was too late did she comprehend the full horror of her Kerry’s existence and what she’d sacrificed to protect her little sister.

Somehow, some way Kerry had realized he was getting ready to break his unholy bargain with her. The last visit before her death, she’d warned Nadine to prepare herself to leave. She didn’t give many details, just that they were going to disappear with the help of her boyfriend, Phagan, but she did warn her to travel light.

In the end, all she took were the shoes, the dress and the picture of Kerry Anne. That’s all that wasn’t tainted by him, by the gratitude and slavish obedience he demanded from his stepdaughters.

Phoebe rolled onto her back and faced her greatest fear. Had she been the one to give away Kerry’s plans? Had Montgomery Justice somehow picked up on or sensed her secret hope to get away from him? Had she been the accidental cause of her sister’s death? The weight of not knowing almost broke her. She opened the doors, let herself remember that night she’d come home and found her sister dying on the bathroom floor, her wrists slashed almost to the bone in an apparent suicide. She had turned to go call for help, but Kerry Anne called her back. Her blood was everywhere by then. She’d had to kneel in it to lift Kerry’s head onto her lap, to get close enough to her blue lips to hear her whispered words.

“He did this, didn’t he?” Nadine had sobbed.

Kerry had nodded weakly. “You…have to leave…nothing…to stop…him now.”

She hadn’t understood what Kerry Anne meant. Not then, God forgive her. Or maybe He’d been showing mercy and kept her from understanding everything then. Full knowledge might have had her joining her sister on the tile.

Kerry told her where there was some money, not much, but enough to catch a bus and gave her Phagan’s phone number, with a warning not to call him until she was clear. And Phagan had sent Dewey to her. He’d helped her disappear. Helped her find a new name, a new life with the Mentels. Later, after her marriage to Jesse ended, he’d come to her again with a plan for justice, not just for her but for other runaways.

It had been enough to keep her focused until she met Jake.

The kicker was, Kerry Anne wouldn’t condemn her for turning aside. She’d welcome it. She hadn’t given her body or her life so that Phoebe could spend hers in a quest for justice.

Phoebe got up and faced the lousy motel mirror. Looked into her own eyes and told her demons, “All she ever wanted was for me to be happy. I’m the one who can’t forgive or forget. I can’t forgive myself.” She gave a harsh laugh, one that was short on happy and broke in the middle. “I’m sorry, Kerry, but how can I seize my freedom, knowing he’s free to do it again?”

It wasn’t just about Kerry Anne. Not anymore. It was about his new fiancé and her two little girls. Maybe there’d been others during those years he’d disappeared, too? Maybe she wouldn’t succeed. Maybe he would kill her. Maybe Jake would stop her before she checkmated Harding, but she still had to try. It’s what Kerry Anne would have done if he hadn’t killed her.

She felt…like weeping, she realized with a shock of surprise. She hadn’t cried once since her tears had mingled with Kerry’s blood. Crying might help ease the knot around her heart, but she didn’t have time. And she wasn’t going to face Dewey with red eyes and nose.

She took a shaky breath, then another. After the third, it was a little easier. She looked around and realized she’d come to the motel with nothing. There was nothing to hold her here or hold her down except her own longings. She left the key in her room, pulled the door closed, then slipped down the walk, heading away from the lighted office. When she reached the road, she kept walking. If she put one foot in front of the other, eventually she’d get to where she was supposed to meet Dewey. If she didn’t, well, nothing she could do about it.

* * * *

The sun was just topping the mountains when Jake and Bryn got to the address his contact in the DPD had given him. Bryn had nudged Jake awake when they reached to the outskirts of Denver so, she said, he could help her watch for street signs. Jake had his own opinion about why she woke him up. She didn’t want him groggy when they went in.

Too bad. He was gonna be groggy. He’d slept just long enough to feel like complete crap. He rubbed his face, fingering the day’s growth of beard turning his chin the texture of sandpaper. His eyes felt as if they were filled with sand, and his head felt thick and stupid, as if his brain had been replaced with a slug of cement.

Even worse was the feeling that he’d let himself be distracted by lust and pity into making the wrong move. Logic said it was his job to go after Dewey Hyatt, but his gut was saying the queen, Phoebe, was where the action was or where it would be. Hyatt was probably long gone, and Phoebe would be, too, by the time they got back. If he hadn’t been so tired, he’d have never let himself get outmaneuvered so neatly. He’d probably lost Phoebe, too, but just to make sure, he dialed up the Estes PD and asked them to go pick up Phoebe and hold her for questioning.

Surprised and not altogether pleased, Honk agreed. He finished his call as Bryn stopped the truck, looked at the house, then at him.

“This is a waste of time, isn’t it?” she said.

“Probably.”

Her sigh was huge and frustrated. “Do you think they’ll call it off, wait until we get tired of waiting for them to do something and then move in again?”

Jake frowned, trying to get past cement and activate some actual thinking. Without looking at Bryn, he said, “Phagan’s been sending you leads, hasn’t he?”

She paused, then said tersely, “Yes.”

“They won’t fall back. They’re going to finish this. I just wish—” He stopped.

“Wish what?” Bryn sounded ready to boil.

“I wish I could figure out why Phagan wants us, or at least you, in the game this early on.” He looked at Bryn in time to see her blush. It was charming. No question. And Phagan might have a romantic interest, but that still didn’t explain what he was about to do or why he’d put his people at risk, particularly Phoebe. It made no sense. Trying to figure it out made his head hurt, so he gave it up for now. “Let’s get some crime scene people in to toss this place and then—”

“What?”

“Well, we squeeze Phoebe Mentel, if by some miracle Honk does find her, and let’s have her place tossed, too. We should have enough for a warrant now. I’m sure he was there the other night, so his prints will be, too. If we link her to Hyatt, then we’ll have cause to hold her if—”

A very big, very unlikely if, Jake conceded. She wouldn’t be there. And this time just following the scent wasn’t going to work. She was too good at laying down false trails. He’d have to keep his eye on the whole board, try to anticipate all the moves, not just the next move. If he wanted to catch her. If.

He bit back a groan as he unfolded his body from the passenger side of the truck and followed Bryn inside.

There shouldn’t be an if in his head. He needed to bury his personal feelings fast and deep. Beyond want was personal honor. Law enforcement wasn’t just a job he got paid to do. It was a personal trust he’d never betrayed before. It didn’t matter how sad the lady’s eyes were or how enticing the lady’s mouth. The situation sucked, no question about it, but a lot of things did.

The address was in a modest, middle-class neighborhood, a corner lot that made half a gateway to a quiet cul-de-sac still slumbering in the building morning light. On this Saturday morning most of the lawns still had newspapers lying on their lawns and the shades drawn on the windows. The sun hadn’t had time to burn away the chill, the rich scent of green from the air, or the dew giving a jewel-like patina to the landscape.

In the distance Jake could hear the buzz of a mower, like a small plane coming and going, and he caught a glimpse of a jogger working off last night’s supper, but otherwise there was no one outside to see them approach the house.

No car in the driveway or the garage, he noted as they split up to cover the front and back doors, confirming his feeling that they were already too late. Bryn rang, the sound echoing through the interior of the house. Jake knocked half-heartedly, then sagged against the railing while Bryn kicked in the front door. She was the one who was the most pissed, and he didn’t have the energy to kick a hole in a paper sack. When she let him in, it was obvious the king—Jake wasn’t sure who was white and who was black in this game—had already moved to a new square, leaving nothing behind but a single red rose on the scrubbed top of the kitchen table. Somehow he knew it was the rose that put sparks in Bryn’s eyes. He was more interested in the small pile of pistachio shells in the garbage can.

Jake had enough strength to dial his phone, so he was the one who called in the Denver cops’ crime scene techs. That done, they returned to the truck and headed back to Estes Park. Jake stretched back out as best he could in the passenger side, sparing a brief thought to a wish that he could be beamed to his destination with a little help from Scottie before sleep claimed him again.

* * * *

Phoebe woke around noon feeling like she’d been chewed up and pooped over a cliff. It had only been a few hours since she said goodbye to Jake, but it felt longer. After they got to their new place in seedy section of Denver, Dewey had insisted she try to sleep for a couple of hours. To her surprise, she had dropped off almost immediately, but now that a mental open season had been declared on her past, it was running amok through her dreams. She’d waded through blood and dodged Peter Harding for most of the night. And those were the good dreams. She struggled free of sheets she wasn’t sure were clean and headed straight for the shower.

It was almost as bad as her dreams. Dewey had chosen their new digs for anonymity, not amenities or décor. To call it gnarly was to imply it had at some time been gnarl-less.

The single window was so crusted with dirt light couldn’t penetrate it, which was a positive thing since the small pane of glass looked out on an alley that was a home for the fund-free and displaced. A lone light bulb struggled to produce minimal wattage, which was also a plus. It was better not to know how not clean the green tile was as she stepped under the languid stream of tepid water. After a time, the water warmed up enough to fog the mirror over the sink.

Phoebe dried herself, then wrapped the towel around her hair and faced the mirror. Between fog and age, the mirror reflected her in pieces.

Through a glass darkly.

She didn’t know where the phrase came from, but it seemed to fit the here, the now, her present reality. Hadn’t she lived her life in pieces? In the shadows? Didn’t she reinvent herself almost daily as the game demanded? Wasn’t she about to do so again?

Even without help from the mirror, she was able to turn her brown eyes blue with the contacts Dewey had picked up for her. She released her hair from the towel, the wet ends starting a chain reaction of tiny chills where they touched her bare skin. She rubbed the strands until most of the water was in the towel, then dragged a comb through section by section until the tangles were gone. The bag Dewey had packed yielded a pair of salon scissors as well as some sassy, sexy lingerie.

She discovered she could still smile, even ankle-deep in angst-ville.

With a comb, she separated out a section of hair. The scissors sliced smooth and deep, releasing damp pieces to fall to her shoulders. They slid down her body where they curled into dark question marks against the green tile. When they surrounded her, she stopped and fingered the butchered ends. Amazing how it changed her look. The old chess queen Phoebe was dead. Long live—she couldn’t remember the new name.

She dug out the new driver’s license. Polly?

She wasn’t surprised when the bag also gave up a shirt in parrot colors of green and yellow to go with the ragged blue shorts. And some temporary dye for her hair. Or should she call it her plume? Under wooden clogs that hinted at a perch, she found the glue-on fingernails. Long, curved. Like claws.

Polly didn’t want a cracker. She wanted to kick Dewey’s ass.

* * * *

Their warrant secured, Jake watched the crime scene techs go through Phoebe’s house, waiting for confirmation of what he already suspected. It came quickly. Dewey Hyatt had been here. And Phoebe’s prints matched the kid’s lawyer’s prints on every point. It seemed, he was doomed to recognize her no matter what she turned herself into. This was his new reality. He’d become a homing beacon for a thief.

When the frenzy slowed, he walked through the house, going where he hadn’t gone before. Odd, to feel like an intruder in a place so personally impersonal. In a strange way, her restraint in decorating said more about her than a thousand knickknacks, photos and papers would have. He’d seen her extraordinary self-control. Sensed how single-minded and stubborn she was, that she wouldn’t give up or give ground unless forced to. That she kept her own counsel and played to win. It didn’t matter to her that this game she was playing with Hyatt and Phagan was dangerous and that she wouldn’t be coming back, dead or alive. He was convinced that she didn’t like it, but she accepted the rules of her game and played them to win. That, like him, she did what she had to do.

Just as he had to play by his rules, because they were a matter of ethics and the law. He chose to follow those rules because he knew he couldn’t sleep with the enemy and keep his integrity. That’s what he’d told himself last night when his body had been screaming to take that step toward her and find ease in her body for the burning in his gut. He’d turned away and reduced the burn to a sullen smolder.

And if he had it to do again? In the cold light of day, his choice seemed more bitter than wise. If she came back to him, if he found her again, he’d step across that threshold. He’d cross that line. He’d take her and at least have the memory to warm him on the long, lonely nights. He’d—

Do the same thing he’d done last night. He’d do what he’d taken an oath to do. Who he was and what he believed in were fixed points in a shifting world of grays and compromises. He couldn’t stop being who he was any more than Phoebe could stop being what she was. Sometime in the past, their lives had committed them to different paths, to a course that made them adversaries, not allies. If either of them shifted ground, they’d stop being them. So they’d lose either way.

He went outside to the truck. It was a relief when Bryn joined him. He didn’t dare think hot thoughts around her, though she was looking as ragged as he felt. Something was going on there, but he didn’t feel up to finding out. He sure didn’t want her probing his secrets and was sure—as in sure that the sun would rise tomorrow—that she didn’t want him probing hers.

“I think we have enough for an arrest warrant—if we can find her. She didn’t leave much of herself behind,” she said.

“Then it might be better to start with, wanted for questioning. I hate to over-play our hand.”

“If we can match her voice on the answering machine and ID her as Pathphinder, she’s ours,” Bryn said.

“Lots of ifs,” Jake pointed out. “Let’s let them finish here and head back to Denver. That’s where the action will be. If you think your tip on TelTech is a good one?”

“Who knows? So far the owner, Peter Harding, looks squeaky clean and yet he smells to high heaven. Of course, that could be because he pissed me off. Obviously has woman-in-power issues.”

Jake held the door of the truck for her, then got into the driver’s seat but didn’t start the motor. He realized he was facing the street that Phoebe had run down just yesterday and felt regret take a big bite out of his concentration.

“If we can find out who Phoebe Mentel really is, it might help.  Maybe Harding is lurking in her past somewhere,” Bryn said.

“She told me she married Mentel when she was sixteen,” Jake said, “and that her mother was a drunk. She’s one of Phagan’s runaways.”

“That could just be her cover story—”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t think so. It had the ring of truth about it. She also mentioned a sister who died.”

Bryn frowned. “According to our info, Phoebe doesn’t have siblings. Interesting she’d make a mistake like that. She doesn’t strike me as someone who makes mistakes.”

Jake frowned, remembering that day in her office. There’d been something in the way she’d said it, as if she couldn’t not say it. “I could be wrong, but I think the sister is the key to her involvement with Phagan.”

“My guy is still digging. Hopefully he’ll find what’s rotten if Harding is Phagan’s next target. On paper, he appears to be an upstanding guy. He’s making a run for governor. Be a stupid move if he’s got a big old skeleton in his closet.”

“You’d think. Wouldn’t be the first politician to think he could outrun his past though. Or Harding could be a smoke screen Phagan’s putting up.” Jake turned the key and put the truck in gear. “If we’re watching TelTech, he and his gang could happily make their move on someone else. No way we could cover all possible targets in the area. No way we could even identify them.”

The one consistency in the Phagan profile was that there was no consistency, except the evil his targets had done in the past.

Bryn bit back a denial that Phagan would deceive her. The truth was, she didn’t know what Phagan would do. Perhaps his careful lead feeding had been meant only to build trust so that she would blindly follow his lead. Except she’d never blindly go anywhere. Phagan had to know that about her. The guy knew she liked to read romance novels. Even her mother didn’t know that. “He didn’t have to tell us anything. And” —she cleared the defensiveness from her voice, before finishing evenly— “it tracks with his profile to lead law enforcement to clean up after him. He seems to have a remarkable grasp of the law and just what we need to nail his targets, once he’s done with them. It’s one of his more…annoying characteristics.”

“One?” Jake’s innocuous question invited confidences that she found she wanted to give. But would Jake respect her in the morning?

“If there’s something going on with this guy…” Jake added, gently.

She watched Jake point the truck toward Denver, then flick on the speed control. He looked so relaxed, so in control of his life and his feelings, her defensive feelings came back up in a rush.

“There’s nothing going on that I can’t handle.”

“No one said you couldn’t handle anything.”

She made herself relax, but the words still wanted to stick in her throat. “His behavior has been…unorthodox.” She rubbed her face, so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “This is so embarrassing! He…seems to have…a kind of…crush on me.”

The relief of sharing her secret was immediate and overwhelming, followed by horror that it was out. She stole a look at Jake and found him looking thoughtful, not amused. Smart guy.

“He’s obviously a man of taste and good sense.”

“And?” she prompted.

“Has he been stalking you?”

“Stalking isn’t exactly what I’d call it.”

“Would courting be more accurate?”

She nodded without looking at him. “He’s given me gifts. Small things.”

“The rose in your room and at the house?”

She nodded. “Gift certificates to things he knows I like. Nothing big. I don’t use them, of course. Except…he built me a VR headset so we could meet. I did use that. He’s good. Very good. And very careful.”

“If he’s leaving you roses, then he’s in the area.” That was interesting. Jake had gotten the impression that Phagan pulled his strings from a safe, or a maybe a lofty distance was more accurate. “Phagan must be someone you’ve met at some point…”

“I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out who it could be. I meet so many people in my work.” Bryn rubbed her head as if it hurt. “He could be someone I’ve questioned, or the guy who washes my car or cuts my hair. No way to know without cracking his network.”

“No wonder you’re frustrated. Every time you leave home, you’d be wondering,” Jake said. It was a wonder she hadn’t crashed like a hard drive under that kind of pressure. Of course, he’d always known she was a tough cookie, and yet Phagan seemed to have made some headway in his courtship. Kind of funny, when he thought about it. He and Bryn were caught on the horns of the same dilemma.

So why wasn’t he smiling?

ELEVEN

From the doorway Dewey watched Phoebe sorting through their equipment for tonight. She hadn’t heard him come in and the shutters that usually masked the expression in her eyes were not in place. He stepped back outside, feeling like an intruder. Her sadness could have been because the game was bringing back memories of Kerry Anne, but Dewey had a feeling the past was just the icing on her misery cake. Her past was old, and the wounding in her eyes was new, the bleeding fresh and painful to see.

He leaned against the wall, feeling the weight of the responsibility Kerry Anne left him when she entrusted her little sister to his care. Feeling a sense of failure. Though Phoebe hadn’t known it, her need had saved him, given his grief a channel. Her need had kept him from giving in to his own grief at losing Kerry Anne, his own sense of helplessness at the time.

“I’ve been a poor guardian, Kerry,” he whispered. “I saved her life, but at what cost? She’s not happy. I thought…”

What had he thought? That committing them both to avenging Kerry’s death would make them happy? The truth was, he hadn’t thought. He’d felt. They’d both been lost in their feelings of rage and horror. Not a good place to be making life decisions from. He hadn’t been much more than a kid himself—expert at computers, not life—and still reeling from the things Kerry had just told him about what her stepfather had been making her do.

He rubbed his face, feeling the horror of that moment sweep through him again. He’d known that sorrow had a permanent home inside Kerry Anne, but not why. He’d hoped that his love was the key to driving it out. That whatever her burden was, he could remove it.

If he hadn’t placed that anonymous call to the authorities, would Kerry Anne still be alive? In his innocence, he hadn’t realized how connected Montgomery Justice was. Now Dewey knew just how good Justice was at finding who could help him and who could hurt him. And how effectively he neutralized opposition. Dewey’s report had disappeared or been buried deep in the system and Kerry Anne’s death had been ruled a suicide before her body was in the ground. A few weeks later, their mama had taken a drunken tumble down the stairs and a “grief stricken” Justice had left the area.

In the end, all Dewey did for Kerry Anne was save to Nadine from Justice’s intentions. He’d gotten her a brand new life, then deluded himself into believing that vengeance was the road to healing for them both. He’d healed nothing and cost her a life with her marshal. Way to go, Dewey. What are you going to do for your next trick?

He’d made a royal mess of things, but the game was running. They had to deal with that right now. Maybe after…

He opened and closed the door, noisily this time. When Phoebe looked up, the shutters were firmly in place in her now baby blues.

“Kevin okay?” she asked.

Dewey nodded. “He’s on his way to Idaho. Seems he likes potatoes.”

He knelt down beside her and started stowing the equipment she’d finished checking. They worked without talking, then headed for the kitchen. Phoebe sat at the table with a diet soda while Dewey heated up some soup and made sandwiches. When he was seated across from her, she picked up a sandwich half, then set it down again.

“You okay?” he asked, crumbling crackers into the steaming soup.

“Do you remember when we met?” She looked at him, but he could tell she was seeing the past. That night when he’d found her huddled in a corner of the park where she’d spent the time trying to screw up the courage to slash her wrists with a rusty razor she’d found under a bench. Kerry’s blood was still splattered on her clothes, though there were signs she’d taken the time to wash her hands and face before boarding the bus to the next town. Her eyes were wide and filled with the horror of it. She’d looked up at him, her face and eyes swollen from crying.

“Are you Phagan?” she’d asked, her voice hoarse with unrestrained grief.

The four years he had on her had shrunk to nothing with his own grief and horror and near paralyzing guilt. He’d wanted to sit down beside her and cry with her. Wanted to take the razor and end his own pain of losing Kerry. Her need of him was terrifying, but too insistent to walk away from.

To this day, he wasn’t sure why he’d shaken his head and offered his real name, not his internet handle. “I’m Dewey. Dewey Hyatt. A friend of Phagan’s.”

“I remember,” he said now.

“Stupid question. Sorry.” She picked up some crackers and crumbled them into her soup, letting them trickle through her fingers in a tiny yellow shower.

“You having second thoughts?”

“I can’t seem to stop remembering. I spent all these years not letting myself remember any of it. Being Phoebe, who didn’t have that past. Living Phoebe’s life completely, the way Phagan said to. But now, I can’t…” She picked up a spoon, stirred the crackers into the broth, then set it down. “If she hadn’t come back for me—”

“Don’t go there, honey.”

“She was free.”

“Not as long as you were still there with him.” Did she know? Did she know the full horror of what Kerry had endured? He saw her lashes lift and knew she did.

“That’s why she came back. Because I was there and he…made her…”

“Don’t do this to yourself. What Kerry did was because she loved you. She’d have done anything for you.” He pretended to look out the dirty window. “She didn’t die so you could live your life drowning in guilt. She did it so you could be free of him.”

Phoebe’s smile was wry and sad. “I let her down again. I’m not free of him.”

Phoebe hadn’t let Kerry down. He had. He’d promised to take care of her and her little sister. He’d taken care of them all right. Kerry Anne was dead and Nadine was condemned her to a shadow life without love or joy or—

“Let’s just go. Cut our losses and get out of here—”

Phoebe shook her head. “Don’t you see? It’s not just about me or Kerry Anne anymore. Those two little girls. They’re us all over again. It has to stop. I won’t be free of him until he can’t hurt them or anyone. We can’t just right the wrongs that are easy. We have to right the wrongs we find. We’ve lost our lives. We can’t go back or pretend this never happened. We’ll know. We’ll always know. And if we don’t finish it, all we’ve lost will be for nothing. He’ll have won the past and the future.”

He pulled some pistachios out of his pocket and cracked them. Instead of eating the meat, he said, “Do you…like that marshal?”

“Does it matter?” She shoved back her chair.

“Yeah, it matters.” He stood up and leaned on the table, holding her gaze with his. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Her smile was resigned. “You, Phagan, me—we made a choice seven years ago. Choices have consequences. Good and bad consequences. You make the choice, but you don’t get to decide the outcome. That’s the deal. No reason to whine about it now. Let’s just make sure it was worth it.” She stood up. “What say we go kick some butt?” She smiled. It wasn’t much of a smile, but it hadn’t been much of a day.

Dewey grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * * *

The after-hours office was somewhat quieter than the eight-to-five office, but bad guys punched their fellow man, not the clock, so the office never completely stood down. The lighting had gone from wide area to localized, putting pockets of shadow between the door Jake and Bryn entered and the desk where Matt waited for them.

As Jake followed Bryn in an indirect beeline around desks and other obstacles, he couldn’t help thinking the lighting was like their case. A few spots of light, a lot of dark, with nothing to tell them what mattered and what didn’t but an imprecise blend of experience and instinct.

Matt was looking out the window at the night city but turned at their approach. Tiredness cut deep tracks around his eyes, but he still gave off enough energy to light the city and most of the suburbs. Just looking at him made Jake feel tired. He ought to send Matt’s wife, Dani, some flowers or something for living with his big brother.

When they were in range, Matt gestured for them to follow him. “Got my people waiting in the conference room. Time to bang our heads and ideas together and see what falls out.”

Jake exchanged a look with Bryn but followed her and Matt to a room short on people and long on food debris. Matt’s people were Alice, Riggs and his computer expert, Sebastian.

Alice Kerne was an attractive black woman in designer jeans and silk blouse. Her crisp intelligence, common sense and ability to see the humor in any situation made her a good foil for Matt. Toby Riggs, on the other hand, was anything but crisp. They guy was always rumpled and always eating. His strength lay in filtering through minutia to find small, significant leads. Sebastian was the comic relief on the team with his stand-up shock of bright red hair and perpetually surprised expression. Like Hyatt, he’d been a hacker in his younger days. He’d been caught, then recruited by the Feds.

If Bryn felt intimidated by being the only representative of the FBI, it didn’t show. She took a seat next to Alice and helped herself to a doughnut.

Jake got them both coffee, then took a position at one end of the table and sipped the bitter brew, his gaze following Matt as he strode to the other end and looked down his nose at Jake. His look said in no uncertain terms that Jake was on Matt’s turf, even if this was Jake’s case.

Jake considered taking on Matt, then decided he didn’t have the energy for it and sat down. He wasn’t too tired to assume a provocative slouch though. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bryn and Alice exchange looks, their respective lips twitching. Riggs had his eyes closed, so he missed the testosterone byplay. Sebastian was hunched over the computer next to a printer spitting out pages.

“Had a good day?” Matt asked, crossing his arms and propping a shoulder against the wall behind him.

Bryn said her piece, minus Phagan’s stalking/courtship, then handed off to Jake. He rubbed the back of his neck, then took his turn. His information didn’t seem enough for how many miles he’d traveled and how tired he was.

Matt dropped into a chair about halfway through their report, shoving fast food containers out of the way, so he could beat a tempo on the tabletop that didn’t stop until they did. He nudged Riggs with his foot. “Let’s put an APB out, get people watching the airport, trains and buses. Though if they’re as good as you say, it’ll be about as useful as pissing in the wind.”

Riggs yawned and stretched, then shuffled out the door. There was something laid-back about Riggs in motion, something hypnotic.

Jake’s eyes started to close.

“So, what now?” Matt’s barked question brought him back with a jerk.

Judging by the weight of his eyelids, it was going to be a long night. His thoughts spun in a sleep spiral, until…

“Runaways.” Jake wasn’t sure he’d said it a loud, until he saw everyone looking at him. The word hung in the silence while he took a drink of coffee. The caffeine partly peeled back the fog inhabiting his head. “Need to look at reported runaways about seven to ten years back.”

Bryn frowned. Alice looked thoughtful. Matt looked…blank.

“Runaway reports?”

Jake nodded.

“From where?” Matt asked.

Where? He frowned, then, like a gift, heard in his mind Phoebe’s voice saying, “Mama hailed from Georgia…” He straightened. “Georgia. Let’s focus on Georgia. If that doesn’t work, well, we’ll figure something out.”

“You want a two to three year’s worth of runaway reports for the state of Georgia?”

“Just the ones for females in the fourteen to sixteen age range,” Jake clarified as his thoughts began to sharpen. “We need a why before we can be sure who their target is. If Teltech is in the bulls-eye, we need to find out what they’re after.”

“I have a feeling you don’t have enough time before this case goes hot to go through that many files. I’m not sure you’ve got that much life left.” Matt looked at Jake like he’d lost it.

Jake didn’t blame him. He agreed with him, but since he’d said it, he’d stick with it for now. This whole case was a peeling back of layer after layer to find…what? Was it an artichoke with something substantial at its heart? Or an onion with a lot of layers, and nothing at the center but a bad smell?

“We’d need to narrow the search more than by gender and age,” Alice said, giving Jake an apologetic look for coming on Matt’s side. “Can you isolate a year? A city? A town?”

“I wonder if we could find the record of Phoebe’s marriage to Jesse Mentel? That might helps us narrow down the time frame. She said she was sixteen when she married him. And cross match with deaths? See if we can turn up the dead sister?”

“What makes you so sure Georgia is even our state?” Bryn asked. “It’s obvious she’s able to put on and take off an accent pretty much at will.”

“My mentioning Georgia made her jumpy as an addict. She was very anxious to turn my attention to Texas. And we’ve got to commit to something. No time to second-guess,” Jake pointed out.

“That’s true. I’ll go see what I can shake out of the system. Probably won’t be a lot tonight.” Alice started to leave, then stopped. “I almost forgot. This came for you.” She handed a manila envelope to Bryn.

Bryn examined it “No postage. No messenger stamp. How did it come?”

Alice shrugged. “No clue. It just showed up in the interoffice mail basket.”

Bryn opened the clasp and flap and pulled out a newspaper clipping. Jake got up and leaned over her shoulder. It was a photograph, obviously taken at a funeral. The mourners hid the coffin but not the hearse parked to one side. The caption, if there had been one, was gone. The clipping was old and grainy; the faces no more than gray blurs against the paler blur of sky.

“Hold on, Alice. I think we just got our break.”

“Can we scan and enhance this?” Bryn tapped the photo. “There’s a plate on that hearse.”

Jake looked across the table at Matt and felt a guilty pang when he saw Matt rubbing his face. He was keeping the old boy up late. He looked at Sebastian. “Can you do it, Sebastian, so Matt can go home to his wife?”

Matt gave Jake his deadly look, the one that promised retribution later. “If our helpful informant is really being helpful. Any idea who sent this?”

Bryn and Jake exchanged quick looks. Jake, not about to tell his brother the lovesick hacker story, shrugged. Bryn did, too. Then they both had to endure a long and pointed examination from Matt before he finally said, “I see.”

Lucky for them, Sebastian was both good and fast. He soon had the photograph on his screen and a few keystrokes later, they had the plate number to the point they could read it. Sebastian hit ‘print.” When it was free of the machine, Bryn snatched it and went off with Alice to track it down.

Jake stayed by Sebastian. “Let’s see if you can clear up the faces a bit. I’d like to see if I recognize any of our mourners.”

* * * *

Peter Harding paced back and forth in front of Stern, wearing a track in the expensive carpet in his living room. He couldn’t seem to stop himself, even in the face of Stern’s barely concealed contempt.

“They’re digging into my past! I can feel it. What if—”

“There is no ‘what if.’ Peter Harding’s life is squeaky clean all the way to birth and back.”

“His past. What if they find someone who knew him before…” Harding didn’t finish the sentence. Even the walls seemed like his enemy tonight.

“You survived a top-secret military clearance investigation.” Stern sounded bored with the subject. He stalked to the liquor cabinet and poured Harding a stiff drink, shoving it into his hand, forcing him to stop and drink it. “Pull yourself together. We’ll do what we’ve always done. Deal with what happens as it happens. Do what we must to get what we want. Now—” He straightened Harding’s shirt collar, then his tie. “Don’t you have an alibi to take care of?”

Harding stared at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. “I’ll be with Audrey, when, if—”

Stern nodded. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

TWELVE

“My, my.” Dewey turned as Phoebe came out the alley entrance in her black jump suit. “My, my.” He walked a circle around her. “I thought I’d seen everything you have to offer, but I can see I was so wrong.”

Phoebe looked him up, then down. “And I can see you overestimated what you have to offer.”

“Ouch. Guess I should have packed…socks.”

Phoebe chuckled, happy to feel her pre-Jake rhythm returning as they went into action. “The way these things fit, I don’t think it would have helped.”

How Phagan had gotten his hands on some CIA jump suits was anybody’s guess. The suits were, according to Dewey, obscenely high tech and known in spy circles as “chameleon,” because they were capable of merging with any dark background. The fabric was light as air, could warm or cool as needed, and was as flexible as—and fit like—skin. If they performed as billed, they’d even the odds with the heat sensors Harding had securing the perimeter around his building.

In addition to their satellite-link capable laptop, Phagan had also provided them with headsets that were not only night-vision capable, but also had tiny receivers that let them receive the signal from the laptop and display it on a tiny screen.

She and Dewey had spent the afternoon in VR, playing the game over and over until each move was as natural to them as breathing. They were as ready as they would ever be.

Taking it to reality was different, and more intense, Phoebe realized as Dewey drove the van to their sortie point. She used the time to pack all her identities but Pathphinder in a mental box, which she locked and tossed away the key to. If she survived the op, she could always pick the lock and figure out who she was going to be, though she was sure of one thing: “Polly” would be shed as quickly as possible.

Dewey parked the van under cover of trees a short distance from TelTech. They pulled on the hoods that attached to their jump suits, completely covering their heads. Eyeholes were all they needed, since the fabric was light enough to breathe through.

He unloaded their packs while Phoebe used the laptop and the “egg” she and Ollie had planted in the system to access TelTech’s security cameras.

Now she could see what the guards were seeing, and, thanks to a tiny camera Ollie had planted in the A/C duct in the security office to track the guards’ movements during her planning phase, she could also see the guards.

Once the headsets were activated, the same picture would be beamed to hers, which was also connected to a keypad, using tiny wires embedded in the jump suit. She strapped on the keypad, plugged it in, then put the headset on over the snug fitting hood and connected it, too.

With the keypad active, she could also capture, record and replay as needed. So not only could she see what she needed to, corridor by corridor, she could also control what the security guards saw as she and Dewey made their drive toward the RABBIT’s hole dug deep in the bowels of TelTech. It was all very cool.

She tested the controls, navigating her way through the various cameras, saving the hidden camera until last. “That’s some camera Ollie installed. I can practically see the dandruff on their heads.”

Dewey jumped out the back of the van, which had a local news station logo stenciled on both sides, grunting as he hefted his pack, constructed from the same material as their suits, onto his back. He looked at his watch. “Ready?”

Phoebe left the laptop running, it was their link to their egg—and hopped out after him. They locked up, activated the anti-theft system, and then began hiking through the woods that surrounded TelTech on three sides. Beyond the trees, TelTech and RABBIT waited, framed by mountains and a waning moon.

* * * *

Jake leaned against the wall next to the fax machine, watching as Kerry Anne Beauleigh’s police file emerged one slow page a time. The license plate in the newspaper photo had led to the Valdosta, Georgia funeral home that had handled her funeral. Jake had called and rousted the owner out of bed without compunction. Despite the intervening years, the man had been able to identify the family in the photo Jake faxed him. His information had led to a call to the local PD and to the pages printing so slowly Jake could read the sheets and hand them off to Bryn, then take a short nap while waiting for the next one to appear.

Jake stirred as a picture started to emerge. What looked like a girl in a school uniform, one of those one-shot, all-purpose pictures done at the beginning of the school year. The generic background framed the jaw line now coming into view, a jaw as familiar to him as his own, despite the short time he’d known Phoebe. The nose was next, then finally her eyes, still shadowed, still sad.

Had she ever been happy? The sheet fell free of the machine. There was writing across the top. Nadine Beauleigh. 15. Went missing day of sister’s suicide.

Nadine? Nadine. Jake tried the name out in his head. It rubbed wrong, but he had no doubt this was Phoebe’s face, Phoebe’s past. Phoebe’s sorrow. Somewhere in the pile of pages was the key to the present, the why, the where and the who. He hunted through the sheets for the autopsy report and sat down to read it again.

* * * *

“Nervous?” Dewey’s voice was tinny inside the headset.

“No.” Phoebe didn’t look at him, because there was nothing to see. Their gear rendered them virtually invisible in the shadow cast by a ragged line of fir trees.

She wasn’t lying. Their night-vision goggles made reality more VR than VR. None of it seemed real. It was just another game in a long line of games. Or maybe choreographed dance was a better description.

There was no perimeter fence, but the building was well defended against intrusion. Even with Ollie’s inside information, TelTech had been Pathphinder’s most difficult challenge. The landscaping was both beautiful and functional. Each shrub and tree hid heat sensors or security cameras. Triggered heat sensors activated big lights and alarms. The camera images came up on the guard’s display on a random basis. Using their “egg,” Phoebe had programmed a more intrusion-friendly random into the sequence, and they’d soon know if their high tech suits worked. She’d also programmed in a warning if one of the guards decided to pull up the view from a particular camera.

Harding had lavished his greatest attention on interior security, with the most sophisticated of equipment protecting the laboratory where his RABBIT’s hole was. Thanks to Phagan, they had more than the chameleon suits. He’d also provided an impressive array of electronic assistance, all of which had performed perfectly in VR. Time to see if it all worked in the real world.

Inside the headset, a digital stopwatch fed them the time available for each part of their “dance.”

“Get ready…” she said, waiting for it to hit zero. Three…two…one… “Go!”

Dewey took point, with Phoebe on his six. They started across the sculpted lawn, using the shadows around shrubs and trees to mask their movements from any watchers. In her viewfinder, the guards showed no sign of alarm. The suits had muted their body heat. Soon the woods were behind them, the side of the building looming dark and high.

Still performing their dance in perfect synchronization, they pulled out rocket launchers, aimed and fired at the roof. Dark strands shot upward. When hers stopped playing out, Phoebe pulled the rope until it held firm. She had her harness on and attached the lift motor, then her harness, using a carabiner. She checked the connection, activated the motor and began to rise, with Dewey just ahead of her.

She used the time to check the guard’s station and found them watching the Broncos on television. Her digital stopwatch indicated they were ahead of schedule.

Dewey reached the roof ahead of her, scrambled over the edge, then helped her up. They shed their packs, and Phoebe went to work on the alarm wires around the ventilation shaft.

“God bless the CIA,” she murmured, giving Dewey the thumbs up to crack the grill when she was done. Still ahead of schedule, Dewey settled the electric winch over the opening and roped up for the descent.

“Wish it would happen,” Phoebe said.

“What?” Dewey, his legs dangling over nothing, lifted the night goggles and looked at her.

“Whatever’s going to go wrong.”

“Try to be less optimistic, darling.”

Phoebe couldn’t see his grin, but she heard it in his voice. He repositioned his goggles and started his descent. Phoebe checked the guards one last time before starting down, as that feeling of someone walking over her grave got stronger.

* * * *

Stern paused to light a cigarette—and to study the desolate street—before entering the rundown garage. Inside he found Billy and two other men pitching pennies by a dark car that wasn’t as ramshackle as it appeared to be. The enclosed place was fetid and stuffy. Underpinning the acrid stench of sweat were a variety of petroleum-based scents, stale and fresh cigarette smoke and…Cheetos?

He turned toward the smell and found Farley munching out of a bag of the bright orange puffs. Farley, Harley and the other three men were to lead the assault on TelTech tonight, but only Farley and Harley were scheduled to return with RABBIT. They were the only ones Stern trusted to keep their mouths shut. Since Farley had inside help, he could have walked in and out of TelTech with his eyes closed, but that wouldn’t look good on the six o’clock news.

Appearances were everything in politics.

Stern took a last puff of his cig, then dropped it onto the gritty cement and ground it out with his shoe. Interesting that he felt so much more comfortable here, with Farley and his doomed goons, than in Harding’s lofty office. Even more interesting that he’d worked so hard to get away from places like this. He’d hooked his life to Harding’s ruthlessly rising star and never looked back.

Until now.

Stern had seen and recognized the look in Harding’s eyes. Trust was gone. Perhaps Harding had been receiving anonymous notes like the ones being sent to him? Someone was sowing the seeds of distrust. Someone was succeeding. An uneasy truce was in place until the RABBIT problem was taken care of, but after? Only one of them would be left standing. Harding had never been one to take prisoners.

“Your men ready?” he asked Farley.

Farley tossed the empty bag into a greasy barrel, grabbing an even greasier rag to wipe the orange residue from his hands. “You guys ready?”

They shuffled into what passed for a line.

“When do we get paid?” Billy asked, appointing himself spokesman for the group.

“Like always,” Stern said. “When the job is done.” He walked toward Billy, not stopping until Billy took a step back. “And done right.” He looked at Farley. “Hit the road.”

Farley met Stern’s eyes until ten seconds had ticked away, then moved toward the car. His men in black followed.

* * * *

From an air conditioning grill, Phoebe watched the guard finish his round and head for the elevator with the eagerness of a horse heading for the barn. Phoebe wasn’t surprised. The Broncos game was heating up nicely. An unexpected bonus. They’d picked up almost five extra minutes thanks to the home team.

Using her keypad, Phoebe created a film loop of the empty hall, then nodded at Dewey. In short order they were moving toward the second-to-the-last barrier between them and RABBIT. Dewey attached the device to the keypad that operated the lock and popped open the door.

Inside, Phoebe headed straight for the row of state-of-the-art research and development computers, offering up a silent prayer that Ollie had finished his work here before he died. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be able to get into RABBIT’s data files. Dewey was on the safe before Phoebe could sit down and start the boot-up. Other than the computers, the room was oddly barren, as if the occupants had already moved on to other things.

She checked the guards again, noticing that the camera was recording them for some reason. No time to worry about it now and it wouldn’t hurt anything. Maybe she and Dewey could watch the game later. It was in the final quarter with the Broncos still ahead.

“We’ve picked up six minutes.”

“I’ll be done in three,” Dewey said.

* * * *

They went in quiet, their weapons camouflaged by cleaning equipment. Farley and Harley stayed in the rear, using the other men as cover from the surveillance cameras. A guard strolled out to meet them, his attention still drawn toward the office blaring with the sounds of the Broncos game.

The guard had a heartbeat to realize they weren’t the regular cleaning crew before Billy took him out with a silenced gun. The men moved into the office and took out the other guards quick and quiet.

Farley stopped by the first guard and picked up his weapon before he followed them in. Two shots and Billy was down.

The other two men didn’t blink. They’d already been told that Billy wasn’t supposed to come back from the job. They hadn’t heard about their own demise. Harley used another guard’s gun on them, then dropped the weapon by the guard’s body. Farley returned his gun to its dead owner while Harley found the security tapes and removed them.

Farley dialed Stern on his cell phone. “The building is ours.” He hung up without waiting for an answer and followed his brother to the elevators.

* * * *

“I’m in.” The safe door swung open with a soft swish.

“So am I.” Phoebe looked up from the terminal. “I’ll be done downloading data in five. Then I’ll activate the virus.” She looked at her watch. “We’re still ahead of schedule and—”

She stopped as something odd in the security office caught her attention.

“Houston, we have our problem.”

“Cops?” Dewey swept everything in the safe into his pack, closed the door and spun the dial.

“I wish.” A few keystrokes pulled the camera up on her monitor so Dewey could see what she was seeing.

“Crap! Do you think they’re headed here, and what do we do about it if they are?”

Phoebe didn’t answer. Her mind was racing, exploring various options, searching for the path out of the maze. “First”—even as she spoke, she was typing again, tapping into the security terminal inside the tomb that had been the security office— “let’s get the cops involved.” She activated the silent alarm.

“Okay.” Dewey didn’t sound thrilled by her action, but he didn’t argue. “Though you might have waited for your data download to get done.”

“Oh yeah. Three minutes.” She pulled up the camera in the elevator the two guys were coming up on. “And they’ll be here in two minutes unless…” It seemed to take a long time to get into the elevator controls while Dewey counted off the floors.

“Five…six…seven…we’re next.”

“I’m in.” Just as eight lit up on their panel, she managed to stop the doors from opening. “I think I’ll leave them there for the cops.”

“It would be poetic justice.” Dewey’s chuckle was absentminded. “Download?”

“Done. Virus uploading.” In the monitor, the two guys were punching buttons and trying to pry open the door. One pulled out a crowbar. “Oh, oh. They don’t want to wait. We’re done. Disconnect.”

Dewey removed the satellite uplink from the computer, while Phoebe tossed her gear back in her pack.

“Up or down?”

“Up.”

“You killed all the elevators, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t have time to be selective.”

They were at the stairwell door when Phoebe heard a shout. She looked back and saw that the two men had managed to force a crack in the elevator door. The one not holding the crowbar reached for his gun. Phoebe didn’t wait to see what he’d do with it. She slid into the stairwell barely an inch ahead of Dewey and started up the steps.

“You just had to pull the tiger’s tail, didn’t you?” Dewey said, the words panting out between the sound of their feet slapping the concrete stairs. They had rounded the last flight when the echoing sound of pursuit reached their ears.

* * * *

The police file was depressing reading. According to the autopsy report, Kerry Anne Beauleigh had been pregnant and nearly flunking out of university when she apparently slit her wrists. The report assumed it was someone at school who’d gotten her pregnant. It theorized that she’d returned home despondent over that someone’s rejection and killed herself. The assumption: Nadine had come home and found her dead—her bloody fingerprints had been all over the bathroom and her bedroom—and taken off  “in a fit of grief.” The sisters had been close, and Nadine had been having problems at school, too. The file also noted that their mother had been “sickly” and unable to supervise the girls closely. No mention of where she’d been when Kerry Anne slit her wrists, but the stepfather, Montgomery Justice had been playing cards with his hunting buddies—one of whom was the doctor who performed the autopsy.

Mama was a drunk.

The report had a sanitized feel, not exactly covering up but not telling the whole truth. On Monday, he’d call both schools and see what he could turn up. Now that they’d matched Nadine’s fingerprints to Phoebe’s, they’d have no trouble getting the necessary warrants.

Matt had left muttering something about shaking the dew off his lily. He came back on a run. “Silent alarm at TelTech. Police are responding.”

So Bryn’s source had played it straight. Jake silently cursed. He hadn’t expected them to move this fast and only put together a surveillance plan a few hours ago. They’d all agreed it could safely be implemented tomorrow night at the earliest, since the owner, Peter Harding, had been alerted to a possible threat.

“So are we.” Jake was up and heading for the door before the words were completely out. “Bryn know?”

“Alice is paging her.” Matt checked his weapon and grabbed his suit jacket as they passed his chair on the way to the door. He shrugged it on while they waited for the elevator, which seemed to take a long time, then a longer time to work its way to the ground.

Alice and Bryn were waiting in the car for them with the motor running. Alice didn’t wait for Jake to shut his door before she put the pedal to the metal.

* * * *

Dewey didn’t waste time finessing the roof access door, just kicked it open and followed Phoebe through, then turned, hunting for something to block the door with. There was always something available in the movies, but not for them. He could hear the labored, pounding footsteps of their unlawful pursuers and the distant wail of sirens approaching.

“You just had to call the cops, didn’t you?” Dewey muttered as he followed her to the edge and helped her set up the rocket launcher and their last length of rope. She fired it, and he quickly secured it on their end.

Phoebe attached two handles and hopped onto the edge, her feet dangling over nothing.

Dewey helped her slip her pack back on. “You know I hate going out like this.”

“Pretend we’re astronauts and our rocket is about to blow.” Phoebe grabbed the first set of handles. “Because we’re not, but it is.”

“No shit.”

“Don’t wait until I’m down or your ass is grass.”

“I’ll shake you off if I—”

“Just do it!” She went over the side, rushing through the cold air toward the dark stand of trees. No chance either of them would have a neat, or pain-free, landing this time. She was almost there when she heard a shout. The rope bounced violently from Dewey’s additional weight. Her legs swung up over her head, breaking her grip. She experienced a brief sensation of out-of-control flight before she crashed into a tree.

* * * *

His gun out, Farley raced to the edge where the guy went over and looked down. He could see the rope bouncing, but no sign of anyone on it. It was like the guy was invisible or something.

“Where they’d go?” Harley asked.

“Down, I guess. Should we go after them?”

“I’m not going down that rope.” Harley peered over the edge, then flinched back. “Long falls don’t agree with me.”

Farley opened his mouth to agree, but before he could speak he realized what he was hearing. Sirens. Getting closer. “Oh, shit.” He looked at the rope, then his hands. “This is gonna hurt.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Harley ripped off one of his sleeves from the shoulder and looped it over the rope, then doubled wrapped his hands. He sat on the edge of the building, took a deep breath and launched himself into the void.

Sometimes Harley reminded him why Farley kept him around. Farley quickly followed suit. Might have been better to wait to see how his brother fared, he realized, when he saw flames spurt out from under Harley’s shirt where it met the rope.

THIRTEEN

When Jake and the others arrived at TelTech, the police were still sweeping the building. The buzzing morass of official activity outside didn’t prepare them for the eerie silence inside. No one knew where to turn on lights, so their flashlights joined a dozen other dancing, flickering beams around the dead. Added to this was a sick feeling in the pit of Jake’s stomach at the violence.

Had Phoebe participated in this carnage? It didn’t seem possible that she or Dewey Hyatt could have done this. He hadn’t known Phoebe long, but he’d tracked Dewey off and on for years. Until Ollie’s recent demise, never once had there been any sign of violence. And Phoebe? Did he want her to be guiltless? Was that blinding his judgment?

“This isn’t right.” Bryn slashed her beam back and forth over the scene as if it was a sword that could cut out the sight. “This isn’t their style.” Her lights stopped on the three guys not in uniform. “Who are these guys?”

“That one asked Phoebe for a job in her bar and got himself arrested. Estes PD could probably ID him.”

Bryn looked interested, but he could tell she didn’t know what it meant either.

Before Bryn could respond, Luke joined them. “They took the security tape with them.” He rubbed his face wearily. “I knew one of the guards. He was retired PD. Wife, kids, grandkids.”

Jake shoved his hands through his hair, the sick feeling growing until it started up his throat. Be embarrassing if he had to puke his guts. Hadn’t done that since his first serial killing crime scene—a killer who was into torture. He swallowed hard and took a couple of deep breaths.

“Do we know what they were after?” Bryn asked.

Luke shook his head. “We’re waiting for the owner and,”—he consulted his notebook— “some guy named Barrett Stern, who’s in charge of security, to get here.”

“Hate to be him,” Jake observed, glad for the change of subject.

“No shit.” Luke shook his head. “What a mess.”

“And yet…” Bryn did another sweep with her light. “…not.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked, his frown deepening as he did his own sweep.

“No bullet holes in the walls. Both sides appear to have had remarkably good aim during a pitched gunfight.” She showed them the walls with her light.

Jake looked at Luke. “Downright amazing.”

Luke nodded thoughtfully. “Downright.”

* * * *

“Phoebe? Come on, girl, snap out of it.”

The voice was Dewey’s, but he seemed to be a long way away. Between her and him was this throbbing pain that seemed greatest, but not limited to her head. There was also a sense of motion, as if they were bouncing forward. A metallic creak and downward lurch vibrated through all her pain zones and narrowed the gap between them. “Don’t make me take you to the hospital, girl.”

A jerked stop, another creak, then she felt her hand taken and patted. Something cold and wet on her face. She crawled up out of the fog and opened her eyes. Dewey loomed over her, two worry lines cutting deep furrows between his eyebrows.

“What happened?”

“I bounced you off the rope.”

“Oh.” Memory returned in painful chunks. She touched her head. “I hit a branch or something.” She took the cool rag he’d used on her brow and applied it to the swelling lump. “What happened to those guys who were after us?”

Dewey smiled. “They had a rough ride. Tried to slide down after us and caught the rope on fire. Last I saw, they were limping off into the night.”

Phoebe grinned. It didn’t hurt, so she decided to sit up. That did hurt. A lot. But it didn’t kill her, so she didn’t stop. “How’s our hornet’s nest?”

“Nicely stirred. Want to take a look?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Phoebe tried out her arms and legs. They worked. “I’ll change while you drive.”

Dewey scrambled back into the driver’s seat but looked back to say, “Make sure you clean off the blood.”

Phoebe grabbed a mirror. There was indeed blood, a thin line creeping down her temple toward her jaw. Not to mention a lip getting fatter and a shiner in the making.

“Great.”

Dewey grinned. “There’s an ice pack in the first-aid kit.”

He put the van in gear and turned it toward TelTech and their hornet’s nest.

Hornet’s nest was a serious understatement, Phoebe decided. She’d think they couldn’t get any more officials inside and then some more would come. Then the military. FBI. US Marshals. It was a regular law-enforcement-rich zone. Enough to make a lady thief and her accomplice a little nervous.

“What’s taking him so long?” Dewey had started doing lame magic tricks with a pencil—when he wasn’t using it as a drumstick against the dash. Phoebe was about ready to shove it up his nose, when a murmur of sound and the beginnings of new activity outside the van distracted her.

Light from the rising sun began a slow creep across the scene as Peter Harding’s limousine nosed into the melee. It was immediately surrounded by the moderate mob of press who had been shivering over steaming cups of coffee in the predawn cold.

Exhilaration at having achieved their first objective filtered a fine clarity over the scene for Phoebe. It was as if all her senses had been heightened and expanded until she could see not only what was apparent but also what was hidden.

Because of her messy landing, Dewey suggested she play cameraman and hide her bruises behind a camcorder. She climbed out and did a slow camera sweep of the crowd as Harding emerged from his car and was immediately mobbed. Stern came around and tried to clear him a path with something less than courtesy. Phoebe hung back, going for the long view, while Dewey, as “reporter,” joined the pack. Harding topped the steps, his face looming in her tiny horizon. She used her zoom to frame his face and record the moment of her triumph. His mouth moved, but she couldn’t pick up his answers over the questions bombarding him from every side. She tightened her focus to just his eyes and felt a jolt, a sudden panic she couldn’t explain.

He looked exactly as he should, exactly like any man would who’d just been burgled. So why was a cold dread spreading out from her midsection? She stayed with him until he disappeared inside, then lowered the camera.

What was wrong with the picture?

She stowed the camera and scrambled forward, about to climb into the passenger seat when she saw Jake come out TelTech’s door, flanked by his brothers. She shrank back, but not so far she couldn’t see him. He looked sad, tired…worried. About her? She tried to hope not, but she wasn’t that noble. She wanted him to be worried about her. She wasn’t quite ready to cut that tie, to forget this past. Maybe she knew she never would. It went deep, she realized, as deep as her sister’s loss. He…mattered.

She leaned her cheek against the cool plastic of the seat. “Oh, Jake.” His name came out on a soul-deep sigh. As if he heard her, or felt her presence, she saw him stop. His gaze swept the crowd. She shrank back into the shadows, her heart pounding with bitter regret. He was never hers. She couldn’t lose what she didn’t have, could she?

* * * *

“Something wrong?” Matt asked.

Jake rubbed his face to avoid answering the question. How could he explain the feeling that Phoebe was out there somewhere, watching the chaos she’d wrought? How to explain it when he didn’t believe she’d been responsible for the carnage inside? He felt like Jekyll and Hyde. Convinced that she and Hyatt were responsible for the run on TelTech but not the deaths. It was crazy. Insane. Madness.

Now he knew how Alice had felt falling down that rabbit’s hole. He needed quiet and a big pot of coffee while he sorted through the chaos, but all he was going to get was the coffee.

Maybe—he had a sudden, chilling thought—he’d never feel peace again. What if the huge rip in his heart never healed? What if the marshal never got over the lady outlaw?

It would be dang ironic, he decided, trying to lighten his mental mood. It didn’t help much, but any improvement was welcome. As was any interruption. With a sense of reprieve, he met the approaching crime-scene tech halfway.

“What you got?” Jake asked.

“Their egress point.”

Must have started his life as a lawyer, Jake decided as he followed the guy around the building. With the sun peeking over the mountains, there was enough light to see the rope hanging limply from the roof. The tech held up the burned end for Jake to see. “Rough landing. I’ll bet that wasn’t part of the plan.”

Jake frowned. Another wrong note. Phagan and Hyatt’s ops were meticulously planned, right down to any surprises. “Where’s the other end?”

The tech led Jake to a stand of trees where the other end of the rope trailed from a rather battered tree. Jake picked up this burned end, but he was studying the broken branches. “Looks like someone made it down before the rope burned through. Any footprints?”

“We got two sets heading toward the road. Tire tracks toward the highway. And at least one set, maybe two, heading off into the hills. No sign of transportation that direction yet.”

Jake frowned. “We got a stolen cleaning van in the parking lot out front. I wonder why they split up and…” Why two cars? If they were planning to come out this direction, which the get-away vehicle seemed to indicate, then why the messy landing? Surely they’d have prepared for it?

Jake straightened. It was almost as if they were dealing with two separate events. But that was crazy. Or wishful thinking. If he peopled TelTech with two sets of thieves, that let Phoebe and her cohorts off the hook for murder.

He saw Luke crossing the lawn with Bryn and knew it would take more than gut feelings for him to let Phoebe off the hook for this. He’d need hard proof. Facts, not fancies. When the pair got close enough for him to read their eyes, he could see neither looked particular happy, and an air of tension clogged the air around them.

“What?” Jake asked, giving them both a wary glance before looking to Bryn for enlightenment.

“This just doesn’t add up,” Bryn said, her voice tight and tense.

“To?” Jake prompted, ignoring a frustrated sigh from his brother.

“A Phagan op.” She massaged her temples, either because they hurt or to clear her thoughts.

Or maybe both, Jake thought wryly. Either way, he understood. His head hurt and his brain did, too. Iron bands squeezing inside and out.

“It’s like—” she began.

“—we’re dealing with two different operations?” Jake finished when she didn’t.

She gave him a relieved nod. “That or our perps were a couple of Jekyll and Hydes.”

“Do we know what they got?” Jake asked.

Luke answered this one. “Some kind of super chip and all relevant research files. A total wipeout. Folks were pretty closemouthed but did admit that it was something in development for the military and was due to be turned over in a few days. All very hush-hush and very, very bad it’s missing.”

“Not something you’d want to go missing so close to announcing your candidacy for governor,” Bryn said. “That part of the crime scene, the research lab, is pristine. Clean as a whistle. No indication of how they got into the room, let alone how they were able to log on to the computers. From what we can tell, the files were downloaded to someplace offsite, then a virus was introduced. And the one scientist who held all the pieces of the chip puzzle seems to have disappeared.”

Luke looked thoughtful. “That ought to up the street value on the chip.”

“If Phagan did this hit, it won’t show up on any market, local or worldwide. He uses the non-cash take for leverage against his target.” Bryn’s frown was puzzled. “I just wish we could connect Harding to Nadine Beauleigh. So far, he’s still squeaky clean. He thinks his scientist is the one who stole it, because he’s gone missing. Said something about the instability of genius.”

“You said they never go in shooting,” Luke said, ‘but we’ve got four dead guards and a missing genius.” He looked at Jake, his shoulders rising in a frustrated shrug. “What put you on to TelTech in the first place?”

“I got a tip,” Bryn said, with obvious reluctance.

“Reliable source?”

“Has been up til now.” Bryn looked at Jake, not at Luke, warning him to keep his mouth shut.

As if Luke sensed the holding back, his face turned grim. He opened his mouth, but before he could ask, they heard Matt’s voice on Luke’s radio. “Get in here. You gotta see this.”

Back inside TelTech, they stood back until the last bagged body was rolled out, then entered the security office. The row of televisions that had been monitoring activity in the various hallways and offices were all playing the same picture, so they didn’t have to crowd around one monitor to see.

The time/date stamp in the upper right-hand corner of the picture showed it was taken at two a.m. The silent alarm had gone off at 2:08 AM, according to the security company. On the monitor, Jake saw the guards watching the Broncos game on the television in the corner, putting the angle it was shot from in the opposite upper corner.

Jake looked up and saw a tech working on the A/C grill from that area and returned his attention to the last few moments of the guards’ lives. When it was over, he inhaled shakily. It had been a nasty little scene.

He looked at Bryn. Maybe it was just the lighting that took all the color from her face. “How does it feel to be right?”

“Not as good as you’d think,” she said, managing a wan smile. “How come I keep thinking this was an inside job?”

“And who captured the feed?” This from Matt. “And how? Why are they sending it to us now?”

“Yeah, and where’s it coming from?” Luke asked.

“Probably some kind of satellite uplink that’s been planted in the computer. We’ll need to open it up,” Bryn said. She stopped, then asked, “Are we capturing this?”

There was a concerted leap to get a tape into the machine before a new loop began. Jake stepped back from the group, his thoughts turning in a new direction. He looked up as the tech pulled the grill away, revealing the camera secreted there.

Without stopping to think about it, Jake stepped around the tech until he was in full view of the camera and stared into it, as certain Phoebe was looking at him as he was that his chest had just gone too tight to breathe.

“Let me help you,” he mouthed.

* * * *

Phoebe stared at Jake like a deer caught in the headlights. He knew she was there and watching him. Dang. He was good. Too good.

“Let me help you,” he was saying. Willing her with his eyes to listen and respond.

Damn it, she wanted to, more than she wanted to destroy Peter Harding. She stared at him, unable and unwilling to look away until the busy tech cut her connection with the room. She sat back with a sigh, reaching out to cut her uplink. They were bound to look for it next. It wouldn’t be easy, because Ollie did good work, but they would find it and attempt to track it back to them. That would take them on a trip around the world, but they say travel is broadening. She would have grinned but for the feeling Jake was still watching her.

Let me help you.

This was pathetic. She’d now joined Phagan in feeding the Feds leads. This was beyond pathetic. It was dangerous. She hadn’t even planned it, just acted on an impulse she couldn’t explain. Well, maybe she could. It would put more pressure on Harding, even if he hadn’t been the one to send in the thieves. The whole thing screamed inside job, so somebody on the inside was dirty, and it might as well be him.

That crime scene had to be confusing as hell. She couldn’t resist a slight grin at the thought. Lucky for her she’d accidentally recorded the shooting. She had no desire to be the object of a murder manhunt. Okay, so maybe she also didn’t want Jake to think she was a killer or involved with killers.

Of course, he should know that. They all should. How long had Phagan been operating without a whiff of violence?

No one at TelTech would be able to hang the deaths around their shoulders either, since she had RABBIT and the tape recording. If nothing else, that would seriously muddy the waters.

She pushed her chair back and paid a visit to the well-stocked mini-bar. Dewey had moved them from dirtiest dive to the honeymoon suite of Denver’s finest hotel, thank goodness. The amusing part? TelTech was picking up the tab. Dewey had found a corporate credit card in the safe with the chip.

She popped the top of a Coke and drank. Wiped her mouth with the back of her hand while her thoughts did lazy circles inside her head, eventually bringing her around to the question of who inside TelTech had been trying to steal RABBIT. Or was that why?

She went around the heart-shaped bed, walking across a carpet of palest pink, and picked up the chip Dewey had removed from the safe. She lifted it to the light. It looked ordinary. Innocuous. Unremarkable.

What exactly was RABBIT? Ollie had died before he could tell them what it was. What precisely was it supposed to do that made it so valuable to Harding?

She tossed it up in the air, caught it neatly. Maybe it was time she found out.

* * * *

Peter Harding closed his office door with a sigh of relief. Talk about the hounds of hell. The press wasn’t going to go easy on him. Stern went straight for the bar and poured them both scotch, straight up. He handed Peter his and drank deeply from the glass he kept. Then he strolled over to the window and looked out.

Peter knew he would survive it. He had to. No, he was meant to. The storm would pass, and his troubles would be over, because RABBIT was gone. He tossed back half the glass, feeling the warm liquor rush into his bloodstream. “So far so good. When will your guys contact you?” Harding dropped into a chair, put his feet up on the desk, and held the glass up in a silent toast.

“I told them not to contact me for twenty-four hours, unless something went wrong. Just in case.” Stern turned from the window. “We may have a problem.”

“What?” He didn’t want to hear about problems, not when it was almost over.

“My guys weren’t planning to bail off the roof. There are other indications that someone else was here.”

“What indications?” Stern just couldn’t admit Harding’s plan had worked. How like him to try to rain on his parade.

“Who set off the silent alarm?”

“I thought your guys were planning to do that when they were done.”

“The alarm was tripped just after two. The timetable didn’t allow for it until nearly two-thirty. They would have been in the elevator when it tripped. And, no, they weren’t early. They couldn’t have been. I was with them until one forty-five.” He frowned. “That’s why it took me so long to get here.”

Peter got up and joined him at the window. Far below, officials swarmed in and out of his building. Soon he’d have to talk to General Hadley about his lost RABBIT. It wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it would get less so if RABBIT turned up on the foreign market. “If our guys don’t have it, then where is it?”

There was a knock at the door, then that FBI bitch—Bailey or something like that—stuck her head in.

“If you have time, there’s something we’d like you to look at, sir.”

Harding didn’t look at Stern; he just nodded and followed her out and down, down, down to the security office with Stern on his heels. He entered the room and found himself facing three men waiting for him, something oddly similar in the way they all looked at him.

“Gentlemen?” Dealing with low level functionaries was familiar ground for him. He could feel his balance return as he returned their gazes with a practiced, worried one.

“This is Deputy US Marshal Jake Kirby,” the woman said, pointing to a lanky man sprawled in a chair in front of the row of consoles. Kirby nodded at him. “And this is his brother, also a US Marshal, Matt Kirby.”

Peter shook hands with him, tested his grip and found it as formidable as his hard gaze. “Marshal.”

“And this is their brother, Detective Luke Kirby of the Denver Police Department.”

“Quite the family affair, gentlemen,” Peter said, allowing himself a slight smile. “This is my director of security, Barrett Stern. Have you found who stole my chip?”

“Well”—Jake turned to the console and punched some buttons— “we’ve made a good start.”

Peter turned to the console, watched it flicker, then come alive. Saw the office, saw the guards. Saw them die.

He didn’t have to pretend to be shocked. “I need—”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get the words out. Stern pulled a chair forward and shoved him down. “Put your head between your knees.”

Peter didn’t argue. He needed a few moments out of sight of the barrage of eyes. Needed time to think. He didn’t get it. Above him, he heard one of the men ask, “Who do you think put that camera in that vent, sir?”

FOURTEEN

The rattle of a key in the lock gave Jake and his brothers a short heads up that their mother was home. Jake felt a rush of relief. Mom was home. He’d missed her more than he realized since his transfer to DC.

“Well.”

Jake looked up from the bowl of her soup he’d been dozing over and waited for her scrutiny to make its way to him. He looked like his mother, he’d been told, while his brothers were near carbon copies of their dad. Jake didn’t see it himself, except maybe in the eyebrows; hers tended to run amok, too, and he had her blue eyes.

She was tall and thin, almost as tall as Jake, with a narrow, clever face and hair that had turned gray when their father died. She’d been sad for a long time, but that had given way to acceptance and a serenity that became her sons’ anchor in the years that followed. Lately, she’d also acquired a sparkle that Jake had attributed to Matt’s marriage, until Luke burst his bubble with the news she was dating again. A buddy of Dad’s.

It wasn’t exactly an elephant in the room, but it was something Jake was still getting used to. He didn’t begrudge her happiness. She’d worn black for Dad long enough. It was just hard to think of your mom in the dating zone. Which, judging by the flush in her cheeks and the softened line of her lips that tipped up in a slight smile, she’d just returned from.

The vestiges of her smile didn’t survive her scrutiny of her sons. The three of them did, Jake had to concede, look pretty hashed. No sleep last night, followed by a long, hellish day, had put new lines in all their faces and deepened the ones already there.

“Dani must be out of town. Or you’re afraid to wake her.” Debra Kirby’s gaze summoned Matt from the counter supporting him up. He gave her a kiss and a hug. Luke didn’t wait for her gaze to find him. He planted a kiss on her opposing cheek the same time as Matt, then dropped into a chair and gave her his I’m-the-good son smile. The slight lift of her brow erased it.

Jake felt her high beams find him but was too tired to protect or defend his secrets. Limbs heavy, he pushed back his chair, rounded the table and lifted her into a hearty, desperately needed hug. If Mom couldn’t make it better, then no one could.

“About time you showed up here,” she scolded. Her arms and clean scent enfolded him in a wave of comfort. Before she let him go she patted him down for injuries, then framed his face with her hands.

Jake set her down. “Sorry, Mom. Been—”

“—working. I know.” Their gazes met and he saw hers widen slightly, then narrow into two X-rays. “Just like I know you’ll find time to tell me what’s been happening with you.”

“Cross my heart.” He knew he’d gotten off lightly, mostly because his brothers were there. She’d dig out his secret, but not in front of his brothers, not until she was sure it was common knowledge. If he had his way, this particular secret never would be common knowledge. He dropped back into his chair, exhaustion a dead weight dragging him down. “After I’ve had some shut-eye.”

A shower came on over their heads, and her eyebrows shot up.

“It’s Jake’s FBI agent,” Luke explained. “We made up the bed in the guest room for her.”

“How domestic of you.” Jake felt his mom’s gaze swing his way again, question marks like neon signs in her eyes. Was this who’d put the sad in my baby boy’s eyes, they asked him.

Jake gave her a silent no, then let his upper lids go back to ground zero against his lowers. More than anything, he wanted to fall onto his old bed upstairs. But he wasn’t sure he could make it up the stairs, let alone down the hall to his boyhood bedroom, one that now did double duty as a sewing room. His mom didn’t leave shrines to the past in her house.

“Want me to drop you off, Luke?” he heard Matt say, his voice wavering in and out as tired began to win the battle of Jake’s body.

“Thanks.” Jake heard the scrape of chairs being pushed back. “But let’s get our baby brother up to his room. Doesn’t look like he’s gonna make it.”

His brothers’ voices got farther and farther away. The sensation of being manhandled barely registered before tired took him down into a deep, dark well.

* * * *

Phoebe woke face down on a pink rug amid scattered sheets of computer paper. She rolled onto her back and saw Dewey kneeling next to her. He smelled, she noted groggily, like roses.

It wasn’t a great way to wake up. To make matters worse, she’d stiffened, first from her collision with the tree, and then from falling asleep on the floor. She could see herself in the mirror over the heart-shaped bed. She’d managed to ice away the shiner but now had a strange looking rose pattern creased into her cheek from the carpet.

Dewey, wise man that he was, moved back a safe distance before he grinned at her. “What happened here?”

Phoebe managed to sit up, though it felt as if she was breaking bones to do it. She looked around because she had no idea what he was talking about.

Coke cans, chip and candy wrappers, mingled with the print outs of RABBIT research data. The television screen was giving off a white-noise buzz, and a tape protruded from the video player. Pieces of memory drifted to the front of her mind, then whole chunks, until she remembered it all.

“Oh, yeah.” Not remembering had been so much better. “I’ve been finding out about RABBIT. What it does. What it doesn’t do. Like…work.”

She leaned against the bed and rubbed her imprinted cheek, hoping to speed its return to normal.

Dewey dropped down beside her. “What are you talking about?”

“Harding’s little chip is a piece of crap.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t work. That’s why those guys were there. To steal it before other people found out it doesn’t work.”

He stared at her, his jaw slack, but there were indications in his eyes that he was attempting to assimilate what she was saying. He held up the morning newspaper.

“He wouldn’t. Not when he’s running for governor.”

“Apparently he had no choice. Losing it being preferable to, say, jail?”

“No way. He wouldn’t be that stupid, would he?”

“Maybe the billions of dollars he took from the government to develop RABBIT gave him a false sense of security. Thanks to Ollie, I’ve got the real tests and the falsified ones Harding used to keep the money flowing his way. But it was all going to come out when he turned it over if RABBIT didn’t disappear into the night.”

“Billions, huh? Well, that could make a man stupid. What tipped you off?”

She crawled through the debris to the video player, pushed in the tape and started it. The television screen cleared, turned black, then filled with the scene outside TelTech the night before. “Look at this.”

The tape she’d shot of Harding appeared on the screen. She froze the frame on the close-up. “Look at him.”

Dewey looked. “What?”

“Look at his eyes.” Phoebe sank back on her heels, fighting off the feeling of being sucked back in time. That was the way he’d looked when he beat them. Sorrow on the surface, pleasure underneath.

Dewey leaned in, then looked at her. “I see what you mean.”

“He’s why those guys were there. He needed RABBIT to disappear.” She rubbed her face. “And, clever little thieves that we are, we did the bastard a favor by grabbing it. If we give it back, turn this stuff over to the Feds, he can claim we faked the data and ruined his chip. Who’s going to believe the nasty little thieves?”

Dewey processed this and sighed. “Well, that’s ironic.”

Phoebe chuckled, then leaned her head on his shoulder. “That, my friend, is a serious understatement.”

* * * *

Despite the early hour, Harding poured drinks for them both. He left Stern’s on the bar and carried his to the window. Stern left the drink where it was and walked over next to him. This wasn’t the time to cloud his wits with liquor, especially if Harding was inclined to play the fool.

Outside the window, Harding’s landscaping was tidy and controlled. The shrubs and flowers lined up like soldiers on review. Even the fountain spouted water in regimented bursts. Just the way Harding liked it. The view and the liquor smoothed the stress from Harding’s face, blurring the façade and giving a brief glimpse of the evil lurking beneath. He craved control, fed on it; like a junkie, he had to have his fix at regular intervals or he spun out of control.

In the years since their mutual darkness had drawn them together, Stern had made sure Harding had his fixes, had fed his addiction judiciously, kept him in control. Looking at him now, he wondered why he’d bothered. It was obvious the addiction would never really be under control, just sometimes forced into remission.

Harding was happy now because he thought the threat was over. Whoever was gas-lighting him was good. And knew him well, knew where and when to apply the pressure. It was hard to believe a terrorized fifteen-year-old girl had managed to grow into someone clever enough for this kind of game. At first she’d mildly interested Stern, then she’d begun to annoy him. Now, well, even he could appreciate a job well done.

She’d reminded him of something he’d forgotten. Drive, don’t be driven.

He’d let himself be distracted putting out fires. Reacting instead of acting. He’d gotten lazy, almost sloppy. He should know better. His perfect, middle-class father had taught him to keep an eye on the details, but never lose the long view. He’d kept track of everything but his only son. By the time he’d realized it, Stern had already chosen his long view.

Everyone had to choose light or dark. Some, like Harding, chose dark to hide their own evil. Others, like Stern, just liked the dark. Like Batman. It was his natural element, the place where he belonged. He liked danger. He liked killing. There was something fascinating about watching a life slip away. Where did it go? Was there a soul in those bodies? Or was it just over? Sometimes he thought he could see the soul leave, if the life he took had been lived in the light. When the innocent died, he believed in souls, but the feeling didn’t last.

Unlike Harding, he didn’t seek out victims, but he didn’t turn aside when circumstances delivered them to him either. It was all in the details, and someday he’d know. One way or another, he’d know.

“Farley doesn’t have RABBIT,” he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting up to avoid seeing Harding’s histrionics.

To his surprise, Harding said calmly, “So, what? As long as it’s gone.”

“And if it’s offered for sale?” Stern blew a cloud of smoke in Harding’s direction, because he knew it annoyed him. “Be a pity if rumors came back to bite you on the ass.” That got a reaction from him.

Harding headed for the decanter and slopped more into his glass. When he’d downed half of it, he aimed for the couch, stumbling slightly as the liquor went to his head. He rubbed his face. “How do we get it back? We have no idea who did it, do we?”

“No.” Stern strolled behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee. “Farley says their faces were completely covered. I do have contacts in certain areas. They’ll be watching for it to come onto the market, and they’ll notify me if it does.” He stubbed out the cigarette. A tiny spiral of smoke rose from the ashtray, circling his arm like a snake. “There is another possibility.”

“What?”

“What if it was the same people who’ve been gas-lighting you?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” Harding frowned, obviously having trouble coordinating his drink-saturated brain to grapple with the problem intelligently.

“If they try to expose it, we can dump the whole mess onto their shoulders. Who’s to say what happened to it while it was out of our control?” Stern said.

Harding looked startled, then smiled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. “Yeah. Who’s to say?” But before he drank, he asked, “If it is them, how do we find them?”

Stern smiled. “If they did this to get at you, we won’t have to find them. They’ll come to us.”

* * * *

Phoebe stretched out amid the papers, her hands crossed behind her head, and stared at the ceiling, feeling oddly resigned. They’d tried. They’d failed. Shit happens.

“Is it check and mate, Pathphinder?” Dewey asked. He’d stretched out beside her, but on his side, with his head resting on his hand.

She tried to clear her thoughts, to see the board, the game, but for the first time, she couldn’t. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Pathphinder seems to be in shock.”

“We need to fall back. Take some time to regroup. You’ve been working too hard if you can’t see the game. And we need to get the heck out of Dodge. It’s getting real hot here. Never seen the Feds try so hard to find two losers.”

Phoebe grinned. “If you’re trying to prick my pride by calling me a loser, it’s not working.” She sat up. “But you’re right. We’ve been here too long. We need to move.”

Without warning her flight-or-fight instinct kicked into high. She’d never been psychic, but right then, she’d swear she heard the howling hounds getting closer. She started grabbing all the papers within arm’s reach and stuffing them into a briefcase.

Maybe Dewey heard the dogs, too. He started packing up their equipment with his usual swift efficiency. He had done this before.

“We’ll have to split up,” he said. “I’ll write down my new beeper number for you. Your new beeper’s on the desk.”

“That where you’ve been?”

“That and arranging transportation for us. Something that will match our new lives.”

Phoebe couldn’t wait to see what kind of car he thought went with Polly. Or maybe she could. “Did you ever wish you could get out of the game? Live a normal life with a little woman somewhere?”

“Yeah.” Dewey stopped, his eyes shifting from the immediate to a distant view.

What did he want? Or was it who? There was so little that she knew about him.

“How did you get over it?” she asked, because it was all she could ask. The rest of his life wasn’t her business.

He looked at her then, his gaze direct and sad. “I didn’t. We can’t. If we get over it, we risk becoming like them—like Harding and the others. We risk forgetting why we do it and just do it because we can.” He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s not like you don’t know about power and corruption.”

“More than I want to.” It was almost funny. She’d been thinking they were into avenging wrongs, but that wasn’t the whole story. It was also about power. About taking it from those who had too much and giving it to those who had lived too long without it.

Dewey was right. She needed to just get on with it.

She picked up the chip. “It’s too bad…”

“What’s too bad?” Dewey asked.

“That we can’t get it to work.” She tossed it up in the air and caught it, then tossed it to him. He snagged it and gave her a slow grin.

“Pathphinder?”

* * * *

Jake felt his mom watching him as he ate the breakfast she’d prepared for him and for Bryn—who had gulped hers and bolted out the door as if his mother’s domesticity scared her.

He smiled. His favorite: waffles, eggs, bacon, served with screaming hot coffee and ice cold milk wasn’t meant to be bolted but enjoyed. He ate until he couldn’t manage one bite more. He pushed the plate away with a sigh of satisfaction. It didn’t cure what ailed him but did make him feel he could deal with it.

“Thanks, Mom.” He wiped his mouth on the paper towel she handed him. “That was great.” He looked at his watch, started to rise, then made the mistake of making eye contact. He sank back into the chair. “What?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“I’m fine. Really.” The silence was insistent. “I’ll be fine. This is just a tough case.” He tried to get up again. Made it upright, but that was it.

She took a drink of her coffee, then asked, “What’s her name?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. What was her name? His gut told him it was Nadine, but she’d always be Phoebe to him. He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“How much trouble is she in?”

“More than I can prove.” He rubbed his index finger along the edge of the paper towel, remembering how she’d made her napkin into an origami bird. Was she already flying away from him?

“And what you can prove?”

“Harboring. Aiding and abetting, if—” He stopped. What was her next move? How did she plan to use RABBIT? If she had it. He could see the board but not the pieces. He was playing her game in the dark.

“If?” His mom’s voice was soft.

“If I can find her. Her…associates tend to disappear.”

Her hand covered his. “Which is worse, Jake? The thought of not seeing her again? Or having to arrest her when you do?”

Jake’s smile was a miserable effort. “I wish I knew.”

He turned toward her, into arms that circled him with comfort.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work out. If it’s not, you’ll just have to find a way to get over it.”

“And if I can’t?” He closed his eyes, felt her fingers stroke his hair.

“Then you learn to live with it.” She framed his face with her hands. “There are joys and sorrows in this life. You can’t escape either. You do your duty and you just keep going.”

She knew all about sorrow. She’d kept going after Dad died and kept them going, too. He managed a grin. “I know.” He looked at his watch. “And that’s what I need to do—get going.”

He gave her a last hug. “Thanks, Mom.”

She patted his cheek. “If you do find her, I’d like to meet her. She must be something to put the squeeze on your heart.”

“Oh, she’s something all right.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Boy, was she something. Something a guy didn’t get over easily. Or fast. He headed out the door, feeling a little lighter of heart. It still ached, but was no longer dragging him down. He was just getting into the truck when his cell phone shrilled a call to action.

“Yeah?”

“Jake? Riggs, here. Hey, man, Matt had me tracking down phone numbers of all calls made from the bar and the house. I found one you might want to have someone check out.”

“Give me the address,” Jake said, propping the phone between shoulder and ear and grabbing his pen and notebook.

“It’s called Smith’s. Part of a strip mall in Estes Park.” Riggs gave him the address. “I called around, tried to find out who they were or what they did and came up a total blank. Landlord doesn’t know what they do but thinks it’s something to do with computers. The name on the lease is a bogus. I called it probable cause, and a judge agreed. I got a warrant. How do you want it handled?”

Jake sat for a moment, thinking. Logic said, assign it to someone in the Estes Park PD. No reason for Phoebe to be there. She was going forward with her game, not backtracking.

“I’ll take it,” he said. His brain was telling him it was a waste of time, but his gut was twitching. He followed his gut and put his truck into gear. He’d pick up the warrant and head for Estes Park.

* * * *

Phoebe drove past Smith’s, looking for signs it was under surveillance and finding none. Okay, so they hadn’t found the number on her phone bill, yet, but they would. Then someone would come. This setup was the kind of lead that Phagan’s Fibbie/love would sell her firstborn for.

She pulled into the rear, since the orange, green and yellow piece of shit Dewey had gotten her to drive would stand out like a sore thumb in the parking lot out front and her clothes didn’t match the car. She’d passed on the Polly clothes and hair paint for a black sheath and heels. She wished she could have passed on the car.

Inside she started a wipe/delete on the hard drives of the VR setup in the back room where she’d planned the TelTech heist. There weren’t a lot of papers lying around, since Phagan didn’t believe in paper trails, but what there was, she fed into the shredder, all the while keeping an eye on the security monitors.

The emergency wipe was about half done when she saw Jake’s truck pull to a stop out in front.

FIFTEEN

Jake had to jiggle the key the landlord had given him in the lock before the front door gave. The lock felt stiff, as if it wasn’t often used. To reinforce this impression, the door gave a protesting squeak as it swung closed behind him. Inside, the light filtering through imperfect blinds was thick with dust motes as it dimly revealed what looked like an ordinary office. A lesser desk near the front door seemed to be for reception purposes, with several desks of better quality lined up behind. Phones, computers, and filing cabinets completed the picture of a business enterprise, though there was no indication what that enterprise was supposed to be.

He pulled on protective gloves and adjusted one set of blinds to let in more light. The air was stale, and—Jake swiped a finger across a slat—a layer of dust coated everything in sight. Did this mean it was a cold trail? The call had been made two weeks ago. He didn’t have statistics on dust accumulation, only personal experience to go by. He’d been gone from his apartment in DC for a month or more and hadn’t found this much dust when he returned.

He walked around the reception desk and sat down. Opened a few drawers, all empty. Tried the phone. It didn’t work. The computer monitor wasn’t connected to anything, and when he touched it lightly, it fell off the desk. And bounced.

Jake picked it up. Cardboard. Designed to fool the casual observer. Did that make this place a front, and, if so, for what? The rent wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t peanuts, either. If this was part of Phagan’s setup, what role had it played?

Well, whatever purpose this place had served, this fake office wasn’t going to cough up anything but dust bunnies. Maybe the prize was in one of the back rooms. He got up and headed for the doorway.

That’s when he heard a toilet flush.

He had his gun out and was in the hallway when the door opened. Light spilled into the corridor, just short of where he stood, painting a familiar, leggy outline onto the floor at his feet. He followed it up to the source, but before his eyes got to her, his senses already knew who it was.

Phoebe.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” She looked genuinely surprised to see him and not at all alarmed.

“I could ask you the same thing.” His eyes drank her in. She was wearing something black and slinky that lightly hugged her body everywhere that mattered, then stopped well above her knees, leaving plenty of leg. He didn’t know a pair of black heels could be that sexy, but there’d been a lot he didn’t know before he’d met her.

She leaned against the jamb and crossed her legs like a teenager on the porch with her first beau.

“Just taking care of a little business.” Her tongue traced a moist path around her lips. “And you?”

“The same.” He heard the hoarseness in his voice and cleared it. “You…cut your hair.”

She reached up and touched the sheared ends, something that could be uncertainty flashing in her eyes. “It’s…cooler.”

Her eyes were deep, sad pools threatening to drown his sense of duty. Her scent turned the stale air sweet and his thoughts thick and slow.

“It’s nice. It suits you.”

Her smile was quick and pleased but slightly shy.

As if to make sure no blood got to his brain, his collar turned into a noose. He tugged at it, but it didn’t help. What he needed was water. Cold water. Applied everywhere. He rubbed the back his neck, fighting for control. When he reached the point of tenuous control, as if she knew the exact moment when questions began to rise above the lust, she asked, “How did you get in? We’re closed, you know.”

That cleared his head. He holstered the gun he’d almost forgotten he was holding. Stripped off the gloves and stuck them in his jacket pocket. “I have a warrant to search the premises.”

Her eyebrows arched. She did surprised very well. “All you had to do was ask, Curious Jake.”

“I didn’t think you were around to ask. I thought—”

“What did you think?”

“That you’d left.”

“Without saying goodbye?” She stepped toward him. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“I thought we said goodbye, at the motel the other night. It sounded like goodbye.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem.”

He licked his lips. “No, they aren’t.”

She took a glove, hanging part way out of his pocket and examined it. “Afraid you’ll catch something? I promise, I’m not contagious.”

Jake swallowed dryly as she stuffed the glove back into his pocket, real slow, as if she expected him to stop her. He knew he should stop her, but it would be easier to stop breathing.

He didn’t decide to touch her. His hands acted on their own, sliding around the back of her neck, the short, silky ends of her hair stroking his skin as he bent toward her parted mouth. His heart jumped then settled into a hard but steady rhythm.

It was as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment.

Phoebe didn’t, couldn’t, close her eyes or look away. She needed to see him. See what he was feeling pass through his eyes each moment that was left to her. This time, this kiss had to last her a lifetime. There’d be no one after him. How could there be anyone but the lawman for this outlaw?

His scent reached her before his mouth did. It filled her senses, heady and clean, like mountain air first thing in the morning. A pulse beat frantically against her hand. The feel of his skin was a delight all its own. She could have spent the whole day just absorbing it, feeling the wonder of his skin against her.

But her mouth, her impatient mouth had waited forever to taste his. She arched onto her toes, eager to close the last millimeter between them. Her head spun with longing as his breath mingled with hers.

Had she thought there was anything she wouldn’t give this man, the other half of her soul? She felt surrender stealing through her body in a hot rush. Maybe she could trust him with it all… She wasn’t ready when he jerked her back and felt his bitter, betrayed gaze rake across her.

“What are you hiding, Phoebe? What’s really going on here?”

Her chest hurt with the need for air, for him. There was no room for thinking or even planning, only one bitter reality: she’d never know his kiss, she’d never know what it was like to be his. She closed her eyes against him. Against the longing to beg him to take her back into his arms. There was pride inside her, somewhere. She had to find it.

He gave her no time. “This way, I think.”

He pulled her toward the door with a faint light showing under it and shoved it open. He fumbled for and found the light switch. Saw the status of the wipe on the computer monitor. It was close to the end of the bar but not there yet.

Without missing a beat, he found the power cord and yanked it from the wall.

His chest heaved once, then he turned and looked at her. Her eyes were blank, neutral, as if her soul had fled to that deep, dark place where her sorrow lived. He’d done the right thing, but it didn’t feel right. He could hear his mom’s voice in his head, “You do your duty and you just keep going.”

He looked at the row of dark monitors, saw a VR helmet and gloves lying on the desktop, several CPU towers and a couple of printers. “It looks like you could run the world from here.”

“I almost did.”

This wasn’t about him, but he still felt the bitter bite of betrayal, the pain of the knife burying itself in his back. He’d had no reason to trust her, certainly no right to expect anything from her except deceit, but he had. Damn it, he had.

“What now, Phoebe? Or should I call you Nadine?”

SIXTEEN

Peter Harding climbed into the rear of his limo and found Stern waiting for him in the richly appointed interior. He stretched his long legs out with a sigh of satisfaction, enjoying the faint vibration of the automobile’s leashed power underneath him. Like him, this car was near invincible. The same company that supplied the President’s vehicles had made it. No one could get in or out unless he wanted them to.

Stern gave a warning look toward the open partition separating them from the driver. “The police have a suspect in custody. They want us to come in.”

“Okay.” Harding tensed. This wasn’t part of the plan. “The police station, Jim.”

The driver nodded and put the car into motion. Stern closed the partition and added, “They want to put her in a lineup for our edification and possible identification.”

“Her?” Harding felt a sharp bite of excitement. If it was Nadine…

“Her. And under no circumstances will you give any sign that you recognize her, Harding. Under—No—Circumstances. We don’t want her cutting any deals with the Feds, now, do we?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“She’ll need a good lawyer. We get her one, get her bailed out. My boys pick her up and—”

“And bring her to me!” Nadine. Back in his power where she was supposed to be. Where she was meant to be. He’d teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget.

“This is not the time for that. Not while you’re in the press spotlight. Let it go. Let her be the one you didn’t get. I’ll make sure she disappears after I find out who and where her partner is. Once they are dead and buried, so is RABBIT.” For a moment anticipation gleamed in Stern’s dead eyes.

“I have to be sure it’s her,” Harding insisted. Damn Stern just wanted her for himself. The asshole liked a challenge. Well, he wasn’t getting this one. Nadine was his. “I’ll be careful. But I get her first. When I’m through, you’ll have no problem convincing her to talk. She’ll do what she’s told, just like she used to.” He looked at Stern. “You can get your jollies off her partner, but I get her.”

Stern shrugged, but Harding could tell he was annoyed. For once, he wasn’t sure Stern would do as he was told. He thought again about the anonymous note he’d received, warning him about secrets and people who knew them. It was a pity, because Stern had served him well, but maybe it was time to bury his secrets. Permanently.

* * * *

Being booked wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to Phoebe, but it came in a close second. The worst part was the loss of control, the loss of her personal power. It brought back echoes of her past and threatened her steely grip on the present. Only pride—and Bryn Bailey’s watchful gaze—kept her from breaking down while being strip-searched and then deloused. She donned her jail garb with outward nonchalance, pleased and surprised at how steady her hands were, all the while wondering if she’d ever be free of the smell of the delousing solution, wondering if her own scent would ever return.

The female uniform who’d done the search held the door open, but that door would only take her to another cage, a different level of confinement. Phoebe paused in the doorway, feeling the barrage of law-abiding Kirby eyes hit her. Felt like more than three guys. The trio sure packed a personality wallop.

She lifted her chin and drawled in her most Southern accent, “Interesting experience. Kinda brought back memories of my wedding night. Also brief but thorough.”

She heard a muffled choke from Jake’s brother, Luke, and couldn’t resist looking his way. He was trying hard not to smile. She winked at him before letting Bryn prod her into an austere interrogation room. Bryn indicated a chair across from the court appointed lawyer and left the room, but Phoebe knew she and the Kirby’s three would be watching through the mirror affixed to the wall. She chose the one chair that put her back to the mirror, then reversed the chair’s position and straddled it. With her elbows propped on the straight, battered back, she clasped her hands to keep them from trembling or twitching.

This was Pathphinder’s most difficult game. The board was obscured, her pieces scattered, and she was facing a public defender who looked as if he was about to wet his pants.

Dewey would have come on the run and played a better lawyer, but that was what Phagan’s Fibbie was hoping he’d do. She had to protect her knight. She didn’t have that many pieces to play.

“I’m Calvin. Calvin Dobbs, Miss…er…” His voice wavered up and down several octaves and his glasses slid to the end of his nose, dislodging a bead of sweat that had been hovering there. It dropped off the peak, then ran down to rest in the indention above his upper lip.

“You call me whatever you’d like to, Calvin. I’m very flexible.” Phoebe smiled at him, but that only seemed to throw him into further disarray. “Have you ever done this before?”

He gave her a panicked nod that could have meant yes or no. “Your charge sheet says your name is Nadine Beauleigh. Also known as Phoebe Mentel.” He looked up, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically against the pale skin of his long neck.

Phoebe sighed and gave him a sad, soulful look. “Is it a crime to change your name?”

“Um, no.” He stared at her as if mesmerized. “Um, is there anyone who can…verify…your identity?” He switched his pen from hand to hand.

If the guy had any more nervous habits, he wouldn’t be able to get anything done. Phoebe slid her chair toward him, so that she was positioned between him and the mirror, took the pen and wrote a number on the inside cover of the file. “Call this number and punch in nine-one-one, then your number. Can you do that for me, Calvin?”

“Of…course.” He took out his cell phone and dialed the number. When he’d managed it without too much shaking, Phoebe relaxed back in her chair. Now Dewey would know she’d been picked up, but that she didn’t need a lawyer.

Calvin’s fingers tapped against the tabletop until he stopped himself by curling them into fists. “Now about these charges…”

“I am, of course, completely innocent.” She gave him her most innocent look, batting her eyelashes a couple of times for emphasis.

“Right.” He wrote completely innocent on the sheet, his handwriting blocky and labored like that of a first-grader taking a spelling test.

She wished Jake were in here. He’d get a kick out of Calvin. Couldn’t be a coincidence she’d gotten such a totally lame lawyer. It appeared Bryn intended to play as dirty as she could get away with.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Calvin asked. “Anyone else you want me to contact?”

“I wouldn’t mind something to read. And cigarettes?”

“Cigarettes? You don’t look like—”

“I heard they’re just like money in prison.”

His smile was surprisingly sweet. Good teeth, too. Calvin had lots of unrealized potential, Phoebe decided.

“I don’t think you’ll be in here long enough for that. As soon as you’re arraigned, we’ll have you out on bail—”

Before he could finish, the door opened. Bryn stepped into the room. “We need your client to participate in a lineup for the owner of TelTech.”

Phoebe could feel her stomach muscles tighten and forced herself to relax. Peter Harding couldn’t touch her while she was in jail. Wow, she thought as she followed Bryn out, who’d have thought there could be an upside to getting your butt tossed in jail?

* * * *

Jake stood in shadow to one side, positioned to watch Peter Harding and his sidekick during the lineup. If he was Phoebe and Phagan’s current target, he wanted to know it. He heard the shuffle of movement as five women came out and formed a ragged line on the other side of the one-way glass. Harding licked his lips, his gaze moving along the row, stopping for a long moment on Phoebe before moving on.

“Turn to the right,” Luke directed the women through a mike.

Again Harding’s gaze traveled the row. It didn’t stop at Phoebe, but it came back to her. He licked his lips again, and Jake saw sweat pop up on Harding’s upper lip. Jake’s skin crawled. The guy had a definite kink. No question.

“Now to the left,” Luke said. “See anyone you recognize, sir?”

Jake saw him look at Phoebe one last time, then at Luke. He shook his head.

“Sorry.”

He’s lying. Jake knew it even before he saw Harding watch Phoebe file out with the others. So why not finger her? Dumb question. If he was her target, he’d have a lot to hide. But what part of Phoebe’s past was he involved in? Research had revealed that all of Phagan’s other targets had a family connection of some kind to one of his runaways, but this guy, while old enough to be Phoebe’s stepfather, didn’t even remotely resemble the descriptions of Montgomery Justice. Maybe they needed to cast the net wider, look at her schoolteachers and others from her past.

Harding started to leave. Jake stepped into his path. He was convinced Harding was Phagan and Phoebe’s target and decided to play a new card, one he’d been holding back. “Could you look at this picture, sir?” Jake pulled a mug shot of Oliver Smith out of his inside pocket. “You ever seen this guy?”

Harding took the picture with an odd air of reluctance and studied it. “I’m not—sure—” He licked his lips again, but this time it was an obviously nervous movement.

Stern took the photo, studied it, and handed it back to Jake. “He worked at TelTech for about three months. Then one day last week he didn’t show up for work.”

“I’ll need the exact day,” Jake said.

“I’d have to check his personnel file.”

“We’ll need a look at that file,” Bryn said.

“Our files are confidential and—” Harding began.

“He’s dead. I don’t think he’ll care,” Jake said. Neither man looked surprised. Stern looked like a guy who might get his jollies pounding faces. Jake was looking into his past, but he’d look harder now.

“I’ll see that it’s sent over,” Stern said. “Will there be anything else?”

“No.” Jake watched them leave, relieved to have them gone. There was something off, something definitely wrong about the pair. No question—Stern was running interference for his boss.

“Lovely pair, aren’t they?” Bryn asked.

“You don’t like them?”

She made a face. “I don’t like them, and I don’t like that I can’t find what they’re hiding. Did you see Harding staring at our girl?”

Jake nodded. “You’re so sure they are hiding something?” he asked, curious to get Bryn’s take.

“Oh, yeah. Guys like that, they can’t help it. I just haven’t found the right rock to look under yet.” She gave a frustrated sigh. “And I might not, without Little Miss Larceny. If we don’t open her up—” She looked at Luke. “You monitoring her?”

Jake looked at his brother, too, noticing Luke didn’t look too happy.

“Of course I am, but I’m not sure this is such a good idea—”

“What’s not a good idea?” Jake asked. He looked at Bryn. “What’s going on?”

Her expression hovered between defiant and guilty. “We haven’t got much time until she’s out on bail. Once she’s out, she’s gone.”

“What have you done?” he asked Luke.

Luke’s look was apologetic. “We put Phoebe in with Holly the Horror.”

“What the hell?” Jake didn’t have to ask why Holly was a horror. Every jail had a prisoner who could be counted on to make life rough for the newly incarcerated. “Have you lost your minds?”

Bryn bristled like an outraged hen. “It’s a proven technique for softening up—”

“Explain to me how putting someone who was probably abused into running away from home into an abusive situation is going to soften her up?” He got in her face. “From where I’m standing, it just makes us abusers, too.”

Her mouth worked for a moment as she struggled for control. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Next time you have a plan for my collar, have the professional courtesy to run it past me first.” He saw red spots of rage bloom on her cheeks, but he didn’t give a damn. He whirled on his brother. “Get her out of there. Put her in federal holding. Alone. Now. And I want her watched all the time. No one—I mean no one—goes near her without my permission.”

Luke raised his hands in surrender. “I’m on it.”

Jake saw more than surrender in his brother’s eyes. He also saw questions sprouting like weeds. He didn’t have answers. Well, he didn’t have good answers for why he was so pissed-off. At least not answers he wanted to share with his big brother. Life was hard enough without Luke and Matt knowing he’d gotten emotionally involved with a perp.

“Chill, little brother,” Luke said, stirring the still-hot embers. “No one’s going to let your…collar…get hurt.”

Jake’s hands curled into fists. He turned and stalked out before he took a swing at his brother. He’d lose that one, since Luke topped him in height and weight. That left Bryn, but, even pissed to hell and back, he knew better than to hit a woman. Maybe he ought to hire Holly to kick her ass.

* * * *

Phoebe knew something was up before she reached the cell in the local, not federal, section of the jail. When the cop opened the door, the hair on the back of her neck rose in warning. She stepped far enough through the door so he could close it, but no farther.

“Be nice to the new girl, Holly,” the cop said with a smirk before strolling off.

Phoebe heard a low growl from the shadows of the lower bunk. The bed creaked, then groaned as Holly rolled over and got up.

She was beautiful. Tall and formed like an magnificent Amazon, she had a rioting mop of red hair and hard purple eyes. Her lush body strained every seam of the drab prison garb. The pointed red tips of lethal-looking nails fanned across her hips as she surveyed Phoebe with a distinct lack of welcome.

Phoebe had a feeling Holly’s “nice” wouldn’t be pleasant.

“You must have pissed somebody off, honey, ’cause that asshole knows I hate sharing. And I really hate getting woke up from my beauty sleep.”

“I guess that means you’re going to try to kick my ass.” Phoebe spread her feet and softened her knees, her body tensed to respond to any sudden movement.

“No, honey, it means I am going to kick your ass.” Holly clearly didn’t think it would be a problem.

“It may not be as easy as you think. You’re gonna get bruised, too.” Phoebe met her narrowing gaze squarely. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I don’t see why we should give the cops what they want, getting all bloody and bruised? Besides being messy, it’s boring.”

“Boring?” A touch of amusement softened Holly’s hard eyes. “Getting pounded on is boring?”

Phoebe shrugged. At least she’d succeeded in piquing Holly’s interest. “Let’s just say I prefer the unpredictable.”

Holly circled to Phoebe’s left. Phoebe turned, keeping them face to face.

“And unpredictable would be…?”

Phoebe extended her hands, empty palms up, turned them over, did a small flourish and turned them back. A small harmonica was now in one hand.

Holly looked surprised. “They let you bring that in here?”

Phoebe shook her head.

“How did you get it through the search?”

Phoebe grinned. “Magic.” She made the harmonica disappear, then reappear.

Holly laughed, a rich, rolling sound that echoed around the jail, bouncing off the arid walls in diminishing volleys before dying away. “I like you. What did you say your name was?”

“My friends call me Phoebe.” Phoebe played her get-out-of-ass-kicking-free card. “I’m betting you have a hell of a fine voice. What say we kick their asses instead of ours?” She lifted the harmonica to just short of her mouth and smiled at Holly.

“No wonder they wanted me to kick your ass.” Holly’s eyes weighed her in the balance, then she smiled. “What the hell. No reason to break a nail for those assholes.”

She sat down. “What can you play on that thing?”

“Anything you can sing.” Phoebe sat on the commode and played a scale, then launched into an intro for “Amazing Grace.” She was right; when Holly came in on cue, she had one hell of a voice.

SEVENTEEN

Jake waited until he’d cooled down before heading for the jail. He found Luke and Bryn watching a closed-circuit monitor.

“What?”

Without answering, Luke pointed at the screen. Jake stepped around him and saw Phoebe in a cell with someone who had to be Holly the Horror.

“Why haven’t you moved her?”

“We were waiting until they finished Wild Thing.” Luke grinned at his brother.

Jake did a double take. “Is that a harmonica?”

Bryn’s expression was classically conflicted, with equal parts rage and laughter. She managed to control her twitching lips long enough to say, “Looks like the poor, little, abused girl can take care of herself.” She rubbed her temples. “Sure like to know how she got that thing past us.”

Jake grinned. “Magic?”

Luke gave Jake an amused, pointed look. “It’s obvious she has a highly disruptive influence on everyone she comes into contact with.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, saw Bryn and Luke watching him do it and lowered his hand. “How about you get her out of there before she gets too comfortable, Luke, while Bryn and I figure out a new approach?”

“You sure know how to take the fun out of things,” Luke grumbled good-humoredly as he left. Something told Jake he’d be back, though, with more questions for his little brother. Behind the humor had been a boatload of worry.

Bryn crossed her arms and leaned against the console. “Works for me. What are you thinking?”

Jake turned his back on the console and Phoebe. He couldn’t think while looking at her. “They go after their targets mainly to expose their nasty secrets, right?”

“That appears to be their priority.” She sighed. It was hard to hate Phagan. She was reluctant to admit it, but she was worried about him. She hadn’t heard from him since Phoebe got picked up and had had no flowers, chocolate, or romance novels from him, either.

Jake’s stopping that disk wipe had seemed like a major coup. To her deep chagrin, she had been relieved when Matt’s computer guru found nothing. Chasing Phagan was like trying to take down Robin Hood. She was getting tired of being on the side of legal slime like she suspected Peter Harding to be. She hadn’t gone into law enforcement to protect his ilk.

“So, if we can’t beat her, why not join her? We offer her a deal in exchange for what she knows about Harding, Hyatt and Phagan.”

“She won’t give up Phagan. If he’s on the table, she won’t deal.” The conviction in her voice startled her. What was wrong with her? She’d been hunting Phagan for five years. Here was her chance to get him, and she was backing off? “And I’m betting she won’t rat on Hyatt either. If she is Pathphinder, they’ve got to be tighter than these shoes I wish I wasn’t wearing.”

She grimaced and eased them off to give her feet a short break. It took away any height advantage she had with Jake, but he didn’t seem to notice.

He was frowning into the distance. “You’re probably right. Course, if they are tight, Hyatt will make some kind of move to help her. We should start with the whole package. The real question is, can you make a deal that doesn’t include Phagan?”

“If she returns RABBIT, I might make it work with my people. What about you?”

Jake’s smile had an edge to it that made her uneasy, though she couldn’t say why.

“I’ve got a few ideas that should make it palatable to my side,” he said. “I just need some maneuvering room, so I can make it look like I’m giving ground.”

“Okay.” She gave him a minute to enlighten her, but he didn’t bite. She sighed. “You want me with you when you make the offer? She doesn’t like me.”

Jake grinned. “Phoebe doesn’t like much. If you don’t mind, I think I should go in alone, at least the first time.” He looked at his watch. “The clock is ticking. We’ll let her simmer a bit while we get approval. Let me know ASAP.”

Bryn nodded. She wanted to ask him if he was going to be okay, but she knew he would. He just might not be the same. He was hiding it well, but Phoebe had changed him somehow. He’d lost his little-boy-having-an-adventure aura. Was more serious, more…sad. It wouldn’t change what he’d do. She knew he’d do what he had to, but at what price?

She sighed. What price would they each pay before this was over?

* * * *

Stern passed Harding’s secretary, his glance flicking over her long enough to see her slight grimace warning him all was not well in the inner sanctum. He wasn’t surprised to find the room dark, the curtains shut against the world slipping from Harding’s control.

He heard the clink of ice in a glass and turned away from the desk. As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he saw Harding stretched out on the couch, his tie loose, his mouth drooping in a petulant pout. On the bar, the brandy decanter was nearly empty. On the floor next to him his glass lay on its side, the melting ice dripping onto the carpet.

He knew Harding stood on the thin edge between madness and sanity. Had wondered what—or maybe it was who—would push him over that edge. If Harding could have mastered himself, if he could have directed his energy toward the accumulation of money and power, nothing could have stopped him. Without his rather glaring Achilles’ heel, he could have had the Presidency one day. All great men were both shadow and light, but if they weren’t careful, what they did in the shadows, could overcome the light.

It had been a wasted effort to erase his past. He’d brought it with him. If it hadn’t been Nadine, it would have been someone else. You couldn’t have the kind of tastes Harding had without something being exposed. The Feds were looking hard now. They’d find something. They usually did once they’d gotten a scent.

Maybe, just maybe, he could contain the threat Nadine and her cohorts posed. He’d come too far to throw it all away. But he wasn’t going down with Harding.

He punched the intercom. “Get hot coffee in here. Lots of it.”

Harding stirred and opened his eyes. “Where you been?” His speech was slurred and thick, but then he seemed to shake it off. “Do you have her?”

“It takes time to set up something like this without leaving a trail. Farley’s arranging for a lawyer. If the cops check, it’ll look like they were all in it together.” He’d made sure he didn’t mention to the boys that they’d been captured on film or they’d both be long gone. He needed them alive just long enough to help solidify the frame. A pity they’d have to die. He rather liked Farley. As much as he could like anyone. “They won’t arraign her until they have to.”

“What if she makes a deal?”

“Then we’re screwed. They’ve got her in isolation. No one can get at her. My man inside laughed when I asked him to try.”

“I pay good money to—”

“There isn’t enough money in anyone’s bank account to change his mind. She’s under constant surveillance. He’s greedy, not stupid.”

The secretary brought in the coffee and hurried out. She knew her boss’s temper when drunk and had no desire to hang around. Stern poured him a cup and forced him to drink it, then poured him another.

“Get your head clear. Think. She knows she’ll get bail. She’s got no record. The Feds can scream all they want about flight risk, but all they got on her is aiding and abetting. Not nearly enough to convince a judge to deny bail. Not with a good lawyer crying foul. She’s proved she’s not stupid.” Unlike you “She’ll sit tight because she wants you.”

“She wants me.” Harding smiled, his eyes glazing. “And I want her.” He looked up at Stern. “You have to get her for me.”

“Get sober and call your fiancée. She’s been leaving messages for you.”

It was definitely time to—sever—his relationship with Harding, Stern realized. He’d help Harding finish his game because he wasn’t going to let some twit of a girl beat Barrett Stern. But that was all he’d do for the man. He headed for the door without looking back.

“Call me if you hear anything!” Harding called after him, wincing when Stern slammed the door. Stern was getting too cocky. “Asshole,” he muttered, setting down the coffee cup now that he was alone.

“I totally agree,” a voice said from the darkness in the direction of his desk.

His desk chair swivelled around until he could see someone sitting in it. Whoever it was reached forward and turned on the desk lamp. Harding winced again as the light stabbed into eyes. His brandy-sodden brain tried to remember if they’d said anything incriminating.

“Who the hell are you?” Harding struggled to his feet and started toward the desk and his gun, until he got close enough to see his gun trained on him. “What do you want?”

“World peace, an end to hunger, and clean air to breathe,” Dewey said. “But I’ll settle for being obscenely wealthy.” He got up, gesturing with the gun toward the recently vacated couch. “Better sit down while we talk. I don’t like picking drunks up off the floor.”

Harding wanted to object, but even drunk, he knew better than to argue with a gun. “How did you get in here?”

“I have my ways.” Dewey perched on the edge of the desk. “As, apparently, do you. You’re quite the villain, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean?” Harding rubbed his face with his hand, feeling the lines that fear was carving into his brow, but too panicked to do anything about them.

“Come, come, Harding. Your RABBIT don’t run. It don’t even totter. It’s beyond the dud zone. I suppose that’s why you tried to have it stolen. Only I beat you to it.”

“It was you.” Harding threw a quick look at the door. Stern had picked a hell of time to leave, he thought bitterly. They’ll come to us, he says, then leaves him alone and unprotected. He downed the coffee. Had to get his head clear. The surge of caffeine gave him a brief burst of clarity. “You’ll have a hard time proving you’re not the one who screwed it up.”

“The thought did occur to me.” Dewey studied him long enough to make Harding nervous. “What would you say if I told you I have a working prototype?”

“I don’t believe you. You couldn’t—”

“I had a feeling you’d say that. Do you think I’d be here if I couldn’t prove I have a chip that works better than the Energizer Bunny?” Dewey walked over to the bar and helped himself to a dash of Harding’s best brandy. “I’m sure even in your impaired condition you can see the benefit to your political aspirations if you recover your RABBIT and it works.”

Harding licked his lips. “What’s the catch?”

“I told you. I want to be obscenely wealthy. And not in jail.” He went back to the desk and booted up the computer, then turned the screen so Harding could see it. “I want half of the money you’ve got stashed in these Swiss bank accounts. I’ll give you a number to transfer half my money to. When I verify you have completed the transaction, I’ll meet you here with proof your RABBIT runs.”

“How do I know you won’t take the money and run?”

“Because you’ll have Nadine. I get her back—unharmed—and the other half of the money when I deliver your chip.” Dewey walked up to Harding. “What do you want more, Harding? To be governor? Or Nadine?”

“I want them both.”

Dewey was smiling, but his gaze was chilling. “Nobody gets everything they want.” The look in his eyes had Harding tugging at his tie. “Take me, for instance. I want you dead for killing Kerry Anne Beauleigh. I want you to die, the way she did. Your blood drip, drip, dripping out of your body. Your life fading away. I want you to be as afraid as she was when she died.”

Harding was finally stone-cold sober. Looking death in the eyes did that. He stared, afraid to move or speak. Slowly, the deadly look faded to one more neutral.

“Since I don’t get what I want, you don’t either. We’ll just call this one a draw and go our separate ways. You get your life, minus some cash, and we get ours, plus some cash.” He ran a finger the length of the gun. “Of course, if you renege in any way or try to alter our deal by a single penny, I will kill you. I’d consider it a privilege to go to jail for ridding the world of the likes of you.”

“I need to think about it.”

“I wouldn’t think too long. I’m sure the Feds will offer Nadine a sweet deal for returning the chip. And she’s liable to turn over both versions to lighten her sentence.” Dewey headed for the door but stopped before opening it. “I wouldn’t mention this to your goon, Stern.”

“Why not?” Harding struggled to his feet.

“You didn’t ask where I got my working prototype. You didn’t think I got it working, did you?”

Before Harding could respond, the man was gone, pulling the door closed behind him.

Stern. He’d had a working prototype all along? Why? Why would he do this to him? Of course! He wanted the power for himself. Well, he’d find out what happened to those who screwed Peter Harding over. He’d find out. And then he’d be dead. Very dead.

* * * *

Stern had a well-honed sense of danger. It had served him well for many years. It led him to those who could help him and away from those who were against him. Harding would be a challenge to neutralize. He was a public figure. The challenge would be taking him out while implicating him in the theft, then getting away clear and clean. Stern was also a semipublic figure, if a shadow could be considered public.

He’d gone to his office after leaving Harding wallowing in his own fears, but Stern’s sense of unease grew too strong for confinement. He needed to be out, where he’d have a clear sight line ahead of him and his back protected.

He let himself out the private entrance, where no cameras monitored his comings and goings, and crossed to his car. Inside, he shoved the key into the ignition, but before he could turn it, he felt something cold against his neck. Something long experience told him was the barrel of a gun.

Without moving a muscle, he looked in the rearview mirror.

“Put your hands where I can see them,” Dewey said, digging the gun harder into Stern’s neck for emphasis. “Slowly. I’m a little jumpy, and this has a hair trigger.”

Stern was no fool. He did as he was told. “Who are you?”

“I’m the man who’s going to make you very rich,” Dewey said.

“I’m already very rich,” Stern said, wondering how he could distract him.

“Not this rich.”

“Okay. I’ll bite,” Stern said. “How are you going to do it?”

“By delivering RABBIT to you.”

Stern jerked, but couldn’t quite repress a smile. “RABBIT?”

“Let me clarify that. The one that works.”

That got his attention. “I don’t think I understand you…”

“Oh, you understand me all right. At least halfway. You knew that chip in the research lab was worthless. You just didn’t know about the one that worked. The one Harding had stowed in his personal safe.”

A pause. “What makes you think I didn’t know about it?”

“Call it a gut instinct.” Dewey rubbed the barrel on Stern’s neck. “Do we talk? Or shall I fade away and let your chips fall where they may?”

Stern stared at him in the mirror. Did the little pissant really think he could take him on and live? He’d find out what happened to people who screwed him. As would Harding. “We talk.”

* * * *

Jake had enjoyed the family dinner, as much as he could enjoy anything. His mom’s roast had been better, even better than his memory of it, the talk lively. He’d been to Matt and Dani’s wedding, but this was his first chance to see the couple together in a post-nuptial setting. In an out-of-the-loop way, he’d been amused to think of his tough-minded big brother getting snagged by a romance writer who was afraid of heights. He was surprised to find he liked her and that she wasn’t at all what he’d expected, although he couldn’t have said exactly what he’d expected a romance writer to be. She seemed to have Luke, who called her Louise, wrapped around her pinkie right next to Matt. Mom liked her, too, he could tell, feeling like an outsider.

When Dani’d announced she and Matt were expecting an addition to the Kirby clan, the reunion turned into a celebration. Jake was delighted for Matt. His big brother deserved to be happy. He’d become harder, more distant after the collapse of his first marriage. He’d always wanted kids, and Jake knew Dani had lost her first child in an accident. They deserved this happy ending and even happier beginning.

It wasn’t their fault Jake’s life was spinning off-center, that there’d be no happy ending for his…he couldn’t even call it a romance. Some heavy breathing, one near kiss and a bunch of might-have-beens did not a romance make. He felt like the spectre at the feast and slipped outside to keep from casting his personal pall over the proceedings. Had he stooped so low he was jealous of his brother? If this was what love did to you, he wanted no part of it.

He looked back toward the house, where his mom was telling Dani what kind of baby Matt had been. This couldn’t be love. That stuff inside the house was love. Love was joy, not pain. All he had now was only lust, proximity. It had to be. It would fade. He’d move on and get on with his life.

He heard the screen door slam and saw Dani strolling toward him like someone out to enjoy the night. She was, Jake decided, a beautiful woman, though not in the way most people rated beauty. She was a quiet mountain meadow, as opposed to the Grand Canyon. Her coloring was soft, but there was strength of character in the rounded curve of her jaw. Her steady gaze was that of someone who had seen sorrow and come to terms with it.

“It’s nice out here,” she said. She leaned against the fence and stared up at the sky. “I always vow I’m going to learn more about the stars, but I always forget.”

“Too many things, not enough time,” Jake said, feeling his insides begin to smooth out. No wonder Matt looked as if he’d found the mother lode when he had her to come home to every night.

There was a short, companionable silence, one filled with only the soft sounds of the night, the murmur of his mom’s voice directing the cleanup of the dinner debris and the hum of a distant car passing.

Jake sighed. “I’m really happy for you and Matt,” he said.

“I know.” She turned toward him, her eyes reflective and almost sad. “When Meggie…died, I avoided being around children.” Her smile flickered in the dark. “I’d drive blocks out of my way so I wouldn’t have to pass any schools.” She rested her arms on the fence as she stared skyward. “It wasn’t that I begrudged other people their children, their joy. I just…couldn’t bear to see it. It made my loss seem bigger. More raw.”

“How did you get over it?”

“I didn’t. I thought I had, but I was just moving too fast for the pain to completely overwhelm me. It wasn’t until I got stopped in my tracks by the little incident last year—”

Jake grinned at her calling being kidnapped by a nut case and almost tossed off a mountaintop a “little incident.”

“—that I realized it. It took almost dying to make me realize how much I wanted to live, even in a world without my daughter. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her, but I’ve made my peace with the pain. Learned to live with it, like a lousy roommate.” Her smile was wry and soft around the edges. “One thing I know for sure, the shadow of her death makes the light I’ve found with Matt that much sweeter. Because of the sorrow, the joy is…”

Her hand spread across her stomach in a gesture both protective and loving. He saw unshed tears glitter in her eyes and felt his throat tighten.

“Let’s just say I’m trying to not run from life.” There was a long, peaceful pause, then she asked, “What’s she like?”

“How did you know?”

Her laugh was soft but kind. “I’m a romance writer. If I couldn’t sense unrequited love in the air, I’d be a disgrace to my profession.”

Jake chuckled, surprised that he could. “You’d like her, I think. And she’d like you but probably wouldn’t admit it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Getting her to admit anything is near impossible.”

“Is she the one you have in custody?”

Jake nodded. “Mom says if it’s meant to be, it will be.”

“You don’t believe her?”

“It’s not that.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and scowled at the future.

“You want it to be but don’t see how it can?”

“You’re good.”

“I’m a romance writer. I have to be.” She slid her arm through his and started him back toward the house. “Does she feel the same about you?”

“I think so, but—”

“No buts.” She stopped, forcing him to look at her. “You’re a fixer, like Matt, so this is driving you nuts. My advice, for what its worth is, you do your job and let love find the way.”

Right. He managed to smile at her, as if she’d helped, as they started up the steps. “Okay.”

She laughed. “You don’t believe me. Let me ask you a question then. How did you catch her? Matt didn’t seem too optimistic about that prospect yesterday.”

Jake stopped halfway up. “You know, that’s a good question.”

An offhand comment Sebastian had made while securing the computers at Smith’s came back to him now. “I wonder why she didn’t phone in the wipe?” he’d asked, as he unplugged the computers from the phone line.

At the time, Jake had assumed there’d been physical evidence she needed to destroy and let the comment pass, but why hadn’t she done that before the heist? So far Sebastian hadn’t found anything on the drive. It was almost as if it had already been wiped. Matt had put someone on to piecing together her few shredded papers and hadn’t found anything of interest there either. If she was Pathphinder, how had she made such a rookie mistake?

“A…very good question.”

“Maybe she’s trying to find a way to you.”

Or, it was part of the plan?

“Matt is luckier than he deserves.” He grabbed Dani and kissed her on the mouth.

The screen door opened, framing Matt in the opening. “When you’re through kissing my wife, I’d like to take her home.”

Jake grinned. “I’m almost done.” He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “Thanks.”

She patted his cheek. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe romance writers couldn’t help being optimistic.

EIGHTEEN

It seemed like a long time since the cell door had closed behind her with a final-sounding clang. She wouldn’t be here for long, her mind said, but her heart wasn’t so sure. She was alone in this part of the jail. There were no sounds besides her breathing. No window to the outside world, no way to track time or assess its passing after being stripped of her belongings and all contact with the outside world.

Of course they wanted her to be anxious. She was more likely to make a mistake if she was on edge. They didn’t have much time to crack her before she was out on bail.

Despite the unrelenting stare of the surveillance camera, she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she’d expected to be. It was kind of a relief to be alone, her options narrowed to so few and nothing to do. Nothing she could do. Wouldn’t be too great for the long haul to have her world narrowed to three walls and a row of bars, but right now the breathing space was nice. There was nothing to distract her. Nothing to remind her of anything familiar.

She was tired, she realized, and not just in the physical sense. Her soul was weary, too. She stretched out on the narrow iron bed, the odor of the same disinfectant they’d used on her engulfing her. Would it hurt them to add a little lemon scent to it?

At some point she fell asleep, her dreams spent in a fruitless search for a coat. When she woke and found she was chilled, she knew why. The orange jumpsuit, besides not being even close to her color, wasn’t warm. A coarse blanket was folded at the foot of the bed, so she wrapped up in it, feeling the first stab of homesickness for her lost house in Estes Park.

To her surprise, they hadn’t taken her harmonica, so she pulled it out. It seemed natural to do, since she didn’t smoke—the only other logical solitary prison activity. Sad, plaintive tunes suited her surroundings, suited her new role as prisoner. Something to put her in the right mood.

She didn’t try to think or plan. Planning would come later, when she had a better sense of what moves had been made by the other players in the game while she slept. Right now she didn’t care. Drifting from song to song, she felt suspended in time, in space, even in identity. Who was she?

She didn’t know and wasn’t sure she cared. That was for later, too. She’d been so many different people, she didn’t know who to be now. As if her soul had been set adrift. Or maybe—she paused in her song—she was like the chemical ice pack she’d given Dewey, waiting to be twisted by this final game, waiting for all the people she’d been to mix into someone entirely new.

She liked that idea. Why not blend all the whos she’d been? The past, the present, all the roles she’d played in all their games? Maybe when this was over she could put all those pieces together and be a single, whole person. Maybe, just maybe, she could lay her burden down and have, if not a real life, something that looked and felt real if not examined too closely.

Someplace warm. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around her and tried to think of warm things. Like how hot it felt up there on the tiny stage at JR’s when she was performing.

She’d miss being Phoebe. Miss the bar, the guys, and the music. If she left Phoebe behind, would she also lose her feelings for Jake? What she felt with him, for him, made her feel more alive than she’d ever felt. She didn’t want to go back to her former dormant state.

In playing the game, in keeping her distance, she hadn’t lost touch only with other people. She’d lost touch with herself. In a way, she’d given her stepfather a partial victory. She didn’t know the psychology of his need for power over her and Kerry Anne, his need to destroy lives, but her gut was telling her, if she retreated from these feelings, he’d win, even if they managed to take him down.

Love, she was coming to understand, could heal even as it hurt. That’s what Kerry Anne had been trying to tell her the night she died, but Nadine hadn’t understood. Maybe she couldn’t have understood without meeting Jake. Maybe love’s lessons could only be learned in its furnace.

And maybe she was heading just a tad too far into the philosophical zone? At this rate, she’d be a pathetic puddle of pure angst by the time they made their move.

Time to lighten up.

She played a jazzy riff, then stopped when she felt him watching her.

She looked up. He wasn’t alone. A couple of guards were with him. One had two chairs, one a small table and another what looked like bags of…Chinese food? She held back a grin. The boy did not know when to give up.

Jake saw her half grin as he signaled for the guard to open the door, then waited outside until the table was set up. The guard locked him in with her. A sudden case of stage fright held him by the door, but she looked so ordinary, so innocently pleased as she got up to investigate the cartons of food, he relaxed.

“I didn’t even realize I was hungry.” She smiled. As soon as her gaze met his, a current of heat did an end run around his resolve before he could close the circuit. His first thought was he was glad his back was to the camera and the people at its other end. His second was this was going to be much harder than he’d expected it to be. His third, had he really expected anything to do with Phoebe to be easy?

He returned her smile, holding back as much of himself as he could. He sat down opposite her and watched her help herself to the sweet and sour pork. She chose chopsticks instead of the plastic fork, wielding them expertly.

“Am I allowed to know what time it is?”

Jake looked at his watch, even though he knew exactly what time it was and how many hours he had left. “It’s after midnight.”

“No wonder I’m awake. I’m usually singing right about now.” She tried her drink. “Diet Coke. You remembered.” Her lashes lifted, and for a moment something intimate arced between them.

“Yes. It’s a gift, or a curse. Haven’t decided which. It’s useful in my line of work. It’s the little details, unnoticed habits, things people can’t give up, that trip them up.”

“So if I wanted to say, disappear, I should probably give up Diet Coke?”

“If you don’t want to get caught.”

She looked thoughtful but didn’t say anything more until she pushed the carton back and patted her tummy.

“That was great, thanks.” The spark of mischief in her eyes gave him a brief warning the games were about to begin. “Interesting interrogation technique.”

“What?” Jake cleared the debris, setting it on the floor by the table.

“Let the suspect get rest and food.” Her accent was getting more Southern. “You trying to kill me with kindness, cowboy?”

Jake grinned, gave a half shrug. “I knew the typical wouldn’t work with you, Reb.”

She laughed, a throaty sound that sent quivers through his mid-section. Knowing Bryn and others were watching him kept his blood supply moving up instead of down.

With a smooth motion, she got up, reversed her chair and straddled it. She did that, Jake had noticed, when she was on the defensive.

“Are we waiting for Calvin to join us? You weren’t going to question me without my lawyer present, were you?”

“I’m not going to question you at all.” Her eyebrows shot up. Seems he’d finally managed to surprise her. “This little session is off the record.”

He turned toward the camera and made a slicing motion across his throat. After a pause, the red light went out.

“Interesting opening gambit, Cowboy. Unexpected. Curious.” Her smile was all mischief reminding him of that morning in her kitchen.

It was a good diversionary tactic. He’d been more than curious in her kitchen. His mouth twitched with a suppressed grin as he took a file folder out of the briefcase he’d brought with him and laid it on the tabletop.

“I’ll begin with a broad outline of what I know.”

“The facts, just the facts, ma’am?” She propped her chin on her elbows and gave him her attention with a look that shouldn’t have made his toes curl in his shoes. “By all means, put the rest of your pieces in play—or would that be cards on the table? Are we playing chess or poker?”

“Might be blind man’s bluff.” This was either a brilliant strategy or the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

The lift of one eyebrow acknowledged the hit. A slight nod gave him tacit permission to begin.

“You were born Nadine Beauleigh, formerly of Valdosta, Georgia. We were able to match your fingerprints with a set done at a mall, in one of those protect-our-kids-from-abduction booths. Possibly the same day you choose the red shoes over that boy?”

If she could lob personal-moment bombs, so could he, although he wasn’t immune to the collateral effects of them. What would she choose today? Would he be able to reach her? Her eyes gave away nothing, though a tiny pulse beat in her neck.

“When you ran away from home following the suicide,” Her eyelashes flickered at this, “of your sister, Kerry Anne, your stepfather, Montgomery Justice, turned over your prints. Your mother took a fatal tumble down some stairs not long after, and Justice seems to have dropped off the face of the earth.”

He paused, but she didn’t fill the silence, just stared at him as if what he was saying, while interesting, had nothing to do with her.

“We found Dewey Hyatt’s fingerprints in your home and at Smith’s, where you were apprehended.”

For a moment, he thought she might speak. He admired her control. He knew the flaws in his case as well as she did. Suspicions without proof were just sound and fury.

He moved on, detailing the links they’d made between her and Dewey Hyatt. Why he believed they’d both been present during the heist at TelTech. Touched on areas of investigation he believed were vulnerable for her, like the answering machine tape they’d taken from Ollie Smith’s crime scene.

“You’re Pathphinder, Phagan’s strategist.” He watched her for a long count, then said, “We could probably uncover all your secrets, given enough time and attention. You haven’t been under the big microscope yet. Once you are, there’s no turning back. If we put the time and resources into investigating you, we will press charges on anything we turn up. And we’ll make them stick. This could be the beginning of a long incarceration.”

“I’m not a lawyer, but—”

“—you’ve played one,” Jake inserted.

Her gaze met his without flinching, but it did narrow to wary. “Which makes me think you’re being overly optimistic about your chances of linking me to anything substantial.”

“We could find out.” He waited a long beat, then said, “Or…”

Against her will, Phoebe felt her curiosity rise. There was danger in listening to him, because she wanted a way out.

“What if I told you that you’re not our…primary interest?”

She arched her brows. “I don’t know whether to be pleased or offended.” She’d been expecting this and knew her next line. “What—or is it a who—do you want?”

“What and who.” Jake relaxed in his chair, giving her plenty of space. “You’ll have to give RABBIT back, of course.”

“Rabbit?”

He ignored this. “And you’ll have to be debriefed on Phagan and Hyatt, tell us what you know about their organization. Tell us if you know where they are.”

This she also expected. Her freedom for theirs—some choice.

“And we want Harding—or whoever it is you’re after at TelTech.”

She hadn’t been expecting that.

“We’re not stupid, Phoebe.” She noticed he didn’t call her Nadine. “We know what you’ve been doing. Believe it or not, we are the good guys. If it is Harding, if he’s done something to you or someone you know, it needs to come out. Not only has he been working on a sensitive military contract, he’s making a run for governor.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Call it the public’s right to know.”

“I can’t see that the public cares or wants to know what their leaders are up to in private.” Phoebe felt bitterness slip her leash for a moment. She reined it in. “Is that it?”

“You will, of course, cease and desist all illegal activities. If you work with us, I think we can arrange a sentence that doesn’t include jail time. You’d probably have to do some community service.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling that what he hadn’t said was the one thing she wanted to hear.

“I don’t know, cowboy. Your deal seems pretty lopsided. Lot of maybes there. And, frankly, I think I could get a suspended on what you’ve got, with a good lawyer and a bit of remorse.” She fluttered her eyelashes.

“But you might not get Harding. The game will be over for you.” He hesitated again, then said, “People with your skills are in demand in law enforcement. It’s not uncommon for, say, really good hackers to be…recruited after being caught. I can’t promise anything, but Internet criminals are tough to catch. Why not try justice on the right side for a while? Come out of the shadows?”

This she hadn’t expected either. Before she could stop it, hope tried to get a foothold in her heart. He was good, dangling a bright and shining new world in front of her and the offer to help her take out Harding. All she had to do to get it was betray the two men who’d saved her life all those years ago.

He must have a real high opinion of her integrity.

If only he understood the irony. She didn’t know where Dewey was. Didn’t know Phagan’s real name or location. And once he got word she’d been taken, no information she had would lead to him. He’d already have moved to make sure of that. As for Montgomery Justice a.k.a. Peter Harding, she knew what he’d done to her sister, but any physical evidence—as well as Justice’s face—were lost in the past.

That left RABBIT. Yeah, that piece of crap would buy her a bright, new future.

She was cool, but Jake could see her inward struggle playing out in her eyes.

Do your job and let love find the way. He’d given her a chance, now she had to have the courage to take it.

“If I were this…Pathphinder,”—she smiled as if the notion amused her— “do you seriously think I could, or would, betray my friends? For any reason?”

It was the opening he’d been waiting for. Her hand, the one not gripping the chair back, trembled before she could pull it out of sight. Poor baby. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her it was going to be all right. That she wasn’t alone anymore. He was there and he’d always be there for her, but she had to help him.

“I have to have something…”

“I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Her voice resonated with certainty. He frowned. What was she trying to tell him? She didn’t have RABBIT? Had the other thieves beaten them to it? He was tired of move and countermove. Why couldn’t she just tell him?

“Then why are you here?”

A pause. “Because you arrested me?”

“You let yourself get caught, Phoebe. What is it you want from me?”

* * * *

Harding wanted a drink more than he wanted a girl. He couldn’t have either. Not tonight. He needed to keep his wits about him. Couldn’t afford to let his guard down now, or Stern would take him out. He wasn’t going to win this one. No one screwed his pooch and got away with it.

He rubbed his aching head, realized his hand was shaking. He was used to telling others what to do and having them do it. He was a leader, a director of events, not some stupid peon. Stern was already suspicious. He’d seen it in his eyes when they ran into each other outside the building.

“Any action?” Stern had asked.

Harding had shrugged, all the while wanting to leap on the man and pound his face to a bloody pulp. Only no one pounded Stern, not without immobilizing him first. He’d have to take him out quick. Shoot him in the back, or drug him?

Harding liked that idea. A quick kill was no fun. Gloating was half the pleasure of a kill. Kerry Anne had taught him that. He really needed to show Stern who had the power. He’d gone too long without a fix.

Stern had taken away everything: his women, his videos, even tried to keep Nadine for himself. He’d pay for it. Oh, yes. First Stern. Then Nadine.

Nadine. He stretched out on the bed and thought about Nadine.

It was almost as good as a video. Almost.

He wasn’t sure he could give her up, even for the chip.

* * * *

Dewey hunched over the computer screen in the tiny room he’d rented on the dark side of town. It was small and austere as a sort of penance for Phoebe’s current incarceration. Until she was free, no five-star hotels for him.

He’d been typing for so many hours the tips of his fingers were numb. He gave them a shake, then rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help the blurring, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t have time to stop. The illusion had to be perfect or they were dead. Might be dead anyway, but he didn’t want it to be because of faulty work on his part.

Harding was balanced on the knife-edge of sanity. It showed in the trembling of his hands, in the twitch in one cheek and in the expression in his eyes. Dewey wasn’t sure any illusion would be enough to get them clear. There were too many variables without solutions in this last play of their rapidly unraveling game.

Harding was obsessed with Nadine. Who knew if she’d survive until Dewey could get her clear? Would Harding be able to choose his chip and his political career over his obsession with her? Dewey wasn’t sure the bastard was thinking clearly enough to choose anything. If it were his call to make, Phoebe would be long gone from this place. But it wasn’t. As she’d pointed out, it was her game, her risk. He just hoped that Harding would do what he should, not what he wanted. Though it was nice to know their gas lighting had worked so well. But what a time to be effective.

Then there was Bryn, who could throw a spanner into the works by getting Phoebe’s bail denied. It was a long shot, but Bryn was good at delivering long shots. If the authorities managed to hang on to her, he’d have to deal himself in to get her out. He was not letting Kerry’s little sister rot in jail protecting his sorry ass.

And then there was Phoebe. If Harding was balanced on the knife’s edge, well, she was balancing on top of him. Worse, she was on the hop, acting on instinct instead of brain waves. In a way he understood why. She wanted to get Harding, but she also wanted it to be over. So did he. Kerry’s death had weighed heavily a long time. Retreat wasn’t an option. They’d given too much of their lives to this moment to stop now. The cat was in the pigeons; fur and feathers were flying.

Some things you didn’t walk away from. Sometimes you could only do or die. Be nice if the odds were a little more even, but, what the hell? If they failed, their lives wouldn’t be worth living anyway.

He looked at his watch. Time to give Harding’s chain another jerk. He dialed his number, waited for Harding to answer, then said, “Tick, tock, tick, tock. What do you think Nadine’s saying to the Feds about you right now? Maybe they’re digging around in your past even as we speak? Ooh, I wonder what they’ll…dig up?”

* * * *

Stern didn’t sleep well, so he wasn’t happy when his phone rang after three AM. Even less happy to hear Harding’s voice in his ear.

“I got the call.”

Stern sat up and rubbed his face.

“You there?”

“I’m here,” Stern said. “Where?”

“My office. Five o’clock tomorrow. He wants Nadine there for the exchange.”

Stern frowned. Awfully confident of him. Of course, he thought he had a friend on the inside. It was almost too easy. “I’ll arrange security. Once the girl is out—”

“I want to be there.”

“Not smart. If the Feds are tailing her—”

“Arrange a bait and switch. I need to talk to her.”

Stern bit back what he wanted to say and gritted out, “Talk to her? About what?”

“Old times.”

He’d known killing her wouldn’t be enough for Harding. It never had been. It was stupid, but so was screwing over his right-hand man. Before tomorrow was over, Harding would be smarter. And then he’d be dead.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stern said. It didn’t really matter in what shape the girl arrived. By then it would be too late for complaints from his new “partner.” The man had been moderately clever, but clever wasn’t enough. You had to be invulnerable, too. He was attached to Nadine. That was his weakness and it would be his downfall.

Stern looked at his Spartan surroundings with detached amusement. He didn’t care about the money. Not really. He just liked to win. Any way he could.

He lay back in the bed, his arms behind his head, reviewing the various moves planned by his opponents, planning his countermoves and looking forward to a day that promised many deaths. Maybe the death, the one that answered his question.

Do men have souls?

* * * *

After that first night at Jake’s mom’s, Bryn had opted for a hotel room. His mama’s eyes were a tad too penetrating for comfort, and this way she’d be easier for Phagan to contact. Not because she was missing his gifts, of course, she was just interested in any leads he might be inclined to share.

She hadn’t gotten either since her move to the hotel. That wasn’t the reason she was tossing and turning in her bed though. She had too much to think about. What had transpired during Jake’s off-the-record meeting with Phoebe Mentel? All Jake had said was, “She’s considering our offer,” before trotting off to his mom’s.

She’d been tempted to pay Phoebe a visit but was still licking her wounds over the “Holly the Horror” incident. Not her finest hour, she had to admit as she punched up her pillow and tried to quiet her mind. Phagan had taught her well.

Phagan. What was she going to do about him? Assuming she could do anything about him. Here, alone in the dark, she could admit she was worried about him. He’d never let this much time pass before without some kind of contact. He played a dangerous game, and no one was invincible. If he’d formed a partnership for his run on TelTech, he hadn’t chosen well. That scene of cold-blooded murder had been playing over and over in her head, along with the question, had Phagan been part of the violence?

She knew in her gut he was in this mess somewhere, unless he was dead.

She’d studied the faces in the crime-scene photos, but none of them seemed right for the man she thought she knew. Or, she didn’t want them to be right. She wanted Phagan to be the bad-boy-champion myth he’d created for himself. He’d wormed himself into her thoughts, maybe even into her heart. If the bastard was just another scummy bad guy, well, the fool was one role she hated to play. Love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and she hadn’t liked finding out she had a heart. Hadn’t liked it one bit.

She rolled onto her stomach. It was hopeless. Even if they did meet, she’d have to toss his butt in jail. She punched the pillow again. At least she’d know where he was.

She sagged into the pillow, forcing her thoughts off the maze, but they shattered when her cell phone shrilled a summons. A brief fumble across the nightstand, then she had it.

“Bailey.”

“Did I wake you?” The voice was muffled, husky.

“If this is an obscene phone call—”

“Much as I’d like to talk dirty with you, this is business, darlin’.”

“Phagan?” It was as if her thoughts had summoned him. It was a bit creepy, and yet comforting, too.

“Afraid so.”

She sank back against the pillows, clutching the phone like a lifeline. Their first, real-time contact. And she felt as uncertain as a teenager. Jeez, Louise.

Before she could check herself, she asked, “Where’ve you been?”

“Here and there. Don’t tell me you’ve been worried about my sorry ass?” He sounded pleased.

To her own surprise she said, “Actually, I have. There were a lot of bodies at TelTech. You usually pick your partners better than that.”

Silence. She’d surprised him. She smiled, feeling the balance of power between them shift her way.

He chuckled. “You’re my only outside partner, darlin’.”

The cheeky devil. Why did he have to be on the wrong side of the law? She sighed. “I wish—”

“I know.” He got quiet, then said, “I need your help.”

Bryn sat up. “You need my help?”

“Stay online tomorrow, and be ready to move.”

“Okay.” She wanted to ask more but knew he wouldn’t give it to her.

“You’ll know what to do with it when you get it. Sleep well…”

His last words were muffled. Had he added my love at the end? Or was it only her imagination?

It was probably better not to know. Sighing, she settled back against the pillows. What was he up to now? A thousand questions without answers started trekking through her brain. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

NINETEEN

The day began quietly. The sun rose, spilling warm light on another August day, but as the time for Phoebe’s bail hearing approached, distant thunder rumbled a storm warning. Dark clouds clung to the mountains, then were torn free, pushed by a front that seemed intent on driving them toward the city.

Jake turned his back on the window and the storm. His team, most of it on loan from Matt, who had been called away on a minor emergency, awaited the call to action. “Does everyone know what they’re supposed to do?”

Riggs and a young, pony-tailed boy named, Henry, both in black jumpsuits and SWAT-type gear, gave him a thumbs up. Because of his youth, Henry’s was a tad more enthusiastic than Riggs’. A huge tad.

Jake almost didn’t recognize Alice without her upscale suit and heels. She looked up from checking her gun clip to give him a short nod.

Sebastian, manning Bryn’s laptop with its satellite uplink, gave him an over-the-shoulder wave. He had a small-boy air of fascination as he made his screen flicker with some computer game. His guns blazing, he grabbed a swig from his Yahoo bottle.

If Matt hadn’t assured him Sebastian was good at what he did…

Jake looked at Bryn. “I wish we knew what your boy was up to.”

“You, me and a cast of thousands.” Bryn shrugged. “If he does intend to bring us in this early, I’m guessing things aren’t going exactly as planned.”

“Or this is what he planned.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. This op was more like a maze than a chess match; he’d think he had it figured out, then go around a corner and run straight into a brick wall.

“Let’s just hope our plan works and we don’t have to rely on Phagan to stay in the game.”

Jake looked at Luke. “Your men ready?”

Luke had offered his best men to tail Phoebe, since they needed faces not already familiar to Harding or her for this part of the op.

“My guys and the transponder are standing by. They’ll tag the car’s bumper before it pulls out.” Luke was all serious cop, as if he knew the stakes on this op were more than the lives of a couple of charming thieves. “We won’t lose her.”

Jake knew they’d do their best. He just hoped their best would be good enough. There were too many variables for absolutes. “I wish we could wire her,” he muttered.

Bryn arched her eyebrows. “Only if we sedated her. And then I think she’d notice.” She got up and walked to the window, then turned to look at Jake, her voice sympathetic. “She knows the risks better than we do, Jake. If that hasn’t stopped her, we won’t.”

“I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, but it didn’t help. Pain was a vise gripping his head and making inroads on his stomach. Would Phoebe fight as hard for her life as he was? Who knew what horrors lurked in her past? Further information had surfaced about her past. He knew she’d been in the emergency room because of a “tumble” down some stairs. The doctor had reported the fall to Social Services, but the report had disappeared, never to be investigated. No wonder she had trouble trusting the system. How deep were her wounds? How strong was her will to live once she’d achieved her goal?

Only time would tell. He looked at his watch. Time was passing, but too slowly. He looked out the window. Looked like the storm would arrive about the same time she was released.

* * * *

Phoebe was allowed to change into her own clothes, the black dress and heels, for the arraignment hearing. Looked as though no one wanted to get in the way of her speedy release. Nice that everyone was being so accommodating, and just when she’d decided jail wasn’t so bad. Calvin had vanished, replaced by a smarmy snake who had slithered out from under a rock near Harding. Harding was reacting as expected, which should be comforting but somehow wasn’t.

The man he’d once been had been predictable only up to a point. She remembered one occasion when she’d thought she’d had him figured out. He’d broken her arm during that beating. The only time she’d had to go to the emergency room. He’d told the ER nurse that she’d taken a tumble down the stairs. Usually he was too careful to leave such visible evidence. Though she’d denied getting beaten, the doctor had told her someone would come to investigate her injuries, but no one did. Then, like now, Harding had powerful friends.

The hearing proceeded to its expected conclusion. All she had to do was say “not guilty” at the right moment. She was escorted out of the courtroom, sent through the system and then released with her personal items in a large yellow envelope.

The lawyer kept checking his watch, as if he had somewhere else to go, but when Phoebe suggested she didn’t need him, he did a bad impression of helpful. Which meant he had orders to escort her to somewhere. No sign of Jake or Phagan’s Fibbie. She hadn’t really expected a big sendoff, but it would have been nice to see him again, just in case…

She shook off that thought. Only a fool went into battle expecting to lose. Of course, she also reminded herself that Harding’s weakness was his belief in his own infallibility. He was convinced he was destined for greatness and that gave him the right to do whatever he wanted along the way. It was time for him to get a huge dose of reality, one involving incarceration.

“It’s raining,” the lawyer said.

It was indeed, coming down in sheets, cleaning the staleness from the air. They needed the rain, she thought, then had to remind herself she wasn’t part of “they” anymore. She didn’t need anything but an end to the game.

“Afraid to get wet?” She pushed open the door. Despite the dark clouds, Phoebe felt like a mole emerging into light. The wet slap of drops against her face felt good. She turned her face skyward and laughed.

The lawyer grabbed her arm. “Your ride is over there.”

Across the street, a limo waited at the curb. The lawyer pushed her toward it, but a Moonie, or a Moonie’s first cousin, stepped into her path.

“Beware the world’s end,” he said, handing her a pamphlet and a small rose pin. His eyes suspiciously resembled Dewey’s.

“I will.” She pinned the rose to her lapel. The lawyer grabbed the pamphlet, studied it briefly, and then stuffed it into his pocket. He shoved Dewey out of their way and pushed Phoebe toward the waiting car.

As they crossed the street, she identified at least two cops in street clothes doing a great imitation of hurrying through the rain. One dropped something by the limo just as the lawyer opened the door. The cop bent out of sight, then was up and moving down the street again.

Very smooth.

The lawyer gave her a pointed nudge. “Get in. I’m getting soaked.”

She scrambled inside and the door shut. Water dripped down her face, blurring the features of the man waiting inside.

“Nadine.” His voice was smooth and cold, like a tomb waiting to be filled. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

She heard the scrape of a match, then saw a blurry flare as it connected with the end of a cigarette. She rubbed the water out of her eyes and saw Barrett Stern, his eyes a dead zone watching her through a haze of smoke. He had a gun, but that wasn’t what made him dangerous. It was the vacuum where his soul should be. Unlike Harding, who killed because it made him feel powerful, this man killed to fill himself. He was a ghost who kept trying to warm himself with a fire he’d never feel. His emptiness was a gray mist that crept out from him and wrapped its icy chill around Phoebe, trying to blanket her hope with despair.

The doors locked, trapping her inside with him. He tapped on the window that separated them from the driver, and the limo moved forward with an un-limo-like jerk.

The game, she realized, as her body turned to ice, was a lot different when it was played in real time.

The difference between living and dying.

* * * *

It was a relief to be moving, to be doing something. This kind of stress Jake could handle. The rain was a pain in the ass, but they’d manage. It’s what they did. All his anxieties, his fears, his worries vanished as training, and a rush of adrenaline, took point.

Luke was coordinating their movements from command central, since his men would be playing tag with the limo. He had four teams of men—code-named dogs Blue, Red, Yellow and Green—whose job it would be to keep the limo in sight.

Riggs and Henry were down on the street with a small squad from SWAT, on hold for a target to move on and probably still arguing the merits of The Grateful Dead. Four other squads were stationed in possible target sectors, to give Luke as much flexibility and speedy response time as they reasonably could.

Jake, Alice and Bryn lifted off in a chopper with radio station markings, hoping they’d look as if they were watching traffic, not bad guys. They’d be Luke’s eyes in the sky and play backup for any team that got tangled in traffic.

Sebastian was still playing shoot-the-hell-out-of-fake people on Bryn’s laptop, trying to beat her top score. Jake hoped the guy would notice if or when Phagan made contact.

On a small map, Jake traced the limo’s movements with his finger, while their pilot did the same in the air. Wherever they were going, it wasn’t toward TelTech. Each turn was taking them farther and farther away. They’d dug deep into Harding’s holdings and turned up a warehouse owned by a subsidiary of TelTech, but they weren’t heading toward that or Harding’s house. It wasn’t unexpected. If Phagan had set up some kind of a meet with Harding and Phoebe, he’d most likely pick a public place, where Harding’s threat would be minimized.

While he listened to Luke and his dogs radio traffic, he studied the surrounding area, trying to determine possible destinations. “Something’s wrong. There’s nothing in this area that’s right for a meet,” he shouted to Bryn. Before she could respond, Blue Dog reported, “Dog pound, I’ve lost visual. I repeat, I’ve lost visual.”

“Have you lost signal, Blue Dog?” Luke asked.

“Negative. Signal is strong. Our stray is not moving.”

“I can’t see them either,” Alice yelled. “They went under that overpass, but haven’t come out yet.”

* * * *

“I count four,” Phoebe said. When Stern arched a thin blonde eyebrow, she added, “Cops. Following us.”

Something that might be amusement flickered in his eyes. “It won’t be a problem much longer. We get out here. Keep low—don’t draw attention to yourself. It wasn’t my idea to keep you alive this long.”

She nodded, and he released the lock. She slid out, doing as she was told. She could have ditched him—he wouldn’t risk shooting at her in front of so many witnesses and with cop hounds so close on their ass—but that wasn’t part of her plan. They dodged a few cars and scrambled into the rear of an unmarked white van parked near the curb, but out of sight of the cops’ sight line.

When the light changed, the van driver pulled away from the limo and the hounds. As they emerged from the shadow of the overpass, she recognized the driver. He was one of the TelTech shooters. He didn’t turn in the direction of TelTech but in the direction of Harding’s warehouse.

No big surprise Harding didn’t intend to do as he’d been told.

“This isn’t smart.”

“No shit.”

“But you have a plan.”

Stern’s smile had a feral quality. “I always have a plan.”

* * * *

“Anybody got a visual?” Anxiety sharpened Luke’s voice.

“I got ’em. The light stopped them, but they’re moving again,” Red Dog said.

More time, more turns. Where were they heading? Jake wondered, once again comparing their route to possible outcomes on the map. They’d avoided the freeway and residential areas and were now traveling through a business suburb. Jake’s gut was telling him something was very wrong.

“We got a turn signal,” Green Dog said. “This may be it.” He gave them the address. “Looks like some kind of limo company. What do you want us to do?”

Limo company?

“Move in,” Luke ordered after a brief hesitation, “but do not fire unless fired upon. Repeat. Do not fire unless fired upon.”

“We joining the party?” the pilot asked.

Jake hesitated, then shook his head. “Hold position.”

It seemed to take a long time for the dogs to report, “It’s a bust, Dog Pound. Repeat, it’s a bust. Limo is empty.”

Bryn looked at him. “Now what?”

Jake tapped a spot on the map. “Let’s check out this warehouse.”

* * * *

Through the windshield of the van, Phoebe, sitting in the back, caught the occasional glimpse of warehouses. From the passenger seat, Stern kept his gun pointed at her. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t blinked. The van passed through warehouse doors, then stopped so abruptly, if she hadn’t been seated, she’d have taken a nasty tumble.

Without a seat belt, Stern wasn’t so lucky. He slammed into the dash, the gun flying out of his hand. Before he could recover, the van’s driver had pulled an Uzi from under the seat and pointed it at him. The second shooter, also holding an Uzi opened the rear doors.

Stern played it cool.

“Farley?” he said.

Phoebe was glad she wasn’t on the receiving end of his look.

Farley didn’t appear to like it either. He looked uneasy as he tightened his grip on the Uzi and shifted but held his ground. “Sorry, boss. Got a better offer from Mr. Harding.”

It seemed Dewey’s plan to sow the seeds of discord had worked. Would it help her situation now or make it worse?

“You do not want me for an enemy,” Stern said. Though he hadn’t moved, he had the look of a tiger about to spring on his prey.

Farley noticed it, too. “Harley!”

Harley came around and opened the door on Stern’s side, gesturing with the Uzi for him to get out. If it weren’t for the hardware, the pair of gunmen would have looked comical. Both had potato-shaped bodies, narrow on top, then widening to hips atop legs that looked too short. Farley had a Cheetos bag poking out of the pocket of his ratty jacket. Harley appeared to prefer Ding Dongs.

Stern got out. Harley gave him a wide, respectful berth, almost dancing on his toes with anxiety.

“I make a bad enemy,” Stern added.

“You won’t have time to be a bad enemy, boss,” Harley said. “You’re gonna be deep-sixed ASAP. Sorry.”

He sort of looked like he meant it.

Stern’s cold gaze hammered Harley long enough to make him take a step back and take a better grip on the Uzi.

“You chose the wrong side.”

Farley looked at Phoebe. “You, too. Get out, and keep your hands where I can see em.”

Phoebe did as she was told. This was it. This was the moment she’d planned for, worked toward for the last seven years. Well, not exactly this moment. In her imagination, she, not Farley and Harley had been holding the Uzi.

There was no sign of Harding, but she felt his presence. Though the warehouse appeared to be standard issue in size and level of dirt, with a temperature well in the stifling range. Evil pervaded the structure. What wasn’t standard issue were the spotlights and video cameras arrayed around a metal-framed double bed. The bedspread was leopard skin, and various implements of bondage were scattered around it in a way that some might consider artistic.

While Harley covered them, Farley patted both of them down, then nudged them toward center stage. Harley secured Phoebe to a metal folding chair using a pair of the ominously plentiful handcuffs. Stern was prodded toward the bed but balked when Farley told him to lay down on it.

“Mr. Harding doesn’t much care what shape you’re in, boss,” Farley said apologetically. While Harley kept him covered, Farley raised the gun butt. After a stare-down that left Farley looking shaken, Stern lay down and allowed his hands and feet to be cuffed to the four corners of the bed.

Phoebe found herself in the odd situation of feeling sympathy for a murderer. He’d probably killed Ollie, she reminded herself, but it didn’t help. This wasn’t about who he was or what he’d done. This was about what she was. And what she didn’t want to become.

“I think I like your plan better,” she said to Stern.

“It’s not over yet,” Stern said with enough menace to turn Farley white as a sheet.

“Go get Mr. Harding, Harley.” Farley licked his lips, looking over his shoulder. Phoebe noticed that Harley gave Stern a wide berth as he headed for a door to a partitioned area off to one side.

“You do know why Harding wants him dead, don’t you?” Phoebe figured now was as good a time as any to stir the waters a bit more. “He knows too much.” She waited a beat, then added, “And now you do, too.”

“Ain’t like that.” Farley’s bravado was unconvincing.

Stern flicked Phoebe a look that might have had respect in it. “Harding’s running for governor. He can’t afford to let you live now that you know about this place.”

“Trying to sow the seeds of discord among my men, Stern?” Harding strolled out of the shadows.

Phoebe watched him come. Here and now melted away, leaving the past rushing in to fill its place. He’d changed his face, but he couldn’t change who and what he was. It showed in the way he walked and in the satisfaction gleaming from his hungry eyes. He thought he was the alpha dog, and it showed. The charm was gone. This was the reality behind the myth. He hid his evil well, but like the lava lurking beneath the earth’s crust, it had to break through to relieve the pressure on his dark soul.

“Try to take being replaced,”—he gave Farley and Harley his most reassuring smile— “with a little dignity, Stern. You know I only punish those who betray me.”

“You’ll never be governor, Harding,” Stern said. “You’re going to die today.”

“I will be whatever I want to be. It is my destiny. It is my right.” He looked down on him. “I knew I had the capacity for great power, and now I am in full possession of it. I was never meant to be bound by the petty restrictions of lesser people.” He tested the handcuff that held Stern’s wrist against the headboard. “They feel my power, they are drawn to it like moths to a flame. They will overlook its dark manifestations because they need it. They need me.”

“When this gets out—”

“It won’t. You might call this the final performance of my little theater of the real. You first. Then Nadine.”

Phoebe felt his gaze shift her way, felt the chill of his evil reaching out to wrap around her as he walked toward her. They’d come full circle. The past had met the present. It was hard to feel other than powerless while shackled to a chair. I’m not alone. Her spirit reached out to Dewey. To Jake. Don’t give up on me.

“Nadine.” Harding sighed, something beyond satisfaction entering his gaze. “My, how you’ve grown.” His gaze traveled down her body like slime oozing from a pit.

“And you’ve become addicted to clichés.” It was dangerous to poke a snake. She could see how close he was to losing it. She still knew the signs. But now, like then, she couldn’t submit to him. “Not that you ever were very original.”

He stopped, his gaze promising punishment. “Why aren’t her feet secured?” he snapped.

“Afraid the little girl can kick?” Phoebe taunted him.

Harding waited until her legs were secured, then pulled a chair in front of her and sat down. His knees rubbed against her first. He leaned toward her, his gaze raking up her body. His breathing sped up as he flexed his hands then lowered them to her knees.

Her body flinched. She couldn’t help it. He smiled, then gripped until she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out. Her soul retreated from him because her body couldn’t. She used her eyes to deflect and defy him. He’d never gotten total submission from her. Not then and he wouldn’t now. If it was her only victory today, she wouldn’t give it to him. She wouldn’t.

His hands slid down to her feet, removing the black heels she’d been wearing when Jake arrested her. He looked at them, then smiled. “We’ll save these. I might need them later.”

His eyes reminded her what he could do with a high heel to the skin of a bare back as his hands started moving over her knees and up her legs. Under the edge of the black dress, he stopped.

“You wearing a wire, Nadine?” He kneaded and pinched the flesh on the inside of her legs. It took all her control not to respond in any way.

“If I am wired, you won’t find it by groping me. My friends get their equipment from the same place as the CIA.”

Rage flared in his eyes. He dug his nails into her flesh, leaving red crescents on her bare skin.

“Careful, Nadine. You know how I feel about disrespect. We have a couple of hours to get…reacquainted before the meeting with your partner. I’d hate to spend too much of it going over old ground. There’s so much new ground to cover.”

He ran his hand up under her dress, fingering the edge of her panties. He retreated, then went up again. Her body jerked, and he smiled. I can do anything I want and you can’t stop me, his eyes told her as his hands finally retreated.

He rose, his eyes strangely lit as he cupped her chin, forcing her to look at him. She knew what was coming and rode out the slaps, first one side, then the other. A blood trail, warm and thick, formed on either side of her mouth.

“Think about it, Nadine. This can be pleasant,”—he stroked the side of her face— “or hard.” He hit her again, with the back of his hand. “Think about it very carefully, while I take care of some new business.” He pushed the chair back, but before he left, he grabbed her chin and held her immobile while he licked the blood off her mouth, first one side, then the other. He whispered in her ear, “Yum. You taste good, Nadine, much better than Kerry Anne.”

He straightened. “Will you be as good as her?”

“Go to hell.”

“We’ll see who goes to hell today.”

She didn’t see the punch coming. The blow snapped her head back and turned everything black. When her vision cleared, Harding was standing by Stern.

“I’d like to take care of you myself, Barrett, but the video’s worth more if Lily does you. And it will be so educational for Nadine. I’ll sit next to her and enlighten her on her options and the consequences of defying me.” He turned to Harley and Farley, who were both looking queasy. “Get those cameras going and—”

The ring of a phone cut across his instructions. Annoyed, he signaled Farley, who was nearest the office, to answer it. “Take a message.”

In a minute the man was back. “Wouldn’t leave a message. Said you better come to the phone if you want your rabbit.”

With a muttered curse, Harding left them. Both Harley and Farley looked relieved as they mopped their sweaty brows.

“Who’s Lily?” Harley croaked. He looked a little green around the gills. He turned and bumped a tray of what looked like surgical instruments.

“Lily?” Stern smiled. “You don’t want to meet Lily. But you will.”

From the office they heard the phone slam back into the cradle. Harding emerged, his face a thundercloud. “It seems we’ll have to postpone our business here for a short time.” He frowned. “Put her in the van, and drive North. Take your cell phone; make sure it’s charged. Wait for instructions.”

Farley nodded and went to work on Phoebe’s cuffs. Harley nodded toward Stern. “What about him?”

Harding hesitated. “Leave him. This won’t take long. We’ll deal with him when we get back. It’ll give him time to ponder the error of his ways.”

Phoebe waited until they’d were driving away from Harding to say to the two men, “I hope you’ve both got strong stomachs.”

Harley turned a deeper shade of green, Farley white as a sheet.

* * * *

The rain was starting to let up when Jake, Alice and Bryn approached the warehouse. Weapons out, Jake signaled for Alice to stay where she was. Bryn went right. Jake went left. There were no windows, but Jake rounded a corner and found a door standing ajar.

Policy dictated he wait for Bryn to back him up, but Jake was sick of waiting. He nudged the door open just wide enough for him to slip through, then stopped so his eyes could adjust to the dim interior.

Ahead of him, dirty skylights cast uneven light in a line down the center. He rounded a partition that could have been an office and saw a sight that stopped him in his tracks.

“Jake? Where are you?” Bryn’s voice came through the radio earpiece.

“I’m inside.”

“Without backup? Are you nuts?”

“Trust me when I say there is no threat here.” Despite this reassurance, he did a quick recon of the area, with his held gun out, the barrel pointed slightly down. Only then did he approach the bed and its gagged, manacled, and very naked occupant. Around him, among some very interesting bondage equipment, were the tattered remains of what were probably his clothes.

Jake picked up a piece and examined it. It appeared to have been cut off. Possibly with the knife stuck in the mattress between his bare thighs.

“Do you require assistance?” Jake asked, trying not to grin.

He gave Jake an eye rolling, “Are you kidding?” look.

Jake removed the gag, then looked around for the keys to the handcuffs.

“What happened?” He heard Bryn and Alice coming in and grabbed a piece of shirt, tossing it over the guy’s family jewels, which weren’t exactly doing him proud.

Farley looked glum. “An unfortunate error in judgment.”

TWENTY

Phoebe had hoped she’d done the right thing, helping Farley convince Harley that Farley should go back and release Stern. Both of them agreed Harding wasn’t what they’d expected, but Harley thought it was too late to change back to Stern’s camp. Farley hadn’t called in, which seemed to indicate Harley had been right. A pity right didn’t seem to be much comfort, Phoebe thought as Harley wiped his sweaty brow again. If Farley had freed Stern, Harley was now squarely in the very nasty, very dangerous middle. She just hoped it would help things break their way. They could use a break right now.

While Harley drove and sweated and muttered, Phoebe went to work on her handcuffs. They’d secured her hands in front, a lucky miscalculation for her. It didn’t seem to be their day for making good decisions.

Keeping a wary eye on wild-eyed Harley, Phoebe unpinned the rose Dewey had given her and put it to good use. The small snick of the handcuff lock releasing came at the same moment Harley’s cell phone rang. They both jumped at the sound.

Phoebe met Harley’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

He rubbed his face, his hand shaking, then picked up the phone. “Y-y-yes?” He listened for a moment. “Okay. Sure…Fine. Everything’s fine.” He looked at her again, perplexity written large on his face. “He wants me to take you to the TelTech parking lot.”

“Better do what he says.” When he wasn’t looking, Phoebe pinned the rose to the inside of her waistband. Just in case. Then she positioned the cuffs so she appeared to be secured.

She leaned back, getting as comfortable as the metal panels would allow. So, she’d been right to think Harding would choose his own turf. It was obvious he thought he could get RABBIT and keep her, which meant he intended to pop Dewey as soon as he turned over the chip. She thought about the warehouse, the bed and the things around that bed. If Harding got his way, Dewey would be the lucky one.

She tried to wet her dry throat with a painful swallow; well, they’d just have to make sure Harding didn’t get his way. Or die trying.

* * * *

The offices and halls of TelTech were deserted when Harding let himself in. He’d realized earlier that it was pointless to try to keep things going while the theft was being investigated. The security office was empty, crime-scene tape still strung across the doorway.

The silence, broken only by the sound of his footsteps on the marble entry, calmed the agitation brought on by seeing Nadine. This was his turf, the seat of his power, his kingdom. This building, this life, he’d built from the near ruin of the old. He’d learned much in the years since Nadine had escaped. His tastes, his passions, had been refined to near perfection, as she soon would learn.

She would die this night, but not until she’d completely and totally submitted to his will. As the elevator rose, his longing to be with her rose, too. He was almost willing to turn aside from RABBIT, from all this, to finish what she’d run from all those years ago.

Almost.

Patience, he reminded himself. No woman was worth losing a working prototype of RABBIT. With it, his power would grow. Nadine was an interlude, an old page turning to bring on the new, not the main event. Besides, she was old now, good only to prove his power was absolute. For the main event, there was the power of the governor’s mansion and Audrey’s money and connections.

And her daughters. Her lovely…young daughters.

He smiled as he unlocked the door to his office and went in for this last act—though not the last scene—of his old life. The smile disappeared when he saw Nadine’s partner waiting for him. Sitting in his chair.

“You took your sweet time,” Dewey said. “I was getting ready to call the general.”

“Where’s RABBIT?” Harding’s hands curled into fists in the pockets of his expensive suit. This young man needed to be taught a lesson before he died. Lily was going to get very lucky tonight.

“Safe.” Dewey stood up and gestured for Harding to take his seat. “And ready to show off for…daddy…after you prove Phoebe is all right.”

“She’s fine.” Harding walked around his desk and sank into the chair without taking his gaze off Dewey. “If you don’t have it on you, how am I supposed to know it works?”

“I’ve rigged a remote camera for you.” Dewey pointed toward Harding’s computer. Some kind of headgear and a pair of odd-looking gloves had been connected to it. “It’s not that I don’t trust you—well, that’s not true. I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. Creates some interesting difficulties, but we’ll deal with those as we come to them.” He rubbed his hands together. “First, I see with my own eyes that Phoebe is alive and well, then I give you a demonstration of RABBIT’s capabilities.”

Harding wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t part of the plan to make him happy, so Dewey didn’t waste any worry about it. All his worry was for Phoebe. He should never have let her do this. Just being in the same room with Harding, who was in a state of creepy excitement, made his skin crawl. Harding was seriously unstable.

Harding shrugged, a slight twitch below one eye as he pulled the phone toward him and dialed. “Get her out, and have her look up.” Harding covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Look out the window.”

Careful to keep one eye on Harding, Dewey did as he was told. Two people stood by a white van, but they were too far away to be sure. “That could be anyone out there.”

Harding gave an exasperated sigh, opened a drawer and handed him a pair of binoculars. Dewey didn’t ask what they were doing in his desk drawer. He didn’t want to know.

He adjusted the focus until the woman’s face sharpened; Phoebe looked tense, the strain obvious, and her mouth looked bruised and puffy. Dewey lowered the binoculars, pulled the gun out of his jacket and pointed it at Harding. “You hit her, you bastard. I could kill you now.”

Harding nodded toward the window. “If he doesn’t see me come out that door in fifteen minutes, he has orders to kill her.” His shrug was arrogant, his triumph obvious. “You’re right. Our mistrust is quite mutual. I suggest we get on with our business or a couple of slaps won’t be the worst thing that happens to Nadine.”

He thinks he controls the board, Dewey thought, fighting to regain calm. Well, we’ll see who controls what. He picked up the headgear and handed it to Harding.

“You put this on your head, your hands in the gloves,” Dewey said. “When you’re ready, I’ll activate the remote connection.”

Harding picked up the headset, examining it for a long moment before fitting it over his head. Dewey allowed himself a silent sigh of relief.

“I’m ready.”

Dewey briefly crossed his fingers, then hit Enter on the keyboard.

“What am I seeing?”

“You’re inside the vehicle RABBIT is controlling. I’ve programmed it to drive an obstacle course, choosing the best possible route for itself. It will go through it once, calculating the variables, then go through it again. Artificial-Intelligent-Automation. Just what the military ordered.”

Dewey looked at his watch, then started the program.

“This is impressive,” Harding said. “I can’t believe that bastard Stern hid it from me.”

“You shouldn’t have believed it,” Stern said from the private doorway, his cold gaze and his gun both pointed at Dewey.

Harding ripped off the gloves, then the headset. “What the—”

“That should be who the and the answer’s him. And Nadine, of course.” He nudged the door wider. “Bring her in, Harley.”

With a terrified look at Stern, Harley pushed Phoebe into the room.

“That’ll be all,” Stern said, then shot Harley twice in the heart.

Harley fell at Phoebe’s feet, his eyes, wide and shocked, stared at her for a small eternity before awareness faded. She’d seen the man kill as indifferently as he was killed, but that didn’t stop her from feeling an odd sense of loss, even some guilt. Maybe there was something to that “…every man’s death diminishes me…” thing. Or perhaps it was realizing it was her game that took him out. He wasn’t a game piece being bumped off the board. That this hadn’t been part of the plan was no excuse.

“Drop your gun, or she’s next,” Stern said to Dewey, turning the barrel toward Phoebe.

Dewey started to lay it on the desk, but Stern shook his head. “On the floor. Kick it toward the door.”

“Stern.” Harding smiled and started toward him.

“Don’t even start.” Stern turned the weapon on Harding. “Sit.”

“What are you doing? They set us up to—”

“And you bought it. I don’t forgive. Or forget.” With his free hand, he pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, extracted one and lit up, his cold, steady gaze never faltering or showing distraction. He didn’t even blink when the smoke curled up around his head. “You two, sit. There and there.”

He indicated the couch near the bar for Dewey and the chair in front of the desk for Phoebe. Divide and conquer. A good strategy.

He hooked one leg over a barstool, resting his gun hand on his elevated knee as he studied the remaining players with an air of leashed menace increased, not lessened, by his relaxed stance.

“I’m afraid I’m not up to speed on what’s going down here. I was tied up.” His cold gaze found Harding, whose angry look had faded to ashen. “Someone enlighten me.”

Phoebe exchanged a look with Dewey. “What do you want to know?”

Stern took a long, slow drag on his cigarette, then blew it out. Through the smoke he studied her. “I had a feeling you were pulling the strings on this little game. With your past knowledge, you’d know right where and when to apply pressure, wouldn’t you?” He ground the cigarette out in the ashtray before he added, “Let’s start with your cards on the table.”

Phoebe started. “I don’t—”

“The handcuffs. I notice the rose is missing. Why don’t you put the flower on the desk and secure those cuffs for me.”

Phoebe unpinned the rose from her waistband and put it on the desk, a tiny spot of red that looked like a drop of blood on the wide, dark expanse. She secured her handcuffs with an audible click.

She’d underestimated Barrett Stern, failed to research him thoroughly. He wasn’t Harding’s knight; he was the far more powerful queen, though he probably wouldn’t appreciate the description.

It was a relief when his gaze moved off her and onto Harding.

“Now, you.” Stern pulled another set of handcuffs out of his pocket. “So thoughtful of you to make sure I had a plentiful supply of these. Around the wrists and through the arm of your chair.” He tossed them at Harding. “I thought we agreed you’d get rid of them. You should have listened to me.”

With a venomous look at Stern, Harding looped the cuffs through the arm and then snapped them around his wrists.

“And now you, what the hell is your name?” Stern tossed Dewey some cuffs.

“Hyatt. Dewey Hyatt,” he muttered, snapping the cuffs around his wrists.

Stern stared at him, his look assessing. “I think I need you to be secured a bit more than that.” From his pocket he pulled out yet another set of cuffs. “One to your wrist, the other around that bookshelf behind you.”

The snap of the cuff sounded final in a silence broken only by Harding’s agitated breathing. With Dewey secured, Stern relaxed enough to pour himself a drink. The glass in one hand, gun steady in the other, he approached Phoebe, his feet sinking silently into the expensive carpet. She needed a move, but her mind was blank, her gaze locked with he was the cobra and she was a snake charmer without an instrument.

He stopped and studied her, something sexual flickering very briefly in his dead eyes. Her skin crawled, but she had to consider it. She didn’t have a lot of options just now. Only she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

She gave Dewey a quick, apologetic look and got a thumbs up as an answer. Okay. She took a deep breath. She’d play this scene as herself, whoever that was.

Stern sat in the chair next to Phoebe’s and drank without taking his gaze off her. She didn’t look away, even though it was like a glimpse into hell.

“So, Nadine—or should I call you Phoebe?”

“I haven’t been Nadine for a long time.”

“Okay. Phoebe.” He drank again, a slight, very slight frown between his pale brows. “You intrigue me.”

This wasn’t good.

“You’re not going to obsess on me, too, are you? Doesn’t seem like your style.”

Stern smiled, one that was almost attractive. “No, it’s not my style.” The smile faded. “But you do present a—problem for me. Unlike these two, who tried to screw me over and failed…” He tossed back the last of his drink, then fixed her with a curious stare. “…you…didn’t. Farley gave you all the credit for his change of heart when I left him in my place at the warehouse.”

“Well, no need to get warm and fuzzy,” Phoebe muttered, answering Dewey’s incredulous look with a slight shrug. “I just didn’t want to see anyone tortured to death. It wasn’t personal.”

His smile flickered again in the empty expanse of his face. “That doesn’t change the fact that my only reason for killing you is what you know about me.” He studied her dispassionately. “You appear to have an agile and devious mind. I’ll be rebuilding my organization. I could use someone like you.”

It seemed to be her week for job offers. Talk about déjà vu.

“You’re only interested in my mind?”

His gaze traveled down her body, then back up to meet hers.

“Of course.”

“Well, as tempting as that is, I think I’ll pass.” Would he take no for an answer?

“Don’t worry. Unlike our friend here, I prefer my women cooperative.” He stood up. “Are you sure?” His gaze found hers, with regret and something else almost warming his eyes. They looked at her now, tempting her to give in to him. To survive.

Her body, her cowardly body, urged her to do it. It wasn’t love, but life, any life, was better than dead.

Only her brain knew it wasn’t true. She’d had “any” life. Lest she forget, she looked at that life, that past, sitting across the desk from her.

“I’m sure.”

“All right then.” He stood up. “That brings us to the question of RABBIT.” He looked at Dewey. “I’d like to believe you got it to work, but it’s a stretch.”

“I just saw it working, on that helmet thing. We can still do this, Stern,” Harding said. “We can have it all.”

“What did he see?”

Dewey looked at Phoebe. She said, “Tell him the truth.”

“VR smoke and mirrors. The chip is and always was crap.”

Harding slumped in his chair, the ugliness of his soul now visible on his face.

“That’s what I thought.” Stern’s gaze slid toward Phoebe again. “It’s a pity you didn’t limit your adventures in VR to video games for teens.” He frowned, his gaze moving from Phoebe to Harding to Dewey, then back to Phoebe. “Normally I’d go from left to right around the room, because I like to be orderly, but for you—” He gave Phoebe a slight smile, “I’ll kill Harding first.”

Harding gasped as the barrel of the gun swung his way.

“You wanted revenge,” Stern said to her.

“I wanted justice,” she said.

“There he is. Montgomery Justice.” In quick succession, he fired three times, the shots so close together they sounded like one. He looked at Phoebe.

Check and mate. Just like that, it was over. Harding was dead. This hadn’t been the plan, but the world was better for it. She could lay her burden down. Die in peace. It didn’t matter now, it was over.

“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Stern sounded far away, at least a light year or two.

Only it did matter. She wanted to live, not die. She wanted to turn her devious brain to the problem of how to bridge the gap between a larcenous lady and a US Marshal.

Stern leaned over her, trapping her in the seat, not just with his body but with the menace he gave off like after-shave. He brought the gun up. “Last chance to change your mind, before it’s splattered all over this expensive chair.”

He might like her a little, but he liked killing more. She saw the anticipation in his eyes. Distantly, she knew Dewey was trying to break free of his bonds. For her, at this moment, there was only this man. This gun.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you this whole scene was being beamed to the cops and they’re surrounding the place as we speak?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

His finger tightened on the trigger.

She jerked her hands, knocking the hand holding the gun up. Then she kicked him, low and hard. He doubled over, presenting his chin. She kicked that, and he staggered back, sprawling across the desk.

Too bad he’d managed to hang onto the gun. The barrel started to swing toward her as a stream of profanities poured from his mouth. The office doors burst open.

“Do not move!”

For the space of one heartbeat, Stern looked at Phoebe and she knew he was going to move. That he wanted to die. Why? Her mouth shaped the question, but it didn’t come out. Then it didn’t matter. He started to bring his gun around.

Their guns coughed at him. His body jerked one way, then the other, as bullets from both directions found him. He stopped, almost suspended in time, then fell back across the wide, dark desk.

He looked surprised. Blood trickled from his mouth onto the desk as he looked at her.

“I…have a…soul.” He tried to touch something only he could see, then his hand fell back to his side. Awareness faded from his eyes.

Men and woman in black swarmed into the room like flies. Bryn approached Dewey.

“Where’s your weapon?”

“What?”

She unlocked one set of cuffs, so he could lower his arms, but not the other set securing him. Smart lady. “Your gun. You had a gun.”

“Oh. That.” He looked around. “It’s there. On the floor by that plant.”

An agent closer to it picked it up and handed it to Bryn. She hefted it, examined it, then looked at Dewey. “A water gun? You took on these guys with a water gun?”

His grin came slow, a little ragged around the edges. “I’m not into violence. Besides, a gun can add a nickel or more to your time in stir.”

Tension rushed out of Phoebe, replaced by giggles bubbling up from inside. They were alive. It was over. Jake crouched in front of her, launching a different kind of tension.

“You took your sweet time getting here,” she said.

Jake’s chest heaved with the breath he was still trying to catch. They’d been at the warehouse when the call came. Bryn and Alice had been subduing Lily, a sight he wouldn’t soon forget, mostly because he’d never seen breasts that large. It had been an education to see the two women take down and cuff the wildly squirming, completely naked woman. The funny part, though large breasted, she was otherwise small and wiry. He could still hear the shock in Sebastian’s voice when the security monitors from TelTech suddenly overrode his game, could still hear his play-by-play of the action coming at him through his earpiece as they rushed across the city.

“Some things…” His breathing was starting to slow, but looking at her his heart sent his heart into overdrive. “…take a little longer than others. How did you manage to stay alive?” When he’d seen her shoes lying on that tray next to a row of scalpels…

“Magic.” She grinned. It was crooked and a bit puffy, but most definitely a grin.

TWENTY-ONE

“I don’t think Phagan’s Fibbie trusts us,” Phoebe said, holding an ice pack to her sore mouth. She had good reason for her belief. Before bustling off to manage the crime scene, Bryn had attached them to the van like a couple of lost dogs on a short leash. To add insult to injury, the handcuffs, which looked like some she’d seen in Harding’s creep show, were of the bondage variety with long thin chains between the steel bracelets. Bryn also didn’t appear to trust the hordes of armed police milling around. Or she was seriously over estimating Phoebe and Dewey. Phoebe rattled the chain looped through the door handle. “Does she think we’re a couple of Houdinis? I really don’t know what Phagan sees in her.”

Not that Phoebe had spent any time looking at Bryn. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Jake. It was interesting to see him in this light, even if it was waning with the day. Black was definitely his color, she decided with a sigh, right up there with tight jeans, tees and soft flannel. The Fibbie didn’t realize Phoebe didn’t want to run away. Life was going to separate her from Jake soon enough. Jake would go back to catching bad guys, and Phoebe would go to jail without passing go or collecting any money. Probably minus the harmonica, too.

“She’s not so bad,” Dewey said, interrupting her descent into the angst zone. “Not her fault she has to do her job.”

Something in his voice, an odd note of defensiveness, distracted her attention from Jake. She looked at him and found him gazing at Bryn in a decidedly wistful way. A decidedly lustful way. Surely he didn’t have the hots for her, too…

It was as if someone took the blinders off her brain and let her see the years, not the way Phagan had wanted her to see it, but the way they were. Phagan was Dewey. Or Dewey was Phagan.

Her first reaction was to be pissed. Didn’t he trust her? She ought to kick his ass, except it looked like Bryn was going to do it for her. Anger faded. They were both going to be punished by the Feds for their sins. They didn’t need to punish each other. Not that she was going to pass up the opportunity to yank his chain a bit.

“I guess she’s not so bad.”

Dewey twitched, then looked at her, wariness replacing sick-puppy in his eyes. “Phagan seems to think so.” He shuffled his feet like a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“To each his own.” Phoebe gave him a bland smile, but it didn’t last. It seemed neither one of them was going to get what they wanted. “Sorry about all this. Not my best plan.”

With a jangle of chains, Dewey crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the van. “I figure the worst we’ll get is a couple million hours of community service.”

“In what reality?” She frowned. “You weren’t planning to put Phagan on the table to save my ass, were you? Because I won’t let you.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” His chains rattled as he adjusted his tie. “Here they come. Let me do the talking.”

“Dewey…”

“Trust me.” His eyes reminded her they’d done this same scene all those years ago. “Full circle, girl. Let me close the last, little bit.”

“Dewey, I can’t—”

“Just…trust me. I promise, it will be all right. For you. For Kerry Anne. Even for me. Promise you’ll let me handle this?”

The last thing she meant to do was nod, but she did. She’d been giving in to Dewey for a long time. She was going to stop now?

Long gold rays from the setting sun stretched across the parking lot to light Jake and Bryn’s way toward Phoebe and Dewey Hyatt. It wasn’t over, Jake knew, not by a long shot. Phoebe was up to her beautiful eyes in deep stuff, and as far as he could tell, the only way out was over Phagan’s hide—something she’d already made very clear wouldn’t happen.

The light was wrong to see their faces, but their body language was serious. When Hyatt put his arm around Phoebe, Jake’s gut clenched. What if he had imagined the attraction? Or she’d been playing him for a fool? What if—

Jake stepped into partial shadow and saw Phoebe’s eyes. He felt her gaze pierce his soul and he knew she hadn’t been playing him—but she hadn’t any more hope of a happy ending than he did.

Bryn halted in front of them, her hands on her hips. “Are you ready to play ‘Let’s-Make-A-Deal,’ kids?”

* * * *

Dewey could have been uncomfortable. Bryn sat on one side of him. Jake Kirby was on the other. They were both looking at him as if they thought they could cut their way into his head just by staring. He could have been freaked by it, but truth was, he was happy to have Bryn looking at him, happy to be in the same room with her under any circumstances.

She looked cute in her little black jump suit. He’d follow her to hell and back, and not just because she had a great butt. Too bad she wanted to kick his to hell and leave him there. After he gave her Phagan.

It was an interesting problem. He could easily give her Phagan, and he’d do it in a heartbeat if he thought it would get him what he wanted. Dewey Hyatt had room to negotiate. Phagan—well she’d put him in a box and throw the key into the middle of the ocean. Then do the dance of joy.

It might, he admitted, have been a bad idea to kick her anthill so often. She was at full swarm right now. Cute, but ready to bite.

He saw her and Kirby look at each other. Saw her give him a slight nod. So Kirby was taking the lead. That was probably good. Bryn had a hasty temper. The marshal seemed able to keep his cool—when Phoebe wasn’t around.

The marshal looked at him, his gaze almost penetrating enough to make him squirm.

“You’re in serious need of a deal, Hyatt,” he said. “Problem is, you’ve only got one thing we want.”

“Phagan,” Bryn said, an odd note to her voice Dewey hadn’t heard before.

“You don’t want RABBIT?” He feigned surprise.

“We know its crap. Phoebe told me,” Jake said.

“Well, it was crap when we took it,” Dewey admitted. “A serious setback at first. But you can’t keep a good thief down.” He gave Bryn a cheeky grin and watched color run up her face.

“Are you saying…” Jake pulled his attention away from Bryn.

“I got it working?” Dewey leaned back in his chair. “Yes, sir. And I figure, if you won’t deal, the military will. It’s a truly sweet little item.”

That got their attention. Was that relief in Bryn’s baby blues? A tiny crack in the iron lady’s defenses? Dewey waited for a long beat, then said, “I think I’m ready to play ‘Let’s-Make-A-Deal’ if you are?”

He thought Bryn choked, but she covered it up with a cough. She was fast on her pointed heels.

* * * *

It seemed to Phoebe that she’d been in the tiny interrogation room for hours, but, once again, she had no way to clock the passing time. Unlike the one she’d been in before, this room didn’t have a one-way window or mirror. Just a sliding panel over a barred window in the door and another barred window to the outside world. Maybe, she wondered, it’s the one they put people in when they planned to kick their butt.

She tried sitting down, tried pacing, considered banging on the door, but she had a little pride left, so she settled for leaning against the grubby wall and staring through the bars at the even grubbier alley and the tiny patch of night sky showing between two tall buildings. The ice pack had lost its chill, so she tossed it onto the table.

Full circle. The past had met the present. Her dead were at peace. Now only the future remained to be sorted out, though it seemed obvious what was ahead for her. It was kind of ironic that Harding had escaped the incarceration now waiting for her and Dewey. She’d always meant for him to do time, to be as powerless as the people he’d hurt, to feel the full horror of what he’d dished out.

Stern had thought she was looking for revenge, but it had always been about justice—the difference between night and day. She’d spent her time in the night. There were times when she’d fantasized about killing Harding, even torturing him to death. She’d lost her taste for that long before her little visit to his warehouse of horrors. She felt a sense of peace, knowing this. Harding had shaped her life, but she’d never become him. She lived in the day, not the night.

Jake opened the door and stood watching her, remembering the first night he’d seen her. She seemed so far away now he didn’t know what to do, or even who she was. Phoebe or Nadine? Or someone else now that her quest was over?

“I don’t know what to call you.”

She turned. “Retired?” Her grin was pure Phoebe.

Relief almost took out his knees. He needed to see Phoebe. Needed some of Phoebe to hang around. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She grabbed the back of the chair. Jake didn’t know why, but it seemed important what she did next. She hesitated, then pulled it out and sat down. Her gaze was steady, her expression neutral and oddly distant as she looked up at him, as if there were a barrier between them.

“What happens now?”

Jake sat down, too, spreading his hands on the battered tabletop to keep from reaching out for her. She seemed so fragile, sitting there waiting for the storm to break over her head, and yet strong, too. Submissive, yet not. Her strength was gathered in close, her spirit braced and ready for whatever would come. She knew she would endure. She knew she would survive. She’d learned how the hard way.

She amazed him. And she scared the hell out of him, because he wanted her to need him, as much he needed her. Could she? She’d been alone so long, would she know how? Did she even want to try?

“We’re working out the details of the deal,” Jake said. “That was quite the bombshell Hyatt dropped.” Did she tense? Why? “I take it you didn’t know he’d gotten RABBIT to run?”

“No. I thought—”

“He’d have to give up Phagan?”

“I hoped he wouldn’t,” Phoebe admitted. Her eyelashes covered her expression. “Were people pretty upset?”

Jake grinned. “Just between you and me? I think Bryn was a little relieved.”

Her lashes lifted at that. Her smile spread across her face like the sun rising over a mountain. The sight of it stole his wits. She’d smiled before, but, he realized, she’d always held something back. This one held nothing back.

“Cool.” The smile faded, but the warmth lingered. “So he gets his suspended sentence and the million hours of community service?”

Jake didn’t answer, because he wasn’t sure he could keep the edge out of his voice. Hyatt had so many years with Phoebe, years of intimacy. He knew things about her Jake never would.

He realized she was looking at him, a tiny frown between her brows and a question in her eyes. “He was more concerned about what would happen to you, though I suspect he’ll get whatever he wants from the military.” He hesitated. “He cares about you.”

“I have been fortunate in my friends.” Her voice turned very Southern. “And the kindness of strangers.”

He chuckled, feeling the tightness in his gut ease. The past was the past. It was her future he was interested in.

“I was able to get you temporarily released into my custody,” he said. “If that’s not acceptable, I can make other arrangements for you. It’s your choice.” When she didn’t immediately respond, he added, “You can’t go back to Estes Park yet, not until the deal is worked out.” He hesitated, then added, “I called my mom. She’s making up the guestroom for you. If you want it.”

“Your mom?” Her eyes opened wide, and for the first time she looked alarmed.

“She told me that when I found you she wanted to meet you.” He grinned. “I always try to do what my Mom says.”

She smiled back, but the alarm didn’t fade from her eyes.

“I can also offer a personal meeting with an honest-to-goodness romance writer as an extra incentive. My sister-in-law is Dani Gwynne, and she’s eager to meet you, too. On the downside, well, you’ve already met my brothers.”

Phoebe looked down at her hands, realized she was twisting them in her lap. Just because he was taking her home to meet his family didn’t, couldn’t, mean anything. Put your hope back in the box and lock it up, girl.

“Do they know I’m a thief?” Jake’s hand covered hers, and she realized it was what she’d been waiting for. Delight coursed up her arm and heat. Her libido was obviously easy to please.

“You’re not a thief.” Jake sounded defensive. “You’re—”

“A thief. A person who conspired to steal things.”

“It’s what you were, not what you are.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And, yes, they know. They’re fine with it, okay?”

“Okay.” But it wasn’t. They weren’t fine with it. She could tell he was worried about what they’d do. Maybe not his mom, though Phoebe couldn’t figure out why the woman wouldn’t be frantic. For sure his brothers would be upset. They’d know what associating with her could do to his career.

What was that scripture? Charity never faileth. It seeketh not its own. It seemed she was learning all her lessons about love on the fly. She loved Jake, but while her love wouldn’t fail, it also wouldn’t seek its own. If she had to break her own heart, she would not suck Jake into the morass of her bad choices.

“Give me a few minutes to get your paper work done and we’ll go.”

TWENTY-TWO

Phoebe woke late the next morning, surprised and a little unsettled by how deeply she’d slept. Normally, when she woke with her nerves jumping like beans, she’d jog to clear her thoughts and settle down, but she wasn’t sure she could leave. What were the rules of being in Jake’s custody?

She stretched and sighed, then sat up and looked around. She’d been too tired last night to do more than absorb the fact that Jake looked like his mother and that Debra Kirby was a kind person who was worried about her son.

The room she’d shown Phoebe to was cheerful and neat. It could even be called quaint. The furniture was western and rustic, the curtains white lace. The wall by the bed was a family photo album of the-Kirby-boys-grow-up. Jake was easy to identify, because his hair was lighter than his brothers’ and his smile hadn’t changed much over the years.

Seeing the pictures put him in a different context, made her realize what a small part of his life she was. A minute or two in years of experiences. It wasn’t just the law and the unlawful part. In the time it took him to go to the prom with a pretty blonde and receive his high school diploma, she’d begun and ended a marriage. He’d attended college and graduated with honors while she’d refined her grand-larceny skills—when she wasn’t buying booze for the bar or shaking her booty in smoky honky-tonks across the country.

Forget Venus and Mars, she and Jake inhabited different galaxies.

Usually she tried to avoid normal people, normal lives, because they only reminded her how screwed up her life was. She shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have given in to the temptation. This wasn’t a house. It was a home, a place where people who loved each other lived and laughed and helped each other through their hard times.

Which made it not like any house she’d ever been in.

The differences went way beyond the comfy furniture and cheery curtains at the windows. Her furniture wasn’t quite as nice as Debra Kirby’s, but that wasn’t what made this a home. No, it was the way the house felt, the way she felt being in it.

Her house gave nothing away. It shut out. It hid from.

This place, this room, was wide open, welcoming. Even to a thief.

Debra had left a thick yellow towel and washcloth on the wooden rocking chair. Also an unopened toothbrush and a new tube of toothpaste. Fresh flowers on the dresser. A dish of candy and a couple of romance novels on the nightstand. One a Dani Gwynne, the other a Kelly Kerwin.

Such small things, but each one said, “You’re our guest.” We want you to be comfortable while you’re here.

She couldn’t remember ever being a guest. She felt like an alien who’d wandered out of her galaxy. Company manners, baby, she could almost hear her former Junior League mama say, her voice a drunken slur.

Did she even remember what company manners were? Their family standards, and social position, had been sliding long before Montgomery Justice appeared on the horizon.

She pushed her covers back and slid out of bed, her feet settling on a rag rug put there to protect bare feet from the chill of hardwood floors. When she stood up, she noticed a suitcase sitting on a small chest. Inside were clothes from her house, her life as Phoebe. Jake must have arranged for them.

Her chest felt tight and kind of hurt, where there’d been no feeling at all for so long. She rubbed her chest, but it still hurt. A lump formed in her throat and tried to turn into…tears?

No way. She didn’t cry. Sure as shooting, she was not going down those stairs and facing Jake and his family with red eyes. She would not use tears to sue for pity or acceptance.

She’d go down looking—she picked up a pair of shorts—like a bar slut. There was nothing in the case, or in Phoebe’s life, that went with this house. Nothing in either even remotely normal. Maybe she’d just stay upstairs.

She dropped the shorts. Who was she trying to fool anyway? A change of clothes wouldn’t make her any less a thief, wouldn’t change what she was or what she’d done. It sure wouldn’t bridge the space and time that separated her from Jake. She should have stayed in jail. At least there she could see the bars, knew her place and what to expect.

There were two windows in this corner guestroom—no bars, but there might as well have been. Her past still had her trapped, cornered. She abandoned the suitcase for a window, choosing the one looking out on the backyard.

A mature garden occupied one corner, its formerly neat rows overrun by nature’s abundance. Flowers circled the fence with cheerful abandon, and a tall cottonwood provided shade for a cozy wooden deck. Among the leaves of the cottonwood, she could see the weathered remnants of a tree house. It wasn’t hard to imagine this yard peopled with small boys, two dark, one light. Or Jake’s son…

Don’t go there.

She heard a car door slam and turned to the other window. It gave her a glimpse of a small piece of the street. Enough to see Matt and Luke emerge from a car with a woman she presumed was Matt’s wife, the romance writer. Phoebe liked the look of her. She was what her mama used to call a lady. Kind face, nice smile. Matt wore a thunder cloud face. Luke looked more worried, than angry.

She had a good idea what had put those looks on their faces, even before pieces of what they were saying made it as far as her ears.

“…Can’t believe…that stupid…”

“Maybe…not as bad…it sounds…”

The slamming of the front door cut off their words. Apparently they’d found out their little brother had brought a thief home to dinner.

It’s not as if she hadn’t known she wouldn’t be welcome here. Because she had. She knew what she was. Just because the room was welcoming didn’t mean the people were.

She looked at the suitcase.

Live it all the way, or don’t live it at all.

* * * *

Jake heard his brothers’ voices downstairs before the shower went on in Phoebe’s bedroom and drowned them out. He thought about the first time he’d waited for her to shower. The things he’d thought. The things he’d done. The moves and counter-moves that had brought them to his mom’s.

Dani had been right. He’d done his job, and love was finding a way. Unless his brothers screwed things up for him, which it sounded like they planned to.

He tossed his wet towel and pulled on skivs, then jeans. Better go down and calm his brothers before Phoebe made an appearance. He just wished he’d had a chance to talk to their mom before they got here. He wasn’t sure how she felt about the situation.

He padded downstairs without bothering with shoes, his hand gliding down the banister the way his butt used to. He lived in DC, but this was home. The shower went off over his head. She’d reach for the towel to capture and contain the water sliding down her bare skin…

“Jake?” A voice splintered his hot thoughts with a dash of Mom. “Is that you?”

Time to face the music.

“Can you leave us alone, Mom?” Matt asked, grimly. “And you, too, Dani.”

Or the firing squad.

Inside the kitchen, he found Matt looking like a storm over Long’s Peak. Luke, in keeping with his more easygoing nature, just looked worried. Dani and his mom were facing Matt down with crossed arms.

“This is my kitchen, my house,” Debra told her son.

“I’m not leaving, either,” Dani said. “Unless Jake wants me to.”

Matt’s angry look turned sulky until he caught sight of his little brother.

Jake mentally planted his feet. It was harder here, on home turf, where instead of being a Deputy US Marshal, he was his mother’s son and Matt and Luke’s little brother. Not fair, but life wasn’t.

“Don’t start, Matt,” he warned.

“We’re all adults here. Why don’t we sit down and talk this over?” Peacemaker Luke set the example by sitting down.

No one followed his lead.

“This is between me, Mom and Phoebe. It’s not your business, though I appreciate your coming, Dani.”

Matt’s hands curled into fists. If Jake hadn’t been so pissed, he’d have grinned when Dani grabbed hold of Matt’s arm and nestled against her husband’s side.

“Not my business? You bring a common thief—”

Jake started toward him but found Luke in his way. “That—”

“—is insulting, Deputy,” Phoebe said.

It should have been funny, the way his family froze, then turned toward her in varying degrees of discomfort. But it wasn’t. He loved her, and his brother was hurting her.

Not that she looked hurt. She leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed, her expression hard to read. Her eyelids drooped lazily and her smile was enigmatic. Her clothes were—whoa—definitely in the kick-ass range.

Her brief blue-jean shorts left little leg to the imagination and rode low on her hips. Her equally brief top rode high and snug around her breasts, leaving a lot of midriff bare. An electric-blue ruffle framed her cleavage, then did Daisy Mae off-the-shoulder. Her hair was wet and wild, her lips lush and red.

“I’ll have you know,” she continued, her voice pure Southern Belle, rich and sultry, “I’m a very uncommon thief. The stories I could tell you, if Calvin—that’s my lawyer—hadn’t advised me to exercise my right to remain silent.”

Jake was aware Luke had dropped back in his chair like something the air had been let out of. Phoebe straightened and sauntered toward the refrigerator, her hip action lighting a wildfire in Jake’s gut. Lucky for him his mom wasn’t looking at him. No one was.

“You’ll just have to take my word for it that the family silver is in no danger.” She touched the refrigerator like it was her lover, then looked at Jake’s mom. “May I, ma’am? I’m powerful thirsty.”

Debra nodded, her eyes wide, but a smile was tugging at the edges of her mouth.

Phoebe opened the door, then bent from the waist, her tightly covered ass almost in Luke’s face. When she straightened, Jake realized he’d been holding his breath and expelled it in a rush. Luke looked dazed and, well, awed. Like he’d just had a religious experience.

She popped the top of the Diet Coke she’d snagged and drank, tipping her head back so that they got an unobstructed view of the long, smooth sweep of her soft curves and satiny skin, still glistening with moisture from her recent shower. When she was done, she licked her lips real slow, then, even more slowly, dug into her pocket and produced a dollar bill that she tossed on the table in front of Matt.

“I remember when you could get a Coke for four bits,” she said, looking at Matt for a long, pointed moment. When she turned away, Jake thought he saw her wink at Dani, who was having a harder time than his mom not to bust out laughing. “Do I need one of those little electronic anklets to go out into your mama’s garden?”

Jake tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, so he shook his head.

“I’ll stay well away from the watermelon patch to avoid temptation.” She lifted the Coke can in a mock salute, then sauntered out, her hips amazing to watch.

No one spoke or moved until the patio door had creaked open, then closed.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck as his powers of speech and thought crept back. Matt looked as if he’d been turned to stone, but Dani gave Jake a delighted smile. “If you let her get away, you deserve to be a bitter, unhappy man, Jake Kirby.”

Luke gave himself a shake, like a man waking from an amazing dream, and looked at Matt. “I’m with Louise,” —he gave Dani a quick grin as he used the name she’d used to introduce herself to him when they first met— “on this one, bro. That girl is definitely a keeper. You let her get away, I’ll kick your ass. Oh, sorry, Mom.”

Jake grinned his relief, then turned to Matt, his grin fading at his brother’s grim expression. He didn’t intend to let Phoebe get away, even if it cost him his brother, but he hoped it wouldn’t. He kinda liked him.

Matt looked at him. “This could screw your career, you know.”

“Maybe.” He hunched his shoulders. “But I’m betting we recruit her. She’s not just uncommon, Matt, she’s amazing.”

Matt stared at him for a long moment, then his face relaxed. “Well, I’ll admit she does remind me of someone.” He glanced at his wife, who managed to look innocently puzzled and wickedly amused.

It was as close to admitting he could be wrong as Matt would get, which left Mom. What did she think of his lady thief?

* * * *

Outside, Phoebe found a wooden bench swing that hadn’t been visible from her window. Green vines climbed up one side, wound around the beam, then went down the other, leaving a cool, shady place for her to ponder just how much her life sucked.

There was even a cushion to protect her far-too-bare thighs from slivers. She set the swing in motion, then pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on her knees.

Something wet dropped off her chin and rolled down her leg and across her bare foot. Was it raining? Only if blue sky and bright sun had totally changed their functions.

She touched her face and realized the drop had come from her eyes. Another drop followed, then another. She couldn’t be crying. She didn’t cry. Maybe she was overflowing? She wasn’t sobbing. Her shoulders weren’t heaving. Her heart hurt, worse than before, but she wasn’t crying. Sharp pain spread out from her heart like cracks across glass. It flowed up and out her eyes. It didn’t help that she’d always known she couldn’t have Jake. Knowing something didn’t make it easier to face.

There was a sort of peace in knowing it was better for him. He might be a bit hot for her, but that would pass. People fell out of lust all the time. After the scene in the kitchen, she had her pride, and he had his out. She’d have to find somewhere else to stay, but that would be better anyway. If she spent too much time in the normal zone, who knew what would happen to her?

She heard the patio door creak and wiped her eyes, since teary-eyed didn’t match heartless slut. She looked toward the house, expecting to see Jake, not his mom.

Debra Kirby walked toward her with a grace that both pleased and intimidated. Phoebe admired her taste. Her linen pants and shirt were coolly elegant. Her slight smile was so like Jake’s that the lump tried to crawl up her throat again.

“Do you like gardens?” Debra asked.

This wasn’t the scene Phoebe had expected to play. She didn’t know her lines. “Yeah, I guess.” This seemed pretty lame, so she added, “It’s lovely. Real peaceful.”

Debra stopped by the swing and looked around, her expression reflective. “It was my husband’s domain. He could make anything grow.” She sat down next to Phoebe, setting the swing swaying again. “He had some raspberry bushes in that corner that produced the best berries. They made fabulous jam. The boys loved it so much, I could hardly keep it on the shelf.”

Phoebe stretched her legs out and hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her shorts. If Jake’s mom was looking to make her feel like she didn’t belong, it was working.

“The bushes died the same year John did. Almost as if they knew. Luke dug them out for me and helped me plant tulips there instead. He’s very like his father.”

“How old—” Phoebe stopped.

“Jake was just starting high school when his father died.”

“Tough time to lose a father.” Phoebe stared straight ahead.

“And you?”

“I was three when my father died. I guess that’s when Mama started to drink. That’s what Kerry Anne said, anyway. I don’t remember Mama ever not drinking.” Debra might as well know the whole, awful truth about her.

“I thought about getting drunk after John died.”

“But you didn’t.” Phoebe stared into her own past. Her father left them and then her mother left them for her dead husband. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mama turned Montgomery Justice loose in their lives, taking what little was good in their lives and turning it into garbage.

Debra put her hand on Phoebe’s, recalling her from the past. “Your mother let you down. Sometimes people do.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Debra hesitated. “Why didn’t you?”

Phoebe blinked. “I don’t know.”

Debra smiled. “Neither do I. I just didn’t. Dani says some people don’t know how to go on and some people don’t know how to quit.” She patted Phoebe’s hand. “What happened to you—well, it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. At least it brought you to Jake. If you’d had a normal, happy life, you’d probably be married to a Joe Bob or a Ray Dawn. I don’t know them, but I know my son. Trust me when I say he’ll make you a lot happier than either of them.”

Phoebe stared at her. “There’s no question…”

She stood up, her face kind. “But there is, dear. There’s a very important question. Will you quit or will you go on?” She rose to leave, then stopped. “Unless you don’t love my son?”

Phoebe stared up at her. She tried to make herself say it, but she couldn’t.

Debra smiled. “Silly question, wasn’t it? How could you not love Jake?”

He’d come outside and was standing on the edge of the deck. She saw him when his mama left her. She couldn’t see his expression—his face was in shadow—but the sun bathed the rest of him in warm gold light. It loved him, too.

What was she thinking? Phoebe was in the shadow of the swing, so Jake couldn’t see her face. And he’d been too far away to hear what his mother said to her. Or what she’d said to his mother? Only a few yards separated them, but it might as well be the width of a universe. He didn’t know how to get from here to her.

His mom passed him, pausing just long enough to pat his cheek and say, “Faint heart never won fair lady, son.” Then she was in the house, and he was alone with Phoebe. He looked over his shoulder, sort of alone. His brothers, his mom and Dani were watching from the window. He waved them away. They waved him on.

Great. An audience. He rubbed the back of his neck. This reminded him of the first time he’d jumped off the high dive. He’d inched his way out on the board until he was over the clear green water. He’d wanted to inch his way back, but his brothers had been standing on the edge of the pool watching him with the same expressions on their faces that they wore now. He’d jumped, because even then he’d had his pride. The water had rushed toward him, then closed over his head as he went down, down right to the bottom. He’d pushed off for the surface. It took forever before his head broke into the air and his heaving lungs found relief.

Matt had waited until he paddled to the side of the pool, then said, “Yeah, but can you do it again?”

It took three times, he recalled, before he started to enjoy it.

The wooden deck wasn’t as high as that board, but the outcome was a lot less certain. He jumped onto the grass and started toward his fair lady.

TWENTY-THREE

Phoebe watched Jake walk toward her. He looked so good. Not just because he was so dang cute, but because he was good. His mama was right. How could she not love him? Be easier to teach her lungs not to breathe, than teach her heart not to love him. Her selfish heart said, grab the boy and don’t let go. Her mind said, he deserves better than a messed-up thief. She sighed. ’Course, someone that good deserved to get what he wanted. And if he really did want her…

Her past, her ghosts were all around her as she rose and stepped into the light. It warmed her cold places, while crisp, fresh air filled her lungs, blowing out the stale and the old. Jake stopped as she hesitated and looked back. What had been might have been painful, but it was familiar. Was it only her fancy that she saw Kerry Anne sitting there, smiling and urging her on?

Phoebe rubbed her heart. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was fading. There’d be scars, but her wounds could finally heal. She turned and started toward Jake, getting lighter with each step as her ghosts let her go. Guess she didn’t know how to quit either.

He stopped in front of her and smiled that toe-curling smile of his. She had to smile back. She was in his custody.

“I’m curious again,” he said.

The sun must have taken up residence inside her, because she was warming up nicely. “You know what they say about curiosity.”

“They’re wrong.” Jake could feel his family’s eyes boring into his back. It was really cramping his style. He couldn’t jump on the girl. She’d been through hell, could have issues or something. She was so young. What if he was taking advantage of her, too? “You want to go for a walk or something?”

Her smile wasn’t young. Neither was the look in her eyes. “Definitely or something.”

Heat did a fast arc from him to her and back again. “Okay.”

Phoebe looked past Jake’s shoulder. “Um, your family’s watching us out the window.”

“I know. Sorry about that.” He turned to glare at them. They indicated he should get on with it.

“What do they want?”

Like she didn’t know. “A happy ending. Ever since Dani joined the family, we’ve all become incurable romantics.” If he didn’t touch her soon, his skin was going to explode.

“Oh.”

He had an idea that might partially ease his pain. “We could get them off our backs if we…pretended to kiss? You know, a ruse. A trick.”

“I am familiar with the concept.” Her lashes swept down, then up. “Pretend?”

“If you just stepped a little closer…”

She stepped a lot closer. “Like this?”

“Oh, yeah.” They still hadn’t touched, but only because he couldn’t breathe.

“I think I should put my hands around your neck. At least, that’s how they do it in the movies.”

“Good idea.”

She licked her lips as she lifted one hand to his shoulder. Her touch was light, but he trembled. Thought she did, too. He didn’t ask if he could touch her, because he couldn’t talk. His right hand settled on her bare waist, the feel of her skin making his head spin. He felt and heard her small gasp.

“So…far…so…good,” he managed to croak.

“Yeah,” was her breathy response.

She lifted her second hand up more slowly than the first, dragging it up the side of his arm before sliding it around the back of his head. He had to put his other hand on her waist, too, to steady her. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, especially with his mom watching. The natural consequence of this was to draw her against him.

It was a relief.

He leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes and confessed, “I love you, Phoebe-Nadine-whoever-you-decide-to-be. To hell with our ruse. Unless you do something to stop me, I’m going to kiss you.”

She was close enough, he could feel her mouth smile against his.

“I don’t think we fooled them anyway. They’re still there.”

And if he didn’t kiss her soon, she was going to die. She adjusted the angle of her head, to make it easy for him. He did close the distance, but not enough. He kept his tantalizing mouth just out of reach.

“I got a last name for you, if you’ll tell me what I should call you.”

She tipped her head back so she could see his true, blue eyes. Smoothed his hair back because she could. “Call me…in love.”

He started to laugh, then swept her off her feet and spun them in a circle that slowed as their mouths finally came together.

Before she lost the ability to think or hear anything, Phoebe thought she heard Kerry Anne laughing.

EPILOGUE

“Is she nuts?” Dewey asked Phoebe in a low voice as he looked at the guests arriving for a barbecue at Dani and Matt’s. It was an eclectic mix that included her new in-laws, Phoebe’s former in-law’s already on their way to getting plastered, a gaggle of female friends of Dani’s, a mix of law enforcers from various agencies, and, of course, the two, mostly reformed, law breakers.

“She’s a romance writer,” Phoebe said. Dewey looked happy—contented even—despite the shiny electronic bracelet Bryn had attached to his ankle. A shiny gold band on her left hand kept Phoebe firmly attached to Jake.

“Oh.” His gaze found Bryn, lingered for a moment, then turned toward Phoebe. “I’ve missed you.”

Phoebe patted his hand. “She keeps you on a pretty short leash.”

“So does yours.”

Phoebe smiled. He did indeed. It had been a tumultuous six months. Dewey had given her away, though she’d had to convince Jesse it wasn’t the job of the ex-husband. Jake and Jesse would never be close, but they had achieved a sort of truce when the guys realized Phoebe really was madly in love with her marshal.

For her honeymoon, Jake had arranged a visit to Georgia and a stop by Kerry Anne and Mama’s graves. He called it closure, she called it kind. His family had let her in, though she suspected she was still on probation with Matt. That was okay. He was a big brother. Being protective went with the territory. Kept her on her toes to know he was watching. Gave her a goal.

All God’s children need a goal. Speaking of…

“Are you ever going to tell her?” Phoebe asked.

Dewey looked at her. “I wondered if you’d figured it out.”

“I’m slow, but I get there eventually.”

Dewey nodded in Jake’s direction. “Does he know?”

“He doesn’t ask, I don’t tell.” It was the one secret she’d kept from Jake. “I wish you could have a happy ending, too.”

Dewey grinned. “Maybe I’ll consult the romance writer.”

“About what?” Bryn had approached unnoticed. In her linen shorts and top, she looked cool and feminine. Was that a softer look in her eyes for Dewey?

Phoebe looked at Dewey. “I think I’m going to go find Jake.” She jumped off the fence and headed for her man. Behind her, she heard Dewey say, “Damn, you’re cute, girl.”

She approached Jake from behind, but he still knew she was there. His hand reached behind him, found hers and pulled her close. His mom smiled a welcome, then her gaze drifted toward the cluster of Dani’s female friends, who were laughing, chatting and fending off Mentel boys.

“I wonder…” Debra said.

“What?” Phoebe asked.

“Two boys happy. One to go.”

Phoebe looked at Luke, who appeared to be talking climbing with Toes. As if he sensed their scrutiny, he turned and gave his mom a “What?” look.

His mom’s smile reminded Phoebe of her mamma’s red shoes smile.

Just a hint of evil around the edges.

* * * *

MISSING YOU

Book three in The Lonesome Lawmen series.

ONE

Snowflakes fell thick and fast as Luke Kirby stopped his 4x4 in front of the family cabin, just south of Estes Park. On a clear day, Long’s Peak was visible from the cabin, but now his headlights had trouble penetrating more than a few yards ahead. The wind kicked up the falling snow, erasing not just the tracks his truck had made on the dirt road, but the place where sky and earth met, turning the world into a disorienting, white tunnel.

The storm hadn’t been bad when he left Denver but had turned nasty with the rise in altitude. If the storm hadn’t cut off his retreat, he might have turned back and faced a family determined to distract him from the significance of tomorrow–the anniversary of the death of his wife, Rosemary.

He rested his arms on the steering wheel, remembering a time when he couldn’t think the word “dead,” not about Rosemary, who had been so very much alive. He knew all the euphemisms and all the synonyms for death. None of them had changed the reality of being left alive, left alone in a world without her. How he’d hated it. He’d spent a lot of time dodging being alone, trying to stay too busy, too surrounded by people, to face it. He’d loved the “ball and chain,” had relished being one half of a whole that included her.

A platitude, but true—time did heal. So gradually had time done its work that he’d hardly noticed at first. One day he’d realized he was above the shadows. Not happy, but no longer sad, finally able to feel whole—and be whole—all by himself.

If someone asked him why he was here on this bitter night, instead of with his family, he could tell them it wasn’t because he was living in the past or because he begrudged his brothers their happiness. They’d earned their time with their women the hard way. Matt and Dani had saved each other from the jaws of death up on Long’s Peak just over two years ago.

Jake had saved his Phoebe’s butt, and now she regularly kicked his up over his ears. Luke could see that Jake didn’t mind; in fact, he seemed happy to bend over and present his backside for her boot. He had a tiger by the tail with that girl.

Luke grinned. Even Matt had given in to the Phoebe juggernaut, after strong initial resistance, allowing her to stand as godmother to the first Kirby grandson. Young Mark had them all wrapped around his tiny, pink finger. Even Phoebe was smitten. He expected her to enter the motherhood stakes any day now.

The only two people more amusing than his brothers were Bryn Bailey, Jake’s FBI partner-in-crime solving, and Dewey Hyatt, Phoebe’s former partner-in-crime committing. He just hoped he was there when Bryn realized she was in love with her pet criminal, though Jake had hinted she also had softer feelings for the elusive Phagan, who Dewey was supposed to be helping her hunt down. Luke had his own ideas about Phagan and Dewey, but it wasn’t his job to point out the obvious, not when it was so entertaining to let events play out on their own.

No, he wasn’t here because he couldn’t handle their happiness. In a way, their happiness had lifted him with them and had brought him here tonight. In the headlights, the cabin was dark. Empty of everything but years of memories, not just of Rosemary, but his dad, killed in the line of duty. This was the first time he’d been here alone since Rosemary’s death. She’d loved the mountains, loved the cabin, even in a storm—if they were safe inside with a good fire.

With a start, he realized the cabin had almost disappeared into the storm. The warmth from the truck’s heater had faded and his exhaled breath turned into a white fog in the icy air. Snowflakes, lit by the headlights, swirled in a wind-driven frenzy. He’d better get moving. Didn’t want to spend the night in his truck. Good thing he’d brought plenty of supplies with him. If the weather report was right, he could be stuck up here for a couple of days. Looked like there’d be enough snow for some cross-country skiing when it cleared. Nothing like a brisk battle with nature to remind him that he was alive.

He left the headlights on while he unlocked the door, though the benefit was limited, and unloaded his supplies. Inside the cabin, he tested the silence and found it bearable—though not much warmer than outside. He turned on the refrigerator, wondering how long the power would stay on, while he stowed his perishables. Well, he’d used a snow bank for a fridge before, no reason he couldn’t do so again.

A gust of wind caught the window over the sink, lifting it, then dropping it with a bang. He caught it before it could lift again, making a mental note to tweak Jake about it when he got home. He and Phoebe had been the last ones to use the cabin. He noticed a bit of snow and some dried stuff on the counter under the window and brushed it into the sink.

The air was chill, damp, and tainted with the smell of old fire and older food, but a new fire would soon burn it away. He didn’t turn on any lights besides the kitchen. He knew his way around and besides, there was enough light spilling out from the kitchen until he got the fire going. Rosemary had liked the room lit by fire. Many a snowy night they’d huddled together under a pile of quilts and watched snow pile up in drifts against the windows.

He stopped for a moment as the memories caught up with him. Rosemary laughing as she pelted him with snowballs. Rosemary smiling up at him from the blanket as the mountain sun bathed her in its crystal light. Rosemary looking at the mountains and not at him when she told him she was dying and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Seven years. Like Jacob in the Bible, he’d served his time, done his duty and now it was time to move on. Not to forget, but to move out of the shadows and live again.

“Don’t mourn too long, Luke,” she’d said to him that last day, her voice the only part of her he still recognized. She’d never said what too long was, but he could almost see her standing in the light from the kitchen, tapping her watch the way she had when he’d been out on the mountain too long.

“I know, Rose,” he murmured. “I know.”

He checked the wood box and found it filled. Jake had also laid out logs in the fireplace. Only needed a match. That made up for the open window, Luke decided. In a short time, he had the fire started, putting out cheerful heat against the winter chill. When the power went, he’d be warm and have hot coffee. He could live without a lot of things, but hot coffee in the morning wasn’t one of them.

He’d sleep in front of the fire. It would be warmer and he could feed the hungry fire. He and Rosemary had slept downstairs the last time they were here. They’d made a bed for two on the floor. He’d use the couch. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d done time on one. Life with Rosemary hadn’t been all smooth and easy. The Kirby men had a weakness for spirited women.

He did a quick run upstairs for a couple more quilts. There was a sturdy mega-sized lap quilt kept folded over the back of the couch, but it wasn’t enough on a night like this. He also grabbed some pillows to soften the hard arms on each end. Back downstairs, he noticed that the quilt wasn’t folded over the back, but spread across the seat. In the flickering light from the fire, it almost looked like there was someone under it. For a minute chills snaked down his back, until common sense reasserted itself.

If someone was here, it was a squatter who’d likely used the unlatched window to get in. He bit back an expletive. Couldn’t kick a dog out on a night like this. So much for being alone. He dumped his blanket load on a chair. Odd that whoever it was hadn’t heard his noisy arrival and made their presence known. It was enough to make him uneasy, so he pulled his gun. As a cop, he’d learned to err on the side of caution. He knew which boards creaked and took care to avoid them as he approached the couch. Keeping the figure covered, he reached out and flipped the edge of the blanket back and saw—

Feet.

Or more precisely, a pair of hiking boots and blue-jean covered legs below the knees. Good boots. Not a squatter then. Maybe a hiker?

Luke felt a bit ridiculous and a little anxious about the lack of movement as he moved to the other end. Being alone with a body wasn’t what he had in mind either. This time when he flipped the blanket back, he saw hair. Lots of it. Tangled and blonde enough to make Marilyn Monroe jealous. The ends of most of it were hidden under the part of the blanket that still covered her middle, except for a bunch that hung over her face and off the edge of the couch, forming a question mark on the wood floor.

It seemed Goldilocks had come calling but found only one bear.

He stowed his gun and knelt down beside her. Bits of dried brush, brown grass and twigs were caught in the tousled strands of her hair. She had a thick, fleece jacket on, with bits of dried brush stuck to it, too and it had been torn in several places. One of her arms hung off the edge of the couch; the hand at the end of the arm was bare and badly scratched. A couple of her nails were broken, the edges ragged and torn.

“Who’s sleeping on my couch?” he muttered, as he gathered up the trailing strands of hair, icy cold and soft as silk, to expose her face. It was scratched, too, and there was a nasty looking bump just above her temple. A thin trail of dried blood disappeared into her hairline. The bones under the scratches were good, the kind that wear well over time. Her jaw was strong and determined. Laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes seemed at odds with a mouth that was full and rather sad. Her thick lashes lay in dark fans against her pale, bruised skin, hiding her eyes. Equally dark brows arched over them.

It was hard to be sure because memory was so unreliable, and his memories of Rosemary as a young woman were buried under her last months of wasting away from ovarian cancer, but she kind of reminded him of a young Rosemary, or her sister, if Rosemary had had one. It was a bit eerie on a dark and stormy night. If her eyes were blue when she opened them, he might just have to join the X-Files fan club.

Luke felt along her neck. Her skin was cold, but he found a pulse—rapid and a bit shallow—but there. She wasn’t dead. Yet.

Luke knew a bit of first aid—most of it about hypothermia, since he and his brothers spent so much time in the mountains. She needed to be warmed up fast. He grabbed the quilts he’d collected and piled them on top of her. When he knelt down to ease a pillow under her head, he realized she was looking at him, her eyes wide and puzzled.

Violet. He hadn’t expected that. Deep, pure violet. They brought the pale mask of her face to instant, vivid life and put a good bit of his unease to rest. Not Rosemary. He hadn’t really believed she was. It was just weird. Weird enough for his imagination to activate. Thank goodness neither of his brothers was here. Wouldn’t they get some mileage out of this situation if they ever found out?

He’d put her in her late twenties, but now, looking into her eyes, he upped that by a few years. Her eyes were wise, more aware than the average twenty-something, despite the confusion clouding their depths.

“Do I—know you?” she asked. Her voice was a thin thread of sound, but clear and crisp. It suited their mountainous surroundings, reminding him of a stream running over rocks on its way to the low lands.

“I don’t think so. Name’s Luke Kirby. My family owns this cabin.”

Her lashes closed for a moment. Her brows drew together in a frown. “Cabin?”

He reached past her, turned on a rustic styled lamp and gestured to their surroundings. “Cabin.”

Her lashes lifted higher, her gaze making a limited survey of her surroundings. “Oh.”

Despite this, he could tell the lights were still out inside her head. He waited for her to orient herself. Something had happened. A fall of some kind, he guessed, based on what he’d seen of her injuries. It sometimes took time to put the pieces of memory together in the right order after a shock.

“Would you like some soup and coffee?” he asked. “We need to get you warmed up, if you’re up to it.”

“I am hungry.” She sounded surprised. “Thank you.”

He left her for the kitchen, glad for the time away from her. He still felt a bit off balance by her resemblance to Rosemary, and, if he were honest with himself, her unexpected beauty. His body had taken in more input than his brain could process, but the main gist of it was basically, wow.

He put water in the coffeepot, started heat under it. Found a can of soup and dumped it in a pan. Maybe he should start dating again, just to let off some steam in his “wow” reflex.

He turned and found her standing in the doorway studying him with a seriousness that did nothing to relieve the pressure. She was taller than he’d expected from someone with so slight a build. She stood carefully, but with a grace and elegance that her discomfort couldn’t erase.

“Is there—” She stopped, color flooding her cheeks.

Luke found he could grin and felt better, more balanced and in control again. “Bathroom’s through there. Light’s on the right.”

It was odd, but kind of cute, that she was embarrassed to ask for the john. There was something a bit old-fashioned about her, despite her very modern clothes. He could see her behind a tea pot in a room full of antiques. In a dress that matched her eyes and had a bunch of white at the neck. Something like Katharine Hepburn would wear.

“Thank you.” She turned, wobbling a bit.

He fought back the urge to leap to her assistance. Partly because he didn’t want to scare her and mostly because he wasn’t sure he could leap. His body had surprised him a few times lately by not responding to his mental commands. A reminder that he wasn’t as young as he felt. Instead he asked, “Do you need help?”

She smiled. “Thank you, but no. I can manage. Stiffened up a bit while I was asleep.”

Her back straightened, her chin lifting as she made a determined beeline for the bathroom door.

Guts and beauty. Interesting. It wasn’t until Luke heard the door creak closed that he realized he still didn’t know her name. While he kept a watchful eye on the soup, he dug out the first aid kit and a flashlight. If she had a concussion, her eyes would show it. And if she did? Well, he’d deal with it then. He had his phone. He could call for advice.

The soup started to bubble. He lifted it off the heat, gave it a stir, and then poured it in a bowl. Grabbed some crackers and a cup of coffee and put it all on a tray. He heard the door creak open and found his thoughts bubbling like the soup. It was, he decided, like something out of a Raymond Chandler book. Snowed in the mountains with a mysterious woman—who had probably missed her step, taken a tumble and then lost her way, he reminded himself. No mystery, just Mother Nature’s pointed reminder not to take her for granted.

She hadn’t just used the toilet, he saw. She’d washed the blood off her face and tidied her hair. Most of the bits of brush were gone and her hair was now pulled back into a sort of knotted ponytail that hung all the way down her back. Her face was white and she trembled from the effort. Luke jumped forward, surprised and pleased his body did as requested, and helped her back to the couch. He got her settled with a pillow behind her and blankets tucked around, then brought her the tray.

“Can you manage for yourself?” he asked.

She nodded, her smile grateful. She picked up the spoon using, Luke noted, her left hand. When it became apparent she wasn’t a southpaw, he folded back the blankets and found her right wrist swollen to twice its normal size. He probed it gently and heard her gasp.

“Sorry. Can you move your fingers?” She flexed them. “How about your wrist?”

She managed to bend at the wrist, but the effort drained more color out of her face.

“I don’t think it’s broken, but it should probably be strapped until it can be X-rayed. A hairline fracture and a sprain can both cause swelling.” He should know. He’d had both. He opened the first aid kit and rummaged through it until he’d found everything he needed.

“Are you a doctor?” A few bites of the soup put a slight flush in her cheeks.

“Actually, I’m a cop. And an all-too-frequent patient.” He grinned at her. “My mom claims most of her gray hairs are my fault, but my brothers did their share, believe me. Most of it from rock climbing.” While he talked, he helped her out of her jacket, a painful exercise, then applied a wrist splint and wrapped it with elastic bandage. When he was done, he touched the tips of her fingers. “Can you feel this?”

She nodded, relaxing back against the couch with a sigh of relief. “It feels a lot better.”

“Let me know if the tips of your fingers start to tingle and I’ll loosen it.” He frowned. “Normally I’d apply ice, but you’re still pretty chilled.”

“I feel wonderfully warm, but I’d rather avoid ice for now.”

She ate most of her soup but only took one sip of the coffee. She stared into the cup, then looked at him. “I don’t think I drink coffee.”

She looked startled. It did seem like something she should know about herself.

“I’ll get you some water, but first—” Luke set the tray aside, and picked up the flashlight.

“What now?” She sounded amused.

“Looks like you took a pretty nasty tumble, could have a mild concussion. I want to look at your pupils.” He tipped her head up and flashed the light in her eyes, watching her pupils react. “Did you lose consciousness?”

She smiled at the question. She’d lost more than consciousness. “Oh, yeah.”

“It’s not unusual for the noggin to be scrambled after a fall.”

He was a big man and strong, but his hands were warm and gentle cupping either side of her face. His face was close enough for her to see the texture of his skin as he probed her scalp for injuries. The words craggy and weather-beaten came to mind first. He looked like a man who lived much of his life outside. He wasn’t movie star handsome, but she felt an unexpected flicker of attraction flare where he touched her.

“Besides the bump on your temple, there’s another here, above your ear.”

“I’ve got one on the lower occipital, too,” she said, touching the base of her head with a wince. He looked surprised as he checked it out.

“That you do. I’d say you did a top over tail today.” He sat back, his hands dropping away.

To her annoyance, her skin felt cold, almost bereft without his touch. You know nothing about this man, she reminded herself. But that wasn’t the worst. She knew nothing about herself, except that she had an occipital. And a parietal, frontal and temporal. Very weird. It was as if she’d begun her existence when she opened her eyes a short time ago. She hadn’t even known what she looked like until she saw herself in the mirror. It was an odd feeling to meet herself for the first time. By most standards, even with the bumps and bruises, the face that had stared back at her would be considered beautiful. She’d felt no pride of ownership; no sense of I am a beautiful woman. No sense of herself at all. She’d fingered her clothes. They were of good fabric, but sturdy and serviceable, rather than glamorous. No perfume, cheap or expensive lingered on her skin. She’d sniffed herself twice and found soap. Just soap. And the smell of pine. Judging by the amount of pine needles she’d shaken out of her hair, the smell of pine was inevitable, rather than revealing.

Her hands, beneath the scratches, were cared for. Her fingers were long, the nails that weren’t torn were filed but unpolished. To her surprise, despite the signs she’d taken a very nasty tumble, she felt relieved, as if she’d laid down a burden. Beneath the uncertainty, she felt free. If she had no past, that left a future full of possibilities.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

A better question would be, what am I trying to forget? She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t. The movement upped the pain quota enough to make stars sashay across her view.

“Let’s start with something easy, like your name?”

Her name. Everyone had a name. She had an impulse to make one up. To write something onto the blank canvas in her head, but her mind refused to play. It didn’t cough up a single consonant, let alone a whole name. She pushed at the gray mist and it pushed back. It did open enough to let out a single emotion. Panic. It spilled through her like a tsunami, threatening to sweep her away. As if he sensed it, he grabbed her left hand, held it, a lifeline pulling her free of the dark undertow.

“You really did scramble your brains, didn’t you?” His voice was kind, as if not knowing her own name was no big deal. “How about I call you Goldie for now?”

“Goldie?” From the jumble of letters in her head, the name formed into a row. So she did know the alphabet, in addition to the parts of the head. That was something.

He curled a strand of her hair around his finger and held it up for her view.

To her surprise, a slight, mischievous smile curved her mouth at the edges. “I wonder if it’s the real thing or out of a bottle?”

He chuckled, drawing her attention to his broad, well constructed chest. When he went for the first aid kit, she’d noticed he filled out his jeans well, too. He walked with a relaxed, but determined stride, and he had kind eyes, with a hint of sad lurking in their depths. He was taller than she and had an air of calm competence. She’d never trusted handsome men, though she had no idea why that was.

“Even if it’s not natural,” he said with a grin, “you reminded me of Goldilocks when I found you sleeping on my couch.”

“Are you one of the three bears?” He was big and woolly enough. His hair was dark and unruly, with the shadow of a heavy beard on the lower half of his craggy face. At the base of his throat, where the collar of his flannel shirt exposed the strong column of his neck, she could see a tuft of thick dark chest hair. No question the sum of his parts had a distinct teddy bear quality. A teddy bear packing a gun, she reminded herself.

“I growl a little in the morning,” he admitted.

“Goldie does seem to fit.” She examined the name and found she didn’t mind it. At least there was no big, bad wolf in the story. “It’s nice to meet you, Luke.”

“Nice to meet you, Goldie.” He held out his hand.

Without thinking, she reached out with her injured right arm, but felt such a stab of pain from the movement, everything went black for a few seconds. From a distance, she heard Luke ask, “What’s wrong? Is the wrap too tight?”

“No. Higher up, I think.” A few deep breaths cleared the haze, but the pain stayed, clinging to her arm like a pit bull. She saw a tear in the dark fabric of her tee shirt. Around the tear, the material was stiff with dried blood and stuck to her skin. Luke held a pair of scissors and she covered the spot protectively.

“Going to have to cut the sleeve of your shirt.”

His steady gaze reassured her. She nodded and lowered her hand.

She wanted to look away when he inserted the blade of the scissors under the edge of her sleeve and began snipping, folding the soft cotton back as more and more of her arm was exposed, but she couldn’t. Whether she liked it or not, it was another piece in the puzzle of who she was. Up past the elbow he ran into the stuck-on material and, to her relief, stopped.

“You’ve bled a fair bit,” Luke said. “You must have sliced your arm when you fell. Hang on.”

He returned with a pan of warm water. He wet the material until he’d bared her arm to the shoulder, exposing an angry gash in the flesh of her upper arm.

There was something not right about the wound, something that stole the warmth from her body, replacing it with the chill of fear. She looked at Luke, hoping he’d reassure her, but his face was grim and worried. A cop’s face, she realized. He picked up her discarded jacket and examined the tear that matched the wound in her arm. She saw him sniff it, the worry in his face deepening.

“What?”

“It’s—” he stopped, then said, his voice as grim as his face, “it’s a bullet graze. I can still smell the gun powder.” He handed her the coat.

Eyes wide, Goldie took it and sniffed. Someone shot at her. Close range, if she could smell residue. In her head she could see the words, but they didn’t make sense. Nothing did. What kind of person got shot at? How did she know about residue? No wonder she didn’t want to remember.

“What…do we…do?”

Luke looked toward the window. “Tonight? Nothing we can do. We’re completely shut off until the storm clears. When it does, my truck’s a four-wheel. I have a few contacts with the Estes Park cops.”

“But…I don’t remember anything! What will I tell them?” Panic slipped its leash again. She could hear it in her voice, but was too weary to do anything about controlling it.

Once again, Luke rescued her. He grabbed her uninjured hand and caught her gaze with his.

“We’ll figure it out in the morning. Your memory can come back at any time. At least, that’s what the TV doctors say.” He smiled. It was a nice smile. A safe smile, a confident smile, but also a sexy smile.

“Well, they must know.” She found herself smiling back as her body relaxed again. Something intimate and unsettling entered the space between them. She looked away, in the direction of her wound. Right now it was less scary than looking at Luke, so she studied it. “Looks like it plowed along the top of the epidermis. Shouldn’t need stitches. It should heal quickly if infection doesn’t set in.”

There was a moment of silence. She looked at Luke.

He grinned. “Maybe you’re a TV doc?”

Or a real one. She strained against the gray mist inside her head, but it resisted her with painful firmness.

“If I am, my brain isn’t giving it up. It’s like…” she stopped.

“Like what?” Luke’s attention was focused on wrapping the white bandage around her arm, but his voice invited her to go on.

Goldie had a feeling he was always the good cop. The urge to confide was almost irresistible. But what if she was confiding herself into jail? Was she a good guy? And if she was, what was she afraid to remember?

“It’s like…” she hesitated again, but the need to put it out there, see if what she felt could sustain itself in the light of examination, overcame her qualms, “there’s two separate…issues.” That wasn’t the right word, but nothing better presented itself. “On the one side is this…relief. An incredible lightness of being.” She smiled, wondering who she’d just plagiarized. “I’m new and the world is full of possibilities.”

“And on the other?” Luke finished his work and sat back, his gaze—sober and encouraging—fixed on her face.

“On the other is…dread. Confusion.” She closed her eyes and out of the mist heard angry voices…Who am I? And why did it feel like a question she’d asked before? She groped toward the voices, but they faded into the gray. She shook her head in frustration. “It’s gone.”

“Don’t try so hard. Memories like to be coaxed.”

“What if—” she clasped her hands together, “what if I’m mixed up in something illegal?”

“Do you think you’re that kind of person?” Luke asked, putting his hands over her clasped ones. His grip was warm and light. It gave comfort without confining.

“No!” The word burst out of her without a second’s thought. She probed deeper. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but it felt like the dread came from the outside in, not that it emanated from inside her.

“I don’t know much about amnesia, but I do know about people. I see all kinds. The ones with character and the ones without. You’re all right, Goldie.”

She stared at him for a long moment as relief flooded through her, but felt compelled to ask, “What if you’re wrong?”

For just a moment, his eyes showed he’d asked himself that question. He seemed satisfied with his own answer, though, because he grinned. “I’m never wrong, though my brothers might disagree.” His gaze studied her face, then he added, “Relax. While this storm is controlling the board, trouble can’t find either of us.”

It was a happy thought. The knot in her stomach eased, allowing relief’s return.

He stood up. “I’m going to see if I can find you something to change into. We need to check you for any other…injuries.” He caught her chin and looked at her eyes again. Not like a man looking at a woman. “Headache?”

“It’s hard to isolate my aches to any single area.” She touched the sore area at the base of her neck. It felt bigger than the last time she’d touched it. “I think I will try some of that ice, though.”

He nodded, then made a beeline for the stairs. She watched him because she couldn’t help it and because it was a distraction. She had the weird sense that a guy in tight jeans was a rarity in her life. Maybe she was a nun? Her brain produced, “We are troubled on every side, but not in despair.”

Appropriate, but not exactly significant. And didn’t nuns have to cut their hair? Luke was almost out of sight, which seemed a pity.

“Luke?”

He paused, one foot on a stair and turned. “Yeah?”

That was better. “Where am I?”

“I told you. Our cabin—”

“No, where in the world am I?”

“Oh. Colorado. Not far from Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Ring any bells?”

“North American continent. Between forty-one and thirty-seven degrees north latitude and one hundred and two and one hundred and nine degrees west longitude. Thirty-eighth state—” She stopped the flood of words, though more minutia hovered on the tip of her tongue. More about Colorado, plus the fact that Rocky Mountain National Park was founded in 1915 and was part of the front range of the Rocky Mountains. She also, apparently, knew that Estes Park was located at the east entrance to the park.

Despite the mini-flood of information, none of it gave her a sense of place, of where she was in the larger tapestry of life. Outside the storm raged against their beachhead of warmth. So far the cabin held its own against a wind that howled at the door and rattled windows that had frost building from the corners out of its panes. Away from civilization and city lights, the darkness was deep and impenetrable. She could be anywhere. Even on the moon, she realized, and she wouldn’t know it.

Goldie smiled weakly. “At least I know what continent I’m on.”

“I’ll say,” Luke said. He looked amused and bemused. “Maybe later we can play Trivial Pursuit, see what else you know.”

A name floated into the front of her brain. “Oh. I remember something else! Carmen Sandiego!”

Luke laughed. “It’s a game, Goldie. Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? I’ll bet you kick ass at it, too.”

He left her alone, feeling silly and frustrated. Why could she remember skin layers, streams of facts and games, but not her own name? And why the peculiar sense that she’d never known who she really was?

Unsettled, she padded over to the window and peered out. All she could see was the unfamiliar reflection staring back at her. She smiled, watching it appear on the stranger’s face in the window. Visibility was zero. Outside the window and inside her own head. She turned and looked at the stairs where Luke had vanished. Unbidden, against her wishes, a thought worked its way to the front of her head. What was he doing out here away from everyone?

All she knew was what he told her. The wind rose in a howl outside. A howl that sounded too much like mocking laughter.

TWO

The moon was a recent memory in the night sky. A few stars broke the cloud cover that added a layer of cool to the shrubbery surrounding the laboratory. The night smells of shrub and flower filled the air, a symbolic reminder of what they were there to protect—Mother Nature herself.

Green One, a darker shadow in a sea of shadows, scanned the area through his night vision glasses. A guard strolled around a corner, pausing to light a cigarette. Not far from him, One could see Green Two’s heat signature, also waiting for the guard to move on. When the guard resumed his patrol, One moved forward a few steps, crouched for another scan of the area, then forward again. Against the side of the building, Two and Three joined him. Four was elsewhere, neutralizing the electronic security system.

No one spoke. No one needed to. They had their assigned target inside the laboratory. Only he knew the real names of the members of the team. This was a world at war, with too few soldiers signed up on Mother Nature’s behalf. Green was his brain child, his underground army, modeled after the French Resistance of World War II. At first, Green had been small with few cells, hitting environmental polluters in a few isolated incidents and then vanishing into the night, but it had grown in the last five years. Gore had made it “in” to be green, and it had also helped his cause when he established a legitimate non-profit front that lobbied Congress, raised money, conducted peaceful protests—and found him recruits for his more aggressive goals. Gore was a joke, but it didn’t matter. Green was a mighty oak now, with strong, deep roots able to withstand the winds of change.

From his unique perspective as its gardener, it had been fascinating to see his sapling grow and flourish. The battle was like a living chessboard, with him controlling the white pieces and big business in charge of the black. The government tried to referee this unequal match, but the money that flowed from the anti-green forces to the open hands of elected officials had neutered it. Soft money for softer brains.

Despite the power inequity, he controlled his forces with a single purpose, while big business was controlled by many minds with diverging goals. He couldn’t save the world, but he could focus on the small piece of the earth he could save.

He wasn’t strong on patience, but he’d been forced to learn it. When patience wasn’t possible, he worked off his restless energy by freeing prisoners of war. He needed only to be patient a little longer. Even as he and his cohorts moved in on their objective here in California, other players had opened a new offensive back in Colorado—one that would strike a serious blow for the world’s green stuff and, as an added bonus, royally screw his father. The best of both worlds.

Like him, dark figures moved through the guts of his father’s favorite company, Merryweather Biotechnologies in Denver. This time their special task force would be successful in securing the prototype and the technology data. This time they wouldn’t fail, because this time they knew when and where to strike. Knight would fall, he thought with a grin, on the technology and on good old dad. And Knight’s daughter would play her role, then die. Everyone knew trouble came in threes. Dad was going to get a pointed and painful reminder of that little truth.

Though he was Green One, for tonight’s diversionary attack he followed Four’s lead. This team had been pulled together from three separate cells to minimize exposure. He was careful to ensure that even if the Feds tracked one of his cells back to the source, they’d have no evidence he was the leader of, let alone the mastermind behind, Green. They’d believe his carefully projected image of a rich, rebellious dilettante playing at environmentalist. He smiled. Only one person knew the truth, and he’d never tell. Their mutual passion and their mutual secret bound them more securely than any oath of loyalty.

His earpiece crackled. Two, using the latest in stealth technology, verified that Four had taken down the security system. Two breached the door. They were armed, but with tranquilizer guns, not bullets. Lost lives could cost them the PR war, which was almost as important as their hidden battles to free the hostages to technology. Distraction and delay weren’t as inspiring as big headlines in the short term, but they were in this for the long term.

They padded down the hall with Three on point. A guard rounded a corner, and Three fired. The guard collapsed without a sound. When they reached the labs where the POWs were caged, they split up. One entered his target lab and headed straight for the windows. After opening them, he turned to the cages. His lab was a prison camp for several apes used in medical research. No wire cutters for his teams. They were all armed with the latest in high-tech, portable lasers that cut through wire and padlocks like butter.

In minutes he’d freed the POWs and herded them out the window. He followed, then crouched and stared across the lawn for a last scan of the area before jogging across the lawn. He’d almost reached the cover of the trees when he heard a shout. One turned toward the sound, firing a tranquilizer in the guard’s direction as he ran backwards. The dart hit the guard in the chest. He stumbled forward a few steps and then fell on his face. Without further incident, One reached cover, the trees closing round to shelter him from hostile eyes like the loving arms of his mother, had his mother actually had arms even remotely loving.

The small wooded area was alive with the chatter of their freed POW’s. One smiled. It sounded like he’d suddenly been transported to the jungle. He jogged deeper into the trees, glad for the night vision goggles. He didn’t want to step on any of the freed hostages, darting about as they adjusted to their new freedom.

He didn’t see the others on his team. It wasn’t part of the plan. There’d be no risky rendezvous to gloat or celebrate. Just a swift, silent strike and a swifter, more silent retreat, with each man disappearing into the night.

At the edge of the woods, not far from the Los Angeles estate where his dad was being honored yet again for his rape of the environment, Leslie Merryweather shed his gear, stuffing it into the duffle he’d left stashed behind a rock. In a short time, he was back in his tux. He pulled the flask from the pocket and sprinkled a bit on his clothes, then drank a bit, gargled and spit it out. He’d parked his car with the rear toward the trees, so it was a simple matter to unlock the trunk, stow his gear and close it again without being spotted by any of the valets working the host’s party. This lab hadn’t been on their original strike list until he’d seen its proximity to the gala. Sometimes fate was kind.

He adjusted his tie to a crooked angle, mussed his hair, and then staggered out of cover. A young woman in an almost transparent dress spotted him.

“Looking for a place to puke, Leslie?” Her gaze raked his tall, dashing figure, her body angled so the light would shine through her clothes.

He lifted the flask in a mocking toast. “Love the new—” He gestured towards her chest. “Who did them?”

“Go to hell.” She turned and stalked away, everything bouncing in agitation.

He laughed, then pretended to take a drink. A white coated man approached from the house.

“Your father is looking for you, Mr. Merryweather.”

“Is he?” Leslie straightened up. “Tell him…I’ve already left. I have a golf game in Denver tomorrow.” Had to keep up his image as a useless waste of space. And he wasn’t sure he could keep the triumph out of his eyes in his dad’s presence. The old man had always known when his only son was up to something. This wasn’t the time. Soon, but not yet. He veered back to his Jag. Inside, with the motor racing, he applied serious pressure to the pedal, spewing gravel at the parked cars as he sped away. Once out of sight of the house, he slowed. Not the night to get picked up for driving drunk, not with what he had in his trunk. His plane waited at his father’s private airstrip. At the other end, not far from another airstrip, his new chess piece should be waiting for him.

* * * *

“I’ll see what I can turn up, but a storm is shutting us down as I speak,” Bryn Bailey said. She looked at her watch and winced. She was already late for the Kirby clan dinner party, and the storm would slow her down even more, assuming she ever got on the road. “Whole city may be closed tomorrow.”

Bryn had been with the Bureau since graduating from college twelve years ago and could have been their poster girl—had they had one. Vigorous and driven, she was beautiful, but much less high gloss after a year in the wild, wild west. Her power suits had given way to designer jeans that were comfortable and collected an impressive collection of wolf whistles. The spiked heels were now snakeskin cowboy boots that had changed her walk from stabbing to kick-butt.

She told herself it was the wind that had softened her sleek, dark hairstyle, but her dark, less-steely gaze couldn’t be explained away by wind gusts. Bryn blamed it on Jake Kirby, a colleague and a friend, despite his choice to join the US Marshals Service instead of the FBI. And riding herd on Dewey Hyatt. The two of them had managed to take the edge off her “take no prisoners” approach to law enforcement. She’d never expected to feel comfortable in a West she’d considered irretrievably chauvinistic. At first she’d put a penny in a jar every time someone called her “little lady,” but quit when she realized that it was a habit, not a put down. Inherent in their recognition that she was different from them was an appreciation for that difference that she liked. If she hadn’t partnered with Jake a year ago, she’d still be in DC, bitching her way through her usual cases.

She didn’t miss it. She liked that she didn’t have to act like a man to succeed here. Whatever perks she lost by being female were balanced by the benefits of being female. There was a growing satisfaction in doing her job without worrying about who was ahead of her and who was closing in from behind. Not long after she moved here, she’d felt a tectonic plate shift inside as she realized that having it “all” was driving her crazy, not happy. She now sang along with the country music station, the only thing her new SUV seemed able to pick up as she drove down the freeway and she had learned how to “push her tush,” something Dani Kirby, Jake’s sister-in-law, insisted was the key to happiness.

After a few more assurances to the voice droning in her ear—why did men have to say the same thing three ways before they could move on?—she was able to ring off. The reports coming in on the lab strikes were brief, details scarce, but her gut, her instincts were telling her there was more to this than the usual grandstanding. If only the facts backed her up.

Phagan had told her he thought Green was planning an offensive for later this year, but hadn’t learned what. After six months, he still hovered on the outside of their magic inner circle. Outside that circle, Green operated in tight, isolated cells. It wasn’t clear which cell member was the contact with their control either. He was impressed with their security—and Phagan wasn’t easy to impress.

Not the result she’d hoped for when she inched out on a limb for him a year ago. He’d contacted her online, inviting her into VR—virtual reality—as was his habit. That time, though, there’d been a difference. He came, not to court, but to ask a favor. A huge favor.

“I need access to Pathphinder,” he told her. Pathphinder was the Internet “handle” for his former partner in crime, Phoebe Mentel Kirby. Like Dewey Hyatt, Phoebe was on probation for those criminal activities. She was also Jake’s wife and Jake wasn’t about to let any unhallowed contact with her former partners jeopardize her probation. He liked having her around too much.

“Yeah, Jake will let that happen,” Bryn said, “when real-time hell freezes over.” She added the “real-time” adjective because the last time she’d said this to him, he’d turned their VR world into a frozen-over hell. The guy had a puckish sense of humor. “The only time Dewey sees Phoebe is when he’s with one of us. You know contact with you would violate her parole.”

“That’s why you’ll have to be our go-between.”

“And why would I risk pissing Jake off like that?”

“Because it could be my ticket—and yours—into the inner circle of Green.”

Green. How had he found out she was investigating Green? For months she’d been trying to plant someone inside this elusive and crafty environmental action group. It was as if Green had a sixth sense for Feds. Or a contact in their office. She didn’t like to think it, but it had happened and would again. There was always someone who needed money more than their integrity. Maybe it was time to step outside the official box.

“If I help you, you’re in?” she asked, stalling as she reviewed the pros and cons. Pros were obvious. Phagan wasn’t a Fed. Cons were obvious, too. If he wanted access to Phoebe, it was her B&E—breaking and entering—planning skills he was after. Phoebe had earned her path “phinding” rep planning B&E for Phagan and Dewey. Her probation required her to stop illegal acts, not encourage them.

“Like flint,” he said.

“What’s the job?”

“You know I can’t tell you that, arling’. You’d have to do something about it.” He gave her a virtually sincere look. “When the time is right, I’ll deliver the goods. Until then, well, you’ll have to trust me.”

Trust him. Like a wish before dying, the last two years of contact with him streamed through her head. Every taunt, tease, and love note. And with the teasing, had been solid leads to crimes committed by some very nasty characters.

As if he followed her thought processes, a tiny angel of herself appeared on her right shoulder, with a diminutive devil on the other. She looked at the angel. It smiled in a very un-angelic way.

“You know you want to,” it said.

She looked at the devil.

“You want to bad.”

She looked at Phagan. His virtual smile was wide and hopeful, his teeth too white and glinting in the sun behind his head. It invited her to forget reason, to forget caution and listen to her heart. She’d never been very good at listening to her heart, but her reasonable, logical brain knew there was a time for caution and a time to leap into the abyss.

So Phagan and Phoebe had done some path “phinding”—with Bryn as go-between. It had been an education to see Phoebe go after a system. She had a genius for finding weak spots in security. She also had an instinct for finding the strengths of a system and using that against them. It was fortunate that Jake kept her on a very short leash. It almost drove Bryn mad that she couldn’t tell who or where the system was housed. Phagan’s VR world was stripped of all identifying marks.

And then nothing. As near as she could tell Green hadn’t used the information. There’d been no report of a break-in that remotely resembled Phoebe’s plan.

So why hadn’t Green used the plan? Instead, everyone seemed to be in a holding pattern. Until tonight. Were Green operatives even now moving on an unsuspecting lab with information she’d helped provide? And where was Phagan? Since her last contact with him, he’d been ominously silent.

It wasn’t like him. He liked to touch base with her every day, even it if was just an email smiley. She hated to admit it, but she was worried about him. Could Green suspect him? They’d managed to smoke out every other person she’d sent against them but this time she was the only person who knew Phagan was working with her. Six months had passed since Phagan began his online dance with someone called “Forest for the Trees,” and still no face-to-face meet with any of the Green leadership to show for giving Phagan her trust six months ago, except a few more wrinkles around her eyes. This was the first time she’d stepped outside the lines. If Phagan failed her, it could mean her career.

Out there, somewhere past her personal worries, her brain gnawed at the few facts she’d learned. Why had Green chosen tonight to act? In the past, their operations had coincided with environmentally significant days, like Arbor Day. Was there something else that she’d missed in her obsessive monitoring the past six months?

There was no way to know what this change in their usual modus operandi meant. Not with the paucity of facts she had and using a brain too tired to produce more than a boatload of unanswered questions and lots of unease. Her last cup of coffee had faded from her system a couple of hours ago. The clock sounded loud in the quiet, empty office. Somewhere there was someone on night duty, but not here where all the smart agents left for home ahead of the storm. Usually Dewey stayed until she left, but he’d had to report to his parole officer before they met for dinner with the Kirbys. It annoyed her that she missed him, that she liked having him working with her as a pseudo-partner.

To escape her thoughts, she grabbed her purse and rose to her feet in one smooth, determined motion. Moping around the office was as useful as hitting herself with a two-by-four. She could at least be with friends eating good food and great desserts. She snagged her coat as she passed the rack. Out in the hall, she hesitated long enough to hear the door click closed behind her. As she rounded the corner, she heard the elevator ping and picked up the pace, but checked when she saw someone waiting in the elevator. It was instinct to reach for the weapon in the holster nestled in the curve of her back, even as she recognized him.

Donovan Kincaid raised his hands above his waist, the palms out so she could see they were empty. “You’ve gone country. I wasn’t expecting that.”

And I wasn’t expecting you, she thought. She didn’t wonder how he’d gotten in the closed building. To be a specialist in keeping people out, you first had to know how they got in. She shrugged. “Stuff happens.”

“That it does,” he said. “I knew the storm wouldn’t scare you home early.”

Did he? Bryn arched her brows. “I’d planned to be, but something came up.”

“Something always does.”

Donovan Kincaid studied her without embarrassment, so she returned the favor. He still looked like Harrison Ford and had the charm—and a rakish air of mystery packaged with military bearing—to match the rugged good looks. He was a man who could make a woman feel feminine and fluttery, even when she was pointing a gun at him. She’d never understood the younger woman/older man attraction until she met Donovan. She’d been tempted, though not enough to join the parade of women that sighed after him. She remembered liking him, but not trusting him—because of what she knew about him and what she didn’t.

Back then, his dossier placed him in Vietnam as a sniper, but he wasn’t a loner and seemed to be free of “issues” and post traumatic stress disorder from his three tours of duty in Asia. He did have issues with peacetime, she recalled. He was a natural-born soldier with a romantic streak that helped him with women. He loved the life, the danger. No surprise he’d turned mercenary, selling his skills to those perceived as the good guys in the world’s various conflicts. A few blank spots hinted at some CIA involvement. Then he turned up as a security specialist for a government contractor, which is how she’d met him. She believed that it was Kincaid who’d sent her the information that nailed his employer—once it became clear that that employer wasn’t on the side of the angels. He had to be on the right side, even if he was no angel himself.

She hadn’t kept track of Kincaid because of the flare of attraction that hummed below the surface every time she was around him. That might have been a mistake, she decided. Did his presence here mean he’d set up shop in Denver or was he just passing through?

“I like the new you,” he said with a smile that warmed the cold hallway. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“I’m late for a dinner appointment.”

“Really?” His smile turned intimate. “You have changed.”

A year ago, her hackles would have popped up, but after hanging with the Kirby men, her hackles were plumb worn out.

“I live in interesting times.”

His chuckle was sexy as hell.

You’d think that being interested in two men would give you some immunity, she thought ruefully, and wondering, for the thousandth time, how a pair of criminals had become yin to her oh-so-legal yang?

“How about I walk you to your car?” His manner was easy, but as she entered the brighter light of the elevator, she could see the worry in the back of his gray eyes that had a few more lines than she remembered fanning out from them. Snow still dusted his brown hair, which had been mixed with a bit of distinguished gray as long as she’d known him. He topped her by at least five inches. The navy coat he wore with casual confidence looked expensive. He smelled expensive, too, dispelling the odor of pizza and sweat that usually prevailed in the elevator.

She propped a shoulder against the metal wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She chose the defensive pose on purpose. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark, wool pants, his attitude that of the supplicant, which was a far cry from his usual take-charge approach. Which meant he was more than a little worried.

“What’s up, Donovan?” The clock was ticking in her head, but curiosity drowned it out.

He hesitated, as if not sure where to begin. “I could be crying wolf,” he admitted.

She didn’t state the obvious, that he usually was the wolf. He shifted, as if he felt claustrophobic in the small box.

“Why don’t you start at the beginning and move to the end?” She punctuated this with a pointed look at her watch. If he didn’t get to the point, she’d miss dessert. She hated missing dessert.

He nodded. “I’m working for Merryweather Biotechnologies. The usual security consulting, only professional and personal this time. Their work is cutting edge, some of it top secret and under government contract. Earlier today, one of their top scientists, John Knight, collapsed and was rushed to the hospital. He died two hours ago.”

The elevator doors slid open. Bryn stepped out into the lobby and stopped, facing Donovan.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But—”

“It’s complicated.” He hesitated again, then said, “His daughter, Prudence, accompanied him to the hospital, but now she seems to be missing.”

His tone had changed when he said her name, though she couldn’t isolate just how. Bryn felt her instincts ramp up as his gaze avoided hers.

“According to the nursing staff, there was some kind of argument. She left looking—” he stopped.

“Looking?”

He hesitated. “Agitated. Real agitated.”

“And the father? How did he look?”

Donovan’s brows snapped together in a scowl. “Pleased. The nurse said he looked pleased.”

“That’s hardly a federal offense,” Bryn said, though her tone was gentle.

“I know.” He sighed, shaking his head. “And it’s a good reason to take a time out. But Pru—Miss Knight is more than his daughter. She’s his research assistant. And critical to his work. His highly classified, very valuable work. And she’s not the kind of person to ignore a page.”

“And your gut is telling you that something’s wrong?” Bryn had learned to appreciate the value of the twitching male gut, though she liked hard facts the better.

“Her car’s in the parking lot outside the hospital,” he said, his gaze avoiding hers.

Bryn looked out the lobby’s glass doors at the blowing snow. “Has she ever gone AWOL?”

His face told her that she’d hit on a question he didn’t want her to ask. He nodded again, this time reluctantly. “He keeps—kept her on a short leash when he was around, but he traveled a lot. Conferences and stuff. And she has some money of her own from her mother. When he’s gone, she takes off, too. Though not like this. She parks in a garage downtown and disappears in the mall, sometimes for several days.”

How did he know? She held back the question, sensing he wouldn’t answer it anyway. It was clear that he had more than a professional interest in Miss Knight. When a woman was involved, he usually did. Maybe that was what was making him twitch.

“I have some contacts in the DPD,” she said, thanks to Jake’s brother, Luke, who was a homicide detective. “I can ask a few questions. I might get some answers.”

Or she might not. It was too soon to know much and the storm would complicate more than Donovan’s problems before it moved east.

“Do you have a picture?”

He pulled a manila envelope out of a pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s her vitals, car stats and a picture.” He waited until she took it. “Also my personal cell phone number. Call me if—”

“Of course, but I can’t promise much, Donovan.”

“I know.” He held her gaze for a long moment. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” She tapped the envelope. “I’ll be in touch.”

She left him standing on the sidewalk, an improbably forlorn figure with the storm for his backdrop. In the garage, her SUV was cold and reluctant to start. As she waited for it to warm, she thought about her arrival in Denver with Jake just over a year ago. Her skirt—and her attitude—had been so tight, Jake had had to lift her into the cab of the truck he’d rented.

Donovan was right. She had changed, though not so much she waited to open the envelope. She was curious to see the woman who’d made Donovan Kincaid worry. She pulled out the sheets and found the promised vitals on Prudence Knight, along with a picture that was even worse than the usual driver’s license mug shot. Probably her company ID. She had that “deer in the headlights” look. Her stats put her at five-eight, but the unkind camera shrunk her a bit. Her hair, blond, was pulled sternly back off her face, and she wore a pair of large, studious glasses perched on the end of her nose. According to her birth date, she was young enough to be Donovan’s daughter. Which had never stopped him in the past. Not his usual squeeze, though, unless she looked better in the flesh. From the picture, she could get no sense of who Prudence Knight was or how she felt about daddy’s short leash around her neck, but there must be something there. She’d not only managed to break free on occasion, she’d managed to lose Donovan, which Bryn knew from personal experience wasn’t easy.

That brought her back to wondering why Donovan had been following Prudence Knight? If she were so critical to her father’s research, why would he risk pissing her off? Without answers, all she could do was speculate, which she could do just as well at her destination. She stowed the information and backed out of her spot, then turned truck and self in the direction of the restaurant. With a little luck, she might make it in time for dessert.

* * * *

Goldie, buried in a mound of quilts, had slipped into a light slumber. Earlier, she’d found one of Dani’s flannel nightgowns and a pair of Phoebe’s Snoopy slippers for her icy feet. Luke was uneasy with the question of a concussion still unresolved. The last time he checked, her pupils were normal and responsive to light, but she also had three nasty bumps on various sides of her noggin. He’d feel better when she could be checked into the hospital, but for now the storm had settled in over them like a broody hen.

He should phone his mom or she’d pin his ears back for making her worry. He could feel it, even with miles and Mother Nature between them. He felt reluctant to call her or his brothers. He hadn’t planned this. So why didn’t he want to talk about it? He tried the words out in his head, but nothing sounded right. Just thinking about telling his mother made him feel exposed, uncomfortable. Because he was an adult, he pressed himself harder. What was he afraid she would pick up on?

It wasn’t hard to figure out. Against his better instincts, he felt attracted to Goldie. He’d have to be made of rock not to feel his senses stirring under the circumstances. He was a man, alone in the wilds with a beautiful woman. Trouble was, he’d come here to find closure, not to rev his motor over someone who didn’t even know her name. Plus, he didn’t want to get teased about it. His brothers could squeeze more mileage out of random chance than anyone he knew. They’d sense his guilt and, like sharks who smell blood, they’d be after him with about as much mercy. He needed to know more about Goldie before he exposed them both to that. He didn’t like questions without answers.

It was odd, her showing up here on the same day he happened to be coming. The only person who knew he was coming here was Dani. If there was a malignant purpose in Goldie’s presence, it wasn’t directed at him. Had she really lost her memory? When he looked into her eyes, he believed her. Now that her remarkable eyes were closed…he wasn’t so sure. It was time to start thinking like a cop. The only clues he had, except for the lady herself, were her clothes. Or what was left of them.

He picked up her blue jeans. The fabric was soft, comfortable, and well worn. No laundry marks or tags. Nothing in the pockets but some bits of lint. Not surprising, since most women carried a purse. She’d probably lost it when she fell. Her shredded cotton tee shirt was also soft from multiple washings and without pockets. An experienced hiker, she’d spent her money on her jacket and boots, which looked worn but cared for. The boots were scuffed from her tumble but had survived better than the jacket. In addition to the bullet hole in the sleeve, he found more rips than he could count. The pockets yielded a set of keys and an innocuous shopping list.

He studied the handwriting. It was precise and graceful, very legible, and a bit old-fashioned. The list looked like what he’d buy for a high-energy hike. The keys were hanging from a Harry Potter key ring. There was also an anonymous security card key, but no identifying initials, either personal or professional. Two of the keys could have been house or apartment keys. A car key and a computer lock key. The rest were too anonymous to speculate about.

He started to toss her jacket back onto the chair, but stopped when a hard object banged against his leg. He felt the body of the jacket and found it in the lining. An inside seam gave way when pressure was applied. Velcro closed the opening. He pulled it open and found a nifty looking personal digital assistant. It looked a bit like the PDA Dani had bought for Matt. Dani loved technology toys like Harry Potter loved Hogwarts. He flipped open the cover and found a power button. When the screen flickered to life, a password prompt appeared, denying him access to its contents. For the first time in a year, he wished he had Dewey Hyatt close to hand. If anyone could crack this puppy, it was Hyatt.

Interesting that she’d stowed it inside her coat like that. Why hide it—unless she had something to hide? And if she was faking her memory loss, what did she gain?

Time, which the storm gave her anyway, but she hadn’t known that when she woke up.

Freedom from explanations? If she were involved in something illegal, finding herself alone with a cop would be a lot of motivation to play dumb. With those eyes and that face she could convince Clinton to be good. He may be too old for her, but he wasn’t immune. There was no way to think his way to a solution. He had no facts and precious few clues. Unless he quit thinking like a cop and turned into a psychic—which wasn’t likely to happen. All roads led back to Goldie. As if on cue, she whimpered in her sleep. Her head whipping in one direction, then the other. She moaned, her movements becoming more frantic in the short time it took him to reach her side.

He hesitated, then touched her shoulder, afraid wake her too fast.

“Goldie?”

She gasped once more, then her eyes popped open. “No!”

“You’re safe, Goldie,” he said. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“Oh.” She blinked at him, for a moment not sure who he was or where she was. Luke. Cabin. Mountains. Colorado. Right. She rubbed her face as images from her dreams slipped around in her head, too fast for her to hold onto specifics, leaving behind the sense they’d been menacing. She inched her way upright, her muscles protesting. A faint, minatory voice from out of the mist ordered her to sit up straight with her knees together. She knew that voice, but before she could name it, it retreated back into the mist, satisfied she was behaving like a lady.

“How’s the head?”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” The feelings from the dream were fading, though she wasn’t eager to risk sleeping again. The firelight flickered, casting shadows on the walls and on Luke’s face. It was peaceful, comforting, and intimate. “Don’t let me keep you. It must be very late.”

“After one and I can’t sleep either.” Luke settled in the chair closest to her. “Want to try your hand at Trivia? Might trigger a memory.”

She nodded, despite a reluctance to trigger more memories. What are you afraid of, Goldie?

She watched Luke unearth the game from a chest in one corner. He switched on the light, sending many of the shadows scampering into the far corners. She didn’t mind. She could see him better. She enjoyed the way he moved and the confident sway of his shoulders. That voice from the mist tried to censure her, but it was faint and easy to ignore. He turned, almost catching her staring. She hurried into distracting speech, “You said something about brothers earlier, didn’t you?”

Luke pulled the coffee table between them and opened the box. “Two. Both younger than me.”

What if she had brothers or sisters? Or parents still living? Would they be looking for her? Worried about her? She felt alone, but that didn’t mean that she was. That there weren’t people who needed her, loved her. What if it was family that was the burden she was escaping from? Goldie chose her piece. It felt odd and unfamiliar in her hand. Did that mean she’d never played the game before? “Tell me about them.”

Tell me about you, was what she wanted to say. She didn’t know this man. He could be the reason she was here. Part of some elaborate plan. Of course, that assumed she was important enough for a plan, elaborate or not. She didn’t feel important. Or dangerous enough to shoot at.

All she had was her instincts, and she didn’t know if she could trust them. Had they let her down in the past? Or steered her right? Did she have common sense? Or was she an airhead who was lucky to get from point A to point B? There was no way to know. She could resist the attraction that pulled her toward Luke. She could, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to feel responsible; she wanted to be free.

Free of what? Or was it who?

Was she married? Her mind rejected that vehemently. A glance at her hand reassured her. No ring and no sign there’d ever been a ring, though some people didn’t wear rings. She didn’t feel married. She felt…new. It felt lovely to be here, to smile at Luke while he talked and rolled the dice. She liked his laugh. It was deep and infectious. She laughed with him. It hurt, but felt good, too. She needed the endorphins.

Endorphins? Maybe she was a doctor.

THREE

Bryn paused in the doorway to shake the snow off her coat before handing it to the coatroom clerk. She was glad she’d traded in her lethal high heels early in her adventures in the Mile-High City. In honor of the storm, she’d also traded in her cowboy boots for snow boots with deep treads because she didn’t intend to break her neck, or any other bone, crossing an icy parking lot.

Her coat dealt with, her gaze swept the restaurant, looking for the Kirby table. Her nose inhaled the yummy food smells filling the warm air. It was easy to spot her group. It was the largest in the room, dominating a large portion of a corner that had probably been quiet before it was invaded. The table had a finished-eating look that didn’t bode well for her empty tummy—which promptly grumbled.

Two empty chairs drew her attention. One, she knew, was hers. A frown started between her brows until she spotted Dewey Hyatt. Part of her expected the other empty chair to be his. Though he wore an official bracelet on his ankle, it would be easy beans for him to shed it. For the first few months of his electronic probation, tension had coiled her insides like a malignant snake as she waited for him to vanish. Disappearing was his specialty. It was hard to believe he could give up a habit so deeply ingrained into his psyche.

Against the odds, there he sat, a high-tech thief at a table full of lawmen. Lanky and rather nondescript, he managed to look appealing next to the highly “descript” Kirbys. The charm helped, of course. He was loaded with it. It brightened his brown eyes and disguised a face so ordinary it verged on homely. His mouth was mobile and nicely shaped, with an infectious grin and a dimple that sometimes popped out on his left cheek. In a perfect world, the fluidity of his face and body could have put him in serious contention with comic Jim Carrey. Dewey had an instinct for comedy and for mining her sense of humor. She’d grown accustomed to him and even let herself enjoy it, despite her best efforts not to.

She told herself she had him working with her to try and trick him into exposing Phagan, but Bryn couldn’t lie to herself forever. In a yearlong campaign, Dewey’d managed to move her past mere liking and into the dangerous territory of warm regard. She’d even pondered various possible, and even some impossible, happy endings.

Jake’s career had survived his marriage to the paroled Phoebe, but he was a man. Men could do some things that a woman in law enforcement couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, but it never had been. She knew that going in and had figured it was worth it. Now, though, when she looked on the happiness of Jake and his brother, Matt, she wondered if a girl could sacrifice too much for a career.

With Dewey present and briefly mooned over, she turned her attention to who wasn’t there. She could see Matt with his Dani, their son on his lap instead of in the high chair the restaurant provided. Dani was still packing a few of her pregnancy pounds, but the extra weight suited her. She’d had a few pounds too many shaved off her during her ordeal as a government witness. Mark looked like he was going to be a chip off his dad’s block, but Dani didn’t look like she minded. Happiness suited her.

Phoebe still glowed, too. Bryn remembered the first time she’d seen her, just over a year ago. She’d been singing in a band in a bar in Estes Park. Her eyes had a “no trespassing” sign posted in them and so much sad, it was painful to look at her. Jake had torn that sign down. Jake was always cheerful, but now it was biggie-sized, with a huge dollop of contentment. If she felt inclined to jealousy, she had only to remind herself of what both couples had suffered to be sitting there together.

Debra Kirby sat at the head table, her eyes worried as they studied the empty chair. It still startled Bryn how much Jake and his mom looked alike. Both were light, compared to the dark-visaged Matt and Luke, who everyone said took after their dad.

Luke. That’s who was missing. Luke, who they were pretending this gathering wasn’t for. Just like they were pretending they’d forgotten it was the anniversary of his wife Rosemary’s death. Luke was so easygoing, so even tempered, she sometimes forgot he’d lost his childhood sweetheart to ovarian cancer seven years earlier.

Bryn dropped into the seat between Debra and Dewey and touched her hand. “Your firstborn working tonight?”

She smiled, but there was strain in it, as she shook her head. “He’s eluded us. Told Dani he was going up to the cabin. Now the storm has moved in, and he’s got his phone turned off or its not receiving.”

“Men.” Bryn could feel Dewey watching her, waiting for her attention to turn his way. She ignored him, though she didn’t pull away when his hand found hers under the table and squeezed it. When had she moved from rejecting his advances to accepting them? How long would it be before she was returning them? Dewey had been patient and persistent, but he’d upped the tempo of his pursuit lately. Cheeky devil, she thought, then caught her breath as the tip of his finger traced a heart in the palm of her captured hand. Okay, so maybe there was something more than warm regard in her feelings for Dewey, but she was not in love with him.

“You’re late,” Matt said, moving a steak knife out of his son’s reaching hands.

It could be either a comment or a question. The Kirby men were like that, she’d found. The choice of what and how much to share was her responsibility. She never got to claim anything was dragged out of her, but they were free with their assistance and never tried to take all the credit.

“Had a couple of calls before I could get clear,” she said, adjusting the volume of her voice so it reached only the ears at their table. “Green hit six research labs tonight. East and west coast and a couple in between. Turned a bunch of lab animals loose. Graffiti on the walls about freeing the POWs and hostages. The usual stuff, only this time somebody died.”

Jake frowned slightly. “Deliberate?”

Bryn shook her head. “They used a tranquilizer gun on one of the security guards. Shot him in the heart. Guy had a heart condition and couldn’t take it. We’ve been tracking sales of the darts because they always use them, so we know this one came from our area. They want us to check it out.” She looked at Dewey. “Green did their usual pre-screw of the computers. Our guys were wondering if you could fly in and contain the damage once the weather clears. I told them you could.”

“Am I allowed out of your sight?” Dewey smiled at her, the charm flowing out of him to wrap around her heart like a favorite chocolate.

“No. That’s why I’ll be going with you.” She tried to keep her expression and her tone noncommittal, but it wasn’t easy with Dewey’s fingers creeping up her thigh. She grabbed his hand and returned it to his own lap.

Dewey arched his brows wickedly as his hand gripped hers. She could have pulled away, she knew. He knew it, too.

“You got a couple of calls?” Phoebe asked, as if she knew Bryn needed rescuing. “Don’t people know when to go home?”

Bryn chuckled. One call had been a report on a right-wing paramilitary group, the Colorado Irregulars, operating out of one of those weekend, “let’s shoot paint balls at each other for fun” camps, but this wasn’t the place to mention that, since it had also proved difficult to infiltrate. “Sometimes I’m not sure Alexander Graham did us any favors when he invented the telephone. Then I got tagged leaving the office.” She looked at Jake. “Did you ever meet a mercenary named Donovan Kincaid when you were in D.C.?”

Jake frowned. “Ran into him once. Interesting character.”

“Well, he’s being ‘interesting’ here in Denver these days. He’s a security consultant for Merryweather Biotechnologies. Either of you had dealings with them?”

Both Jake and Matt shook their heads. Jake, as if he couldn’t resist it, said, “Sounds like a place that would interest Phagan.”

“Almost everything does.” Dewey looked amused, as if he knew something no one else did. Except maybe Phoebe, who choked.

Jake looked a question at her, but thought better of it and kissed her instead. Wise man. See no evil, hear no evil, ask no questions and marital harmony is preserved.

Bryn eyed Dewey. “Any idea what might have interested Phagan at Biotech?”

He looked delighted to have her full attention. “They dabble in a lot of different stuff. Been messing around with genetically engineered foods and done some interesting stuff with protective gear.”

“Such as?” Debra asked.

“Well, they developed a jump suit that mutes the body’s heat signature,” he said, winking at Phoebe. Her eyes widened, then she looked away, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Once again Jake looked curious but restrained himself. Marriage to Phoebe was teaching him a lot about self-control, Bryn decided with an inward grin.

“I also heard they were doing some interesting research in protective body armor,” he went on. “They have some super brain, name of John Knight, in charge of the research.”

Bryn twitched at the name, earning a quick look from Dewey. He hesitated, then continued, “If he succeeds, it could impact more than personal protection. And be mega-valuable.”

“How?” Bryn asked, though she knew she shouldn’t.

“Well, who wouldn’t like body armor that was light and cool and could beat cop-killers?”

Bryn nodded. Armor-piercing bullets were the bane of law enforcement existence.

“Why would a biotech company be working on body armor?” Debra asked.

Bryn looked at her with respect. It was a good question.

Dewey shrugged. “Buzz is Bio-Tech is looking to Mother Nature for a solution to the problem of protection and weight. Nature kicks butt when protecting itself from predators.”

“Did they do it?” Bryn asked. “Did they succeed?”

“I don’t know. I promised this judge I’d be good,” Dewey said, his arm finding its way to the back of her chair, his smile worming its way into her heart.

Did that mean he wasn’t in contact with Phagan? She wished she could ask him. Or Phoebe. She’d be glad when they weren’t on parole anymore. If she lived that long.

“What did Kincaid want?” Matt asked. It was typical of him to bring the conversation back on point.

Bryn related the gist of Donovan’s visit and handed over the envelope. “I was hoping to hand it off to Luke.”

Though now she was wondering if she should. Was it possible Prudence Knight’s disappearance was the beginning of a move on Merryweather? Could it be connected to Green’s other activities this evening? It could be a coincidence, she supposed, but biotech companies were a favorite target of Green.

Matt glanced at the contents, Dani taking a peek over his shoulder, and then he handed them to Jake.

“If she is playing hooky, the storm would complicate things for her,” Jake said as he took his turn at the contents, the pages angled so Phoebe could see them, too. “I wonder how close Knight was to succeeding?”

“Want me to find out for you?” Dewey asked, giving Bryn a provocative look.

Bryn kicked him, then gave Jake a pointed look. “Is your gut twitching?” She had enormous, though reluctant, respect for Jake’s gut.

Jake shrugged, his mischievous gaze catching Phoebe’s. “Not about that.” He jumped as if Phoebe had kicked him and asked Bryn, “Any other trouble signs?”

“Not that Donovan mentioned. Gonna be a bitch to investigate right now. They were saying on the radio that the storm is going to shut us down for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Longer in the mountains,” Debra said, her look of worry deepening.

“Luke’s a big boy, Mom,” Matt said. “He can take care of himself.”

* * * *

The Colorado Irregulars were one of his more brilliant inspirations, Leslie decided as he relaxed in the leather seat of his private jet, even in a host of brilliant ideas. Who’d look in a right-wing paramilitary camp for the leaders of the Green? Most of the men who patronized the camp were weekend warriors looking to play soldier with guns and paint. A few were extreme right-wingers with a grudge against a government they felt no longer listened to them. They were inducted into the secret sections of the camp and encouraged to play soldier for real. Grady O’Brien, the camp commander and Leslie’s second-in-command inside Green, had recruited a couple of right wingers to run the public section of the camp. Because Grady encouraged them, they thought the camp was a cover for plotting the overthrow of the government.

Leslie had met Grady in college. If they both hadn’t been straight, they’d have been lovers, so instantly had they been drawn to each other. The friendship they’d forged was stronger than any sexual bond could have been, despite their vast differences.

Grady was the brilliant son of poor parents, attending Yale on a scholarship. Every course of study to which he turned his attention came as easily to him as a hooker with a pimp to pay. He’d wandered between colleges, trying this discipline and that course. So quickly did his ability to learn outstrip the teachers ability to teach, that he’d be bored before the semester was half over and move on. When he finally flunked out, Leslie left with him. It was a great way to piss off his father, his main goal at the time, and besides, he’d learned more from Grady than any program could teach him. Their passion to change the world flowed into the cause of the environment, but neither could settle for throwing money at politicians and whining to the media. They both wanted to change the world.

During the cross-country drive from the East Coast to Colorado, they’d planned and brainstormed a long-term plan for taking back the world from the techno-tyrants. Ironically, they’d applied for and received a government grant for their initial start up.

When Leslie appeared at the camp, usually before an op, the men treated him with rough contempt, which suited him. As long as they saw him as a wealthy dilettante playing soldier, they wouldn’t put their tiny brains together and figure out his real purpose—and theirs.

When he discovered his father’s research project, it was to Grady that Leslie turned for help. He’d talked to John Knight at the company party to annoy his father. Old bird looked like he wished he were anywhere else. Leslie had first flashed his charm on the old man’s prim and proper daughter, but she was dead from the neck down. She’d blinked a couple of times and then excused herself to find the lady’s room. The lady’s room. Who talked like that now? After the party, whenever he was in town, Leslie made a point of stopping in to see Knight in his office, because he knew it would bug his old man. One day Knight had let him sit in on a test of the prototype of his bio-tech body armor. Why shouldn’t he? Leslie was the boss’s son.

The experiments his father and Knight were conducting were unnatural. How dare they attempt to merge living organisms and technology into a design to protect man from his own violence? It was an affront to nature, as unnatural as any experiment of Dr. Frankenstein’s. He’d known then, even as he smiled at the dried-up old man, that he was going to kill him. First, Green had tried to steal Shield to prevent his father from continuing after Knight’s death. That’s when he’d discovered how important the Knight’s daughter was to their plan and to Donovan Kincaid.

Donovan Kincaid.

It had been a stroke of luck, a gift from Providence, though Leslie hadn’t realized it when he had first met Kincaid, the newly hired security consultant, at that same party. Another environmental group had been sending his father threatening letters and emails when Biotech acquired animals for research. It was this kind of rampant stupidity that kept him from merging Green with any of the environmental groups. Why would you warn someone before striking?

Leslie hadn’t found Kincaid interesting at their first meeting, except as someone to joke about later with Grady. Kincaid reminded him of a paranoid Indiana Jones. He dressed like a soldier, though his uniform belonged to no army on this planet, and he had that “corncob up the ass” bearing, too. The ladies seemed to like him, even though he was pushing sixty.

When Kincaid showed up at the Colorado Irregulars camp, Leslie had wondered if his father had found out about it and sent Kincaid to infiltrate them, but Kincaid had asked no questions about him or anyone else. It seemed he liked to play war. He and Grady let Kincaid shoot paint at the other players, while they considered whether he might be useful to them. When anyone appeared at the camp, they were rigorously, but quietly, investigated. The Feds had attempted infiltration several times without success.

Grady had an instinct for finding out interesting facts about people and a gift for getting them to tell him their secrets. He was almost a male version of that empathic woman on Star Trek, the one who could adapt herself to the personality of the man she was with. It was Grady who’d turned up Kincaid’s odd interest in Knight’s daughter. Grady had noticed Kincaid’s reaction when Leslie had mentioned Prudence Knight and had had Kincaid’s apartment discreetly tossed. The search turned up hundreds of photographs of her. What they couldn’t figure out was why. It didn’t appear Kincaid had done more than wish her good morning, but the photos proved he was obsessed. It would have been interesting to know why, but it didn’t matter to their plan. She was his pressure point and that was all that mattered. When Leslie saw Kincaid’s full dossier, the plan had exploded in his head, with most of the pieces already in place. Green ought to have its own expert marksman/sniper—especially one who could be traced right back to his dad and Merryweather Biotech.

As he looked at his watch, the plane hit an air pocket and dropped with a jolt, then popped up again. He buzzed his pilot. “Gave me a bit of a jolt there, Harry.”

He’d spent a lot of time building a reputation as an idiot. Not even an air pocket would make him to break character.

“I was just going to call you, sir,” Harry said. “There’s a storm in Colorado. We’ll have to divert.”

“Well, find someplace interesting. You know how I hate being bored.”

Leslie closed the intercom with a frown. He’d have to postpone his meeting with Kincaid’s girl, it seemed. He grabbed the onboard phone and dialed Grady’s private number. It was late, but he’d be up. Grady never slept.

“Yo.”

Leslie grinned. Grady had his own deceptive persona cultivated through years of practice. “So, how did it go?”

A silence was his first intimation of trouble.

“I don’t know yet. The boys got grounded by the storm.”

And they’d agreed on radio silence for security purposes. Too many people had scanners these days.

“Right.” He tapped the table top. “Storm’s shut me out, too.”

“Gonna be a couple of days before it clears,” Grady said. “Where you gonna be?”

“Someplace fun.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Grady chuckled. “How’d it go in California?”

“Barrels of fun. Dad’s pissed at me as usual. And I made some new friends.”

“Well, when we’re all swinging from the trees again, we’ll need ’em. Night, Les.”

“Night.” Leslie leaned back in his seat, stretching out his long legs. He pressed the intercom again. “Where we going?”

“Vegas.”

“Very good.” Vegas. He could use a woman tonight. Maybe gamble a bit. Reinforce his image as a useless waste of space. What he really wanted to do tonight, he realized with a shocked thrill, was to kill someone himself, not just order it done. He wouldn’t, but he wondered how long he’d felt like this and not realized it.

FOUR

Luke knew it was morning because it was light and stormy instead of dark and stormy. They’d played Trivial Pursuit and Goldie had whipped him. Then, in a moment of weakness, he’d shown her how Phoebe’s karaoke machine worked. What she didn’t know about popular music and popular musicians was as interesting as what she had known at Trivial Pursuit. Neither of them had a wonderful singing voice, though he was the only one who knew it at the start. He’d been too tired to let it stop him, and truth be told, he was glad he hadn’t.

He grinned as he remembered how bad they sounded. She had no instinct for music, yet she’d forged ahead, her warbling not awful, but not wonderful either. Despite her lack of memory, he felt he knew her. She didn’t fling herself into risk, but she didn’t back away from it either. There was a buoyancy and a delight for life beneath that rather prim exterior.

He frowned, straining for the right analogy, like it mattered, and then it came to him. She reminded him of the space shuttle breaking free of gravity. As it strained up, it shed those tiles, as if it had to shed weight to make it. That’s what she reminded him of, someone straining to break free. The effort had cost her. She’d sank onto the couch, laughing one minute and the next she was asleep, the transition as swift as a child’s. He’d lifted her legs up and covered her with blankets, resisting the impulse to touch the smooth curve of her cheek. Her soft sigh had shaken him enough to make him retreat to the other side of the coffee table.

He’d slept too, waking to find the fire dying and the power gone. He felt as stiff as his high school English teacher—and about as cheerful—from falling asleep in his chair. When he managed to unbend his body, he built up the fire again, filled the coffeepot with water and hung it over the heat. He knew a watched pot never boiled, but he watched it anyway and dang if it didn’t boil. God bless the altitude. He poured water in his cup, added instant coffee and drank it down in two gulps. It scalded all the way to his stomach, then kicked his butt from the inside. That’s when he allowed himself to look at Goldie.

He’d wondered if he dreamt her, but there she was, her position almost unchanged from when he’d tucked the blankets around her last night. Sometime in the night, she’d tucked her uninjured hand under her cheek. The injured wrist clutched the edge of the quilt as if to keep her from falling. The temperature in the room had dropped enough that each breath from her parted lips puffed white into the air around her face. In the storm-pale morning light, he could see the bruises and scratches standing out in sharp relief against her pale skin.

He looked at the flakes beating against the window and realized he didn’t feel trapped. He was glad the storm kept them here. He hadn’t felt this alive since…the day he met Rosemary. He’d been young, but he’d known she was “the one.” It scared him so much, he almost took off. As if she knew it, Rosemary had gripped his hand and smiled at him. He forgot about taking off, forgot about his plan to hitchhike around the world, forgot everything but the pleasure of looking into her blue eyes.

This wasn’t the same as that, of course. Goldie might be married or at least involved with someone. And she was too young for him. She was maybe in her early thirties. Maybe. He revised the number every time her eyes changed. Bottom line, he wasn’t looking to feel young again with a young wife. Looking down the barrel of fifty didn’t scare him. He’d earned his years the hard way. That didn’t mean his parts had quit working. Or that he was immune. He was human. He looked at her lying there, the blanket covering her chest rising and falling with each breath. Okay, make that damn human.

She lifted her lashes, and he found that her eyes had changed again. Now she looked younger than his earliest estimate. Maybe it was the hint of shy in her eyes, as if she’d never woken up with a man before.

“Good morning.”

Her voice was husky, and he could tell she didn’t quite know what to do. Or, maybe she couldn’t move. He’d had the odd injury stiffen up on him.

“How do you feel?”

“Like…road kill.” But she smiled as she said it.

Her smile stole the breath from his lungs and most of his wits. He smiled back and knew his expression was stunned and probably stupid looking, but the connection between his brain and his mouth seemed to be temporarily out of order.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he managed.

“What I’d really like is to get from here to there.” She indicated the bathroom with her eyes, most likely the only part of her that didn’t hurt.

“I can help you up, but it’s still going to hurt.”

“Yeah, I know.”

When she didn’t move, it occurred to him that she didn’t want an audience. “I’ll go rustle up some grub.”

After a detour to the bathroom to make sure she had water for the commode and washing, Luke headed for the kitchen. He braced for expected sounds of distress and pain, but there were none. After a time, he saw her pass by the doorway in tiny but determined steps. She may not know her own name, but the girl had guts. A hot bath would have helped, but there’d be no hot water with the power out. They had some liniment somewhere, but he wasn’t going to offer to rub her down. A good woodsman knew when not to add kindling to a fire.

Thanks to a gas stove, he had a decent spread for breakfast ready to eat when she emerged from the bathroom after a period filled with the typical sounds of splashing and flushing. Good, she’d figured out what the bucket of water was for. He looked up, relieved.

“Bad?” he asked, noting that she was moving easier, but with a look of concentration on her face.

“Only when I breathe.” Her smile was brief but impish as she lowered herself into a chair. She surveyed the eggs, bacon and toast with surprise. “This looks good.”

“It won’t disappoint,” Luke said with mock seriousness. “My mom taught me that food should taste as good as it looks.”

“My compliments to your mom.”

“How’s the wrist? And the arm? And the head?”

“The edema is down in the wrist. The arm feels like someone set it on fire. And my head feels like the pendulum part of a bell going ding dong.” Despite her aches, pains and lack of memory, Goldie still felt an odd contentment. Luke was excellent company, and it had been fun last night. She felt embarrassed at how she’d abruptly fallen asleep and it still bugged her that she could recall an almost endless array of useless trivia, but seemed to know little about popular music.

What she felt like, since feelings were all she had for clues, was like she was three different people. There was the one who was scared, not just of losing her memory but of the danger she felt lurking inside the fog blanketing her memory. Someone had shot at her, as amazing and unbelievable as that seemed. The next person was the one who felt freed from a burden she couldn’t remember. Inside the fog, not far from the fear, was a murmur of criticism, a voice that shot orders at her in a continuous stream. It was growing weaker and she was glad of it. It felt good to throw off the constraints of the voice. To feel more free, and well, not so prim and so worried about correct and proper behavior. Then there was this, well, woman. She couldn’t know for sure, but it felt new to feel like this. To be so aware of what was feminine about herself as Luke jumped up to refill her cup of hot chocolate—which she found her taste buds preferred to the coffee of last night. To be so aware of what was masculine about Luke.

It was a pleasure to look at him, though she was careful not to let him catch her at it. She liked the way his hair was combed back from his face, exposing its planes and angles. His eyes fascinated her, too. Had she ever studied a man’s eyes? Had she ever considered all the colors and the constantly shifting emotions? She’d seen them warm, seen them turn cool and wary, seen them grow dark and dangerous. He wasn’t a man to cross, but she felt in her aching bones that he was a man she could trust.

She wished she could feel the same about herself. Could she trust herself? She hovered next to the fog, trying to peer into it, even as she longed to leave it undisturbed. Sometimes people didn’t recover from amnesia. Maybe she should accept it as a gift and let the sleeping past lie?

Breakfast done, Luke told her to the leave the dishes for him and braved the cold bucket wash. Part of her wanted to take him at his word, while some part of her felt that to walk away would be a betrayal of…someone. It also felt rude to let him do all the work, so she struck a compromise with her three selves. She washed, using some of the water he’d pumped and put to heat on the stove, but didn’t dry.

Their confinement was so intimate, cozy and comfortable. So very domestic. Luke in the bathroom. She in the kitchen. Almost sans shoes, since Snoopy slippers didn’t count. It was also natural, she told herself, to cling to this present, since she had no past. What she felt right now was as fleeting as the situation. Like a patient with a crush on her doctor. Not that she had a crush on him. She was enjoying being with him. That’s all.

The last pan washed, she pulled the plug on the sink and watched the water drain away from her hands. Soap bubbles dotted her arms as she swirled the water against the sides of the sink. As the moisture on her arms dried, the tiny, transparent soap bubbles popped one by one. It seemed sort of symbolic, though if she’d had to put into words why, she couldn’t have. She pumped water into the sink, enjoying the jump into the past and rinsed the remaining bubbles—and any symbolism—down the drain.

Feeling restless, she went into the main room but couldn’t settle down. Her discarded clothes lay tossed across the chair. Her boots under it. She had an urge to straighten, but a stronger surge of rebellion swept it away.

A long, gray case on the rough-hewn coffee table caught her eye. Next to it was a set of keys on a Harry Potter key chain. She picked it up, because snooping suited her mood better than playing maid. The minatory voice squawked in shock. Goldie stuck her tongue out at the voice.

“Harry Potter.” The books had been fun to read. She could remember the plot of all of them. How come she could remember his name and story, but not her own?

Who am I? A cosmic question in search of a personal answer. Intriguing juxtaposition. The big versus the small, unless you believed man to be the center of the universe, which she may or may not.

Nestled within the cosmic, the search for personal identity. Bits and pieces of identity theory drifted around in her head, like birds pecking at scattered seed. Nature versus nurture. Ids and egos. Optimists and pessimists. Interesting, but not productive, since she had no research material. Most of the theories depended, at least to some extent, on a study, or at least awareness, of a past life.

Which brought her back to the second question of day—how did she know all this? She couldn’t seem to spontaneously produce information. If she tried to remember something, it stayed just out of her reach. However, if triggered, she could riff along an information trail at an amazing rate. She’d certainly had a large store of odd knowledge last night while playing trivia. Knowledge that crossed back and forth between the liberal arts and the sciences. It didn’t give her many clues, other than the possibility she was an encyclopedia in her other life.

She dropped the keys back on the table with a slight sigh and picked up the gray case. It stirred up nothing but a feeling that she had an aversion to gray. To her surprise, though, her fingers slid across the cool surface as if they belonged there—or they’d been there before? Did this belong to her? As if in answer, her fingers found the lid and popped it up. It looked like a small computer with a miniature keyboard. She turned it over and found the power button. The small screen flickered, then resolved itself into a password prompt.

“Great.”

“That’s as far as I got, too,” Luke said.

Goldie started. She hadn’t heard him come out of the bathroom. She turned to find him standing with his feet planted, his hands in the pockets of a fresh pair of jeans that hugged him like they needed him to survive. He’d pulled on a navy blue sweater that clung to his chest and arms. It seemed to like him a lot, too, and did wonderful things for his skin and eyes. His hair was still wet. The dark strands clinging to the bold shape of his head had a bit of natural curl when wet.

He walked up next to her and added, “I found it in your jacket. Ring any bells?”

Was there a hint of suspicion or skepticism in his voice? Since she couldn’t admit she thought it was his and was snooping, Goldie shrugged. “My fingers seem to remember it, but my brain is proving recalcitrant.” She shut it off and closed it with a loud snap. “I don’t suppose you have something here I could change into? I promise to be very easy to please.”

“Upstairs. Both my sisters-in-law have clothes here. Help yourself.” He stepped back. “Let me heat some more water, and you can take a sponge bath. The water is chilly.”

Goldie shot a wry look in the direction of the windows. “I can only imagine.”

It felt good to wash, even in a pot. The clothes fit pretty well, though the jeans were a tad short. Did that mean her legs were rather long or the sister-in-law’s legs were rather short? The sweater felt soft and warm, once she’d navigated her bandaged arm into the sleeve. When she rejoined Luke, she found him eyeing his beeper like it had just snapped at him.

“Trouble?”

“My brother Matt. I knew I should have called my mom last night.” His mom wouldn’t tell him off, but his brother would. He’d bet money his mom had called Matt to see if he’d heard anything. He dug through his stuff until he found his phone. He didn’t remember shutting it off, but he must have. He turned it on and when it was ready, started to punch in the numbers, but stopped. He rubbed his face in frustration. “I started thinking about it, and now I can’t remember the number. She had the number changed last week, after she got some obscene phone calls.”

Started thinking about it. Goldie watched him close his eyes, try the number again, and then stop with a disgusted sigh. “It’s no good. I’m trying too hard to remember.”

She looked at the PDA, then back at him. Saw his gaze refocus on her, then sharpen as his thoughts began to track with hers. He set the phone down and grabbed the PDA. “It’s worth a try. Try not to think about it at all, let your thoughts drift…”

He opened it, then handed it to her. “Just keep looking at me.”

It was easy to look at him. Her eyes liked it a bit too much, and she was afraid they were showing it to him. Dang body language. Soon she’ll be tossing her hair and leaning in to him like at teenager with her first crush.

“Don’t look down,” Luke said.

He made it easy for her by catching her gaze with his and holding it in a way that was almost physical.

“Don’t think about anything but me.”

Well, since he told her to…she upped the level of her scrutiny, finding a tiny cleft in his chin that she’d somehow missed before. A tiny scar above his right brow…a heat in his eyes that warmed her insides nicely. Beneath the surface, she felt the bubble of desire waiting to flare, sensed that he was a passionate man who had put passion on hold for some reason. That he was able to do this told her was a man with a great deal of self-control. There came that urge to lean in again, to feel the warmth, maybe stir it up into a flame to fill the blank places inside herself.

In odd contrast, the surface of the PDA felt cool and impersonal where she gripped it, as the temperature in her body spiraled up her middle like smoke up a chimney. Distantly, she powered it up again. Her gaze started to turn down, but Luke called it back with a soft, “Keep looking at me.”

She was going to do more than look. Her body felt languid and inclined to lean his way. And even more inclined to linger. For the first time since she opened her eyes, her aches and pains faded to a dull murmur, while her body turned warm and fluid. As if he knew it, felt it, too, Luke reached out and brushed a strand of her hair off her face, the brush of his knuckles against her cheek light but tingle inducing. Her lips caught the tingle and parted before she could stop them.

“Now,” he said.

It felt like a glider being cut lose as she broke contact and looked at the keyboard. Her hands were already there, in proper position to type. Since they seemed to know what to do better than her, she watched with a sense of detachment as they tapped five keys in slow succession. She took a deep breath, trying to clear the constriction in her chest, then pushed “enter.”

The screen flickered to life.

“We’re in,” she said.

* * * *

“Any word?” O’Rourke asked. O’Rourke was a thin, wiry Irishman and Grady’s second-in-command. If he’d led the sortie, Prudence Knight would be secured in a remote cabin as planned, but Grady had wanted to limit the camp’s—and his—exposure by using Larry, an independent contractor.

Grady O’Brien turned from the window, his body burly but graceful, his coloring out-of-control Irish. The prospect outside was not encouraging, as the wind and snow were still a thick, impenetrable curtain, despite a sun that was out there somewhere. No sign of what was usually a bustling, rustic-looking camp, with its rough log housing laid out in military style against the hillside. Grady was careful to keep operations straightforward, open to scrutiny by federal agents who regularly tried to infiltrate them, though there were areas on the land they owned that were not for public scrutiny. His covert, illegal operation was hidden in this area.

Inside it was more pleasing, though still a place with an air of military discipline. The furniture was big and rustic, but comfortable, too. Grady didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be half as comfortable as Leslie. If needed, blackout blinds could cover the windows and special stealth insulation in the attics of some of his cabins protected their heat signatures from the infrared satellites that regularly passed overhead.

Man could plan, but Mother Nature was impervious to the grandest of stratagems, he knew. On the upside, the storm was keeping Leslie away. The guy had no “off” switch on his mouth and since he liked to sound like an idiot, most of what he said made Grady want to slap him silly. Or blow his head off. He’d almost done him during their cross-country trek from Yale, but even then Grady had the ability to see beyond the moment and the emotion. Leslie had money and access to people with money. At the time, Grady had needed that access more than he needed peace and quiet.

Beneath Grady’s semi-pleasant exterior was a man who was both brilliant and disciplined. He possessed an innate ability to convince people that they were important and interesting to him. Like many brilliant people, he believed he knew better than anyone else, and that his superior intelligence gave him the right to make decisions for other people—even life and death ones.

When Grady met Leslie, he’d realized Leslie was a man in search of a cause—and a deep need to piss off his old man. Les didn’t give two hoots about the plight of woodland creatures and the environment. Like most fanatics who wanted to do someone dirt, he needed to feel virtuous while doing it. Since his dad was an “evil” businessman bent on destroying the environment, it was easy for Les to find his “cause.” With a little nudge from Grady, of course. Grady didn’t think the environment needed help. It had done pretty well at taking care of itself for millions of years. But if people thought it needed saving, they were more inclined to donate money. His real cause—himself—required lots of money, but was, surprise, far less popular than the environment.

As far back as he could remember, he’d known he wanted lots of money. Enough to be listed among the top ten millionaires in the world. Enough money to make God sit up and take notice of him. He’d made progress. He’d skimmed from the money Les donated for the cause. More came from using the camp to train terrorists in an underground area that even Les didn’t know about. Grady didn’t care who the terrorists hated, as long as their money was good. But the big score, the one that would put him on the rich list, had eluded him—until Les had arrived full of his big plan to finish off dad and score one for nature.

As soon as Les told him about the experiments with the ultimate body armor and that Les wanted to destroy it and everyone associated with it, Grady knew he’d found his personal mother lode. There wasn’t a government, drug cartel or terrorist group on earth that wouldn’t pay dearly for it. He was still trying to decide whether to sell an exclusive or just start selling. Either way, everyone would win. Hell, he’d even sell it to his own government if they’d cough up the bucks. Though they might be a tad pissed, since they’d already paid for its development. That wouldn’t stop them from ponying up again, though—not if they wanted to be “competitive” with other world powers.

By the time the dust settled, Grady would be in the undisputed top spot for richest man on earth. He might even own a couple of countries.

Grady hadn’t mentioned to Les the sidelines he’d added to the camp’s activities. Les wouldn’t like finding out that Grady didn’t give a rat’s ass if technology took over every piece of green space there was—as long as he got lots and lots of money. He was willing to let Les go forward with his plans—to a point. No way he’d let him kill the goose that could lay his golden egg. But his plans would create enough confusion for his discreet withdrawal to a country with no extradition treaty with the US. It hadn’t hurt Marc Rich any to be an expatriate, and maybe he could buy himself a pardon, too.

He could have it all once he had his hands on Prudence Knight. It had been a year of setbacks. Phagan had delivered the promised foolproof bypass of Merryweather Biotech’s security—for all the good it had done them when they went in. Who’d have thought the old man would be so paranoid about the technology that he was using to create the body armor? No vaults, safes or computer filing for this bird. Oh no, he kept it all in his daughter’s head. His men had left the lab untouched, with no trace of their passing. Grady had cursed his luck, then regrouped and come up with a new plan. A better plan.

Prudence was her old man’s weak link. His quiet, unobtrusive little weak link.

From the carefully rustic desktop, he picked up a couple of the photographs his man had lifted from Kincaid’s apartment. One was a standard ID photo and told him nothing, but the other, a candid of Prudence Knight, was far more interesting. Her hair, her clothes were not that different from the ID shot. It was her eyes that had changed. They were excited, filled with anticipation, and her mouth curved into a sly smile, as if she had a secret. Interesting that she’d also be the key to controlling Kincaid. She was doubly valuable—and he had used this to convince Leslie they needed her alive. He was looking forward to meeting her. If Mother Nature could be persuaded to move her rampage further east. In the meantime…

“Anything from Phagan?”

O’Rourke shook his head. “Nothing yet.” He hesitated, then asked, “Why do you want to risk a meeting with him?”

“If he’s not with me, he’s against me.” Grady turned around. “And I’d like to know why he wants to meet me.”

“Does he? Seemed to me like he didn’t want to meet you.”

“Exactly.”

“I see. He should want to meet you.”

O’Rourke was slow, but he got there eventually. If Grady laid the clues out in front of him and then explained them. It would be a pleasure if Phagan had a brain almost equal to his own. Be nice to meet someone not his intellectual inferior. He was pretty sure he was going to have to kill him, but he’d still like to bump brains with him.

“Well, so far he isn’t biting.”

“No, he isn’t, is he?” It was always possible that Phagan didn’t want to meet him. Not just pretending he didn’t. But that wasn’t what his gut was telling him. What was holding him back? Phagan had been clever at hiding his tracks, but the FBI was still after him. Did he know something Grady didn’t? It was hard to believe that Phagan was cleverer than he. If he was, though the thought still boggled, Phagan had to be with him. If he was against him, well, he’d have to be eliminated.

FIVE

Goldie stared at the neat row of mini-Windows icons pitted against the huge void of her foggy gray cells. It wasn’t a fair fight. Or she didn’t want to blot the empty landscape inside her head with personal facts. She felt more painter than scientist or researcher, with an empty palate to do with as she pleased. She wanted paints in vivid colors that she could splash on with abandon, not tiny icons waiting for a keystroke. It was so tidy, so controlled. It didn’t seem like her, even though she didn’t know who or what her was.

“Do you believe in nurture or nature?” she asked Luke, her fingers resting on the plastic keys that had warmed from her touch. If nurture had been wiped out, did that leave only nature or did nurture linger in the unconscious and wield a hidden power? Is that why she felt pulled two ways? Was her nurture in conflict with her nature? Had it always been? Is that how she’d ended up here with her memory wiped out? Is that why she felt like she’d been at this place before, wondering who she was?

If it frustrated him to wait on her caprice, there was no sign of it in his voice or eyes.

“I don’t know. I guess a little of both.” He frowned a little, his gaze turning distant. “I do think people make choices that go against their nurturing, good and bad ones. I’ve seen people out of good families screw up and seen kids you’d never give odds on, turn out fine.”

He reached for his wallet, extracted a picture and handed it to her. She took it, not sure what this had to do with her question. Happy to delay opening the first piece of the puzzle of her life. The snap was a happy one. The couple filled the small picture. She wore white, he a tux. They could have topped a cake.

“My brother’s wedding last year.” He paused, then said, “I helped him arrest his wife, Phoebe, a month before the wedding.”

Goldie stared at him. “I guess that’s one way to get a wife.”

Luke chuckled. “Jake’s way, anyhow.”

“Are you—” she stopped. Funny she hadn’t thought of this before. She’d just assumed he wasn’t married.

His smile didn’t disappear, but it shadowed. “I was. My wife died a few years ago.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Goldie didn’t know how she knew. That also explained the tamped down passion.

“I didn’t come here to brood, Goldie. Life has its ups and downs, as my three favorite women will tell you—all of who’ve faced some pretty tough situations. Something happened to you, something traumatic enough to wipe your hard drive. There’s not much either of us knows about you, but I’ll tell you what we do know.”

“What?”

“You’ve got guts. And determination.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because you’re not dead.” He covered her hands, still holding the photo. Strength flowed from him.

“Those ladies would also tell you, if they were here, that life’s not something you can hide from. Not even inside your own head.” He looked around him, his eyes both distant and warm. “This is a good place to heal what ails you. A safe place. And for the moment, a place where no one can get to you.”

The slow bloom of her smile took his breath away. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin rose. Her mouth straightened into a firm line. Her eyes, her amazing purple eyes, thanked him, then turned down to the PDA.

“Looks like it runs on Mini-Win. Let’s take a look at the programs its running.” She picked up the PDA again, popped up the list and studied it. Luke moved next to her, so he could see over her shoulder. “This looks interesting.”

“What is it?”

“Looks like some kind of e-book reader. Here’s the book list.” She looked at him with delight. “I read romance novels.”

Luke arched a brow. “Most women hide it like a secret addiction.”

“Do they? Maybe I do, too. It’s just that—”

When she didn’t finish her sentence, Luke prompted her, “That?”

“I keep hearing this distant, priggish voice in my head telling me to keep my knees together and act like a lady. I was afraid it was mine. Nice to find evidence it isn’t.” She brought up one of the books. “Oh, it’s a Dani Gwynne! And there’s a Kelly Kerwin, too.”

“E-books. I didn’t know Dani was so cutting edge,” Luke said.

“You know her?”

“She’s my other brother’s wife,” he admitted. “The one that isn’t on probation. I’ll introduce her to you when we get out of here.”

“Then I’d better find out what name to tell her.” Goldie tapped more keys and an expense account program appeared on the screen. While interesting, it didn’t tell them her name. “I just remembered something.” Goldie frowned. “On a regular computer, a program asks for registration information as it loads. You give your name.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Luke said, trying to breath shallow, so he wouldn’t inhale her personal scent mixed with the soap she’d washed with. He failed. It was as if his lungs had a mind of their own and had chosen slow and deep for maximum smelling.

“I wonder if it’s the same for something like this?”

Did she realize, Luke wondered, how comfortable she was with the PDA? She must know her way around a computer. In some ways, she reminded him of Phoebe. Even on the little keyboard, her fingers moved almost faster than he could follow.

He liked her hands. The fingers were long, like her legs, tapering to competent tips. In his mind’s eye, he could see her fingers intertwined with his. Knew that her hand would feel right nestled in his—even though it wasn’t right. For a second he felt angry with Rosemary for leaving him alone, for leaving him to cope with feelings like this about anyone but her. Gut-twisting guilt followed on the heels of anger. He was used to it. It had been his most persistent companion since Rosemary died. It rose in crest, then subsided to a dull grumble

He felt her stiffen, was close enough to her to feel the shudder that went through her, to hear a soft sigh slip out her parted lips.

She sagged back against him. It was natural, inevitable even, to put his arm around her. The weight of her body started a slow heat building from his mid-section. It had been so long since he’d had a woman in his arms. Felt a woman’s body heavy against his. His heart started to pound slow and deep, the rhythm an ancient and pagan one as old as man and woman. He tried to tell himself he was feeling fatherly, or like a protective big brother, but the simmer of attraction made a liar out of him. Goldie wasn’t his sister or his daughter. She was an attractive, desirable, very confused woman.

He gave himself a mental shake to clear his head. If he kept reminding himself how confused she was, he might survive without embarrassing them both.

“Did you…” He paused to clear the huskiness from his voice. “Did you find something?”

“My name.” She swallowed, the sound dry in the intense silence of the cabin. “My name is Amelia. Amelia E. Hart.”

“Amelia.” It would take time to get used to. She was so…Goldie to him. “Amelia E. Hart. Almost like the pilot. Is there an address?”

“An apartment. In Denver.” She toggled the screen back to the expense report. “I’m guessing, but these look like expenses related to the apartment. Electricity. Water.”

“Phone?”

She paged through the list. “No. No phone.”

“Maybe you use a cell phone,” Luke suggested.

“If I do, I’m not recording it here. No phone at all.”

Luke grinned. “Maybe you didn’t pay the bill, and it got shut off.”

She chuckled. “A deadbeat. No wonder I wanted to forget my life.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I don’t seem to have bank information on this thing, but that might be in the apartment. And it looks like I like to play Solitaire and Mahjong.”

“That would make you normal,” Luke said with a strained grin.

She looked up at him, her nose less than an inch from his. Worse, the movement had put her mouth closer than that to his. He could feel the soft tickle of her breath against his skin, smell the mint toothpaste he’d left out for her. Her eyes were purple, but within the iris were endless variations and shades. She was close enough for him to know when her heart sped up to match his. To feel when her breathing stopped, then started slow and deep. She inhaled when he exhaled, pressing their bodies pressed together for an endless moment. The retreat was far too brief.

His fingers spread across her back and a tiny gasp escaped from her mouth, parting her lips for contact. He started to bend toward her and felt her back arch toward him. A light brush against the satin surface parted her lips a bit more. Everything faded but the need to taste, to explore her silken, female mouth—

The shrill summons of his cell phone blasted them apart like a bomb detonating.

Luke stared at her, but couldn’t think of a thing to say, except, I’m sorry, which he wasn’t. Well, he was sorry for the interruption.

“It might be your mother.”

Goldie—no, Amelia, he reminded himself—looked as dazed as he felt.

“Right.” He rubbed his face, then eyed the ringing phone like it might bite him. He picked it up, cleared his throat and pressed the button.

“Kirby.”

* * * *

Amelia studied him, feeling a bubble of laughter trying to sneak out her closed lips. Lips that still tingled from the light contact of his mouth. She realized her toes were curled up and straightened them. Her thoughts weren’t so easy to straighten. For all she knew, this was her first kiss. With a man she hadn’t even known for twenty-four hours. It felt good, but it wasn’t. There was too much about herself, about her life, that she didn’t know.

Luke had been right to say that she couldn’t run from her past, not even inside her own head. And she couldn’t start a future, or even an interlude, with anyone until she’d sorted it all out. What she was feeling may feel real, but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Real feelings evolved from knowledge, from long association, not from proximity and isolation.

Besides, any intimate involvement would not be pleasant right now, with her many bumps and bangs. Though it showed how powerful the proximity of Luke was, that’d she’d forgotten it during that very heady brush of lips.

Thank goodness for self-consciousness, she decided, as she tried to clear the languid, heavy desire from her system without diving head first into a snow bank. It helped that his mother appeared to be chewing his butt. Laughter was a good antidote for desire.

He turned his back on her, his shoulders hunching, and she swallowed another giggle. It seemed polite to pretend she wasn’t listening, so she turned back to the PDA, studying the address it had coughed up. As if it had been waiting a city map appeared in her head, the address circled in red and not far from the university. Odd that it was a map she saw and not streets and buildings. It was as if her brain refused to be personal.

Little bits of Denver trivia floated out of her brain. Mile-high city. Home of the Broncos, Rockies and the Stanley Cup-winning Avalanche. She could see the winning game, but she couldn’t see the city itself, had no sense of having ever been there. She pushed harder at the fog and was rewarded with a sharp, stabbing pain. It seemed her amnesia had rules that must be followed. She rubbed her aching temple. Pretty bad when your own brain was against you.

Behind her, Luke finished his call without, she noticed, mentioning her. She could feel him watching her. She heard his measured tread against the wooden floor coming toward her, and her heart sped up. Heat built up in her middle again, but she stamped it out as she turned to face him with a bright, bland smile.

“That was my mom,” he said, his eyes blank, his voice forced.

“Oh.” Amelia hesitated, then asked, “She okay?” She couldn’t look away from him, though part of her felt she should.

Luke nodded. “I didn’t mention you because, well…”

“I know. I’m kind of hard to explain.” For the first time she saw past the moment, the now. She saw a future without him and felt a chill. And fear. It’s just because he’s all you know right now, she told herself. But she didn’t believe it. Her life had been turned upside down. She’d been changed, and she’d never be the same again. With an effort, she turned away from him, getting up to stare out the window. “Looks like the storm is breaking up.”

“It does?”

The low blanket of clouds—cumulus congestus?—had been a thick, gray blanket, but it would be breaking up soon or at least moving off. She looked at them, wondering what else she knew. “The wind is shifting from northeast to northwest and already starting to fall off.”

“It’s interesting what you know and what you don’t,” Luke said, the curiosity in his voice creating a different, but attractive timber. “Interested in doing some word associations? It might prod your brain.”

So he wanted some distance, too. She should feel relieved she wasn’t going to have to fight him off. She should.

“Sure. Why not?”

“You know what a word association is?” he asked.

Amelia thought about it. “You say a word and I say the first thing that comes into my head?”

Luke nodded.

She passed up the couch and chose a chair across from him. On a side table next to it was a carabiner. Absently she picked it up, slid it down on her thumb and turned it slowly in a circle.

“Carabiner,” Luke said.

“Rock climbing.”

“Harrison Ford.”

“Henry Ford’s grandson?”

“He’s an actor. Star Wars.”

“Missile defense system.”

“No, he was Han Solo in Star Wars. The movie. Dani claims it’s the myth for our generation. Or maybe she read someone who claims it’s our myth.” Luke’s forehead creased as he tried to remember.

“A myth is a traditional story of ostensibly historical events that serves to unfold part of the world view of a people or explain a practice, belief or natural phenomenon. Or it’s a popular belief or tradition that has grown up around something or someone. It can also be a person or thing having only an imaginary or unverifiable existence.”

She realized Luke was giving her an odd look, but all he said was, “Star Wars would probably come under the last one, since it was made up.”

“Oh.”

There was a moment of silence, then Luke cleared his throat. “Movie.”

“Motion picture.” There was more, but Amelia felt odd saying it. No question the words sounded unnatural, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

“So you know what a movie is?”

“Apparently.”

“Cary Grant,” he said.

“Actor. Very cute.”

“Jim Carrey.”

“Not a clue,” she admitted.

“Katharine Hepburn.”

“Loved Spencer Tracy.”

“Brad Pitt.”

“Um…”

Luke chuckled. “Okay, so you like older movies. Let’s try this. Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”

“Audrey Hepburn. Charade. Roman Holiday. Funny Face. Desk Set.” Amelia could see more names, but decided enough was enough. It felt so odd, having lists appear in her head. “To name a few.”

“Independence Day.”

“July Fourth.”

“Not aliens blowing the hell out of the Statue of Liberty?”

“They did?” Her eyes grew so wide he almost fell in them.

“In the movie.” Luke looked thoughtful. “I wonder if you watch television? Third Rock from the Sun?”

“Earth.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.” He thought for a minute, then said, “Let’s try politics.”

He took her through a list of names, state and national. She seemed to know names, but her own political convictions were out of reach. She knew the names of all the Presidents, in order, and recited enough of the Declaration of Independence to convince Luke she knew it all. She knew there’d been two world wars and knew dates and places from the War for Independence, but drew a blank on David Letterman and Jay Leno. She knew Leonardo da Vinci, but not Andy Warhol. Even worse, trying to figure out what she knew was pushing the boundaries of what he knew. He was pretty sure she knew how to split the atom and seemed to know a lot about the Big Bang theory and black holes. Also knew more than he did about biology.

Her beautiful eyes stared at him with the innocence of a child, while her mouth spouted facts and figures like a freaking computer. It was damn eerie. It was almost as if…no, he wasn’t going to go there.

“Go where?” Amelia asked.

He’d spoken out loud. Great. “Anywhere. Are you tired? I know I am.”

He stood up.

She stood up, too, her gaze opening him up like a laser.

“You were going to ask me something.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but she stopped him with, “Don’t lie to me. Please. I hate lies.”

She said this with enough intensity to startle them both.

Luke hesitated, then said slowly, “I was thinking the word…android.”

“A robot in human form.” Her gaze was thoughtful, even a bit amused. “Is that what you think I am?”

“No, of course not.” He’d seen her bleed, for Pete’s sake. Had felt her heart beat against his chest, her warm breath on his face, her mouth—

He turned away from her. If this storm didn’t end soon, he was going to be in real trouble. Serious trouble. Deep, brown stuff up to his neck. Or higher.

“It would certainly explain some things, though not how I can bleed or urinate.”

Luke turned back. “See, that’s interesting.”

“What?” She took a step back.

“The words you use. Urinate instead of pee.”

“I’m…sorry.”

Luke rubbed his face. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just saying you’re kind of formal, almost scientific in the way you say some things. It’s…it’s a clue to who you are.” Not a good clue, but a clue.

“Maybe I like to read the encyclopedia and don’t get out much.” She grinned at him, looking so many years younger than him that he felt like a pervert. She sobered immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry about what happened. Almost kissing you, I mean.” The words burst out of him.

“Why? We’re both adults.”

“Are we? You look about eighteen right now.” He didn’t mean to sound grumpy, but he couldn’t help it. If the storm didn’t break soon, he’d be doing time in a snow bank. That’s when he realized the wind wasn’t howling outside anymore. He’d been so intent on Amelia, he hadn’t noticed the sun was breaking through the dark clouds moving slowly to the east. She knew her weather.

He saw her follow his gaze, saw her turn to look out the window.

“The storm’s moving off,” she said, her voice strangely expressionless.

She didn’t add, “And taking our safe haven with it.” She didn’t have to. He could feel the fragile peace leave, feel foreboding settle in its place. Even now, the trouble that had taken Amelia’s memory might be gathering itself for another try. He needed to get her to a place of safety.

“I should see if my truck will start.” He found he was shifting from one foot to the other, like a high school kid asking for his first date. He started toward the door, then stopped.

“I’ll gather up my things.” For a minute she stared at him as her eyes turning old again as fear bloomed in their depths. Then she turned away from him, her shoulders back, her head erect.

If she’d been older, he’d have fallen in love with her right then. He didn’t. But if—

SIX

Larry, a tough and intense man of Welsh ancestry, put the chopper in the air as soon as the wind died down enough to risk it. He’d noted their coordinates when the Knight woman had jumped out of the chopper and headed in that direction as directly as he dared. He still couldn’t believe she’d done it. Gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy. He’d freelanced for Grady long enough to see some pretty amazing things, but this took the prize. Of course it wouldn’t mean jack to Grady if he came back without her.

It had been a lucky break for him when she came boiling out of the hospital as if she had a rocket up her ass. She’d been so upset, she hadn’t been able to find her keys in her purse. Didn’t hear him behind her. Didn’t struggle long either, not after he stuck her in the neck with Grady’s fancy knockout shit. He’d made sure they took her purse—which is all they had of her now, and he pretty much regretted it. Her beeper and cell phone hadn’t shut up until he turned them off. He’d thought about having one of his guys drive off in the car but decided against it when a bunch of nurses came out the door. Who knew what a bunch of women might remember?

Only—Grady’s shit should have lasted longer. Had he given her the full dose? He’d pulled the needle out when she went limp because she’d been lighter than he’d expected. Maybe her lights went out too quick? She’d been so gone, he hadn’t bothered to tie her up. Grady’d kick his ass for that, but he’d been trying not to call attention to them. The bound and gagged tended to do that. And then he forgot when they got her on board the chopper, because once again they were trying not to be around long enough to attract attention and to beat the storm.

It surprised them all when she suddenly came to life. Gave Hickey a respectable and well aimed thrust to his nose that broke it and he fired his weapon inside the chopper. Not smart, but no harm except for another hole in the side. Got Bigsy in the balls with her hiking boot, then dived out the door before he got his wits about him. He’d had to leave Bigsy behind this morning. Couldn’t trust him alone with the girl, if they did find her alive. He wanted to kill her for putting his future children at risk. Bigsy was an optimist. Larry hoped he was right, that Hickey hadn’t hit her.

Be a long shot if she was still breathing, but if she survived the fall, she might have managed to find one of the cabins that dotted the area. That’s what he was hoping for. She’d fought to escape them, maybe she’d fight as hard for her life.

It had seemed like such an easy snatch-and-transport to the camp, but no, here he was, fighting the wind left behind by the east-moving storm, and trying to find a needle in a damn snow stack.

“We’ll put down in that clearing and see if we can turn up her body!” he shouted to Hickey.

Hickey lowered the binoculars he was using to scan the area and nodded.

“This the spot where she went out?” he yelled.

“Dead on,” Harry said, hoping he wasn’t being prophetic. He pointed at a huge pine tree with several newly broken branches as they sped by it.

He circled the area, using the whirling blades to blow away some of the snow from the clearing and from the path they’d have to take back to the tree. Didn’t want to dig through more than he had to. The snow fall had been heavy. In a moment, they were on the ground.

Larry checked his pockets for more of Grady’s sleep shit, then grabbed a Luger and a long pole to prod the snow with. Outside the chopper, they both pulled on snowshoes and goggles. The sun was killer bright now that the storm moved off. Even with the path he’d cleared, it wasn’t easy. Hickey puffed and cursed with each step.

“Grady wants her alive,” Larry said, “but alive just means not dead. We can blame any bruising on her jump.”

Hickey grunted in what might have been satisfaction. It was hard to tell. He was so winded, he was puffing like an old woman. So much for all their “training” at the camp.

When they reached the tree, they prodded all around it with their poles, but nothing felt right. Something glinted in the sun a few feet higher than Larry could reach. He climbed up and liberated the glasses she’d been wearing when she went out. Big, ugly square ones with cracked frames. Above his head he could see the broken branches that had slowed her fall through the tree. It might have slowed her fall enough to save her life. Just above his head, there was a brown smear on the trunk that could have been blood. He dropped to the ground.

“She was here for sure.” He showed Hickey the glasses. “Let’s spread out.”

They checked a wide circle in both directions but the deep snow refused to give up any more clues to the girl’s fate. Finally Hickey stopped, his chest heaving for a full minute before he managed to say, “This is shit. She’s not here.”

Larry nodded. “Let’s head back to the chopper. Maybe she made it to one of those cabins.”

The trip back to the chopper was marginally easier, since they could follow their own trail. Once inside, Larry adjusted his flight pattern, swinging south, then curving west in a tight loop. He gradually widened his flight path until he spotted the first cabin.

* * * *

Luke pushed open the cabin door, bringing an icy blast of air with him. He’d stamped his feet on the mat outside, chunks of snow falling off his legs like mini avalanches, but remnants of white still clung to his jeans well above the knee. He’d managed to brush most of the snow off on his chest and arms, acquired while attempting to clear his windshield.

Amelia rose, turning to face him, her gaze dancing across him, before moving past him to the truck visible through the open door.

“Trouble?” she asked.

He closed the door. “Battery’s too cold to start. I need a jump.” If he’d been on his own, he’d have strapped on skis. It was only about ten miles as the crow flies to the highway, where the snowplows would be out.

“So we’re stuck?” Her tone was neutral, giving no indication of how she felt about it. She’d been busy while he was outside. She’d not only gathered up her stuff, but everything he’d brought was packed and stacked neatly by the door.

“Well, I noticed a chopper in the distance. Was thinking I’d call and see if I could get patched in to the pilot, see if he’d pick us up—” He stopped when he saw the color drain from her face.

“I can’t…not a helicopter.”

“Afraid of heights, maybe?” he asked, remembering Dani, who’s fear of heights had been severely tested on Long’s Peak two years ago.

“I don’t know.” She dropped onto the arm of the couch, her rapid, shallow breaths veering into the hyperventilation zone. “I just…feel so…I can’t!”

Luke grabbed a sack out of one of the boxes, dumped the contents and knelt down in front of her. “Breathe into this.”

The bag over her face, the color soon returned to her face. She pushed it away. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem.” If it weren’t for her injuries, he’d call one of his brothers and wait for help to arrive, but his gut told him they should move. He’d tell his gut to get real, except for the bullet graze across her arm. Whoever had shot at her could be nearby. “There’s an old sled in the wood shed. I could probably pull you out on it, but it would be damn cold.”

“Why can’t I just use a pair of those?” She pointed at the skis propped by the door.

“You can ski?”

She moved her feet like they had skis on and were testing the snow, her hands curling around imaginary poles. “I…think so.”

He hesitated, frowning as he considered the risks. “It’s about fifteen miles by the road to the highway, all of it down hill, but—”

“But what?”

“Well, your wrist for one thing.”

She held it out, flexing it gingerly. “The swelling is down and the pain is manageable. The other wound feels better, too.”

Right. And there was this bridge in New York for sale. He sighed. “If you have a concussion, this could be such a bad idea.”

Her gaze met his. “You’re as uneasy as I am, aren’t you? About staying, I mean? I wanted to stay at first, but now…we need to go.”

He knew she was right, but wasn’t ready to admit it yet. She looked fragile, breakable as she sat in a ray of sun shining in through the window opposite. The scratches on her face and hands, the bruises turning to rainbows, all a pointed reminder that something had gone seriously awry.

“I can do this,” she added. She smiled. “You said I was tough.”

As if to nudge him into a decision, the thump-thump of the chopper grew steadily louder.

“All right. I’ll find you some snow gear. In the front closet there’s an emergency pack and an empty one. Make sure you gather up all your stuff,” he finished. It would be best if no one knew she’d been here.

For a weighted moment her gaze met his, then she nodded.

Their orderly departure preparations gave way to a mutual sense of urgency. At the door, Luke handed Amelia, now wearing one of Dani’s snow suits and a pair of Phoebe’s boots, a small radio transceiver.

“Very cool,” she said. “You just happened to have it around?”

Thanks to Dewey. “We use them to keep in touch when we’re rock climbing or skiing.”

“How hi-tech of you.”

Luke grinned. Once he’d shown her how to use it, she inserted the ear piece and tucked the receiver in an inside pocket of the snow suit.

“Testing, testing,” Amelia said, in a deep, mock-important voice. “We’re moving into position now.”

“Now we know you like playing spy,” Luke said. “Ever read any Tom Clancy?”

“Hunt for Red October?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He pulled on the emergency pack, with two pairs of snow shoes strapped to it, just in case. She pulled on the spare pack with her few belongings tucked inside. “You sure you got everything?”

“I didn’t bring that much with me.”

Luke locked the door, then joined Amelia in the clearing. Despite her obvious worry, she smiled with delight as she moved her skis in the deep, white powder.

“The snow is perfect.” She stopped, her brows arched in mischief. “At least, I think it is. Which way?”

He looked in the direction of the chopper. It had dropped out of sight for a while, but was now airborne again and heading their way. If it was looking for Amelia, they were going to be hard-pressed to lose it with the newly fallen snow taking an imprint of their every move. “Normally I’d take the road, but I think it’s better to stay under cover. If they really want to track us, we’re going to leave big tracks in the snow.”

Her face had paled again, but she nodded and moved her skis like she was waiting for the judges signal to burst out of the slalom gate.

Had she raced? He didn’t remember seeing her at any of the local events, but that didn’t mean much, since he didn’t make every one of them. Racing seemed at odds with her old fashioned formality. She pulled her goggles down over her eyes and gave him a thumbs up.

He pulled his down and said, “I’ll take point.”

He pushed off, feeling the familiar rush of excitement as his skis sliced through the deep, white powder across the clearing. Skiing fresh powder was a different experience from skiing the packed snow of a resort. It was slower going, and he had to keep his weight back, rather than leaning into the rush forward. But it was also more magical. The closest he could describe it was that it was like floating. His skis sank deep into the powder, while he  pulled the crisp, cold air into his lungs. He didn’t know why it was so, but the combination of cold and movement sharpened all his senses. His eyes took it in—the images sharp, the color vivid. He heard and processed sounds, too. His skis slicing through the snow. Amelia following on his heels. The clatter of the chopper.

He took the shortest route toward cover, turning with a powerful swivel of the hips that lifted the skis up for the turn. They cut deep into the powder, turning him into the trees and heading straight down the mountain.

“You all right?” he asked. He couldn’t risk even a quick look back. He wished he had a rear view mirror on his goggles.

“I’m great.” She sounded like she meant it. Her voice was breathless, but he could also hear the same exhilaration he was feeling as the chopper sounded louder and closer.

“We’ll try to avoid clearings, where our tracks will be more obvious,” he said. Even as he talked, his mind was running ahead, trying to remember the last time he’d skied this way. The hazards, the best route—

“Can you jump?” he asked, remembering an unavoidable ledge about twenty meters ahead, unless they wanted to turn back toward the road, a lengthy detour from where they were now.

“No clue,” Amelia said, cheerfully. “Let’s assume I do and hope for the best.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he said, “Stay on my six…”

“…and pray,” she finished for him.

He turned to avoid a large boulder, the branches of a pine tree beating against his face as he passed by it. He burst into the clear and beyond it saw the drop. He had a heartbeat in which to change his center of gravity, and then he shot out into space, hanging in the air briefly before dropping toward the ground. He tried to balance his weight again, but one ski bounced over a rock buried in the snow. He wobbled, then went down, skidding sideways toward a tree.

* * * *

Hickey saw the half-buried, half dug-out truck and the deep tracks heading into the trees before Larry. He grabbed his arm and pointed down. Larry nodded, turning the chopper toward the clear space beyond. The whirling blades blew the snow in all directions as they landed. This time, Hickey took the Uzi with him, though he concealed it inside his coat which he left hanging open, as they trotted toward the truck. The wind from the spinning blades whipped up the snow, but not enough they couldn’t see that someone had tried to dig the truck out, then given up. The chopper blurred the ski tracks, but it didn’t matter, since the tracks couldn’t tell them who had made them.

They cautiously approached the front door. Two sets of tracks didn’t mean someone hadn’t been left behind. Hickey took up a position against the wall, Uzi still hidden, but accessible, as Larry banged on the door.

No one answered so he tried the door. It was locked, but he had his pick out, and the door open before Hickey could suggest they kick it in. Supplies were stacked neatly by the front door, ready to be loaded in the stranded truck, but there was an air of emptiness about the cabin, the silence complete.

Still, it paid to be careful. Larry took point, his gun out, but barrel down as he moved into the living area. The fire was out and none of the lights worked, but the cabin didn’t have that stale smell usually associated with being closed for a long time. The air was rich with the scent of the bacon and eggs someone had cooked for breakfast.

“Check all the rooms,” he directed Hickey. “See if there’s something to tell who was here.” He didn’t want to waste time tracking them down if Knight wasn’t one of the two. Upstairs he found drawers rifled through, as if they’d left in a hurry, but nothing to tell who the cabin belonged to.

A shout from Hickey had him trotting back downstairs.

“I found this in the trash.” He held up a tee shirt. One sleeve had been cut past the elbow, stopping at a jagged tear surrounded by a brown blood stain. “Told you I got her.”

“They’re heading for the highway. Let’s see if we can cut them off.”

* * * *

Grady stared at the empty sky, a deep frown furrowing his brow. It had cleared up hours ago and still no word from Larry. News of Knight’s death had rated a short mention on the morning news out of Denver. Leslie’s dad must be freaking about now, he thought, with a grin. His top scientist dead, the research assistant missing. Unless she wasn’t? She hadn’t been mentioned on the news, either as the grieving or the missing daughter. No way to tell what that meant. No mention of the robbery yet either, though that wasn’t too surprising. They’d counted on the confusion of Knight’s death to disguise the theft of the Shield prototype for a few days. He planned to have the information out of Prudence and be out of the country before Merryweather, and Les, knew what had hit them.

He looked at the empty sky. Maybe radio silence had been a bad idea. Of course, there was another way to find out if Prudence Knight was missing. Donovan Kincaid would know. Maybe some judicious bluffing was a good idea right now. If his guys hadn’t picked her up last night, then his call would tip Kincaid off that she was a target.

It wasn’t like Larry to botch a job. Grady had sent his best man. Larry could have had engine trouble, or it might not have cleared where they were. Except his gut was telling him that something had gone wrong. But, how wrong?

He turned. If Larry had mucked it, it would be a major heads up to Kincaid and he’d already be on the alert. This wasn’t the time to hesitate. He grabbed the phone, activated an anti-trace device, put an apparatus over the mouthpiece to disguise his voice and dialed Kincaid’s number. It was answered on the first ring.

A good sign. So was the worry in his barked, “Kincaid.”

“Lose something?”

“Where is she you bastard? You hurt one hair on her head…”

Bingo. Or, as Leslie liked to put it, check and possibly a mate. Now he needed to find out where Larry was. Unless—

A sudden thought put a cold chill down his back. Had Leslie found out his real plans and bought his guy? Leslie, who didn’t need the money, wanted her dead, all traces of the technology destroyed. He’d only agreed to keep her alive to put pressure on Kincaid. Could he have diverted delivery somewhere else?

No, there’d been no sign of it in Les’s voice the other night. Les couldn’t hide his dark side from his good buddy, Grady. He’d have turned bi if Grady had asked him to. The hero worship was sickening, but useful. It would be a relief when he could end it.

SEVEN

Bryn had barely walked into the office when her cell phone and her desk phone rang at the same time. Hers wasn’t the only phone getting a jump on the day. Everyone seemed to be either on the phone or answering one, the empty desks of last night a memory. She dropped her purse in a drawer, bumped it closed with her knee, then dumped the pile of messages and files the assistant had handed off to her on the top of her desk.

“Give me a royal break,” she muttered. She grabbed the desk phone. “Hold, please.” Pushed the hold button and answered the cell. “Bailey.”

“Someone grabbed her. I just got the call from the bastard who has her,” Donovan Kincaid said in her ear.

It took Bryn a minute to figure out who he was talking about, then her brain clicked in. “They make any demands?”

“Not yet. Just asked if I’d lost something and then hung up.”

Not much to launch an investigation on. She did a little mental cussing. His voice was grim and strained. This wasn’t just a job for him, but what was it? What was his interest in Prudence Knight?

“Hang on.” She muted the cell and picked up the desk phone. “Bailey.”

It was Matt. “I called Luke’s contact in the coroner’s office this morning. Knight died of unnatural causes. Looks like someone slipped him a digitalis Mickey. Did the girl turn up?”

“Kincaid’s on my cell phone. Looks like she was grabbed.” And I’ve got a headache. She rubbed one temple with her free hand. “I’m supposed to be on a flight to California in an hour with Dewey. I only came in to grab some files.” She’d already packed. A swimsuit tucked guiltily in one pocket. The thought of some sun time was too appealing to resist when faced with the arctic view outside. “Hang on.”

To Donovan she said, “I have information Knight was murdered.”

He wasted a few second cussing. “Did your source tell you Miss Knight is now the only person who can deliver Knight’s research?”

“How can that be?”

“Knight was a weird old bird. Didn’t trust computers or vaults. Kept all his research data in Miss Knight’s head. She has a photographic memory. If they are after his work, all they need to do is dope her up and it’s theirs.” She heard him sigh. “I’m meeting with Merryweather in an hour. He’s flying in from California now that the storm has cleared. He’s got to do whatever it takes to get her back and I’m not sure he knows that. But he will. I gotta go pick him up at the airport.”

“Kincaid, wait,” Bryn was tired, but not so tired she couldn’t see the huge flaw in his reasoning. “Why did they call you?”

“Merryweather’s out of town—”

“They’re looking to put pressure on you. Why?”

“I don’t—”

“Liar.” She sighed in frustration. “Damn it, Donovan. You came to me, remember? Be straight with me now, or I can’t help you.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Both.” She paused, then added, “I got someone waiting on the office line. Make up your mind or I’m hanging up.”

She heard his growl. Donovan did not like to be pushed, but right now she didn’t care. Too much was happening too fast for her to worry about protecting his love life.

“She’s my daughter, okay? She’s…my daughter.”

No question it was a pop in the chops. She tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

“And they know?”

“I don’t know how. Probably think she’s my girlfriend. Like you did.”

“Well…you’re sure?”

“Not blood test sure, but she’s the spitting image of my grandmother. And I knew her mother at the crucial time.”

And all that really mattered was what he believed, she realized. “Are they after Knight’s work or you, Donovan?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll do whatever I have to, Bailey. Whatever I have to do to get her back.”

“Don’t lose your head now, Donovan. You and I both know it’s too late for that. Don’t go down that road—”

But he’d hung up.

“Shit.” She didn’t realize she’d picked up the other phone until Matt spoke.

“How deep?”

“Deep. Real deep.” She gave him the short version of what she’d just learned.

“Deep indeed. I wonder what they want him to do?”

Bryn felt a cold chill snake down her back. “Matt, he used to be a sniper.”

“Damn. You gonna put someone on him?”

“For all the good it will do. If Donovan doesn’t want to be followed, he doesn’t get followed. Look, to be on the safe side, can you find out if anyone important is coming to town?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.” She sighed again. “I’d better go. I’ve got to arrange a babysitter for Dewey.” It was wrong to be disappointed about not getting to go with him. It was business, but business in the sun seemed so much more appealing than business in snow drifts.

“He’ll love that,” Matt said, before ringing off and leaving her with her thoughts.

She talked to the agent in charge, who agreed she had to hand Dewey Hyatt off and stay on top of the situation here in Denver. It didn’t help that the only agent free to leave on such short notice was a cute little red head who flirted with Dewey every time she passed by Bryn’s office and found Dewey in.

Oh man, she wasn’t feeling jealous, was she? Why should she? The best thing that could happen is for both Dewey and Phagan to find someone else and leave her alone. She was glad Dewey was heading to warm, balmy California without her.

Really.

* * * *

Leslie sat on the bed watching the news. Next to him, the woman lay face down, her skin no longer the lovely alabaster that had attracted his attention as he drove by her street corner. Her clothes had been classier, though still more revealing, than her companions. She’d taken one look at his car, given him a quick advance preview of her assets and jumped in the car when he thrust open the door.

She’d been adequate in the sack, but last night adequate hadn’t been enough. As she labored to satisfy, he’d wrapped his hands around her neck. He’d taken his time, squeezing until the thrashing of her body slowed, easing up, then squeezing again, until she quit moving. He didn’t know it was so easy kill. Far easier than he’d imagined. He didn’t know why he had waited so long to try it. He felt better than he had in a long time—maybe since the first time his father had belittled him.

As if his thought had conjured up his father, his cell phone rang, the display showing his father’s private number. He didn’t mind. It would be amusing to talk to his father while sitting next to a dead woman.

“Bob’s Bar and Bordello,” he said into the phone.

“How soon can you fly into Denver?” his father said, in that dead, but important tone he used with his son and other lesser beings.

“Why?”

“John Knight died last night. I believe you two were friends.” He said the words but the tone of his voice said he didn’t believe it.

The old man was no fool, though Leslie hoped to make him feel like one before he was finished with him. “I’ll take off as soon as I find my pilot—”

“I already talked to him.”

Leslie felt that familiar frustration rising, but one look at the woman he’d killed and it subsided. Bet the old man had never killed anyone. At least not a human. He’d managed to off plenty of animals.

“You can leave any time,” his father went on.

Leslie fondled the woman’s hand. “I have a few things to take care of first, but I’ll be there as fast as I can. Thanks for letting me know, Dad—”

But his father had already hung up.

Leslie shrugged. He’d have to postpone his visit with Miss Prudence. Odd the old man hadn’t mentioned her disappearance, but then he might not know that old Knight was using her for a storage cabinet. And how come Grady hadn’t called? Had the snatch gone as planned? So many questions without answers, and no time to puzzle them out. He had a body to dispose of.

How did the average, yet brilliant, murderer get rid of the odd, dead body?

He heard a sound in the hall, padded to the door and looked out. The maid was cleaning the room next to his. On the floor by her cart were bundles for the laundry. It seemed fate was determined to deliver him a way out.

He waited until the maid went back in the room, then grabbed one of the sacks. As he started stuffing her into the sack, the news story he’d been waiting for aired. The only surprise was the death of the security guard. He stared at the television, until the anchor moved on, then looked at the woman, partially in the bag.

“Sorry, darling, I guess you weren’t my first, but so far you’re the most satisfying.”

* * * *

He was going to have to tell her, Dewey realized, staring down at his half-packed suitcase. Ever since he’d gotten the invitation to meet Green’s leadership from his contact, he’d been trying to find a way around it, but even he couldn’t be in two places at once. Face-to-face with the Green leader while wearing his electronic jewelry was not possible. It would be noticed, which would seriously mess with his mysterious and invincible image.

He’d examined the problem from every direction and had even asked Phoebe, his Pathphinder, on the QT—a direct violation of his parole and hers—if she could see another way. Her response had been incredulous to say the least.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she’d said. “Even I can’t figure out how to make you into two people outside of VR.”

It wasn’t just this situation bringing it all to a messy head. He’d spent the last year trying to find the right way to tell Bryn that he was Phagan. She was going to be so pissed. At him and Phoebe. The fact that Phoebe hadn’t known but guessed right after they had gotten arrested wouldn’t matter to her. Lucky for him that Jake had never asked Phoebe about Phagan. No way she’d give him up, though she threatened to when he pissed her off. Jake was smart. He knew what to ask and what not to. He knew there were things he didn’t want to know. If only Bryn could be more like him.

Every time he got close to spilling his guts, he chickened out, mostly because he liked his head where it was. And he was afraid he’d never see her again. He’d thought about not ever telling her. Phagan could disappear. But he didn’t want her to think he was the kind of guy that would lead a girl on then just vanish without a word. She’d really hate him then.

Of course, she’d probably hate him and Phagan when she found out, he decided, as he looked through his stuff for his swimsuit. He didn’t have a lot to look through. His digs were a far cry from his usual when on the run. Spartan and middle class. He was sure Bryn had put him here on purpose.

He didn’t mind, not when it gave him daily contact with Bryn, but it was hard to believe she’d want to share any of it with him. It was difficult to be optimistic about a happy outcome, despite hanging around Matt’s romance writer. The trip to California would be a good chance for them to talk. She couldn’t kill him in public, and he could sound her out first on where she was with Phagan. It felt odd to be your own competition. He’d even felt jealous of himself, which was weird. If his life ever approached normal, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.

The phone rang. He knew it was her before he answered it. Her rings were always imperious and sort of royal.

“Hyatt’s Megalomaniac Criminal Enterprise.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Miss Bailey?” It was so cute the way she insisted he call her that, as if the formality would keep things from getting personal. “Oops. I thought it was one of my criminal cohorts.”

“I don’t have time for crap, Hyatt.” She hesitated, then said, “Someone else will be picking you up and escorting you to California. Something has come up here that I have to deal with.”

“Which someone?”

“That red-head, Carlotta something or other.”

She was jealous. He could freaking hear it in her voice. This was too great. She didn’t want him to go without her. She’d never admit it, of course. They’d be celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and she’d still be claiming she’d only married him to keep an eye on him.

“As charming as it would be to travel anywhere with Carlotta something or other,” he said. “I can only go with you, Miss Bailey. I only belong to you, Miss Bailey.”

“You only belong to the United States Government until your parole ends.”

“Why don’t you see if Phoebe can go? Or that Sebastian guy that does Matt’s crap for him?”

“They asked for you.”

“It’s flattering, of course, that they think I’m the only one that can do this, but Phoebe’s actually better at unraveling computer viruses than I am. Besides,” Dewey took a deep breath and then took the first step into the abyss. As Phoebe was wont to point out, there was no going back, only forward. If he hadn’t wanted it to come to this, he should have stayed out of Green’s business. “I need to talk to you about Phagan. As soon as possible.”

The silence was so long, he thought she’d either hung up on him or fainted.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Then she rang off. With a loud enough snap to make him wince.

Phoebe kept telling him that love would find a way, but he had the feeling Bryn regularly kicked Cupid’s butt. A world of women to fall in love with, and he had to fall for a Fed. He should kick Cupid’s butt, too.

* * * *

Amelia’s wipe out hadn’t been nearly as spectacular as Luke’s, but it had taken her further downhill from him. By the time she’d collected her poles and skis, she’d heard him shout her name from the tree he’d disappeared under. He’d lost his nifty radio headset, too. She hoped they weren’t too expensive to replace, since she had no idea if she had any money.

“Down here!” she called. “You all right?”

“Fine. You stay there. I’ll come to you.”

She was happy to stay put. The snow came up around her waist. She’d almost had to swim through it to get her stuff gathered and was now clinging to the side of a boulder like the tide might sweep her away. She was pretty sure she couldn’t swim uphill, but would have tried if he’d needed her.

The chopper had dropped out of sight again, but even as the thought formed in her head, she saw it rise above the tree line and start in their direction.

“Luke!”

“I hear it. Can you get under cover?”

She was only a few feet away from cover, but it was all deep-snow feet.

“Yeah!” No time to get her skis on, but maybe…

She maneuvered her skis around until they were parallel with the mountain and facing the trees. The chop-chop-chop sounded closer. Panic crawled through her head, but it seemed to sharpen her thinking. She worked her body onto the skis, turning them into a modified surfboard. A quick look over her shoulder. The chopper grew larger in the sky. They’d soon be close enough to see her. She grabbed her poles, tucked them under one arm, then dug her hands into the snow and slid forward. The chopper made a jog away from her, then swung back, flying directly toward her. She dug into the snow again and slid under the branches of a huge pine tree. As the branches brushed against her face, brief, painful flashes of memory sparked inside her head.

Branches slapped at her, clawed at her as she tried to grab them…but she kept falling…

“Amelia!” Luke’s call pulled her back to the present. “Are you hidden? They’re almost here!”

“Yeah!” The roar of the chopper drowned out anything else she might have said. Through the deep green of the branches, she watched the chopper sweep in, make a wide turn, and come back, hovering like some huge, ugly bug. She buried her face in the snow, tried to burrow her body in, too. Cold closed around her until it was all she could feel. It crept inside and wrapped around her heart, slowing it to a steady thud. Ice wrapped around her from the inside out and the outside in, freezing her in place.

The chopper hovered above, as if it could feel her fear. Out of the fog in her head, it reached for her. Or maybe it was hands that reached for her. Their touch hurt, the pain stabbing out from her eyes. A roar from the chopper popped her eyes open. The dark shadow it cast against the white of the snow moved persistently in her direction, kicking the snow into a mini-blizzard, preventing her from seeing who was in the chopper.

They were going to find her.

Amelia covered her ears, burrowing into the snow. Disjointed pictures in her head, like incomplete snapshots…

Shouts…

Shots…

Falling…

“Amelia?” Luke touched her shoulder, scattering the fragments of memory like waking from a dream. “They’ve moved off. I don’t think they know what they are looking for. Thought sure they’d see our tracks.”

She lifted her face from the snow, inhaling great gulps of air. If felt like she’d surfaced from someplace deep and dark. She ripped off her goggles, feeling a sudden claustrophobia and blinked in the bright light.

“Are you all right?” He’d had to slide under the tree on his stomach to reach her, his concerned face close to hers. He smelled good, like aftershave and pine and fresh air.

“I should be asking you that. That was a pretty spectacular landing,” she said, trying for a light tone. Did pretty good at keeping it, too, except for those two little quavers when she lost control of her voice.

“I’ve had better.” He grinned at her and touched the lump swelling on his right temple. “A couple more and we’ll match.”

An indescribable feeling of warm delight filled her up, starting from her middle and moving out until even the tips of her fingers tingled. It erased the chill that had invaded her and freed her from her frozen thrall.

If this is some kind of crush, she thought, I like it. Hardly aware of what she was doing but knowing she needed to do it, she leaned toward him. Her free hand curled around the sturdy column of his neck and she kissed him. That minatory voice in the fog gave a shocked squawk, but it couldn’t compete with the pure pleasure of her mouth against Luke’s.

He tasted as good as he smelled, though his mouth was very cold. It warmed up fast. Real fast. Despite her lack of memory for any comparison, she was, nevertheless, convinced it was the best kiss she’d ever participated in.

They both eased back at the same time, and Amelia felt the world rush into the warm space they’d created between them. The voice expressed shock at her unladylike behavior, but what did that matter when his brown eyes were close enough for her to see gold flecks in the brown? He smiled and his gloved hand trembled just a bit as he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair back into her hood.

“Who are you, Amelia?” he asked, his voice husky.

She rolled onto her back, staring up through the branches at the sky. It was so deeply blue, the branches so green, her chest felt tight with pleasure. Did she often look at the sky or was she seeing it for the first time? She was scared, no question about that, but despite it, she felt a wonderful sense of anticipation—as if she’d been set loose in a world full of possibilities. That minatory voice in the fog was fading more and more with each passing moment. She felt alive, all her nerve endings singing like they’d just woke up from a long sleep. What defined a person? What gave them their identity? Who they were or who they’d been?

“What are you thinking?” Luke asked.

Amelia looked at him, found his eyes kind and curious. “That I’m happy to be alive. That I liked kissing you.” He looked worried, making the sky slightly less blue. “Is there someone else?”

He shook his head. “Not since my wife died. It’s just that—”

“What?”

“You’re so young.”

“We don’t know how old I am,” she pointed out. “I could just be well preserved.”

He chuckled, but his eyes were still serious. “What if you’re committed to someone?”

Amelia looked away from him. “It had occurred to me.”

“And?”

She shrugged. She didn’t know how to explain to him that all the feelings she could remember were about trying to get away from, not back to whatever her life had been. If she were committed to someone, wouldn’t some part of her know it?

“The truth is, Amelia, you don’t know who you are or what you want. And I’m not a man who can take things lightly.”

Amelia looked at him then. “Are you telling me that you’re a man who wants to commit?” Even with no memory, she knew that was rare.

His grin was wry. “Something like that.” He sat up with a slight groan. “We’d better come up with a plan before our friends in the chopper come back.”

Amelia watched him gather their gear together, her thoughts spinning inexorably to one, inescapable conclusion—Luke Kirby was a very nice guy. The fates had been kind to drop her in his lap. She must remember to thank them.

* * * *

Grady turned from the window. Instead of the snowy wasteland, he saw Paris. London. Cannes. Madrid. The world. It would all be his if the phone would just ring…

It did. The summons shrill and welcome. It didn’t come by cell or radio, but on the land line.

“Turn on your scrambler,” Larry said. His voice sounded resigned and discouraged in Grady’s ear.

Without comment, Grady activated the scrambler, then listened while Larry updated him. When he was done, he knew Larry expected him to chew him a new butt hole, but there wasn’t time for that. Not if he was going to save his world. He had the prototype of SHEILD in his possession already. His men from that job had arrived as the storm left. He fingered the supple, mesh-like fabric, amazed that it could stop anything, let alone a bullet. He’d have to conduct a test before he’d believe it, but in the meantime…

“I’m sending you some help,” he said. “I want that highway covered tighter than a hooker’s ass. Also the towns on either side. No telling which direction they’ll head. You said there was blood? Put someone on the hospitals between Estes Park and Denver and have everyone use their police scanners. Monitor all activity. Also, get back to that cabin and get me the license plate number on the truck. If we miss them on the highway, they’ll eventually head for Denver. If we have to, we’ll take them before they get home. We can’t let her get back to Kincaid. Our only chance is to take her on the road.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Be sorry later. Get me Prudence Knight. And get rid of whoever she’s with. We can’t afford to leave witnesses behind.”

He hung up. Now was not the time to give into the rage and frustration trying to crawl out of his gut. This was his time, his big chance. She would be found. She would be found or people would die.

* * * *

“Feeling better?” Luke asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Amelia leaned back with a sigh, pushing the empty bowl away from her. The tortilla soup had been hot and spicy, sending tendrils of warmth down into the chilliest spots of her aching anatomy. Anyone who said downhill was easy had never tried what they’d just done. Amelia had thought she’d identified all the muscles in her body, but this trip had found new ones. It was amazing that a body could hurt like this and still function. And the aches were mild compared to the fire in her wounded arm. She suspected it had started bleeding again. It was hard to be sure, but the creeping warmth in the midst of that fire sure felt like it.

When they’d reached this little town clinging to the edge of the highway, she’d wanted to weep with relief, but she was too tired. Amelia hadn’t known she had it in her. Of course, she hadn’t known she didn’t have it in her either, which made it impossible for her to quit.

As tired as she was, her surroundings fascinated her. Luke had chosen a dark corner booth of the little restaurant for them, providing them with a view of all the tables and anyone entering or leaving. He’d done it for safety, but it was also entertaining. Couples had flowed in and out, some so familiar with the place they could ask for the usual. The others, strangers who looked at the plastic menus and flinched.

Some teenagers had boiled in and surrounded the juke box. Amelia didn’t know who was singing, but she liked the song about the bug or the windshield. She knew which one she was right now. That song was followed by one about feeling lucky. She could feel her spirits lifting, despite the aches and pains her body persisted in reporting to her brain. Her feet started tapping, but a look at Luke convinced her he wasn’t open to trying out the tiny square of dance floor in front of the fireplace with the moose rack over it. And after the other night she didn’t blame him. She hadn’t exactly demonstrated a talent for music, let alone an ability to dance.

The demands of her stomach satisfied, Amelia felt a pleasant lethargy stealing through her aching body. It went up and down and around, then added lead weights to her upper eye lids. Her eyes were dry and tired from the strain of seeing past glare to the trees and rocks dotting the mountainside. A yawn forced its way up her throat. When she tried to cover her mouth, her muscles protested painfully.

“Sorry.”

“Fresh air makes me sleepy, too.” Luke was quiet, a frown creasing the area between his dark, slashing brows. Amelia wanted to kiss him again, but she didn’t think she could move. Or that he’d let her. “Why don’t you stay here while I try to scare up some wheels? I’d like to reach Denver before dark.”

Amelia nodded. Not moving was good. Sleeping would be even better. But when he was gone, she found that she couldn’t sleep without him there. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, even in her corner of the murky room where the only light came from an odd looking, three dimensional picture of a waterfall, which was between a mounted bear head and a velvet painting of dogs playing poker.

She had no idea what the guys after her looked like, so every time anyone came into the room, her adrenaline would spike, until whoever it was settled at a table away from her. It was a small town, she decided, maybe she could find Luke, but once outside on the street, a sign caught her attention.

Carol’s Cut and Curl.

Had she always yearned for a haircut? She touched the thick braid of hair hidden by the hat she’d borrowed. The weight of it dragged her down and increased the throbbing on all three sides of her cranium.

Made her more identifiable, too.

If only she had some money…

Then she noticed a smaller notation in the corner of the window.

“We Pay Cash for Your Long Hair.”

EIGHT

Bryn refused to meet Dewey until dinner, legitimately citing piles of work to plow through, but now she regretted her attempt to not appear eager, when she was the one in torment. To make matters worse, she’d told him to stay home and work his way through the dummy corporations and find the actual person who’d bought the tranquilizer that killed the guard.

It wasn’t a good use of his time. He’d probably finished it in an hour and was now playing some shoot ’em up computer game on the government’s time. The other day she’d found him deep in it with a kid from Japan and a lawyer in New Orleans. When it became apparent the kid was whipping both their butts, Dewey had logged off with that half-impish, half-sheepish smile that turned her heart into something foreign in her chest. She didn’t like thinking about it much, but when she did, she couldn’t get away from knowing it was a soft, squishy feeling, almost…tender. She hadn’t felt like this since sixth grade when she got her first kiss. Even now it grossed her out to think she’d swapped spit with a kid who grew up to be a mortician.

At some point, she’d realized that the men in her life weren’t going to take her seriously. Ever. They wanted to kiss her on the mouth, maybe feel her up if they could get away with it. She wanted more. She’d always wanted more. Maybe that’s why Phagan had made the inroads he had? He may or may not have been attracted by her body—who knew if he’d ever seen her in real time?—but he sparred with her brain. He teased her, drove her crazy, made her laugh, made her feel alive, right down to her toenails.

And Dewey? What did he intend to tell her? He’d said he needed to talk to her about Phagan. Did he mean he was going to tell her who Phagan was? Or was it personal? And if he was going to finally talk, why now? Was it because he felt personal?

She didn’t want him to tell her, she realized. It was sobering to have to admit it because she was supposed to want to catch Phagan. It had been her primary goal for four years. And as Phoebe liked to point out, all God’s children needed a goal.

She pushed back her chair and paced over to the coffee machine, dispensing a cup of hot black liquid that she didn’t want. It didn’t help her escape realizing she didn’t want Phagan in jail. It wasn’t just that she’d miss hunting him. She’d miss…him.

She added sugar and cream, just so she could stand there and think with her back to an office stuck in a middle-of-the day frenzy. So where did that leave her and Dewey—besides not on the plane to California that was now carrying Jake and Phoebe toward the fun in the sun that should have been hers. He wasn’t the handsome prince she’d imagined when she was little and still believed in Cinderella. He was kind of cute, in an annoying sort of way. He had nice eyes. And a nice mouth. And she liked the way his hair flopped on his forehead. It had sorely tried her self-control, not to smooth it back during the hours they worked together. Would his hair feel as soft as it looked?

Even now, with him not even close, the pads of her fingers tingled at the thought of touching not just his hair, but his skin, his face, his mouth. She rubbed her own mouth, which had parted in anticipation and sighed.

How could she feel this way about two men? Was she some kind of aberration?

Before she could answer that, the agent at the desk next to her called her name. When she turned, still holding her tasted coffee cup, he held up the phone.

Back at her desk, she said, “Thanks,” then picked up the call. It was Matt.

“We need to talk.”

“You can come up—” Bryn began, but he cut her off.

“It’s lunchtime and I didn’t get breakfast.”

“I’ll be right down.” She hung up, opened a drawer, put in her worries and took out her purse. “I’ll be back in an hour,” she told the secretary.

Soon she was seated across from Matt at a restaurant a short walk away. The crisp, cool air had filled her lungs and swept away the remnants of her anxious thoughts, leaving behind only the longing. It was nuts, wasn’t spring the time for a woman to have fancies? It was the freaking dead of winter.

She ordered, then turned to Matt. “What’s up?”

“Had to call in a few favors, but I got us a name of a possible target.” He took a sip of coffee then said, “Albert Gore, former vice president.”

“What? He’s coming here? I thought he was teaching somewhere in the East?”

“Fundraiser with some environmental types is on his agenda for this week. My source says some of those types have also planned a protest of Merryweather Biotech and a few other labs in the area who engage in animal testing.”

“Really. Hang on a minute.” She rang Dewey’s number. When he answered she asked, “You find out who bought that tranq?”

A pause. A sigh. “Yeah. Trail eventually lead to some guy named Merryweather. Hamilton Merryweather. CEO of—”

“Merryweather Biotechnologies.”

“You want me to run him through the big mill and see what else falls out or do you have psychic powers now?”

“Run him. Thanks.” She hung up, trying not to smile about the brief contact. Time was, that kind of comment would have made her grind her teeth. She had changed.

Matt had that look he got, the one that was expressionless but menacing. “Merryweather would be stupid to use his own employee.”

“Yeah, or terribly clever. He has someone grab the girl, then it looks like someone else is applying pressure. Stupid to let the tranqs get traced back to himself, though. I wonder if he is stupid?”

“Could be stupid. Or a player we haven’t met yet.”

She knew Matt hated jumping to conclusions. He liked the facts, just the facts before he made up his mind. Usually she was the same, but something about this situation was making her edgy. Uneasy.

“You ever seen a Gordian knot?” she asked.

“Not for a couple of years,” he said. “You think someone’s trying to play you?”

“I think,” she grinned at him, “I’ll keep the scissors handy.”

Matt grinned back. “Smart girl.”

* * * *

Luke had intended to talk to the local sheriff, but as he walked along the main drag, his gut started twitching like it had a condition. It had been quiet when they arrived, stashing their skis behind a boulder for later collection. Now he noticed trucks of hunters parked at each end of town. And a set in front of the police station. Another watching the local truck stop. And yet another had the local motel staked out. All seriously packing.

They didn’t seem to be doing anything in particular, but there was a watchfulness about them that tightened his gut. He strolled by one set and noticed that they had a police scanner inside the cab of their truck, the power light glowing.

Hell and damnation, he thought, what was he up against here? Who could be after Amelia? Who might unleash this much activity, this fast? And how could they get out of town without being followed and stopped? No way his Glock would be enough against the firepower he could see waiting in all those gun racks.

He saw a pair of hunters enter the place he’d left Amelia. He should never have left her. These guys were hunting. He followed, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. Inside, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the light. His two guys were heading for the corner where he’d left Amelia, then they veered off and he could see the older couple sitting there, reading the menu.

She was gone.

He grabbed their waitress as she passed. “Did you see where my friend went?”

“She left not long after you did.”

“Alone?” The waitress, her face puzzled and impatient, nodded. “Which direction did she go?”

“Sorry.” She pulled away.

Luke went outside, looked one direction, then the other, feeling frustration spike in his gut. What was she thinking—

“Luke?”

It was Amelia’s voice, but when he looked at her, she didn’t look like the Amelia he’d left. Her hair was short, almost boy short and clinging to her head in fluffy little curls. The difference was amazing. Without the hair, the clean, classy shape of her bones was visible. She must have found some make-up, because her scratches were pale shadows under her skin. Her eyes were bigger and more purple. And her mouth was red and moist and slightly parted—

He gave himself a shake. This was not the time to lose his focus.

“Where you been?” he stopped. It was obvious where she’d been. Having her hair cut. He noticed the bags she was trying, but failing, to hide behind her back. “Shopping? You just went…shopping?”

Her smile was a delight and full of mischief. “And I enjoyed it. I was quite shocked at myself.”

He swallowed a couple of times. “I thought you didn’t have any money?”

“I sold my hair. They gave me a hundred dollars and didn’t charge me for the hair cut or the make-over. I told them I’d wiped out skiing. I was going to look for you, but—”

“You went shopping.”

“Your sister-in-law’s jeans were so short…”

Now that he looked, he could see she her jeans now reached all the way to her borrowed boots. And they had some kind of embroidery on the hem. They fit her like a glove. A very affectionate glove.

“I didn’t think I needed the snow pants anymore. I didn’t lose them. They’re all in the bag.” She held it up. It bulged like a pregnant woman. Obviously, she’d bought more than pants.

Dani, he remembered, had shopped while being hunted by a hit man. And, she’d gone dancing. “I’ll never understand women,” he said. “Never.”

Her smile almost made him not care.

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be.” She looked around. “So, did you find us some wheels?”

He saw one of the sets of hunters driving their direction and took her arm, turning her away from them. “Let’s walk and talk.”

“Is there a problem?” Amelia pulled her ski cap back on, covering her shorn locks.

“Maybe. Not sure.” He told her what he’d observed as they stopped in front of an antique shop, and he pointed at something in the window.

“What are we going to do?” She didn’t look at him, but he could see the two worry lines appear between her arched brows.

“There’s a bus that comes through. Runs all the way to Denver.”

“Where do we get tickets?”

“Over there.” He gestured over his shoulder as he continued to point at different things in the window. Amelia looked casually in that direction and saw, right in front of the gun shop with the bus station logo in the window, a pair of hunters.

* * * *

Because he had no description of who Prudence Knight was traveling with, Larry had focused on the woman. Her photo wasn’t a lot of use, so he reminded them that she was scratched and bruised from a fall. She had long, blonde hair and would probably squint a bit, since she’d lost her glasses in the fall through the tree. She was traveling with someone else, so look for people in pairs. He figured that was good enough to turn her up, once they emerged from the woods.

They’d seen where they went into the woods, of course, but had been unable to find any other signs of them. Too many miles to cover and only one chopper to do it with. It had seemed wise to abandon the air search and focus all their attention on places where the pair could get transportation. At least until Grady got them an ID on the truck and possibly a picture of the owner.

He couldn’t fault the support Grady had sent him. It was an education and, if he were truthful, a bit troubling. He’d had no idea Grady had this level of support at his fingertips. It was damn near an army.

At first he’d thought about heading into Estes Park. It was closer than Boulder and would have a hospital and more transport options than most of the smaller towns, but it was away from Denver, and Grady said that’s where they would head. They could still be on skis, of course, maybe still heading cross country, but they’d have to take them off eventually, and he was pretty sure they had them boxed in. How could they not?

He noticed a couple looking into an antique shop across from the bus stop. It was pretty cold to be window shopping. Maybe he’d just check them out…

He turned in behind them. If they were expecting trouble or the girl had gotten a look at his face, the situation could get hot fast. On the other hand, he didn’t want to pull out the guns on a town street. Just wanted to ID them, then follow them and take them somewhere quieter. He pulled out a map and studied it, like he might be lost. Then he rolled down the window.

“Excuse me.” The couple didn’t move. He opened his truck and hopped out, approaching them from behind and forcing them to turn. The woman was still partly in shadow from the overhang, but as soon as he got closer, he could tell she wasn’t his gal. Even in the shade, her short blonde hair poked out from under the edges of her ski cap. And no sign of bump or bruise on her model-perfect face, and no squint. Prudence Knight had been a real geek with pulled back hair. Couldn’t stop now, though. He held out the map. “I seem to have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Can you tell me how to get to Allenspark?”

The guy, his air of authority enough to jump Larry’s heart, took the map from him and spread it out on the hood of his truck. His mind raced as he pretended to follow the man’s directions. Where could they be? And why had he chosen a cop to ask directions from? He’d remember his face, and he was sure, from the piercing look he got in return, that the guy would remember him.

“Thanks. Don’t know where I went wrong.” He took the map and looked at the girl. “Anything interesting there? My wife likes antiques, and she’s got a birthday coming up.”

“Slim pickings here, I’m afraid,” the girl said, with a slight, lovely smile. “Ready, honey?” she said to the man, then to him, “My husband is going to buy me my very own hand gun. I know a Glock isn’t usually considered a lady’s gun. What do you think?”

Larry didn’t know what to think. He backed away. “A Glock’s very nice. As are others…well, thanks.” He climbed into the truck and watched the pair cross the street and enter the gun and tackle shop. Maybe someone at the local eating places had seen a woman with a scratched face.

* * * *

Inside the gun and tackle shop, Amelia looked at Luke. “Do you think he was one of them?”

Luke frowned. “I don’t know. He made sure he saw your face. Good idea to cover up the scratches and cut your hair. If he was after you, he didn’t recognize you.” His frown deepened, but he didn’t share what was worrying him with her. “Let’s get those tickets.”

Tickets to Denver in hand, they supported their cover story by looking over the stock. Amelia picked up a hunting rifle, surprised to find it felt…familiar. She lifted it, the butt against her shoulder and looked down the sight. The fog opened for a flash, giving her a glimpse of something…or was it someone? A bullet piercing a dark silhouette.

Who am I? What am I?

She lowered the gun so fast, it clattered against the counter.

“Are you all right?” Luke asked, his voice distant and hollow. He wavered in front of her eyes, then steadied.

She took a shaky breath. “Just felt dizzy for a minute.”

His hand gripped her arm. “Maybe you should sit down. I should have taken you to the hospital—”

“No. I’m fine. Really.” Her vision had cleared. Fear did that, it seemed. “Look, our bus is here.”

It blocked their view of the street but also gave them some cover as they boarded. Luke directed her to rear of the bus, where they kept low until they were clear of town. In a few minutes, they were on the highway, with no signs of pursuit.

Luke relaxed. At least for now they were safe, though Amelia’s color still worried him. Adrenaline had sustained them both this far. To his relief, the movement of the bus had her head nodding. In a few minutes her head drooped, then slid onto Luke’s shoulder, her head tilted back so that all he had to do was turn his head a millimeter to have her full, pouting lips in easy striking distance. What was happening to him? He’d spent less than twenty-four hours with her and he was already wondering how to keep her. There was so much he didn’t know about her, but his heart didn’t seem to care. It felt right to have her next to him, her body supported by his as the miles slipped past.

He felt sleep tugging at his eyes, but he still hadn’t decided what to do once they reached Denver. It would be easy to call one of his brothers, but what if their pursuers had made him? If they were as organized as they appeared to be, they’d be running the plates on his truck and may have his name. That meant anyone with the name Kirby could put Amelia and his family at risk. For now, he had to avoid the family.

He felt alone, isolated, cut off, even if it was his own choice. On the upside, this meant he wouldn’t have to explain Amelia. He wasn’t ready to share her with his brothers yet, remembering Matt’s reaction to Phoebe a year ago. His middle brother didn’t like women with mysterious pasts. Besides, he wasn’t ready to have to answer their questions when he had no answers for them. He’d find out who and what Amelia was, then he’d be ready for introductions. Maybe.

Bryn would help him, he knew, but he couldn’t see her and Amelia together. Kind of like pairing a kitten with a wolf. Though Amelia was tougher than she looked. Besides, Bryn would ask a lot of questions. He’d never met anyone so unrelentingly suspicious.

He hated to admit it, but Dewey seemed like his best option. There was no obvious connection between them, and he wouldn’t be leaving Amelia alone while he checked out her apartment. He eased his cell phone out of his pocket and made the call. Dewey sounded surprised but amused. Typical.

At some point, Luke fell asleep, too. He woke to find his arms wrapped around Amelia, his face buried in her silky, provocatively short hair and his lungs inhaling her scent. He’d gone up the mountain to deal with his past, to let go of Rosemary, not for this. Rosemary wouldn’t grudge him happiness. That wasn’t the kind of person she was. It’s just, well, if Amelia had only been older, it wouldn’t seem like such a betrayal.

What could he possibly have in common with someone so young besides the physical? He’d had true companionship with Rosemary, the kind with shared interests and shared memories. He couldn’t settle for less than that in his life or in his bed, no matter how attractive the package. All he was really sharing with Amelia was a mutual sense of danger. He was feeling protective. Easy to mistake it for warmer feelings. It wouldn’t be the first time a victim had mistaken gratitude for…whatever, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Once Amelia was restored to her life, her memories, she’d be embarrassed by that spontaneous and amazing kiss. She’d return to her life and he’d go back to his.

One thing he was sure about, his heart wouldn’t be busted again. He’d lost Rosemary and almost hadn’t gotten over it. No way he’d fall headlong into a situation that painful, not when there was no chance of a happy ending.

Amelia stirred in his arms, murmuring and his heart jumped in his chest, reminding him that hearts didn’t always act in their own best interests. A wise man would put distance between them as soon as possible.

He sighed, as his arms tightened around Amelia.

No one he knew would call him a wise man.

NINE

A cop. Grady couldn’t believe it. She dives out of the chopper on a freaking mountainside and lands in the lap of a cop? It was over. No way they’d get their hands on her now.

Except…

Why hadn’t Kincaid known she was safe? He hadn’t sounded like a man trying to set a trap. He’d sounded frantic. Grady knew how to read voices, to read the nuances, body language and eyes. He could smell intentions, feel motives. Home in on weaknesses like a smart bomb on a target. Something wasn’t tracking right. But what?

Faint heart never won fair lady.

It didn’t exactly fit. Prudence Knight wasn’t fair, and his heart was careful, not faint. He pushed back his chair and walked over to the window. The sky had cleared, leaving behind a view that was postcard perfect. If snow and mountains were your thing.

They weren’t his. He wanted sun. He wanted heat—the sultry, rich kind of heat where he could buy himself a new future and erase his past. A place where he could avoid people like Leslie if he wanted to.

Leslie. Had he heard he’d made his first kill? He hadn’t called to whine—or gloat—yet. Grady had a feeling Leslie would like it. A destructive rage lurked beneath his sunny, idiot-son surface, but Grady’d bet it wouldn’t stay down for long, now that Leslie had taken first blood. He might need to remove Leslie from the picture sooner than planned. Some monsters, unleashed, raged out of control. Leslie was weak and impractical. Everything he did was driven by emotion—mostly rage and jealousy for those in control.

How long would it take for Leslie to turn on him? When would it occur to him that Grady controlled him as much, or more, than his father? Yes, it was time to eliminate Leslie from the board. A pawn who thought he was king was too dangerous to have around.

Which did nothing to help him figure out where Prudence Knight was or what Luke Kirby planned to do with his catch of the day.

Maybe he should toss in a line and see what he could pull out?

He dialed Kincaid again. He answered on the first ring. Even in the single, tersely snapped, “Kincaid,” Grady could hear that the fear in his voice had built, not lessened. So he didn’t know. He hung up without comment. Now was not the time to deal with Kincaid, not without the girl in hand.

Which left him with the multi-million dollar question. Why hadn’t Kirby phoned home? Since he couldn’t answer it, he’d do what he could to make sure he couldn’t get home with the prize.

He knew they’d skied out of the mountains, so Kirby was innovative and willing to switch gears when necessary. He looked at the picture his contact in the police department had faxed to him. Strong, determined, stubborn. A worthy opponent. He stared at the map. What would I do if I were in the hop and not sure what was happening or who my enemy was?

For sure he’d trade in the skis as soon as possible. But they hadn’t rented a car. No contact with any of the police or sheriff departments between the cabin and Denver. They had the bus stations covered, too.

Where are you? And how do we smoke you out? He frowned, then reached for the phone again. A few calls and some judicious faxing. Had any of his army seen this man?

The wait wasn’t long before the phone rang. It was Larry.

“I saw this guy, but the woman he was with didn’t look nothing like Knight. And not a scratch on her.” He sounded frustrated and aggrieved. “I think they got on the bus.”

Bingo. In a few minutes, he had his army moving in on Denver like locusts bearing down on a field of grain.

* * * *

“Okay,” Luke turned from the bus window and looked at Amelia, who was reapplying the make-up that covered her bruises. “We got a spot of trouble. The dogs seem to have beaten us to town.”

Maybe he was paranoid and maybe he wasn’t. But there were too many guys hanging around, looking like they weren’t looking for someone. And one of them was the guy who’d approached them on the street just before they’d boarded the bus. He seemed to think he was being very discreet behind that newspaper. The guy would recognize him for sure and may already know he belonged to his truck abandoned at the cabin. He frowned, his mind racing. How to get Amelia safely to Dewey, who he hoped was out there waiting.

“We’ll have to get out separately. I’ll go first, try to draw them off you. Leave your jacket off, and reverse the hat. Tuck all your hair under it. Stuff the jacket in your bag, out of sight.” He handed her his beeper. “If I get clear, I’ll beep nine-one-one. Dewey should be waiting not far from the exit.” He described Dewey. “Head straight for him. Pretend you know him. If I send you nine-nine-nine, forget Dewey, get into a stall in the bathroom and stay there until you hear me or see a police badge shoved under the door. Okay?”

She nodded, her face calm but pale. “Will you be all right?”

He looked up from checking his weapon. “They need me to lead them to you.”

It was the second hardest thing he’d ever done, walking away from her. He stepped ahead of a woman about the same age as Amelia. When he stepped down, he turned and offered her his hand. She smiled and thanked him. When she walked inside, he followed her, close enough that it looked like they were together. Like magnets and nails, he noted he was pulling the surveillance inside with him, including the one who’d seen Amelia. So far, so good.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dewey. Be there, he thought, the relief intense when Dewey answered right away.

“Where are you?”

“Outside, by my car,” Dewey said. “Why?”

“I seemed to have picked up a tail. I need you to get Amelia. She should be in the ladies room.” He didn’t dare look back or draw his tail’s attention to her in any way. He gave him a quick description of her. “Get her out of here.”

“What—”

“No questions. Just do it. If it looks safe, call my beeper and punch in nine-one-one. If it looks dicey or you feel something’s wrong, send a nine-nine-nine, then call the cops and get security in there to keep an eye on her. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Luke rang off, stowing the phone and strolling toward the men’s room. With a thrill of adrenaline, he noted that at least two of them were following him inside. The lady he’d used as a decoy was greeting a husband and kids, leaving the rest of his tail with nothing to do.

* * * *

Amelia stared at herself in the mirror of the gritty bus station ladies room, surprised to find she was very good at hiding her feelings. None of the turmoil she felt at being separated from Luke was apparent on her face. Not even her eyes betrayed the feelings churning her insides. They were tranquil, purple pools, an odd contrast to the scratches and bruises she knew lurked beneath the make-up and the pounding of her heart. She’d seen men follow Luke into the bathroom, but not all of them. She hoped he was right, that they’d leave him alone as long as they believed he’d lead them to her. No one had given her a second look. The last off the bus, she’d attached herself to a small group of –chattering women, making a beeline for the ladies room.

Panic had bubbled up inside her, but it seemed unable to break through to the surface. The calm façade appeared impenetrable. This ability to disguise her fear might have pleased her, if it weren’t for the flash of memory from the gun shop, the feeling she’d pointed a weapon at a shadowy figure and pulled the trigger. The bullet speeding toward the dark silhouette. The rifle had felt comfortable, normal in her grip. If it had only been that, she might have been able to shrug it off as a hobby. This was the wild, wild West, after all, but her head was a veritable treasure trove of statistics about guns, and not just the ones in that shop. She could have lectured at length on the history and development of weapons but had managed to contain the urge, thanks to a throat dried with panic.

Who was she? What was she, that she knew so much about guns? And how could she be so calm and controlled? On the inside it felt like she was fetal with fear. And it wasn’t just the fear she couldn’t see on her face. The pain wasn’t there either. There was lots of pain that should be there. She’d stiffened like mud in the sun while slumbering in Luke’s arms. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t normal. What if she was some paranoid paramilitary type with a huge stash of guns? Or a hit woman? And what would Luke find when he went to her apartment?

If only she could remember, but every time she tried to pierce the veil of her memory, she got slapped back by the pain. You can’t hide from the past, not even in your own head, Luke had said, but how could she fight what she didn’t remember?

Luke’s beeper vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out. Nine-one-one. Time to emerge. Well, she looked around her. There was nothing more to learn about herself in this place. She turned and left, the last glimpse of her face still eerily serene.

Outside, the scene was moderately chaotic and intimidating, as her gaze swept the crowd for a glimpse of Luke, or his friend, Dewey. A man, tall and kind of lanky, waved at her cheerfully, a charming smile nicely breaking up the ordinary in his face. His brown hair fell across his forehead with small boy insistence, and he walked toward her as if his body couldn’t quite keep up with his thoughts. He fitted the description Luke had given her. She started to smile. She had just a moment to process the sudden wicked look in his brown eye, before he swept her into a hug and planted a kiss on her shocked mouth. She resisted for a moment and he whispered in her ear, “I’m Dewey. Play along. We’re being watched.”

So she hugged him back and found the tension in her stomach ease.

“Darling, welcome home.” He kept one arm around her waist, turning her toward the exit. “Denver was a desert without you.”

“A very cold desert,” Amelia said, a bit dryly.

There was no sign of Luke anywhere. Please let him be all right, she prayed, then she wondered if she believed in God.

* * * *

Larry nodded for two of the men to follow Kirby into the bathroom, while he figured out what to do. He hadn’t expected him to get off the bus alone. As soon as he’d seen Kirby’s picture, he remembered seeing him with the looker outside the antique store. Could the Knight woman have changed her looks that much? Didn’t seem possible, and not just the upgrade in the babe factor. He hadn’t seen a scratch on her.

He’d explained the problem to Grady, who had dispatched someone with a digital camera to discreetly snap all the women getting off the bus. He was so discreet, in fact, that Larry couldn’t tell who it was. But that only worked if she’d gotten off the bus. It was possible, she’d gotten off en route to Denver. Kirby didn’t look like a fool. Wouldn’t be that hard to lose them here, then double back and pick her up somewhere. He signaled a couple of the boys.

“Check the bus. Make sure everyone got off.”

They nodded and left. After a moment’s hesitation, he realized he needed to whiz. Always nice when the body and the brain were in sync, since he was curious to see what was happening inside the crapper. What he found was Kirby calmly washing his hands. And no sign of his men.

Two stall doors were closed. Surely they both hadn’t needed to take a dump right now? Larry stepped back and tried to see if there were legs under the doors.

“Lose someone?”

He turned to find Kirby’s chest inches from his nose. He looked up. Kirby’s face was blank but dangerous. Definitely not a fool.

“Um, my friends came in here…”

“Two guys went into stalls. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.”

“Um. Thanks.” Larry stepped back. Tried not to look nervous. The guy was built like a tree. He raised his voice. “I’m sure they will be out soon.”

Kirby smiled, but there was no amusement in it. “And I’m sure we won’t be seeing each other again.”

Larry tugged at the neck of his shirt, which had tightened around his neck. “Uh, no. Definitely not. I’m catching the bus out as soon as—” he nodded toward the closed stalls.

“Right.” Kirby turned without further comment and walked out.

Larry sagged back. “What’s with you two? Get the hell out here!”

Nothing.

Uneasy again, Larry approached one door and pushed. It opened. Guy one was laying next to the toilet, his jaw rapidly swelling, his lights out. In the next stall, Guy two was dragged across the toilet. He wasn’t showing lights either.

Maybe it was time to find a different business.

* * * *

The door let a blast of cold air swirl around Amelia as she and Dewey exited the station. Outside the sun was high and blindingly bright. The snow might have been a pretty white blanket, but the city had wasted no time in dirtying it up as it went about its business. The heaped piles of snow were pushed to the side by plows where they’d melted slow and messy. The car he directed her to was small and battered, but it warmed up once Dewey got the motor running.

“Luke said you’re probably hungry. Drive-through all right?”

After all the cloak-and-dagger, it seemed sort of anticlimactic, but she was hungry. She nodded, still a little bemused by the current of energy he radiated like a mini-sun. He plunged the car into traffic as if he were piloting a craft in space. To her surprise, Amelia felt a kick of excitement as the car fishtailed taking a corner. Maybe she raced cars in her other life?

It was a strange feeling to have traits, or maybe it was personality quirks, floating to the surface of her mind like this. She felt like one of those bubbling pots of mud in Yellowstone Park. Kind of murky, with hidden depths and globs of information erupting at unexpected moments—none of which made sense, even taken all together.

Her computer-like brain. Working knowledge of wounds and anatomy. Extensive knowledge of guns. An apparent inclination towards thrill-seeking. Bullet graze on the arm. A feeling of betrayal. A longing to be free—of something. Maybe that prim, annoying voice urging her to behave? And her, well, warm feelings for Luke. The cop. It was all very troubling.

“I’m under strict orders, with the potential for painful retribution, if I ask you any questions or tell anyone about you while you’re staying with me, so anything you want me to know, you’ll have to volunteer. Luke has promised to reimburse any expenses I incur, so if there is anything you need, just tell me and your wish is my command.” He punctuated this by speeding up to make a light, the rear of his car fish-tailing again before the wheels dug into the snowy street. She also noticed that he checked behind them regularly, as if watching for a tail.

“I’ve been separated from my luggage,” Amelia said, “so a stop where I could buy some basics would be helpful.”

“Wal-Mart, okay?”

Amelia hesitated. “Is it inexpensive?” She only had a few dollars left of her hair money.

He looked surprised. “Downright cheap. How—oops, that would be a question. I’ll just observe, for the sake of my knees, that you must be from out of town—possibly even out of country.”

Amelia met his curious look with a bland smile. It was interesting that Luke trusted Dewey to transport her for him, but he didn’t trust him with her story. For now, she would follow Luke’s lead, though she felt he was being too careful. Dewey seemed okay to her and was entertaining. She had a feeling she’d never met anyone like him before, but what she knew of him, she liked.

They were just parking at Wal-Mart when Luke’s beeper sounded. The quick, annoyed feeling she felt told her she wasn’t a stranger to a beeper’s summons. One more thing to add to the bits and pieces of disconnected facts. She pulled it out and showed it to Dewey.

“What should we do?”

“That’s his work number. I’d better call and tell him.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call. You grab a cart.”

She didn’t move until she heard Dewey say, “Luke-ster, you got a beep.” He gave him the number, then asked, “You all right?” A pause. “Good-o. We’ll catch you later then.”

He was okay. Amelia gave a huge sigh of relief and grasped the handle of a shopping cart. It was icy cold from the outside air and sent a thrill through her, similar to kissing Luke, but not quite that good. She rolled it forward, then back, testing the wheels. All she’d wanted was to clean up and stop moving. But now she felt energy flowing back into her body at the feel of the cart. She pushed it toward the doors, which swished open at her approach. It was lovely. She felt important. It was even better inside. Goods stacked almost to the ceiling. Aisles to explore. Time slowed down. Exhaustion faded. Aches and pains dimmed to a dull murmur. It was just her and a big store full of things to see and buy.

Dewey looked at her, his expression slowly turning resigned. “Luke owes me more than money for this gig.”

* * * *

“Sorry I had to interrupt your day off, but it’s an odd case, no question, buddy.” Luke’s partner, Mannfred Gage was short and stocky, with a bright, cheerful gaze that saw everything, but gave nothing away. They’d been partners since Luke transferred to homicide and Luke wouldn’t have it any other way. Mann was solid as a rock with a puckish sense of humor and great instincts. Though he was a little quick with the beeper. “Not much to go on.”

An understatement, Luke thought, setting aside the file on Dr. John Knight as they pulled into the parking lot at Merryweather Biotechnologies. So far it was a thin file because of the blizzard that had shut down the city for most of the day. Basically they knew he was dead and that he had worked for Merryweather prior to his death. A preliminary coroner’s report listed the cause of death as an overdose of digitalis. Knight’s personal physician had requested the autopsy. If he had an unexplained heart attack, he wanted this guy to be his doctor, Luke decided. Very quick on the uptake. Merryweather had only arrived back in the area an hour or so ago, so maybe now they’d learn something useful. Not that Luke wanted to be here. It felt wrong to be dealing with the dead, when Amelia was alive, in danger and with Dewey. It also frustrated him to wait to visit her apartment. To himself he could admit he hoped it would answer the big question, the one he shouldn’t want to know—was she involved with someone else?

Damn duty called. It was a hard habit to break. And he did need his paycheck.

“Let’s go shake some trees, see if we can plump this file up some,” Luke said, opening his door. And put a quick end to this, he silently added.

The place looked quiet, almost deserted, but they knew the owner, name of Hamilton Merryweather, was waiting for them. Mann had called and set up the meet while he waited for Luke to join him. Dark was settling in fast as he walked with Mann to the entrance. He glanced around and thought for a minute he saw a match flare inside a van, but decided he was seeing things. Easy to do in the near-dark.

Inside, a guard waved them to an elevator. The place oozed money. Marble floors in the hallways. Lots of chrome and crystal and thick carpets in the offices. The elevator swished them to the top floor, the doors opening with a discreet hiss.

The lower floors were nice, but they were nothing compared to the opulence of the boss’s floor. The gray carpet was so thick and deep, he felt like he was sinking in it up to his knees. Mahogany desks, original paintings and fancy sculptures. Place was like a museum and proclaimed a very important person worked here. What Luke found most interesting was how cold it felt, as if it all had no soul, no life. He almost expected to find a corpse inside the big, double doors Mann was pushing open. He wasn’t far wrong. Hamilton Merryweather would have made a great mortician or corpse. Tall and wilted, despite being impeccably dressed, he had a long, pale face, his expression appropriately mournful for the occasion. Graying, thinning hair was combed carefully back off a high, well-bred forehead. His brows were so light, Luke thought he had none until he got close enough to exchange a chilly handshake with him.

“Luke Kirby.” Luke showed him his badge, then nodded toward Mann. “My partner, Mannfred Gage.”

“This is my son, Leslie,” Merryweather said, the careful neutrality of his tone revealing a great deal about their relationship.

“Gentlemen.” Leslie shook hands, trying too hard to achieve the right level of firmness. He had the look of his father, but with the life stamped out of him and a weaker chin. Luke wondered how long it would take him to give up the unequal battle for supremacy with his father. A slight air of decadence told him the rot had already set in.

“I presume you’re here about Prudence?” Merryweather said, leading them to a frosty looking conversation area off to one side. Leslie strolled over and assumed an attitude of casual alertness against the bar. A certain watchful look in his eyes put Luke’s antenna up. He exchanged a look with Mann, before taking a seat across from Merryweather.

Mann pulled out a notebook and pencil and looked at Merryweather, “Prudence?”

“Prudence Knight.” Merryweather looked at Mann, then at Luke. “Isn’t she why you’re here?” His voice was as funereal as his aspect. “I know she hasn’t been missing forty-eight hours, but under the circumstances, I think we should move ahead.”

Luke felt a chill snake down his back when Merryweather said, “missing,” but this Prudence was, well, Prudence. Not Amelia. It was strange, though. A missing girl. A found girl.

“When did she go missing?” Luke asked, earning himself a surprised look from Mann. He thrust his hands in his pockets, his fingers closing around the keys he’d taken so he could check out her apartment.

“Yesterday morning. Outside the hospital. I believe her vehicle is still there.”

This has nothing to do with Amelia. Focus on the job, damn it, he mentally muttered, annoyed with himself.

“Kincaid says he turned over the vitals to the FBI,” Merryweather was saying.

Luke looked at Mann, who gave a slight shake of the head. “Kincaid?”

“My chief of security. He should be joining us soon, as soon as he checks on some items for me.”

“Here, Dad,” Leslie said, the concern in his voice perfectly pitched, as he handed his father a drink.

Something about him rubbed Luke the wrong way.

“Can I get something for either of you?” Leslie asked, with a charming smile.

Did the guy ever hit a wrong note?

“Coffee for me, if you have it,” Luke said.

“Same here,” Mann said. “On duty and all that.”

“Of course.” He picked up the phone and in a few minutes a secretary entered with a tray and cups. When she’d poured and left them, Leslie perched on the couch behind his father, causing a small flicker of annoyance to break the expressionless expanse of his father’s face. What had it felt like to be his son? Luke wondered. There were worse things, it seemed, than losing a father.

“We will, of course, be doing all we can to find Miss Knight, but we’re here to ask about Dr. John Knight,” Luke said, watching both men. Merryweather’s brows arched, he noticed. Leslie’s did, too, but just a beat too slow. Or maybe Luke was looking for it because he didn’t like him?

“We’re with homicide, Mr. Merryweather,” Mann said.

That got the father’s brows up some more. Leslie’s look narrowed. And his cheeks flushed, as if he were excited.

“Homicide? Are you saying,” Leslie asked, “that Dr. Knight was murdered? I thought he died of a heart attack?”

“He ingested a lethal dose of digitalis,” Mann said. “Not the preferred method of the suicidal.”

“An accidental overdose—” Merryweather started to protest.

“Hard to accidentally take something that wasn’t prescribed to you,” Mann pointed out. “It was his personal physician that called us.”

“Can either of you think of anyone who would want Dr. Knight dead?” Luke asked.

Leslie straightened, a look of diffidence on his face. “I hate to be the one to point out the obvious, but doesn’t this put a new spin on Miss Knight’s disappearance? And Dad, shouldn’t we verify the…integrity of the project Dr. Knight was working on?”

His father frowned. “I hardly think Miss Knight—”

“She is his next of kin,” Leslie said.

For just a moment, Luke thought he saw amusement—or was it satisfaction?—in the son’s eyes, before he replaced it with one more suitably sober. He and Mann exchanged another quick look. “Do we ask what the project is?”

“It’s a highly classified project that Knight was working on. Miss Knight is his assistant.” Merryweather seemed like he wanted to say more, but didn’t.

“You’ll have to tell them, Dad. We need to be truthful or the police won’t be able to do their job,” Leslie said, earnestly cooperative. Merryweather didn’t say anything. He might have been thinking. It was hard to tell.

Leslie sighed. “Dad.” He looked at the two men. “Miss Knight was more than an assistant. She was Knight’s, well, filing cabinet.”

“Filing cabinet?” Luke frowned and Mann looked up from his notes with a puzzled look.

“She has a photographic memory. All his research, all his data is stored in her homely little head.”

Luke felt a strange sensation in his middle. A photographic memory. That would explain Amelia’s unusual ability to pull up facts at a whim. But the name—an icy chill slid straight down his back without passing “Go” or collecting money. Amelia was the one who’d produced the name and address. He’d never seen the information on the PDA. If she had killed her father and stolen classified material, then a loss of memory would be pretty handy, particularly if you happened to land in the lap of a cop.

Get a grip on yourself, he told himself. You don’t know Amelia and Prudence are the same person. This time he did finger the set of keys. There was the computer access card, but he was reluctant to pull it out. It would be hard to explain how he happened to have it. And he didn’t want Leslie to know he might know where their missing tech was. Something about the guy gave him a chill. He’d been quick to point the finger at her. Real quick. No, he wouldn’t pull out the card. Not now. Not until he’d had a chance to talk to her.

And there was another way. Merryweather said her car was still at the hospital. Even without the personal added incentive, they’d need to check it out.

“I’d say that gives her a rather obvious motive for murder,” Leslie continued, “particularly since they had a fight before she left the hospital and vanished.”

“Interesting that you’d feel the need to throw suspicion on Miss Knight, Leslie,” a voice said from the doorway.

“Donovan,” Merryweather seemed relieved to see him. “Gentlemen, this is my head of security, Donovan Kincaid. Detectives Kirby and Gage. Homicide detectives. It seems Dr. Knight was murdered.”

There was a palpable shift of power in the room at Kincaid’s entrance. Merryweather got paler and Leslie got…shiftier. And shorter. And annoyed, if the pulling together of his brows was any indication.

A big man with the air of a soldier, despite the businessman clothes, Kincaid exuded crisp and competent and had an air of mystery that Luke would bet women found irresistible. At the moment, his fists were clenched, like he’d like to pop Leslie, but he was willing to wait for later. And he didn’t look surprised to hear Knight had been murdered. Who had been talking to him?

Leslie stepped behind daddy. Luke wasn’t sure he was aware of the movement. Leslie hadn’t taken his eyes off Kincaid, though that look of secret amusement was back. Did he like trouble or did he have a particular interest in this trouble?

“I’m not trying to throw suspicion on anyone,” Leslie protested. “They asked who might want Knight dead. The relationship between John and Prudence has always been…kind of ‘daddy-dearest.’ It would be dishonest to pretend otherwise.”

“It’s my job to assess the character of the employees. Miss Knight is a person of impeccable character.” Kincaid pinned Leslie with his gaze.

He was out-gunned, but he held his ground long enough to be interesting then turned with a shrug and poured himself a drink. All kinds of undercurrents. Luke hated undercurrents. Made an investigation about as much fun as swimming in quicksand. And about as safe. Just because he didn’t like him, Luke put Leslie at the top of the suspect list.

Kincaid cut across the room to Merryweather, bent and whispered something in his ear. Merryweather’s perfect gentleman façade cracked momentarily. He recovered, but when he lifted his drink to his mouth, his hand shook a little. He looked at the two detectives then turned a looked at his son.

“Could you fetch the personal files on Dr. Knight and Miss Prudence, Leslie?” He turned back to them. “Is there anything else you’ll need from us?”

“We’ll need a list of everyone who worked with Dr. Knight. Addresses and phone numbers,” Mann said. “Also, who was working with him yesterday when he collapsed? A picture of the missing daughter. For starters.”

“Leslie?” Merryweather didn’t look at his son this time.

Luke did. Leslie stood irresolute, obviously annoyed, his air one of a small boy who knows he’s being gotten rid of while the grown-ups talk.

“Fine.” He stalked out, closing the door with a snap behind him.

Luke was careful not to look at Mann. Not polite to chuckle under the circumstances.

Merryweather jumped to his feet. He didn’t creak, but Luke wondered if he’d moved that fast in years. It wasn’t natural for him. He nodded to Kincaid then went and poured himself another drink. Luke looked in Kincaid’s direction and lifted a brow.

“I’ve just informed Mr. Merryweather that the prototype of Project Shield, which Knight was working on, is missing from the vault. Whoever did this had to be a damn Houdini. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Really.” If Pathphinder and Hyatt weren’t in retirement, Luke thought, he’d be talking to them next. “You’re sure it wasn’t an inside job?”

“An insider,” Merryweather said, turning to look at them, “would know that the research wasn’t complete. Shield isn’t ready. I don’t understand why they took it—unless it was to stop our research.”

“And I,” Donovan said, “have been contacted by the person who grabbed Miss Knight.”

Both Luke and Mann sat up straighter. “Did he make any demands?”

“Not yet. I think he just wanted me to know he had her.” Kincaid turned away from them, striding over to glare out the window.

If Prudence Knight had been kidnapped, that meant Amelia was Amelia. He should feel better, but why had the kidnappers contacted Kincaid? If they were after Shield, then they had it, didn’t they? He was very curious to see Prudence Knight’s picture. Very. And he needed time to think. And to talk to Dewey. Right now was not the time to lose track of Amelia. Now he wished he’d gone with Bryn as caretaker for Amelia.

“Could I use your restroom?” he asked. Merryweather indicated a door off to the right. Once inside, Luke pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dewey.

TEN

Grady’s photographer had emailed him the pictures he’d taken at the bus station. Thanks to high speed access, they’d downloaded fast, but the process of studying the pictures and comparing them to the two pictures he had of Prudence Knight took more time. Some of the pictures had to be cleared up before he could even begin to compare them. As picture after picture was examined and rejected, he began to wonder if they were chasing a phantom. Larry’s premise that Prudence Knight was with Luke Kirby was based on a bloody tee shirt and a lot of hope. Maybe too much hope?

Grady had rallied his private army to track the pair and turned up nothing to indicate that Prudence Knight hadn’t died from her fall from the chopper and been buried under some snow drift on the mountainside.

To further trouble him, Leslie hadn’t phoned in. It wasn’t like him. Had he somehow picked up on Grady’s plan to shaft him and made a counter play? Leslie prided himself on his chess playing and Grady had let him hold onto that pride, though he could have kicked his butt a million times over in every game they’d played over the years. Ego stroking was hard work, a work he’d grown weary of.

Only three pictures left. Three little files on which his hope was pinned. If they’d lost the trail, he had no clue how to find it again. The first was clearly not her. But he frowned at the second one. It didn’t look at all like her, except for something in the jaw? A feeling in his gut? Wishful thinking?

He pulled up the picture he’d scanned and put them side by side. In the shot from the bus, the woman was wearing a hat that hid her hair. Larry had said the woman with Kirby had short, blond hair and was too much of a looker to be Knight.

He took the picture of Prudence Knight and removed the heavy, dark glasses. Almost immediately the severity of her looks softened. Okay, let’s pretend she cut her hair. He took off the severely pulled-back hair and replaced it with short and blond.

“Much better. Moving into the babe zone.” But how had she hidden the scratches and bruises she had to have acquired during the dive from the chopper? “Maybe the same place she got the hair cut?” He’d seen stuff on TV infomercials that was used to cover up massive disfigurement. Why not a few scratches?

He took the altered Prudence and put her next to the woman from the bus.

“Gotcha.”

* * * *

Amelia learned two more facts about herself in Wal-Mart. She loved to shop, and there was no way she was going to Dewey’s apartment to wait for Luke to sort out her life. She needed to be proactive. She needed to be…spunky? Yeah, she needed to be spunky. Women who waited for life to happen to them never found true love. Or self-fulfillment, which was more important than true love, though not as fun, if that kiss was anything to go by. She didn’t know how she knew this, so she could be wrong, but she didn’t feel wrong. She felt right.

The shopping and the need to be spunky were connected in some way, though how wasn’t clear at the moment. Maybe it was a female imperative, a way of accessing her inner power through shopping. Oh, it had felt good to have Luke’s big, strong shoulders to dump her burdens on. She’d felt safe around him and it felt good to feel safe, but she was stronger now. She’d rested, the aches were healing. Mostly.

She didn’t want Luke to find out she was a bad person. Better to find out the truth about herself and then decide what to do about it.

She could persuade Dewey to take her to her apartment, but that was still relying on Luke by proxy. It wasn’t spunky. She hated to ditch him when he’d been so nice, but it had to be done—for the good of all womankind.

Luke had her keys, but she could ask the super, couldn’t she? Surely he’d let her in. He must know her. Or maybe she was one of those people who left a key under the mat or in a flowerpot. Luke had told her she needed to face her past. What she really needed was to face it by herself. Because if it were ugly, she didn’t want to face him again.

Dewey wasn’t hard to lose. He kept getting distracted by things on the shelves and then stopped by some sort of computer game. She waited until he was deep in a game that seemed to involve blowing up aliens before they blew up him, abandoned her cart of stuff, and slipped away. Leaving her stuff was the hard part, but she must have things at her apartment? Outside, a cab was dropping off an old lady. Amelia hopped in.

The drive through the streets was as peculiar as anything she’d felt. She could see the streets, but like a map, not like real places. She watched the driver take the turns, but had no sense of belonging to any of it. Did she even live in Denver? Or did the lack of personal connection mean she did live here? It seemed to be the personal that had been wiped out.

She asked the driver to drive past the apartment building first, but didn’t see anything untoward. No hunters or even anyone lurking in or out of a car. Instead of feeling better about it, it made her more uneasy. They’d seemed to have all the bases covered. Why not this one?

Amelia paid the man with the last of her money and got out. It was quiet. Still no sign of lurkers or watchers. No feeling of danger. No sense of coming home. Just a knot in her chest about what she would find in Amelia E. Hart’s apartment.

Someone was going out as she reached the door, so she didn’t have to worry about being buzzed inside. The stairs were straight ahead. She climbed them, taking her time, the wood of the banister cooling her sweaty palm. She wasn’t feeling nearly as spunky now that she was here, but there was no going back. She didn’t know how to get a hold of Dewey now, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Not really.

Her door was the third one down. Still no feeling of familiarity, no sense of recognition. Without stopping to think, hoping her subconscious would lead her past this hurdle too, she approached the door. She thought it wasn’t going to work, but then she reached up, as if by habit, and snagged a key above the door.

“Not very original,” she muttered, fitting it into the lock, turning it and pushing the door open. She started to return the key, but stopped and tucked it in her pocket instead. The dogs may have lost her scent, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find it again.

It was dark inside, with patches of light slipping past dark window coverings hinting at a larger room past the minuscule hall. The light from the hall semi-illuminated a switch. She flipped it, leaving a dim circle of light in the hall, enough so she could step in and close the door. She looked up. Not much wattage there. Did that make her cheap? Or poor?

It was a weird feeling, so disconnected and not quite real to be here, wondering who and what she was. Maybe it was some wacky dream. She’d soon wake up and resume her real life. She leaned against the cheap door, her eyes drifting closed as she reached out with all her senses and felt…nothing. And yet in these walls she should kind the keys to her past. A few steps in the dark, but a huge leap into the void for her. If only there weren’t so much to fear from finding out.

As if her own subconscious was eager for her to get on with it, some words of someone called Krishnamurti—how the heck could she remember that name and not her own?—floated out of the fog: Without freedom from the past, there is no freedom at all.

Freedom from the past would only come with facing it, not ignoring it. Okay. Amelia took a deep breath and opened her eyes. To her left a door stood open. A bathroom. She flicked on the light. Saw a toothbrush and toothpaste. Well, she already knew she had teeth, but not that she preferred Colgate. Kept her hair brush relatively free of long, blonde hairs. Shampoo waiting by the tub. Strawberry. Conditioner, too. Suave. Some body wash from The Gap called Dream and a white loofah. The matching Dream lotion rested on the toilet tank. The towel hanging over the bar was rust colored, thick and soft. Matching hand towel and washcloth. Cheap shampoo and expensive towel? It appeared she had priorities.

And what wasn’t here? This was almost as interesting as what was. There wasn’t the clutter of makeup and other odds and ends she’d noted in the bathroom of Luke’s cabin. No bottle of Tylenol. No mascara. No lipstick. Not even a tub of lip gloss. Just the bare hygiene necessities.

Amelia flicked off the light and turned her attention to the main room. A small room with wooden floors partially covered by a fake, Persian print rug. Against the outside wall sat a big, comfy couch. To its left an unfinished wood desk and a small lamp. She turned on the lamp and immediately the room looked warmer, friendlier in its gentle glow. Most wattage here, she noted. There was a boom box on the floor next to the desk. Nice, but not a Bose. She turned it on and country music softly filled the empty spaces. The little stack of CDs stacked next to it didn’t reflect a single preference. Some jazz, some blues and blue grass. Something called Zydeco and a couple of rock collections. Aaron Neville and Linda Rondstadt. Hmmm. No classical, though she could pull up a list of classical pieces in her head without even straining.

She straightened and looked around, trying to sort through the feelings welling up inside her. Despite the paucity of the furniture, she liked this place. There were pictures on the wall of places that must mean something to her if she’d put them up. Some mountain shots, a couple of cliff shots and someone standing by an airplane. She stepped closer and realized she was the person standing by the plane.

She wore a gimme cap and some bits of hair had escaped their severe confinement. She was smiling with delight, but she still looked buttoned down.

“Way past time for that hair cut,” she muttered, fingering the strands of her shortened hair with a sigh of relief. No other people in any of the shots. Did that mean she was friendless? Alone in the world? She had no answer, so she continued her survey of her odd little domain.

Books were stacked around the room in little piles that probably meant something to her when she had all her faculties. She squatted down. Action-adventure. The Tom Clancy she’d mentioned to Luke. All the Harry Potters. Romance. Mysteries. Some nonfiction piles devoted to flight and rock climbing. No self-help. Did that mean she felt okay or that she was beyond help?

A closet held a few clothes. Jeans, sweaters and tee shirts. A couple of jackets. In the corner behind the jackets, she found a little black dress that sent her eyebrows up. She fingered the silky material, wishing she could wear it for Luke. He wouldn’t think she was a kid in this.

A cheap set of plastic drawers held knickers, jams and socks. On the floor was a pair of cowboy boots next to pairs of climbing shoes, snow boots and running shoes. A pair of strappy black heels, presumably to wear with the dress, huddled in the corner partially out of sight. A couple of pairs of skis and rock climbing equipment propped in the opposite corner. Nice stuff. Expensive stuff. There was also a little pile of bedding neatly folded on top of the makeshift dresser. Apparently she slept on her couch.

There was also a sort-of kitchen area. A few cupboards, a tiny counter, a half-size refrigerator and a mini-microwave oven. The food in the fridge was fossilized. The cupboards held a few spices, a couple of single-serving microwave meals. One had a stash of candy, chips and cookies. Did that make her a junk-food junkie or very hospitable?

The desk drawers were a bit more interesting. Bank statements and paid bills were neatly lined up in one drawer, a partially used checkbook at the front. In another, she found a purse with a wallet containing her driver’s license—awful picture—a bus pass, discount cards for several bookstores and a pilot’s license. According to the driver’s license she was thirty-four. And beneath the purse was an envelope with—

“A thousand dollars in cash? And I leave the key on the jamb above the door? I must be nuts.”

To her relief, she’d found no sign of weaponry of any kind. She turned her desk chair to face the room. There was no phone, which was kind of odd, since she’d found no sight or sign of a cell phone. Maybe she hated phones?

It looked like… a hideaway or a retreat, not a place where someone lived. A few clothes, enough toiletries and food to make do. Something to read. A pad on the desk had a shopping list started. A few doodles around the words.

“I doodle?” She tilted the pad, studying the doodles. She’d made the words at the top into little, quirky people. “Not bad.”

But if she had another residence, wouldn’t her bank statement reflect it? She pulled out several, but the only expenses seemed related to this apartment. Nor did they indicate how she earned her money, what her job might be. What deposits she’d made all seemed to be in cash and most of them just enough to pay the bills. The bank statements went back only two years.

So what did she do for a living? If she was a hit woman or a criminal, she didn’t seem to be a successful one. Could she be hiding from something? Like the law? Or was it someone?

She remembered that feeling she’d had when she said she hated lies. It had surged out of the fog in her head, the pain of it far deeper than the merely physical. For just an instant, her heart had hurt, too, like someone was squeezing it.

Okay, what do I know, she asked herself, pulling the pad of paper toward her, she flipped a page and grabbed a pencil.

I hate lies, she wrote at the top, under the logo that took top billing.

She frowned. But who doesn’t? Maybe a liar, but that would be it. Okay, so maybe someone she’d cared about lied to her. And then she got kidnapped or something and had been shot at. That could give anyone traumatic amnesia.

I hate helicopters, she wrote next. But not planes, since she seemed to be a pilot of some sort and climbed rock walls. It couldn’t have been a fear of heights that had prompted that brief panic attack on the mountainside. For an instant she could hear the chop-chop of the blades and feel the panic rise again, choking her, driving her—

She had brief sensation of…flight.

She hesitated, then shook her head. Not flight. Falling. She couldn’t fly, at least not without a plane. Unless she was the alien or cyborg Luke had wondered she was. If she was a cyborg, would she know it? She felt the bump at the back of her head. Take some clever engineering to make her bruise and swell. Okay, let’s forget flights of fancy and stick to what you know.

You’re afraid of helicopters. Why?

The fog in her memory gave her nothing but a stab of pain in response. She rubbed the spot, doodling with the pen on the pad. Doodling a tiny cartoon of Luke. Did that mean the other people were people she knew? She flipped the sheet back and studied it. Little faces that might of meant something—if her brains hadn’t been scrambled.

All the sudden she froze, as she realized that there was something behind her doodles, like a shadow. A logo and an address of a company.

Merryweather Biotechnologies.

It may mean nothing. No way to know. At least it was a place to start. She looked at the cheap clock on the desk. If it was right, then it was something to do in the morning. More than anything, even finding out who she really was and where she belonged, she wanted a shower and then bed. Well, couch.

She stared at the couch, wishing Luke were sitting on it. Missing him was a new ache to add to her others, this one right in her heart. This was their first night apart. At least, it was her first night. It was better this way, but it didn’t feel better.

It was good that she didn’t know how to get in touch with him, since Dewey had kept the beeper. She remembered the number it had beeped, but Dewey said that was his work number. What message could she leave him? I miss you. That would go over big at his work. She didn’t even have a phone book, which made sense when she didn’t have a phone. She stood up. A hot shower would help wash away some of the aches. Help her take back herself.

The water felt as wonderful as she’d hoped it would, and her jams were soft flannel that hugged her. Almost as good as a friend to talk to—

A knock at the door cut that thought off at the knees. Amelia peered through the peep hole and saw a dark-haired, multi-pierced young woman in a caftan of many colors. Cautiously she opened the door.

“You’re here! Cool!” the woman said as she surged inside, sweeping Amelia aside, then pulling her in her wake. “I’m so in the mood for a girl’s night in. Hilly’s popping the corn, and I made cookies and An Affair to Remember is in the machine.” She spun and faced Amelia with a wide, friendly smile. “We could order some pizza?”

As if on cue, Amelia’s stomach rumbled. “Let me get my key.”

“Hey,” the woman caught Amelia’s chin. “What happened to you? Though I must say, I love the new do.”

Amelia smiled. “I ran into a tree.”

“Better than a door, hon. Hey, Hilly!”

A head topped by riotous red hair peeked around the corner. “Oh, hi, Melly. Tweeks thought she heard you in here. You coming?”

Tweeks. Hilly. Amelia grabbed her key and some of the cash. This could be interesting, but wasn’t that how life was supposed to be? “Of course I’m coming.”

Tweeks looked at Amelia’s couch before following her out the door. She shook her head. “Wish you had a TV and VCR. I love that couch.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Amelia promised. She locked the door and pocketed the key, feeling her spirits lift as she followed Tweeks and Hilly to their apartment next door.

She had friends.

* * * *

Dewey’s cell phone rang, ruining his aim. The alien mutants took advantage of his distraction and blew him out of the sky, chunks of him and his craft raining down on the surface of Mars.

“Your ass is ringing, mister,” one of the kids glaring at him pointed out.

“Right. I’m done anyway.” Dewey stepped back, and a ring of boys crowded into his spot. Dewey pulled out his phone, wondering if his pay would stretch to pay for the game system. Maybe if he cut back on roses and stuff for Bryn. She never thanked him for his offerings anyway. She always thanked Phagan, but he wasn’t paying for the stuff. Life was so not fair.

“Hyatt?” Luke’s voice cut across his musings. “You and Amelia all right?”

“Yeah, sure…” Dewey trailed off, as he looked around and realized Amelia was nowhere in sight. That might not have been too troubling, she’d been wandering off without him since entering Wal-Mart, but she’d never abandoned her cart the other times. He eyed the cart, with its carefully selected little pile of woman stuff, with rising anxiety. It was possible that Luke would kill him well before Bryn got a chance— “Shit!”

He looked at his watch. He was late meeting Bryn.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

“Everything,” Dewey said. They say confession is good for the soul. He hoped “they” were right, whoever “they” were. “Look, I’m late for an appointment with Bryn. Got something important to tell her—”

“You’re finally going to tell her?”

“Tell her…you knew?”

“Let’s just say I suspected. If I’d known, I’d have had to do something about it.” Luke sounded amused, but his voice was serious when he added, “Why don’t you take Amelia to a hotel?”

Dewey took a deep breath. “She ditched me. Sorry about that.”

And he hung up. He didn’t need to hear him swear. Bryn filled that function for him. He dialed Bryn’s cell.

“Bailey.”

“It’s me.” Silence. “I’m really sorry. Luke asked me to—”

“Luke?” A hint of curious took the edge off annoyance in her voice. “Is he back from the mountains?”

“Oh yeah.” He’d promised not to mention Amelia to the brothers Kirby, but Luke hadn’t said anything about Bryn. Not that he knew a whole lot about Amelia, but what he did know, he’d throw out there in hopes of saving his ass—at least until he’d had a last meal. “Very interesting, very mysterious. Tell you when I get there?”

A sigh. “I’ll give you twenty minutes.”

God bless curiosity. It may just save his life. Then he’d have to hope Bryn’s lust for access to Green would do the rest.

* * * *

As the reports came in from his men, Grady grew more and more perplexed. No sign of Prudence Knight at her home or at the office, which Luke Kirby and his partner had just left. No sign of her at his brothers’ or his mother’s place. She hadn’t left the bus station with Kirby, but none of his men had noticed who she had left with because they weren’t looking for her. They were looking for Kirby. She hadn’t left by cab, like Kirby. His men had checked.

Kirby had called someone. That had to be it. But who? Not one of his brothers or his mother. He’d gone straight from the bus station to the police station where he met his partner. Maybe another cop? Details on the contact were sketchy and would take days to pull together. What he really needed was access to Kirby’s cell phone records. He needed to know who he’d called. Those files were tough to get into, but an obstacle was just something to go around. And he knew just the man to do it. He reached for the phone, but it rang under his hand.

“Yo.”

“Hey, man.” It was Leslie. “Why are your guys watching my dad’s company? I don’t remember that being part of the plan.”

Grady hesitated, then trotted out, “They’re watching Kincaid. Don’t want him going to ground now, do we?”

“Really.” He was quiet for a short beat. “Odd that they didn’t follow him when he left. And the two Feds did. Did you forget to tell them who they were after?”

“You know how hard it is to get good help, Les,” Grady said soothingly, as his mind raced. Feds? Following Kincaid?

“We should bring him in. We don’t want the Feds jumping on him. We need him,” Leslie said, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.

That was the basic problem with Les. He looked at the surface of people and thought that’s all there was.

“We don’t need to bring him in. He’ll come to me,” Grady said.

“How will he know?”

“He’ll know, once he starts thinking,” Grady said. Something you should try, Les. “So, you’ve been with your father?”

“Yeah.” Grady could hear him struggle with wanting—and not wanting—the change of subject. Les was easily distracted. “My old man is starting to spin. He knows Shield is gone. Though Knight’s doc was smarter than we gave him credit for.”

“What do you mean?”

“A couple of homicide cops paid him a visit. I was brilliant when they asked who might want him dead. Mentioned prim Prudence.”

“Clever of you. Muddies the water nicely.” Grady smiled, even as his thoughts spun too fast to collect. Homicide detectives. It couldn’t be, could it? “You catch the names of the homicide dicks?”

“Oh, um, one was named Corby or—”

“Kirby? Luke Kirby?”

Leslie’s voice sharpened again. “You know him?”

“Heard of him. You sure you covered your tracks? He’s got a rep for getting his perp.” It felt good to twist Leslie’s nerves a bit. Grady didn’t like feeling out of control.

“I’m sure that all roads lead directly to my old man. Or prim Prudence, who isn’t exactly around to defend herself, now is she?”

Grady flicked an amused look at the pic he had of homely little Prudence. “No, she’s not.” Though he didn’t know why not, if Kirby had her, why hadn’t he produced her? Unless he also suspected someone inside Merryweather? Wouldn’t that be an unexpected hoot. And absolutely true.

“I can’t wait to meet her.” Leslie’s voice turned dreamy, with an unbalanced edge to it as he added, “I did it, Grady. With my own hands.”

“Who?” he asked. Trust the idiot to risk releasing his serial killer instinct now.

“No worries. Just some hooker.”

“Where is she?”

He chuckled, like a small, bad boy. “Sent her out with the laundry.”

“Can they—”

But Leslie cut him off. “I did my homework, Grady. I know what to do. It’s taken care of. No worries. None.”

Grady released a silent, frustrated sigh. “Just don’t do it again—wait until the op is finished, okay?”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Leslie sounded dreamy again. “I finish the op with it. I want to do her myself, Grady. Me. Alone with prim Prudence.”

“No problem, Les.” Grady didn’t worry about that promise. He didn’t expect Les to be around to keep his date with Prudence Knight. Funny how getting what he wanted was unraveling Les.

He hung up the phone. It was useful to have him on the inside, tracking the players, but it was obvious he didn’t plan to wait long before trying out his killing skills again. If he found out that Grady didn’t have her, he wasn’t sure what Leslie would do.

It wasn’t a feeling he liked.

ELEVEN

Luke considered himself a patient man, thought he’d learned it the hard way as Rosemary wasted away before his eyes. Now he realized it was easier to be patient in the face of death, than in the face of life. Death was the rock and the hard place. It didn’t move much, sometimes in increments toward you or your loved one. Sometimes it pounced, but it was an absolute. Life, on the other hand, was fluid, shifting, and in motion. You thought your feet were firmly planted in patience and then the ground shifted, taking your feet right out from under you.

He didn’t like being stuck with this investigation right now. Knight was dead, Amelia was alive and needed his help. He was sure she’d headed for her apartment. Now that he thought about it, he understood why she left. He’d have a hard time waiting for someone else to look into his life, his past. Of course she’d go there. He just wished she’d taken Dewey along with her. Unless the apartment address was bogus? That was a reason to give Dewey the slip. Damn, his head was spinning with unanswered questions and he didn’t like it one bit. His heart was telling him that she wouldn’t, that she couldn’t, lie to him. His head, the cop part, called him a fool.

When he and Mann left the stifling air of the office building, his head was aching. He inhaled the crisp, fresh air with relief. Merryweather Biotechnologies was not a happy place, despite all the money spent making it look pretty, which should have suited his mood but didn’t. Not much would.

“Think we should check out Merryweather’s native son,” Mann had said as they crossed to the car. “I don’t like him. And we need to go to the hospital. See if we can find out what the fight was about.”

“We should check out her car, too,” Luke said, fingering the key again.

“Don’t want to find her in the trunk,” Mann said, cheerfully, “but it would prove the little bastard wrong.”

Luke bit back a sharp retort. It wasn’t Mann’s fault Luke couldn’t appreciate his gruesome sense of humor.

The trip to the hospital seemed slow. With the setting of the sun, the streets were slick and treacherous. Donovan had given them the same info he gave Bryn, so Luke had a description of Prudence Knight’s car, the plate number and its general location. He looked at the picture of her again. It didn’t seem possible this could be Amelia. Prudence Knight wore glasses, while Amelia had shown no sign of needing aids to her vision. No way could she have skied down the mountain if she needed glasses that thick. The chin could be hers, though. The picture was so bad, it was hard to tell anything from it.

When they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Luke said, “You go on inside. I’ll check the car.”

Mann nodded. He wasn’t sorry to get out of the cold. He never was. He always talked about heading south when he retired, but Luke doubted he would. Mann wasn’t a guy to make big changes in his life. Luke retrieved a flashlight from the jockey box and started across the lot, checking the rows of cars until he found a gray Neon. A sturdy, reliable car, no flash, no dash. Went with the picture of Prudence and the name, but not with Amelia. In his mind, he saw her sailing through the air, her untidy landing, and the way the cold had flushed her cheeks. They couldn’t be the same person, could they?

All he’d thought about during the drive across town was finding out the truth, but now that he was by the car, Amelia’s keys in hand, he hesitated.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew there were all kinds of truth. He’d have sworn on his dad’s grave that Amelia’s eyes had spoken the truth. The pursuit was real. The wound he’d dressed was real. And the kiss? Well, that had been real, too. Very real. Was he letting emotion cloud his judgment? Or did his judgment need clouding? Jake had had every reason to doubt Phoebe, but he’d followed his instincts, trusted his feelings over the facts that were piling up. In the end, both the facts and his instincts turned out to be right. She had been a thief, but a good thief.

But Jake had been in love. He’d fallen like rock the minute he saw Phoebe.

Luke wasn’t in love. He was just feeling…chivalrous. She needed help, and it was his job to help her. Unless she was a criminal. Then it was his job to stop her, to arrest her if she had conspired to eliminate her father and steal the oh-so-secret Shield—which she must know wasn’t completed. Did she think she could finish it? Have a secret “green” agenda to stop it? A grudge against her father? Or was she an innocent victim?

He rubbed his face. He felt like he was looking at Amelia through an out-of-focus camera lens. It would explain some things if she was Prudence—but others? Not even close.

He hunched his shoulders, took a quick breath, and shoved the key in the lock. A single turn, and the lock popped up. It didn’t seem possible, it made no sense, but somehow, some way, Prudence Knight and Amelia Hart were the same person. Unless Amelia had somehow gotten possession of Knight’s keys? Yeah, right. She’d lied to him. That had to be it.

It was a bitter pill to swallow. He looked at the keys. The apartment was probably bogus, too. Still had to check it. A good cop always checked his facts. And if it wasn’t there? Then he’d add Prudence Knight to his suspect list and do his job.

There was one absolute where the Kirby family was concerned.

They always did their job.

He leaned against the car and wished, more than anything, that he could ask his mom what to do when he didn’t want to do his job.

* * * *

Donovan Kincaid watched his tail take the corner just the right distance behind him. They were good, but he’d been expecting them. Bryn was determined, and she was smart. She’d figured it out before him. He’d been so busy worrying about Prudence, he’d quit thinking. Only one other time that had happened, and Prudence had been the result. How often had he told his men to forget feeling and focus on thinking? It had seemed so simple when he had no ties, no daughter to feel connected to.

Maybe he’d always known that ties were, well, ties. He’d tried to avoid them. He was a soldier, a man on the move. Then he’d met Prudence’s mother. She’d been beautiful, and he couldn’t think of anything but her. For two weeks she’d belonged to him. He thought it would be forever, until the morning he woke up, and she was gone. He’d tracked her down, found out she was married. That’s when he went overseas. It had been a dark time for him. He’d done some things he wasn’t proud of, but he’d never crossed a line he couldn’t cross back over. When his head cleared, he came back to the states. He hadn’t meant to look her up or even keep track of her, but he was curious. Maybe he’d wondered if she was sorry. Maybe he wasn’t as over her as he’d thought. Whatever the reason, it had been a shock to find out she’d died not long after giving birth to a daughter.

It wasn’t hard to do the math and figure out she was his daughter, not John Knight’s. He’d kept track of her through the years. Eventually she finished school and went to work for Knight. He’d kicked around some more, then started working in D.C., where he’d met Bryn. He hadn’t tried to seek out Pru, as he called her in his mind, but as his reputation as a security consultant grew, he moved closer to her, until the day Hamilton Merryweather came to him. He should have stayed away, but the compulsion to connect with her had been stronger than his common sense.

It had been part pleasure and a lot of pain to be so close to his little girl. John Knight was a cold, unfeeling man who lived only for his work. Donovan thought he’d crushed the life out of her until she gave him the slip the first time he was following her. Since he couldn’t talk to her, he started photographing her. When she was going wherever it was she went, there was a look in her eyes that told him the fire she’d gotten from her real father was burning inside her.

A hundred times he almost told her. A hundred times he didn’t. He told himself he did it for her, but it wasn’t true. He held back because he was afraid of being rejected, of losing the right to at least see her. It didn’t help that she had herself wrapped in an air of reserve that turned him mute every time he was within ten feet of her. He’d been all over the world, talked with kings and leaders without fear or favor, and here he was afraid to talk to his own daughter.

And now he might not get the chance. Who had her? They had Shield and if they had Pru, how long would it take them to find out it wasn’t ready? And what would they do when they did? John Knight had thought he was so clever, hiding it all in her head. He’d just made it easy for someone to take him out and put Pru at risk. And somehow, he had put her at risk, too. Someone had smoked out his interest in her and was planning…what? They already had Shield, so what else could they want that he could deliver?

Whoever it was had seriously underestimated him, and he had an idea of just who that might be. He’d known when he met Grady O’Brien that he was a dangerous man. That’s why he hadn’t gone back to that camp. Even that small contact appeared to have given O’Brien ideas.

He looked in his rear view mirror. Time to lose the tail. Then he needed to do a little recon of Grady’s camp. Grady wasn’t the only person who could come up with a plan and execute it.

* * * *

Dewey entered the restaurant in much the same way a Christian might have entered an arena full of lions. It was odd to be in love with someone that scared him, but he could no more change that than he could change the way the moon moved through the night sky—in the real world. In VR, he was captain of his fate, master of his soul and ruler of the skies. In this world, Bryn was master of his fate, captain of his electronic parole bracelet and the ruler of his heart.

If only she could figure out her own heart. Didn’t Bryn know she loved him? Hadn’t she figured that out yet? And if she did, what would she do about it? He knew a lot of things about Bryn, but he didn’t know that.

He saw her before she saw him. She’d brought her work with her. Smart girl. He was usually late. She frowned down at the paper she was holding. A file lay open on the table in place of her plate. The two little wrinkles between her brows made his heart jump in his chest the way it had the first time he’d seen her. She’d been so uptight she crinkled when she walked. And that walk, well, that made his heart jump, too. She had a great ass and this side-to-side move that just about knocked him over when he saw it. And don’t get him started on her legs. Man, the good Lord knew what he was doing when he gave women legs. He’d been thinking about giving her an ankle bracelet, but wasn’t sure his libido could stand it. If he went up in flames, he’d never know if they could make it as a couple.

He approached, taking his time. This might be the last walk  toward her, so he wanted to savor what time he had left. Of course, he should have been thinking about how to tell her instead of his little stroll down memory lane. He’d thought about doing it ala You’ve Got Mail, but he didn’t want to add plagiarism to his list of crimes. There was always the direct approach.

“Hello, Bryn. I’m Phagan.” Then his head gets lopped off, it rolls across the floor, to rest against a wall with his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. With his luck, his body would keep on walking for a few minutes, before slumping to the ground. Besides, the direct approach sounded so Al-Anon-ish, so twelve steps waiting in the wings. “My name is Dewey Hyatt and I’m a Phagan.”

If confession was good for the soul, why was it so hard to confess? No, the direct approach was just too…direct. Which left the indirect approach, whatever that was—

He saw Bryn stiffen, then turn in her chair to look at him, and he knew that she already knew. He just didn’t know how she knew.

Bryn watched Dewey stop, tug at the neck of his shirt, then walk up and drop in the seat opposite her. He looked like a man on his way to the death chamber.

She almost smiled, but her body was still in shock. Thank heavens she’d brought the file with her, so she had something to pretend to look at while her thoughts spun in crazy patterns inside her head.

“How…when…” his voice trailed off.

The “when” could be counted in moments. How was a little harder. On some level, she realized she’d always known. Or she should have. It had been in front of her face for the last year. It was as if her brain had finally arranged all the pieces into a recognizable pattern.

She’d been thinking about both of them all the way the restaurant, listing their good and bad qualities in her head. Oddly enough, the lists had come out the same. The odds of that happening were as great as two strangers having the same DNA. That’s when she had the blinding flash of illumination. She wasn’t in lo—interested—in two men. There was only one, and she might have to kill him.

Dewey knew it, too. He looked at her like a man who’d played his last card and knew it was a loser. His shoulders slumped and for the first time, he looked serious.

Like a small, bad boy whose world was ending in a crash.

Against her will, her heart softened. She didn’t let it reach her expression. There was just too much happening too fast for her to give ground right now, especially not when it was crumbling under her feet. At some level, she knew she wasn’t making sense. How could she when her head was spinning with rage?

And relief.

Okay, she admitted it. She was relieved. She wasn’t looking at three choices: Phagan, Dewey or neither. Just two. Do I or don’t I? And if I do, how do I make it happen? Making it not happen would be easy, so very easy.

This deception could end Dewey’s parole in a heartbeat. It had been based on truth in elocution. He hadn’t lied, but he’d left out the mother of truths. If he’d said anything, tried to defend himself or charm her, it would already have been over. But he didn’t. He just sat there looking at her. Totally in her power.

But not.

He reminded her of Phoebe the day she’d been arrested. Not fighting her fate, but not giving in either. Self-contained, relieved everything was on the table. All the burdens at someone else’s feet. Later, she’d asked Phoebe what she would have done if she’d got jail time. Phoebe had looked at her as if surprised at the question.

“I’d have done it. Running isn’t all that fun, sugar.”

Phoebe always got more southern with her, Bryn had noticed, or when anyone asked about her life of crime. It was a defense mechanism from her years of shifting identities. It was her own fault, Bryn realized. She hadn’t forgiven Phoebe for getting away with her crimes. Or was it her happiness that Bryn was jealous of? And Phoebe sensed it, hence the auto-defensive southern-ness.

It wasn’t easy to realize she wasn’t a nice person. Not only had Phoebe paid a heavy price for crimes committed by her father, she worked hard to give everything back, to atone. And if Bryn were honest with herself, which apparently she wasn’t, Phoebe had never been a criminal in her heart or her soul–she had always hated what she did.

And Dewey? He was always joking about being a criminal mastermind, but he’d been docile in his captivity. He’d tweaked her with his past, but she deserved it. She thought she’d loosened up, but not enough. She was still holding something back, even with people who gave everything to her without reserve.

When did I lose my sense of humor? My sense of balance? Was it the agency or a character flaw? A man had loved her enough to give up everything. And his everything was a lot. He was a criminal mastermind with uncounted resources at his fingertips. Enough to get himself out of that dive he lived in now, for sure. Instead of being impressed or even grateful, she’d been annoyed. Of course he hadn’t told her. How could he trust himself to a woman who trusted no one? Not even herself.

He leaned toward her but didn’t touch her, to her disappointment.

“Why are you so sad, Miss Bailey?”

“Are you hungry?” He shook his head. “Neither am I. Let’s get out of here.”

She pushed back her chair and stood up. He stood up, too, his expression troubled, worried. There wasn’t just a world between them. There were two, hers and his. But there was nothing between them that hadn’t been between Jake and Phoebe. She took a deep breath and then held out her hand. It seemed to take a long time for it to reach the halfway point between them. In painfully slow motion she saw Dewey look at the hand and then look at her.

Don’t crack a joke, please, she prayed.

He didn’t even smile. Just slowly—very slowly—took her hand in his.

He’d touched her before of course, but it had never been like this. She’d never…initiated the contact. Had always shooed it off. Who’d have thought the mere touching of hands could be so shattering? The slide of his flesh against hers. The slow meshing of fingers. The full palm contact. The click of two wrongs uniting into an amazing right. She felt like she’d exploded and was now reintegrating as someone else. Someone she didn’t know, but felt a lot more comfortable with.

They turned together and walked outside. They must have stopped to collect coats. She didn’t remember. Was just glad to find herself outside on the sidewalk with Dewey. It must have been cold, but she didn’t feel it. She was wrapped in warmth, all of it flowing steadily from their two joined hands.

Out of the light from the restaurant, they stopped and turned to face each other. There was so much to say, so much to wade through, but none of that seemed to matter. His hand holding hers tightened. His other hand touched her cheek. Chills feathered down her body from the contact. She caught her breath. He started to bend his head towards her, but his cell phone rang. He stopped, then shook his head.

“It might be your parole officer,” Bryn said, not recognizing her own voice. It was so breathy, so husky.

“Right.” He pulled it out, giving her a shaken, crooked grin before saying, “Dewey Hyatt’s Criminal Enterprise.”

For once she wanted to laugh at it. Finally she wanted to laugh.

He waited a minute, then said, “Hello?” He stowed the phone. “Wrong number, I guess. Now where was I?”

“You were about to kiss me,” Bryn said. “And I was about to let you.”

His grin curled her toes. When his arms slid around her, her insides opened like petals in the sun. He picked her up and twirled them in a slow circle.

“You…amaze me, Miss Bailey.”

“Good,” she said.

* * * *

Grady hung up the phone with a frown. Dewey Hyatt’s Criminal Enterprise? Obviously it was a joke, but had he got the real name? Where had he heard that name?

He turned to the computer and did a simple google search, just to see what he’d turn up. His first hit was a newspaper story about a year old. About a pair of high-tech thieves getting parole and community service hours—if they’d help the government fight computer-related crime. Along with the article were pictures, mug shots, of the pair.

Grady studied both pictures. He wanted to be able to recognize them if he ever saw them again. He spent the most time on Hyatt. Was he, he wondered, the genius who had unraveled the viruses Grady created? He’d cracked the last one in under an hour. Pity he’d changed sides. He could use talent like that on his team.

What he found even more interesting than the pictures, though, was the name of the Deputy US Marshal involved in the case. Jake Kirby. Brother of Luke. That was one law enforcement infested family, but he was only dealing with one of them. And Luke wasn’t federal. A simple homicide detective. No problem.

* * * *

Despite the lateness of the hour, Luke couldn’t go home without checking the address Amelia had given him. To his surprise, and relief, it was there. What did it mean? It sure wasn’t the address listed on her employment records. He could postulate that the PDA belonged to a friend, but how had she gotten the keys? It made his head hurt to think about it.

He looked at his watch. It was after two in the morning. If she was in there, she’d be asleep. If she was in there, he needed to know she was all right. He needed to look at her with the Prudence photograph in mind. He sighed. He just needed to see her again. Oh boy.

Finally, he tapped lightly on the door. When there was no answer, he tried a couple of the keys. One released the lock, letting him push the door open.

“Amelia?” Nothing. He didn’t want to blind her with a light, so he pulled out a pen flashlight, but the precaution wasn’t necessary.

She wasn’t there.

There were, however, signs she’d been here. The clothes she’d been wearing were in a small heap on the bathroom floor. The towel was still damp. The smell of soap and lotion still hung in the air, teasing his nostrils with memories of what it had been like to be close to her.

It didn’t take him long to look around her apartment and conclude it wasn’t a place where someone lived their life. The pictures on the wall were an odd combination of Amelia and Prudence. Amelia, in a Clark Kent/Superman motif, didn’t wear glasses. The bank statements and driver’s license said Amelia Hart, but he knew, didn’t he, that Amelia was Prudence Knight? So why the apparent double-life?

The license put her age at thirty-four, which made his heart do a little jump. Not as young as he’d first thought. A thought he shouldn’t be having right now. Face it, man, if she had been planning to kill her father and steal Shield, establishing another identity was the logical, first step. While his cop side argued against her, his heart sided for the defense. This place didn’t really look like a hideout. It looked like a retreat. A place she’d come to read, listen to music, maybe to be alone?

The next question was, where had she gone? She must have known he’d come here as soon as he was free. So why wasn’t she here? Unless he hadn’t been too good at keeping this secret? And whoever had been after had caught up with her again? There was no sign of a struggle, but they could have taken her as she left. Where else would she go? She didn’t know where he lived. Hadn’t made it to Dewey’s apartment to know where that was.

He sank down on her couch, sinking back into the comforting softness and releasing another cloud of her scent into the air around him. He was tired. And afraid he’d never see her again. He hadn’t wanted to feel this way about a woman ever again. Ironic to find himself back, almost to square one, just a few hours after he thought he’d achieved freaking closure.

Damn ironic.

TWELVE

Bryn leaned back with a sigh, holding Dewey off with one hand. With much kissing and some embarrassing giggling, they’d managed to make their way to his apartment. Each kiss was deeper and more mind spinning than the last. As fun as it was to be necking with someone on a couch, they had some air to clear before it went any further. “Sit over there. I can’t think when you’re this close.”

His lazy, satisfied smile took her breath away, and undermined her resolve to get back to work. If he’d pressed the issue…but he didn’t. He also didn’t move across the room. Instead, he drew in his body until the width of one couch cushion separated them. He ran both hands through his hair, adding to the disarray her hands had done, and took a deep breath. She trembled when she saw him shudder, feeling powerful and humble at the same time.

She’d given up wondering how it happened. How someone had managed to steer a heart-whole course through thirty-three years only to fall, with a thump, in love. It had happened, so now she dealt with it. Her life had changed. She didn’t know what she was going to do about Phagan. It was Dewey in front of her. Phagan was, and probably always would be, virtual. He was something she’d have to think about, but not now when her lips were still swollen and tingly from kissing Dewey. To avoid the issue she went to make coffee, asking over her shoulder, “So what was the big mystery with Luke?”

Dewey seemed to gather himself in a bit again. His smile was as wide and as sexy, but he also seemed to have retreated just a bit. It seemed the elephant—his legal status—was back in the room with them. Would they be tripping over it forever?

“He asked me to meet him at the bus station today,” he said.

“Bus station?” Bryn paused in her preparations. “Something happen to his truck?”

“Got snowed in the mountains. He skied out.” Dewey paused, then added as if it were an afterthought, “Had a damsel in distress in tow.”

“Really?” Bryn added the grounds to the machine. “Well, his mom has been wanting him to meet a nice girl. Was she…nice?”

“I guess. Sure was a looker.”

That got her attention. He grinned and the elephant shrunk a little for a moment.

Her grin felt rueful. “Really. And in distress. Sounds…irresistible.”

“And hard to keep track of. I lost her in Wal-Mart. I’m hoping you can protect me from Luke.”

Bryn propped her elbows on the counter and stared at him. “She gave you the slip?”

“Yeah. I saw some burly types after them. A couple of them followed him into the men’s room. Saw a couple more get on the bus and search it.”

Bryn straightened with a frown. “Luke okay?”

“Yeah, other than being pissed at me. He got called into work on some murder or other.”

Bryn could guess which murder. She needed to talk to him about the various nuances she’d turned up. In the morning. She poured them both a cup and sat back down beside Dewey.

“So why did you want to talk to me about Phagan?” She didn’t look at him. The elephant was back and sitting between them. She took a sip out of her cup and then set it down. She didn’t want it. She wanted Dewey.

“Forest for the Trees wants a face-to-face meet.”

She looked at him then.

“This is it. Your line into Green. If you can get me disconnected from this.” He held his foot out, the one with the electronic bracelet.

A stab of fear followed a surge of elation. Dewey wanted to walk into the fire of undercover and take both her guys with him. If something happened, she’d lose them both. She took a deep breath.

“I can get you disconnected. When?”

“Let’s find out.” He crossed to his computer and logged on. She watched him type, then hit return to send the email on its way. “Guy’s good,” he said. “I’ve tried to track him every way I know how. No go.”

“And what about him? Has he been able to track you?”

Dewey looked hurt, except for the expression in his wicked eyes. “Miss Bailey! How can you even ask?”

“Sorry,” Bryn said, smiling, but feeling the muscles around her heart tighten. “So.”

His eyes turned tender. “This is the only way.”

“I know,” she said.

Almost as if Forest for the Trees had been waiting for him, he got his answer. Bryn looked at him.

“Tomorrow. He wants a number he can call me. Will tell me when and where then.”

“Don’t give him your cell phone. He could check it out. Do you—”

“Have a clean number? Well, yeah.”

She waited until he’d sent his response with the clean cell phone number and logged off. When he turned to face her, there was no sign of amusement or triumph in his face. “I wish—”

“What do you wish, my darling Miss Bailey?” He came and sat down beside her, taking her back in his arms.

She sagged against him, her head against his heart, which was beating slow and steady. Persistently—like his courtship.

“I wish—” she almost couldn’t say it. It was the ultimate admission of weakness. And what if this wasn’t a courtship, but an affair? She’d just assumed, because she thought the whole premarital sex issue nuts that he would, too. What did she really know about him or what he believed? He’d been living out there on the fringes of the law abiding world. He and Phoebe—well, she’d always wondered how close they’d been. Phoebe had said once that Phagan had loved her sister, Kerry Anne. It was her death that had brought them together, had launched their pact to avenge her death.

She wasn’t jealous of Kerry Anne. How could she resent a dead girl? First love was first love. Even she had one. Sweet, unrequited, tucked away in the moth balls of the past. Phoebe, on the other hand, was very much alive and in the present.

“Were you and…Phoebe ever…” She couldn’t even say it out loud, couldn’t look at him as she asked.

Dewey cupped her chin, turned her face to his. “No. Never.” He sighed, his gaze turning distant. “When we met, we were both…snarling balls of grief. I did love her sister, as much as I could love someone then.”

She smiled. “I know. What was she like?”

Dewey sighed again. “Broken. Inside and out.” His grin was crooked and absent of joy. “I would have married her. I thought I could fix her. Instead…”

“It wasn’t your fault she died. You were just a kid.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound like he believed her. “She’s part of who I am. She always will be. I’ve made my peace with it. And it brought me to you. We might never have met if I hadn’t met her and got the notion I could fix what was wrong with her world.”

His look was rueful, resigned, and a little sad. It made her love him more, want him more. She covered his hands with hers and looked at him. “Then she’s part of us. And always will be.”

If there would be an always?

His mouth widened into a grateful, faintly awed smile. “You’re so beautiful, so…everything. I can’t believe we’re here. We’re now. I—”

He stopped.

“What?” she didn’t know whether to be puzzled or afraid.

“I don’t want it to end. I want—it all.” He changed the position of their hands. Now he held her, with hands and his anxious, eager gaze.

“All?” She knew what her “all” would be, but his?

He hesitated, like a diver at the edge of the board who now realizes how deep the water is and isn’t sure he can jump.

“All.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again and leapt. “Marriage. White picket fence. Kids. Mortgage. Lawn to mow. All. With you.”

Relief took all the stiffening from her body. She sagged into his arms.

“Oh, Dewey, so do I.” She snuggled against his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart and reveling in feeling like the “little woman.” His hand found her chin and tipped it up, so his mouth could find her mouth. Her mouth was very happy with this arrangement, as was the rest of her. When they stopped for air, she murmured, “I wish we could get married before you have to go.”

“Well,” Dewey turned her chin up again, the mischief back in his eyes, “we could. I’ve been carrying this around for the past month. And there’s one of those mail order preachers next door…”

“You were so sure?” Bryn felt her hackles rise, even as a thrill coursed through her.

“Never,” Dewey said, with a tender smile, “but as Phoebe is always pointing out, all God’s children need a goal.”

Hackles subsiding, Bryn took the paper he held out and looked at it. It was a marriage license. With his and her details already filled in.

“Is it—”

“Legal? Of course it is, darling. There are some things in this life you don’t counterfeit. Ever.”

“How did you know?”

He shook his head. “I never knew. Ever. I just lived in…hope.”

Warmth swept through her, sweeping away her doubts and her fears. Hope was all any of them had. Or it’s opposite—fear. She wasn’t going to live in fear anymore. Bryn pulled away from him.

“Well, don’t just sit there. Go get him. I have to be to work at eight a.m. That doesn’t give us a whole lot of time to conclude our…business.”

Dewey’s smile took her breath away. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * * *

Amelia woke lying on the floor of Hilly’s and Tweek’s apartment. She remembered Hilly handing her the big, comfy pillow, but not the quilt that now covered her. An arm trailed off the edge of the sofa a few inches from Amelia’s nose. Tweek’s arm, judging by the tattoo circling the wrist and the exotic perfume, faint but enduring.

Amelia looked around and found Hilly hanging off three sides of an overstuffed chair. The smell of pizza still lingered in the air and a pile of crumpled tissues testified to their satisfaction with the movie.

Pizza, Amelia decided, was a perfect food. Right up there with chocolate. It hadn’t stopped her missing Luke, but it did fill the hollow spots in her stomach. If she couldn’t be with Luke, this was sure as heck the next best thing. She didn’t remember Tweeks and Hilly, but in a weird way, she did. Or maybe it was the feeling of companionship that her brain was reluctantly releasing? It was the first sense of the familiar she’d had since she woke up in Luke’s cabin, and she welcomed it.

She hadn’t talked much, since she didn’t know what to say or not, but they hadn’t seemed to notice. Was this how it usually was? She’d wanted to ask them about herself, but Luke’s caution held her back. They felt okay to her, but what did she really know about anything or anyone right now?

With a sigh at the world and its fears intruding into the moment, she tossed the blanket back and got up. Neither Hilly nor Tweeks moved. If they did have sinister intentions, they were disguising them very well behind snuffling baby snores.

Amelia smiled. They were probably around the same age, but she felt years older than them as she tucked the blankets around them both before letting herself out of the apartment. The clock showed the time as brutally early, but she couldn’t get back to sleep. Her heart was pumping with fear and anticipation at what she would find at Merryweather. It could be everything. It could be nothing. And she wasn’t sure what she wanted it to be.

She took another shower and dressed in warm, comfortable clothes. Her heartbeat was slow and heavy as she stowed the driver’s license, some cash and the bus pass in her coat pocket.

Odd that the license hadn’t been with her, but she didn’t seem to have a car, so maybe that explained it. Maybe she just used it for ID. But hadn’t there been a car key on the set of keys Luke kept? At the thought her head began to ache again, as if to punish her for trying to sort it all out. Her brain just didn’t seem to want her to remember, which meant that part of her didn’t want to remember.

Her last act, before pulling on a warm hat, was to take the top sheet of the Merryweather note pad and tuck in her pocket, too. Then she let herself out of the apartment, locking it behind her and keeping the key as she headed down the hall. She’d sort of been hoping that Luke would show up. In the living room, she had the odd feeling she could smell Luke, but it had to be wishful sniffing. She’d tried to listen for any sounds of him arriving last night, but hadn’t heard any movement in the hall before she fell asleep.

She didn’t know what to make of it. He’d had to work, but all night seemed a bit excessive. Maybe he was annoyed with her for giving Dewey the slip. She couldn’t blame him for that, though she’d sort of hoped he would understand her need to find out for herself. She’d decided not to rely on him. He had other priorities. And he’d said he took things seriously. He’d probably needed to pull back a little, in case she got too serious. That’s all. He’d protected her. Done what was needed and now he had his own life. And his work, if that beep was what Dewey had thought it was.

She’d eat some breakfast to ease the hollow feeling in her middle, then see if she could figure out the buses. She’d noticed a McDonald’s on the next corner as they were driving in. And, not being a man, she wouldn’t hesitate to ask directions.

* * * *

Luke decided to make another run by Amelia’s apartment before meeting Mann, but he had to stop by his mom’s first. She’d made that quite clear last night. He entered cautiously. As the oldest, the “experimental son” Debra Kirby liked to call him, his relationship with his mom was complicated. Unlike his brothers, he never seemed to know when his mom was fake mad or real mad.

He was just finishing up at the academy when his dad died and he found himself thrust into the role of man of the house. More than his brothers, he knew how hard dad’s death had hit their mom. He’d stood outside her room some nights, listening to the harsh sound of her sobs. He’d noticed the shadows under her eyes, despite the determined smile she had for her boys. Sometimes her eyes would meet Luke’s across the room and pain would flare, stark and raw.

He knew why. He and Matt were the image of their dad. He’d sometimes wondered how he’d felt if Rosemary had left a miniature of herself behind to haunt him. And his dad had left two of them. But back then, Matt had still been in development. Not like him. The day before his dad died, Luke had stood back to back with him and his Mom had declared them equal in height and shoulder breadth. If his life were a Greek myth, that would be why his father died. The defeat of the old in the face of the young. For a long time he thought he was to blame.

Eventually he realized it wasn’t so. A perp on a high had killed him. Acceptance of it took a long time. He’d tried hard not to be his dad, while still trying to fill his shoes. His Mom had needed him to be the support, to be there for her and his brothers.

It was Rosemary who helped him sort it all out. She would look at him, one brow arched as if to ask, “What are you doing?” and pretense dropped away. She’d ask him about his dad and in talking about him, understanding had emerged. He’d forgiven his mom for feeling pain when she looked at him, but a part of him still braced for that first look when he came into a room where she was.

This morning, his mom looked relieved. Her arms wrapped around him. She had to stand on her toes to do it, though she was a tall woman and thin, like Jake. Luke kissed her on both sides of her narrow, clever face and ruffled the hair he’d watched turn gray all those years ago. She looked happier these days. The shadows of the past almost erased. She was dating their dad’s best friend. He wasn’t thrilled about it. None of them were, but they all agreed she had more than the right. And in light of his recent feelings about Amelia—on the anniversary of his wife’s death, no less—he understood a little better about how things happen.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking his face in her hands. Her look, as always, pierced his surface shields and started digging around his insides.

“Got a case dumped on me last night,” he said, still hoping to bluff.

“The one on the news? The scientist?” Luke nodded. “Okay, now tell me what’s really wrong.”

“What makes you think—”

“Don’t even start. You have the same look in your eyes Jake had a year ago—you’ve met someone. And it’s not going well.” She stepped back, her hands on her hips, daring him to say she was wrong.

Even if she was wrong, which she wasn’t, it was a violation of the mom/son relationship to say your mom was wrong. It was like stepping on the flag or dissing baseball.

He hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet.

“What’s her name?”

He had to look at her then, his mouth twitching into a sheepish grin.

“You don’t know? What is with you and Jake?”

He rubbed his hair. “It’s…complicated.”

“Love always is.” She studied him so long, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“What?”

“I’d like to meet her.”

Now he looked down at his feet. Managed to not shuffle them.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve lost her?” He nodded. “Well. Déjà vu yet again.” Her foot tapped for a minute, then she said, “Do you have time to eat before you find her?”

Her confidence was absolute, the love in her eyes without condition. Relief washed over him in waves. He nodded.

“Pancakes?”

“Only time for some toast and coffee.” She didn’t move, her gaze still locked on his. “What?” he asked again.

“I like looking at my son. Is that a crime?”

He laughed and shook his head, taking the newspaper she shoved at him. He had a feeling she’d been seeing him in a wedding tux. He didn’t disabuse her of the notion. When he’d told her it was complicated, the understatement had almost choked him. Besides, his mom wanted him to be in love. That’s why she said he looked like Jake. He wasn’t in love with Amelia. He couldn’t be. It was too soon. It wasn’t right either. The way they’d met, on the anniversary of Rosemary’s death? He’d always remember that. She’d kissed him because he was there. Maybe to confuse him. Maybe because she was confused. He couldn’t, wouldn’t let his heart be involved until he knew—and probably not even then.

He arrived at Amelia’s apartment later than he’d planned but was glad he’d stopped by his mom’s. He felt better, though he didn’t know why. Stepping inside Amelia’s apartment, it was apparent that he’d just missed her. The shower and Amelia smells were stronger, her towel wetter than last night. And this time some of the clothes in the closet were gone.

Where was she going? What was on her mind? Was she working from a plan or just reacting? Had she remembered something? Or never forgotten anything?

A quick search turned up that she’d taken the driver’s license and the bus pass and some of the cash, but not all of it. If she’d been about to run, she’d have taken all the cash. There was one possibility he hadn’t explored. If she was conspiring with whoever had taken the Shield prototype, that would be a reason to stay put, if she thought she could complete the research—or was in cahoots with someone who could. Maybe there’d been a falling out? A betrayal?

Damn. He could invent theories, but convincing his heart to believe them was another matter. He kept bumping up against her eyes. Could anyone lie and look that innocent? Be that believable?

He looked at the desk again, his gaze sweeping past, then returning to the scratch pad. He’d noticed it in passing last night. It had a shopping list started on the top sheet. That was gone now. In its place was another kind of list. He studied it with a frown. It wasn’t long, but it was illuminating.

I hate lies.

He remembered her saying that with real passion. What did it mean? It felt like the truth. A struggle for identity, for memory. Almost at once his left brain reminded him she knew he’d be coming here. She hadn’t waited. Maybe she felt like she had to continue the charade, while she tried to get her hands on the prototype.

He told his left brain to shut up. Even managed a slight smile at the tiny doodle he recognized as himself, she’d done under the list. There’d been other doodles on the shopping list, he remembered now. Had it sparked some memory for her?

A bit of light worked its way through the heavy curtains over the windows, showing him something he’d missed last night. Stenciled into the background of the pad was a logo and address for Merryweather Biotechnology.

If she really had lost her memory, it would be natural to go there and see if she remembered anything or if anyone remembered her. It might also be a place a co-conspirator would go—especially when she had a handy-dandy amnesia alibi all set up.

Whichever it was, it was where he was going.

* * * *

Larry was sick of staring at the Merryweather Biotech parking lot and the streets around it. And seeing himself in the rear view mirror. Wouldn’t the girl have showed up by now if she was going to? Kirby had her on ice, stashed somewhere safe while he figured out what was going on. Meanwhile, here he sat like a big, old sore thumb where Kirby could spot him.

As if his thoughts had summoned the guy, Larry saw him turn the corner and quickly ducked down.

“What’s he doing?” he hissed at Hickey.

“Turned into the parking lot. Now he’s getting out. Walking toward the building. Oh, wait. Now he’s stopped. He’s looking at the bus that just pulled up.”

That was curious enough to encourage Larry to peek over the dash. There was a bus. Kirby was stopped, looking at it. Why? Unless…

He did a quick estimate of the distance to the bus stop. He was closer and he had the advantage of wheels. Kirby was walking back, but taking it slow, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d seen. Good. If the girl was getting off the bus, he had one chance to grab her before she got to Kirby.

Larry started the engine and eased the van into drive. “Get ready with the sleeping shit. When I tell you, open the door.”

“What—”

“I’m betting he just spotted the girl. Hurry and get ready! We got one shot at this. Don’t screw it up or we’re done for!”

Hickey, grumbling under his breath, scrambled into the back of the van. Larry rolled forward as a figure stepped off the bus. The bus pulled back into traffic, blocking her for a moment. When it rumbled past him, he got a clear view of her.

It was her, no question about it.

“Get ready, Hickey.”

* * * *

Luke saw Amelia looking out of the bus and felt a surge of relief. He’d beat her here. He could head her off, talk to her. And see if she was honest or the best actress he’d ever met. On the drive over, he’d been thinking about who might be trustworthy inside the company and remembered Donovan Kincaid. He’d sure leaped to her defense when Leslie got cute yesterday. Of the two, he’d put his money on Kincaid having the better instincts. Or did he want to believe him?

He started walking—not hurrying because part of him didn’t want to know if the news was going to be bad—toward the street as the bus came to a ponderous stop. His gaze followed Amelia’s progress the length of the bus, then lost sight of her until the bus moved off with a smoky roar.

Maybe it was the engine sounds or a prickling on his neck that had him looking down the street. When he saw the van, he froze for an instant, then pulled his piece and started to run. The light was with her, so Amelia started across the street. The van was closer to her than he was.

“Amelia!” he shouted.

She stopped in the middle of the street, looked his way, then her face broke into a smile and she waved at him. “Luke!”

“Look out!” He gestured as the van sped up. The side door opened. She turned to look, as it pulled level with her. The man crouched in the opening fired off a shot at him. Luke dodged behind a car, started to fire back, but Amelia was in the way. The guy hooked his arm around her waist and lifted her inside. They fell back in an untidy heap on the floor as the van picked up speed. Before it turned out of sight, Luke saw Amelia struggle, then go limp.

She was gone. He rubbed his face in frustration, muttering every swear word he knew. He stopped.

Helicopter. Amelia had been terrified of them. One had been on the mountain the day they’d skied down. In a moment, he was back in his car, heading for the airport, his cell phone to his ear. He’d tried this alone and failed. Now it was time to use his strengths, or in this case, his brothers’ strengths. It was time to call in the rest of the Kirbys.

THIRTEEN

Bryn padded out of the bathroom in her stocking feet. She kept her eyes down, looking for her boots in the semi-dark, so she wouldn’t look at the bed where Dewey lay sleeping. She’d slept about two hours last night, but she didn’t feel tired. She felt…delicious.

There’d been one moment of panic after he’d carried her over her threshold and set her on her feet when she’d told him, “I’ve never—”

“Neither have I,” Dewey had interrupted. His hand brushing her cheek had been trembling, igniting an answering quiver in her mid-section.

“Never?” She knew why she hadn’t. At first there’d been the drive to succeed, then she’d fallen for a guy who presented himself in cyberspace. Once she thought about it, though, it didn’t surprise her. He’d told her last night that his first love was broken.

“I was saving myself for you,” he’d said. His hands traced her face as if he still couldn’t quite believe he could touch her. He stepped close to her, their mouths a breath apart, their bodies touching. “Mating should be more than just bodies squeaking together, my darling Miss Bailey.”

“Have you been reading my romance novels again?” she murmured against his mouth, holding off a moment longer.

“A wise man does his research.”

She’d laughed, feeling the joy all the way from her toes. She’d never felt this free, this happy.

People who said inexperience was a turn-off were so wrong, she concluded as she finished lacing her second boot. So very wrong. Despite their mutual lack of experience, they’d managed to do the deed and then again in the time allotted to them. Granted, she had nothing to compare it to, but why should she care about comparisons when her body still tingled with delight?

She stood up, forgetting her resolve not to look at Dewey. He lay sprawled face down in the tangled sheets, the top sheet just hiding his butt. Just to the right of his shoulder, the shoulder she’d traced with her mouth last night, she could see the clock glowing in the dim light.

She was already late for work. She took a shaky breath and turned away instead of diving in and tasting his skin again. Desire was an undertow she fought against all the way to the door. In the living room, it was somewhat easier with him out of her sight.

She’d take it in stages. Start with some calls. Some good, some bad. Phoebe had managed to disable the virus Green had planted in the computers in California and had sent the instructions to the other labs hit that night. Jake sounded lazy and contented, with the sound of the waves in the background. Tough duty.

Her next call was to her voice mail. The men who had been following Donovan Kincaid had lost him last night. She didn’t feel too bad. She’d expected it. She’d try to phone him later. Maybe by then she’d have decided whether to tell him her and Matt’s theory that someone wanted to pressure him into blasting Al Gore. By then he might already know. Would he call her? Somehow she doubted it. He’d already told her he’d do what he had to. Which meant she’d have to do what she could to stop him.

This morning it was easier to understand how he’d gotten into a mess. It must have been hard for him to live his life knowing the woman he’d loved had chosen someone else—and taken his child with her. What kind of woman had she been?

At least she’d only deceived herself all this time, she thought. Dewey seemed to have figured her out a long time ago. She’d fought the good fight and lost, but by losing, she’d won way more than she lost. She felt no regret for missing out on the big wedding. She’d never seen herself walking down any aisle, but her parents would be disappointed. If she gave them a grandchild…

She covered her stomach. Her mom had had her nine months and a minute from after saying, “I do.” Unexpectedly a baby didn’t seem nearly as much of a trap as she’d thought, though parenthood was proving quite the trap for Donovan.

It was unusual that the kidnappers, if they were kidnappers and not conspirators—she had to consider that Prudence Knight stood to the gain the most by her faux dad’s death—hadn’t made any demands yet. Time was a kidnapper’s enemy. Why the delay? Typically kidnappings were planned down to the smallest detail, but this one had an on-the-fly feel to it. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t figure out what. Not enough data yet.

She pulled a pad of paper toward her and then had page fright at the thought of her first note to her husband. I’m a wife, she thought, but the idea was too new to track. Oddly enough, the idea of being mother was a lot easier to process.

She was saved by the bell—well, Dewey’s cell phone ringer. Was it the clean phone number they’d given to Forest for the Trees? After a very short, mumbled conversation, he appeared in the doorway. He’d pulled on his jeans, but his chest was bare and his hair still tousled from their lovemaking. His gaze found hers, a hint of worry in the depths. She knew what he wanted to know. She went to him, feeling enormous relief as his arms closed around her again.

“Was it him?” she asked, though she didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to think about him in danger, just when they’d found each other. She could tell herself that she’d always have last night, but she wanted more than a night. She wanted a lifetime with him.

“Got my marching instructions,” Dewey said, watching the worry deepen on her face. Phoebe kept telling him to be careful what he wished for. He’d started the dance with Forest for the Trees to please Bryn. Now it was pulling him away from her. He wasn’t afraid of the danger. He’d damn near died a year ago. It was easy to think you were bullet-proof, until you started caring if you lived or died. “I wrote em down. It’s somewhere south, he’ll tell me more when I get there, he says. Midnight tonight.”

“Not in a hurry, is he?”

“Doesn’t seem to be. Clever of him.” This guy, and he was sure now it was a guy, reminded him a little bit of himself. Set the right bait and let the fish bring themselves in. No worries, no work. Not much fun for the fish, but then it never was. He wished he wasn’t slated to be the fish in this deal. Well, he had until midnight to figure out how to turn the tables.

“A lot to do before then,” Bryn murmured, but she didn’t pull away from him.

He was content to wait, to hold her, to hold onto the moment. Over her shoulder, he studied her apartment. It was tidy, controlled like he’d thought she was the first time she arrested him. Not anymore, he thought, as he noticed the trail of their clothes leading to the bedroom. It was funny in such a clean room, but he’d known Bryn wasn’t the sum of what could be seen.

She sighed, so deep it was almost a shudder. Slowly, but firmly, she pushed away from him, her smile bright, her gaze avoiding his.

“Let’s get this over with so we can continue our honeymoon.” A blush surged up her neck into her face.

Dewey turned her face up to his and smiled at her. “With that kind of incentive, how can I fail?”

Hey, fish had brains the size of a nail head and they got away, so why shouldn’t he?

* * * *

Luke stared out the window toward the south, the direction his buddy in airport security had told him the chopper had been flying before it dropped off the radar screen. Behind him, his brother, Matt, entered the conference room. Luke turned to face him, remembering the last time they’d conferred in this room. He was a local cop. How did he manage to keep getting caught up in all this Federal shit?

He should be with Mann, pursuing leads in the Knight murder and leave this one to those with jurisdiction. He liked what he did, liked his circle of influence and was happy to stay within it. His brothers’ jobs gobbled up too much time. He liked to balance work and play. He was the mellow big brother, the one who was around when mom needed her lawn cut or his brothers needed their butts kicked. That was his role, his place in the family and community.

So what was he doing here in this dreary room, his gut twisting with worry for a woman he’d known for little more than one day? A little more than twenty-four hours. Busy hours, but still just hours. Dani liked to trot out the whole, no man is an island quote and would probably bring it out now, but even under her stringent guidelines, he’d done his part for the whole and more. He’d protected Amelia. He’d gotten her down the mountain, placed her in a safe place that she herself had chosen to leave. That she was missing was not his fault. That he felt guilt twisting his gut was a choice, not an imperative. Could he have done more? Logic said no, but his heart indicted him.

Jeez, was that his brain whining like that? Okay, he was short on sleep and shorter on patience—another departure from the norm, since he was usually the one with the endless supply, but was that any reason to whine?

Worse than whining, instead of patience, instead of calm reason, there was this pounding, urgent beat driving him forward, muddying his thoughts and tripping his reason. Okay, he liked Amelia, even when he wondered if she was playing him, he…liked her. She was beautiful, but that alone wasn’t it. Beauty without character was like cotton candy without sugar, if that were possible. Even with her brain scrambled, she was smart and funny. And she hadn’t quit. She’d dragged her butt down the mountain and that had to hurt. Held her poles with a sprained wrist and went the distance.

How could he not like her? She’d given off a lot of confused signals during the hours they’d spent together, but some facts were clear for anyone with a brain to observe—something he’d thought he had. She had a strong sense of adventure, felt a real joy in being alive. There was a French word for it that he never could remember, but it fit. Even in pain and afraid, she’d loved the trip down the mountain. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her body took the turns, spraying the snow in a joyful arc with each turn when she’d shot past him after their first fall. Had felt himself respond to that joy with some of his own. Much as he loved his private play, it was always more fun with someone to share it with—and a touch of danger to add a little spice.

She was young, though not was young as he’d thought. If only—what? The question made him squirm inside. If she was Prudence Knight, she’d have plenty to deal with when this was all over. Plenty. And if her memory came back, he’d fade to the back of her mind. Order restored, they could both return to their lives. So why didn’t that seem as appealing as it had forty-eight hours ago when all he’d had to deal with was the past? Again a stab of guilt. Nothing like a little lust on the anniversary of your wife’s death.

Because he wasn’t ready to find answers for any of the questions his bitter brain was producing, he turned his attention to his brother and his companions. Bryn and Dewey had entered with Matt, their mutual glow piercing his preoccupation. Looked like they’d finally settled it—in spades if the discreet gold band on Bryn’s finger was any indication. Good for them.

Hypocrite, a voice in his head taunted him. Okay for her to take risks, but not Luke Kirby. There were risks and risks, a different voice argued for the defense. Bryn had had to trust Dewey’s feelings for her. Amelia didn’t know what her feelings were. She couldn’t remember them. He wasn’t avoiding risk. He was being sensible. And loyal to Rosemary’s memory. Before he could stop it, the contrary voice reminded him that this was the kind of loyalty that Rosemary would never have asked for.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Matt said, taking his place at the head of the table.

It seemed off not to have Jake there, challenging Matt’s place at the head of the table with his gaze. Those two had taken sibling rivalry into adulthood, which left Luke as the peacemaker. Luke dropped into his chair now, wishing Jake was here. He had a quick brain and good instincts, both of which they could have used right now. And he looked at life differently from either he or Matt. Drove Matt crazy, but it worked. As if Matt heard him think, he said, “Jake’s flying in. Should be here before we move out.”

“We have to talk fast,” Bryn said. “Dewey’s got an important date down south.”

“I can be fast,” Luke said. He leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table as he told his story in terse spurts. Bryn interrupted him just once.

“You had Prudence Knight and you lost her?”

Luke looked annoyed. “I didn’t know I had her until after I lost her, okay? She doesn’t know who she is.” If it weren’t so serious, it would be funny, them all running around with bits of the same whole, all thinking they were in control when they weren’t.

“Well,” Bryn gave him a wry look, “if she was grabbed so she could spill her guts on Shield, this could get interesting, since it doesn’t work. We should probably talk to a specialist, find out if truth drugs could crack her apparent loss of memory. If she really has lost it?”

Luke tried not to stiffen, not with them all looking at him. “Her injuries were real. I’m just guessing, but I’m thinking she somehow fell out of the chopper, which was probably flying low to avoid getting picked up by radar. Trees would break her fall and people have survived falls from far more serious heights. You say she had some kind of fight with her father?”

“That’s what Donovan said.” Bryn frowned. She filled them in on what she’d learned from Donovan. “What if Knight knew he was dying and told her he wasn’t her father? Then she gets kidnapped, falls. Trauma like that could lead to hysterical amnesia, I would imagine. At least it does on television,” she added dryly.

Luke remembered her “I hate lies” vehemence. It seemed she had good cause to hate it.

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Dewey asked. “You saw her get kidnapped, whether she knows her own name or not, she’s in trouble. How do we find her?”

“You don’t do anything,” Bryn said. “You have a date with Green.” Luke and Matt looked at her, so then she filled them in on this, fumbling a bit over how Dewey got involved with Green. It was obvious to Luke she wasn’t eager to clarify much, but at least now she knew who her friends were and told them enough. What also seemed obvious to Luke was the criminal movement on so many fronts and yet no one seemed to see a connection. Could it be a coincidence that Dewey was meeting Green this week, the same week someone tries to kidnap Amelia and use her to put pressure on Donovan?

“What if this Green is involved in the kidnapping?” he asked.

Matt sat at the head of the table, slumped in a chair with his feet thrust out. With one hand he beat tapped the table impatiently. “Merryweather is a biotechnology company, a favorite target of Green and other environmental activist groups. We’ve got a biotech conference in town this weekend. Did you see that bit on the news the other night? People dressed up like vegetables and other crap yapping about the evils of technology—after having driven or flown here in their cars and planes?”

Bryn nodded. “I saw it. And we know that’s bringing the former VP to town. He’s going to speak out at a big counter-demo. He’s the most important target in town this week.”

“Target?” Luke asked. He’d missed some key points it seemed.

Bryn filled them in on Donovan and his possible role as sniper in the proceedings.

“Would he really turn shooter for them in hopes that they’ll release Ame—Prudence Knight?” Luke asked. “Looked smarter than that to me.” In his head, Luke was relieved. It meant they wouldn’t kill Amelia as soon as they got what they wanted—or in this case what they didn’t want—out of her. On the other hand, they might be dealing with an out-of-control sniper before they were through.

“It does make me think Green must be behind the grab. No question she’s the key to Donovan’s buttons,” Bryn added, with a look of worry toward Dewey. “If they are turning violent—”

“—and Dewey’s date is our only lead, then how do we make sure we don’t lose him?” Matt finished for her.

This wasn’t his area, so Luke sat back, listening as the talk turned high tech and technical.

Dewey shook his head when Matt suggested an electronic tracking device. “This guy is smart. He’ll be looking for everything, up to and including a wire. I walk in there broadcasting anything, I’m dead. They’ll also be looking for tails, advance and post surveillance of the area. Trust me on this. It’s what I’d have done before I became a reformed man.”

Bryn jumped up and paced to the window, looking over her shoulder to say, “We can’t send you in without some kind of backup. Your community service hours don’t require you to go on a suicide mission.”

“Actually, I already have a plan,” Dewey confessed. “Well, Phoebe had a plan, but don’t tell Jake or he’ll kill me, making this all pointless.”

Bryn turned, leaning against the windows, her arms crossed defensively. Despite his worry, Luke found he could grin, though he hid it with his hand.

“Based on the assumption that this guy was beyond paranoid,” Dewey said, “he may make me change cars, clothes, even a watch, but who plans for a guy with glasses?”

Like a magician, he produced a pair from his shirt pocket. They were small, wire rectangles. Bryn stalked over and took them, peering through the lenses. “They have a prescription. Can you see with them?”

With a sigh, he nodded. “Unfortunately, my eye doctor thinks I can.”

Luke took them from Bryn. “So how do they help?”

“There’s a small, but powerful GPS transmitter in one of the nose pads. But it’s not active, so if they scan me for anything, it won’t read. When I feel safe, or I’m in trouble, I can activate using the other nose pad.” Dewey took the glasses back and put them on.

He looked studious and sort of like John Lennon, Luke decided, with an inward grin. Trust Phoebe, the Pathphinder, to find a way to beat paranoid.

“I’d sure like to put a team on the road ahead of you,” Bryn said.

Dewey shook his head. “He’ll be looking for that. That’s why the extended advance warning. He’s waiting to see if there’s any sudden activity in the area. You do anything and he’s gone. I could be wrong, but I’m betting he’s been where he is long enough to know whose new and who isn’t. This guy is smart.” He grinned. “He could be me. If I didn’t know I was here, I’d say you should be looking at me.”

In the olden days, that remark would have set Bryn off. Luke noticed now she just looked at him, a look so intimate he looked away. His gaze bumped into Matt’s, who was also trying not to notice the sudden rise in temperature.

“So what do we already know about the area?” Matt spread a map of the state across the table top. He looked at Luke. “Your chopper headed south, didn’t you say?”

Luke nodded. Bryn found the rendezvous point, then used her finger to trace a circle around the area. It was in the direction of the chopper, but a lot was.

“We’re assuming that Green is the culprit here,” Luke objected. “It’s kind of hard for me to buy. I mean, if they don’t like what Merryweather is doing, wouldn’t they be getting rid of Shield, not stealing it? Is there anyone else who might be targeting this Shield? I don’t like concentrating all our efforts in one direction without something more than some guy who wants to meet Dewey. If we’re wrong, then it’s over.”

The words sent a chill down his back. What if he never saw Amelia again? The chill turned into a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had to fight to clear his thoughts so he could focus as they discussed other possibilities, but with the admittedly scant information at their disposal, there wasn’t a better lead for them to follow. Bryn promised to direct her team to look for other possibilities, which helped some, but not a lot.

“You know…” Bryn’s fingers stopped by a town, then moved to a spot at the base of the mountains. “This is…odd.”

“What?” Luke stood up next to her and frowned down at the map. Where had they taken Amelia? It was a damn big state. Was this how his brothers had felt when their women disappeared? Except Amelia wasn’t his woman, he reminded himself, and he should start calling her Prudence. Or Miss Knight. They were the same, weren’t they? He just wished he knew where the Amelia persona had sprung from? The same set of keys that had opened her car had also had a key that opened Amelia Hart’s apartment. Could she have created an alternate identity for herself? And if she had, why? She’d said something about feeling lighter and relieved. Was that the explanation? She’d been someone trying to find a little room to be herself? Everything he’d heard about John Knight made him sound like someone you’d want to get away from as quickly as possible.

It made more sense than that she was involved in something dishonest. Granted he only had his instincts to rely on that she had been truthful with him. Did he trust them? They hadn’t let him down in the past, but in the past his hormones hadn’t been in the mix. Didn’t seem to matter how often he told his libido to stop it. He hated feeling like this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated feeling helpless. It brought back all the feelings he’d wrestled with when Rosemary was dying. He’d promised himself he’d never feel like that again. Hell of a time to find out it wasn’t something he could control.

“We’re also investigating the Colorado Irregulars,” Bryn was saying when Luke tuned back in. “Their camp is right here, near the mountains. They’re open to the public on the weekends. You can pay to get hit with paint balls and gripe about the government.”

Matt and Dewey both bent over the map, too. Dewey looked aggrieved. “You were investigating them without me?”

Bryn flicked him a look that was straight out of the olden days. “It was need to know.”

Luke was happy for the distraction. His thoughts were giving him a headache.

“Odd that two such opposite groups should be working in the same general area,” he said. “I’d like to check them out. No question a paramilitary group would want Shield. If they were behind this, they sure mobilized a pack of hounds. They had our route covered faster than a fart. And they looked more like right wingers than lefties.”

He was going to say more, when he noticed that Dewey was still staring at the map with a peculiar look on his face.

“What?” Luke asked.

“Huh?” Dewey looked up, his gaze unfocused for a moment before it sharpened.

“You have an idea?”

Bryn and Matt were now looking at him, too.

“Do you know who I’m meeting?”

Luke shrugged. “Green.”

“His handle is ‘Forest for the Trees,’” Dewey said.

Luke stared at him. “Forest for the Trees?”

“That’s right.”

“As in, you can’t see the forest for the trees?”

“Yup.”

“Damn. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Luke asked.

“No, I think you’re thinking what I’m thinking,” Dewey said. “I thought it first.”

“Damn it,” Bryn said. “I should have been thinking it a long time ago. I could tell the guy had a…quirky sense of humor. Do you really think—”

She stopped, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Well,” Luke stared at nothing as his thoughts raced. It was so bizarre, but in a weird way, made sense. “I can’t think of a better place to hide a radical environmental movement than a right-wing paramilitary outfit’s camp.”

Bryn didn’t look amused. “This could easily turn into another Waco—if we can even get the proof we need to go in.” She frowned as the three men watched her quietly. “You know who we need?”

Matt looked wary. “Who?”

“Donovan Kincaid.”

“He’s gone to ground, hasn’t he?” Dewey pointed out.

“Yes, he has. But I’ll bet he has his phone with him.”

Luke found his thoughts moving in another direction. If Green was behind this move on Merryweather, they’d have needed someone on the inside. They’d need to know how the technology was progressing, access to Knight to administer the digitalis, and someone to tell them Prudence Knight’s movements, when and how to make the grab. Someone had jumped the gun. Or chosen to sabotage it? Someone who wanted to screw his father, say?

One thing he’d been right about. He was in the wrong place. His job was the murder. There was a threat to Amelia here, too, and he needed to find it. At least it was something to do while they waited.

“There are some things I need to check. Let me know when you head south for Dewey’s date. I want to go with you,” he said.

Matt looked up, his gaze sharp. Finally he nodded. He got up and went with Luke to the door. “You all right?”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, then shrugged. “Sure.”

“We’ll find her,” Matt said. “With the three of us together, we can’t fail.” He slapped Luke on the back. “Keep your phone on.”

* * * *

The sun shone fiercely, as if to atone for letting the recent storm blot it out, but it was too far away in the winter sky to be felt. All its power turned the deep, mostly unbroken layer of snow diamond bright. Made it hard to hide tracks, even wearing camouflage appropriate to the conditions. What Donovan needed was camouflage that could lift him above the snow. Since he didn’t have the capability, he’d had to work his way carefully down the mountainside toward the Colorado Irregular’s camp.

On the upside, if anyone down there were to catch a glint of his binoculars, they’d write it off as the sun’s reflection. He’d been observing the camp for about an hour, but there hadn’t been much to see, though what he had seen convinced him he was on the right track. The weather was keeping the casual inside. Interesting that they’d posted guards when there didn’t seem to be anything going on or anything to hide. It had taken him a while to find them. Like him, they were in camo and dug in. It had taken patience and a little luck to spot them. One was about three hundred yards below him. He’d picked him up when his radio sounded. Now he was waiting to see if it would go off at the same time. He needed to know when they checked in, when they changed and how. They hadn’t left any tracks in the snow either.

As soon as it went off, he had turned on his scanner and picked up their frequency. They were no dummies, but they were also bored. He got enough from their exchanges to locate most of the guard posts he hoped. Once you knew where to look and you knew what you were looking for, they were as obvious as hookers in a red light district. Perception was the key, even in war.

Despite his worry about his daughter, it felt good to be back in the field. This was where he belonged, pitting his brains and his brawn against the enemies of the weak. And the fear, the worry, would keep him sharp. He couldn’t afford to lose this one. Too much was riding on it. With Knight out of the picture, he could talk to Pru, maybe tell her who he was, what her mother meant to him. From what he could tell, she didn’t know a lot about her mother. She had the spirit, the will to live her life better than that. He could show her how.

The vibration of his satellite phone interrupted his thoughts. He’d set it to vibrate, since he couldn’t afford to be out of touch, if Pru’s kidnapper called again. He’d also set it up for hands free. In fact, he was so wired, it’s a wonder he wasn’t conductive. He wasn’t worried about being overheard, but he still kept his voice low.

“You ready to talk, Kincaid?” a digital voice asked him.

“I’ve been ready the whole time,” Donovan said. “Which makes me wonder why you haven’t been? And to wonder if you even have Miss Knight.”

“If you need proof, I can send you one of her fingers. Or an ear,” the voice said.

“Talking to her is so much less messy. And quicker,” Donavan said, trying to keep his cool. If this was Grady, he was a dead man.

“Well, she’s a little unconscious. I think an ear. Or you earn the right to talk to her.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Easy. Prove to me you can follow orders.”

“Orders?” Donovan said.

“Didn’t I mention that you work for me now? Well, you do. If you want to keep Miss Knight ten-fingered, two-eared, and in the land of the breathing, you’ll do exactly what I say.”

“And what do you say?”

“Well, no big surprise, no cops or feds. We keep this just between us.”

“Not original or surprising,” Donovan said. He braced for what came next.

“How are your sniping skills?”

He hadn’t been expecting this. It had been so long since he’d used them.

“I can still hit my man.” One bullet. One kill.

“Good. Leslie Merryweather. If I hear of his unfortunate demise on the news, you earn a few words with Miss Knight.”

Merryweather? “Why him?”

“Okay, let’s try this again. Because I say so.”

“Fine.”

“You aren’t going to argue with me?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

“Why should I? Guy’s a waste of space.”

“I think we’re going to get along just fine. I’ll be in touch.”

And he was gone. Leaving Donovan with a lot to think about. He had gone to a lot of trouble to bump off an easy target like Leslie Merryweather, so he couldn’t be the real target. This was what he’d said, a way to see if he’d jump when told. By now, Bryn probably had a good idea of who the real target was, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Didn’t want to have to choose between that person and his daughter.

What also puzzled Donovan was why it had taken so long to reach this point. Had that first call been a fishing expedition? Now O’Brien sounded confident, though he still wouldn’t let Donovan talk to Pru. She could be unconscious. Or she could still be in transit.

As if the thought had given birth to reality, he heard the clatter of a helicopter. Careful not to disturb the snow covering him, he turned, scanning the sky with his binoculars.

“Gotcha.” It seemed to hang in the bright, blue sky, growing slowly larger as it flew steadily closer. What it didn’t do is stop at the encampment. Instead, it turned toward the mountain, skimming the top of the trees, at one point turning the snow covering him into a small blizzard.

He marked the direction with his compass, then started the laborious job of working his way back up into the trees. Looked like Grady had hidden depths and he intended to find them. He had no illusions about what would happen to Pru once she’d filled her purpose. No way he’d fly off the scent now.

As for the problem of Leslie and the deadline, well, be easy enough to have him taken out for him. He was clean, but he knew some mercenaries who weren’t. He hadn’t lied when he told O’Brien he considered the guy a waste of space. Mostly he didn’t like the idea of jumping to O’Brien’s tune. Could he get Bryn to help him? She was a by-the-book girl or she had been. She’d loosened up some, but was it enough? He was surprised she hadn’t called him by now. He looked at his watch. He’d give her until he was to the top of that ridge to call him. If she didn’t, he’d call a merc he knew. Between Leslie and Pru there was no contest.

FOURTEEN

Leslie had planned to wait to kill again. He really had. It was his dad’s fault. It infuriated him when his father shut him out. He’d planned to be the inside guy, feeding info from the police to Grady. Only daddy wouldn’t let him. He’d turned to Donovan instead, sending him off like some damn errand boy.

He’d come storming out of the office, intent on heading for the camp. Grady wasn’t going to keep him out of that action, too. He’d been living for the moment when Miss Tight-Ass Prudence found he was the one who had her father killed and had her kidnapped. He couldn’t wait to see the look in her eyes when she realized she was going to die, too. Girl that homely, he’d bet she was virgin. He’d fix that for her. Be a shame to send her off without knowing what she was missing.

No way he was missing that. To hell with Grady and his dad. It was his plan and he had a right to be there as it unfolded. But outside he’d run into one of his dad’s friend’s vapid daughter. Bridget or Britney or maybe it was Barbara. She’d sent out the signal. He’d answered it. Even then, he thought, just dinner. As long as I don’t take her home…

Then she’d wrapped herself around him while they danced. Had practically crawled inside his pants. What was the problem with girls now? They’d crawl into bed with anyone. Well, she wouldn’t do that again.

He looked at her limp body. She looked more surprised than the hooker had, but she was younger and a hooker had to expect that maybe sometime someone was going to kill them. A hazard of the job, wasn’t it?

The purple marks his hands had made on her throat were the same. Guess everyone bruised the same way. He hadn’t exactly had a stop watch, but seemed like she took about the same time to die. Maybe one of these times he should time it. Timing might matter at some point.

He frowned. She was going to be harder to dispose of. That was the annoying part. He needed to be more careful here, on his home turf, which was why he’d been determined not to kill here. Didn’t want to launch a serial killer task force.

A serial killer.

I’m a serial killer, he thought. The idea wasn’t repulsive. Serial killers weren’t just about the killing. It was the battle of wits, the planning and execution. It wasn’t a stupid man’s game. He looked at what’s-her-name. She was a mistake. No wits there, just instinct. And anger.

Which didn’t help him with his problem now. Serial killers don’t kill people they know. He’d been seen with her last night. Maybe seen leaving the parking lot with her. He felt a moment of panic. How long before someone missed her? This one would take some thought. She’d have to disappear. He’d probably take some heat, but if she didn’t turn up…

He covered her body with a sheet, arranging her hair over her face as if she were sleeping—just in case one of the servants wandered in. They weren’t supposed to, but servants were like women. Only trust them to be where they weren’t supposed to be. He pondered the problem of disposal through his shower and thought he had a plan, but before he could get his pants on, or get her out of his bed, the bell rang. He’d have played not-at-home, but his Jag was in the drive. He pulled on a robe and went to the door. Through the glass panels he could see the two cops he’d toyed with last night.

Let the battle of wits begin.

* * * *

Amelia woke slowly as the murmur of voices penetrated the strange thickness that held her body immobile. As consciousness returned, with it came little flashes of memory that made no sense. Faces. Voices. People who seemed to know her, but when she tried to bring them into focus, turned away from her, vanishing into the gray mist that pressed in on her from all sides.

Despite her inability to move, she felt the sensation of movement. It was cold for a space, then warm again. Movement ceased. She was lying on something. Something that gave a bit underneath her and was scratchy against her skin. The voices grew louder, but she still couldn’t sort out words. After a struggle, she managed to open her eyes long enough to see she was in a cabin.

Luke? She tried to say his name. Let him know she was awake, but sound lodged in her throat. The effort exhausted and she sank back into the fog with a feeling of relief.

When she woke again, her head wasn’t clear, but at least the suffocating fog was gone. She was still in the cabin, but it wasn’t Luke’s cabin. It had the same split logs for walls, but the dimensions were different. She seemed to be in a bedroom. From her place on the four poster bed, she could see a dresser, a chair, a window liberally coated with frost. The furnishings were what you’d expect to see in a cabin. Rustic and sturdy with lots of picturesque looking knots in the wood.

It felt like a “guy zone,” though she was still too fuzzy-headed to sort out why. The bed was comfortable, but her arm was crooked up at an odd angle. When she tried to arrange it more comfortably, she realized she couldn’t.

She was handcuffed to the bed.

With some effort, and a lot of discomfort, she squirmed her way into a position more comfortable for her shackled arm. At least they hadn’t cuffed the sprained wrist. She gingerly flexed it and winced. It seemed worse today. Rough handling?

She’d thought it was awful to lose her memory, but this was far worse. She still had her clothes on under the blankets someone had piled on her, which was a relief, but not much. Someone had taken off her coat. She could see it on the chair. She’d been taken, manhandled while unconscious. What had happened to her while she was out? Her stomach muttered unpleasantly. Her head ached, too. The pain, which had been as three-sided as her bumps, had now migrated to a place behind her right eye. Whatever they had used to drug her had left her feeling lethargic and fuzzy-headed. Something thick and nasty coated her mouth, too.

Behind the lethargy was cold, hard fear. Whatever it was that she’d escaped, it had now caught up with her. What did they want? Was this a simple kidnapping or something more?

She managed to push a pillow behind her aching head and sagged back, flexing her cuffed hand to restore feeling. She remembered seeing Luke. He called her. Was running toward her when someone grabbed her. Then nothing.

Nothing? Well, mostly nothing. She had a vague memory of movement and something else. But when she strained for it, her brain slapped her back by upping the pain stakes. With the past still off limits, that left only her very limited present, which could be summed up in one man—Luke.

Is this where being spunky had gotten her? Handcuffed to a bed somewhere, never to see him again? She’d trade all her past memories to see him once more. She didn’t expect him to want her in his life, but she could wish for it, couldn’t she? It made no sense. They barely knew each other but she felt like she’d known him forever. Or had she been looking for him forever? Something inside her recognized him as important to her, even if she couldn’t remember anything else. It was all she had to hang on to as someone fumbled with the door, then opened it.

A man stood in the doorway holding a tray. A thin man with a ferrety face and a head topped with a riot of shockingly red hair.

“I thought I heard you moving in here,” he said. He put the tray on the nightstand by the bed. “Do you need to…”

Color ran up his face faster than it did hers.

It helped to feel amused by it. Cleared her head some. She nodded. Nature couldn’t be denied, even when it embarrassed.

He undid her cuffs at her wrist, leaving them hanging from the bed. “Wouldn’t try anything. We’re a long way from anywhere, and its damn cold out there.”

She nodded again. The bathroom had no lock, so she did her business quickly, then took the time to splash water on her face. The face in the mirror over the sink was pale, but composed. What in her life had made it so easy for her to hide her feelings? Maybe it was better not to remember. Outside again, the man led her back to the room and secured her to the bed. She sat on the edge, her back straight, her knees together, and her hands on her knees.

“You should eat,” he said, nodding encouragingly toward the tray, which held a glass of juice, some toast and a couple of pills.

She looked at him.

“For your headache,” he said. “Just Tylenol.”

He sat in the chair, obviously not planning to leave until she’d eaten. It was hard with him watching, but she needed the food. After a few bites of toast her stomach settled down. She took the Tylenol, too. She needed to clear her head. The orange juice was the best. Cool and slightly tart, it cleared the nasty aftertaste out of her mouth. And it gave her a nice jolt of energy.

Without conscious thought, she realized she’d already decided to resist, to escape if the opportunity arose, despite the cold and the possible isolation. For a moment, the veil over her memory flickered. She’d felt this way before. Maybe not this scared, but this trapped and determined. And she’d done something about it. The veil closed before anything but that feeling could escape, but she drew strength from knowing that she may not know a lot about herself, but Luke was right about one thing. She wasn’t a person who gave up—or she’d already be dead.

She finished eating and wiped her mouth, then said in a colorlessly polite voice, “Thank you.”

He looked pleased as he gathered up the tray. “Grady’ll be along shortly.”

The comment had echoes of a doctor’s office, which was mildly amusing, unless the trend continued.

“Grady would be my…host?” she asked primly, the sound of her own voice surprising her. She sounded like an old-fashioned school marm.

It surprised her jailor, too. He straightened his shoulders, his face turning worried. “Well, yeah. Sort of. I guess.”

After such a definitive response, why should she worry?

He balanced the tray with one hand while he opened the door. “Can I get you anything else, Miss Knight?”

Miss Knight? Amelia started to object but stopped herself. While it would be nice to know how they’d made such a mistake, if they knew they had the wrong person, well, letting her go was only one of the options available to them. She needed time to think before this Grady person came in. So much depended on what they wanted with her.

“Some water, please.” Her look made him straighten his shoulders even more. It was almost comical. Was she a teacher in her forgotten life?

“Sure.” He closed the door. There was sound of the lock being turned, then retreating footsteps on wood. The sound seemed to be going down, as well as away. Was she upstairs? The window was too frosted to see out, though a Monet wash of green left her with the impression of trees outside.

The nightstand had a couple of drawers. In an odd twist, one held a Gideon Bible. The other one was empty. She couldn’t reach anything else. Okay, that meant she’d have to catch someone off guard when she was free. He hadn’t been armed, but then neither was she. Okay, what were her resources?

She grinned wryly. Well, she had a knee. She’d just have to find the right time to use it.

* * * *

Luke stared at Leslie Merryweather. Something was going on with the guy, though, not knowing him, it was hard to put his finger on what. There was the obvious, but it was a bit early in the day to be pouring himself a drink. And in a bathrobe with his hair still wet. Unless…

He looked around and spotted the discarded heels partially hidden by a plush looking chair near the stairs.

“Very sorry to disturb you,” Luke said, dryly.

Leslie followed his gaze to the shoes, then gave an almost embarrassed laugh. Luke’s gaze narrowed. Leslie didn’t seem like the type to be embarrassed about much. He exchanged a look with Mann, who shrugged.

“Did you have something particular you wanted to ask me, gentlemen?”

They had a lot they wanted to ask him. After chatting with other employees of Merryweather, he’d secured the top spot on their suspect list. It was all about access and opportunity. Only Leslie, Hamilton Merryweather and Prudence Knight had had the necessary access to have slipped Dr. Knight the digitalis. The major stumbling block was that Leslie hadn’t been in town the day of Knight’s heart attack, but they were checking the suspected medium of delivery—a special blend of coffee that only Knight drank. According to staff, Prudence didn’t drink coffee—yet another link to Amelia.

Bryn was asking them to hold off on their questions. She’d talked to Donovan, who had reluctantly coughed up his first order from Prudence Knight’s kidnapper. Kill Leslie Merryweather. As far as he was concerned, it would save the tax payers money to let him fulfill his mission. Only reason to keep him alive, as far as he was concerned, was if he could tell them where Amelia was. Bryn had convinced Donovan to let her handle the “assassination,” hoping it would buy them time. On the up side, once he was in protective custody, they could sweat him a bit, see what fell out.

“Perhaps you should sit down,” Mann said.

Leslie looked at him, then at Luke. “Okay.” He sprawled in a chair, his robe barely covering his privates. “Now what?”

The look of anticipation in his eyes tempted Luke to pop him. This guy liked trouble—for other people. Well, let’s see how he liked trouble for himself.

“We have information that you’ve been targeted for…termination,” Luke said.

Leslie twitched and his expression flickered between shock and surprise. It was obvious that this was not what he’d been expecting to hear. He got his face back under control, replacing shock with bravado. Behind the bravado was something else. Worry? Or was it something more? Luke was having a hard time getting a feel for the guy.

Leslie jumped to his feet and freshened his drink before saying, “You must be joking.”

“We’re not allowed to joke about threats,” Mann said, with a straight face even.

“Our information is reliable,” Luke added.

“Who?” Leslie’s bravado was showing holes.

“Our informant is the man who is supposed to kill you.” It hadn’t been part of the plan to tell him that much, but now Luke felt compelled. He looked thrown off balance, but not the way Luke had expected him to. His expression wasn’t, this is nuts. You’re nuts. It was, this is wrong. This isn’t supposed to happen.

“And that would be?”

Mann was frowning at him, but Luke didn’t hesitate. “Donovan Kincaid is being pressured to kill you. Do you know why anyone would want you dead?”

He went white as the old-fashioned sheet. He lifted his drink to his mouth, his hand shaking. “No, I can’t.”

He reminded Luke of someone who just found out their girlfriend was cheating on them. “It would be better if you would tell us what you know.”

Leslie didn’t say anything, just stared ahead. Finally Mann stood up.

“We’re taking you into protective custody, Mr. Merryweather. You’ll have to come with us.” He sounded almost gentle.

That got his attention. He looked like he was going to protest, but must have realized it wouldn’t do any good. “I need to get dressed.”

“Of course.”

Luke watched him walk up the stairs. When they were alone, Mann said, “Thought you were losing it, but he knows, doesn’t he?”

“He knows. He’s in it up to his eyeballs.” If he had helped to kidnap Amelia, Luke didn’t want any part of protecting the bastard. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he fought for control.

“He’s a light weight,” Mann said. “He’ll turn.”

Luke wasn’t so sure. He had the feeling that this betrayal was too personal—

He pulled his gun and started for the stairs. “He’s going to run.”

Mann pulled his piece and followed him up. Luke took the lead as they checked the rooms one by one. The last one was Leslie’s. The robe he’d been wearing was a puddle of white on the plush carpet. The closets stood open and looked rummaged through. The window was open, and there was a woman in his bed.

A woman who didn’t move when armed men burst into the room. Luke padded over and eased back the sheet, the action reminding him of the first time he saw Amelia. He didn’t have to check her pulse to know there’d be no help for her. Her eyes were wide and shocked. Her dark hair covered her neck. Luke lifted the strands and found the bruises on her neck.

That’s what he’d sensed about Leslie. Evil. Many in the world didn’t believe in evil, but cops did. He should have picked up on it sooner, but like Mann, he’d written him off as a lightweight. Looking at the woman, he’d bet a lot of people underestimated Leslie Merryweather.

“Call in the crime scene boys, Mann. I gotta call Bryn and tell her we lost her victim.” Though that wasn’t worrying him as much as where Leslie was headed. He’d put Leslie in the quiver and fired him right at his partner. Who was probably holding Amelia.

FIFTEEN

Grady looked up as O’Rourke came down the stairs carrying the tray. O’Rourke hated playing butler for guests willing or otherwise, but he’d been curious to see the recently plucked thorn in their side. “So?” he asked, as O’Rourke started toward the kitchen. “What’s she like?”

O’Rourke’s opinions were always interesting, even when they were wrong.

He stopped, his face screwed into thinking position. “She’s…a damaged angel with the soul of school teacher.”

“A school teacher?”

“Second grade. Miss Hanlon. Used to look at me the same way. Almost told her the dog ate my homework.” He held up the tray. “Gonna get rid of this and she wants water.”

Grady gave a half laugh, half snort. “By all means, give her some water.”

O’Rourke started to leave but hesitated. “You going to, you know?” He mimed stabbing her with a needle. “Food might make her hurl.”

Grady stared at him. “I’m going to give her a chance to give it up without needles. And I have to keep her lucid for her little chat with Donovan.”

“Right.” He left, leaving a thoughtful Grady behind.

The board over his head creaked. He looked up, curious about the woman who held the keys to his future. She’d been important to him only for what she could give him, but now he found himself interested in O’Rourke’s “damaged angel.” The school teacher description didn’t surprise him. She’d looked like the stereotype of a teacher in her pictures.

Her spirited defense of herself was interesting, though ultimately pointless, and she’d cleaned up pretty good. Even unconscious, a couple of his guys had expressed a desire to spend some private time with her when they hauled her in. He’d quelled them with a glance—he wasn’t a pimp or a rapist. If she gave him what he wanted, her death would be quick and clean. But he wasn’t above using the threat to catch her attention. With success almost within reach, he’d do what it took to close the gap. Half the pleasure in getting what you wanted was the anticipation—or so he’d heard. If that were true, then getting what he wanted was going to be really great, because he’d been in the anticipation zone for a long, long time.

He pushed back his chair, curious to see her with her eyes open and her mouth closed.

Upstairs, he took the key off the hook and unlocked the door. When he pushed it open, she was sitting on the bed. He could see where O’Rourke got the school teacher idea. Not only did she sit primly, but her expression almost made him shuffle his feet. And claim the dog ate his homework. It helped stiffen his spine that O’Rourke climbed the stairs with the requested water. Had an image to keep up. O’Rourke set the water on the nightstand, near at hand.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as prim as her aspect.

She had to be scared out of her mind, but there was no sign of it on her face or even in her eyes. Grady stepped closer, peering into her eyes. Damn, they were purple.

“Why did you hide your eyes behind those awful glasses?” Grady asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

“Excuse me?” Her brows arched toward the tousled, blond hairline. He could see why O’Rourke saw an angel in the pure line of her jaw and the vulnerability of her mouth. What he called teacher in the set of her shoulders, Grady saw as strength. She was lost, but not out yet.

He pulled her picture out of the pocket of his jacket and showed it to her.

“The glasses. You don’t need them. Why wear them?”

She studied the photograph, a tiny frown between her arched dark brows. She’d been lovely unconscious, but awake…It was a pity he had to destroy her. She was extraordinary. And quite…rare. She’d look good on his arm in the South of France.

She shrugged and reached for her water, the movement somewhat awkward because of her cuffed hand. She sipped, outwardly unmoved by the silence growing between them. Her composure was remarkable. He stowed the picture and dropped into the chair across from her.

“You can go, O’Rourke.”

When O’Rourke didn’t move, he looked at him. “What?”

O’Rourke shuffled his feet and said, “Nothing. I just…nothing.” He looked at her like he wanted to ask her something, but her steady gaze deflected him nicely, and he turned and left.

“Alone at last,” Grady said, more to test for a reaction from her than anything.

Her gaze turned his way, one brow just a little arched. It was a masterly put down and Grady had to grin. Usually his grin put at least a hair line crack in the most determined resistance and he could sense what his victims were feeling. But not this time. That interested him more than her looks and, his gaze strayed lower, her nicely constructed body.

She cleared her throat, pulling his gaze back up. He resisted an urge to apologize. It wasn’t easy. Her gaze intimidated, something he usually reserved for himself. Time to bring out the big guns. He held her gaze for a long moment, then smiled intimately. His gaze invited her to trust him.

Her expression declined, before edging into puzzled. Why?

Amelia was puzzled. Did she know this smarmy character? It was an icky thought. He oozed something he mistook for charm, but it was really just ooze. He wanted something from her, but what was it? Despite the leers and looks, she didn’t think he’d kidnapped her to be his sexual plaything.

The “let’s be friends” look gave way to one more calculating. A serpent with an apple to share. “Would you like to stretch your legs?”

Amelia didn’t want to accept even the smallest favor from him, but she did need to find out where she was. “Yes.”

He got up. It was hard not to shrink back as he moved close. He had to touch her to free her from the cuffs. She winced. She couldn’t help it and he stopped, his brows drawn together in a frown. “Did one of my men do that?”

She was tempted, but couldn’t do it. She shook her head.

“Looks like it needs wrapping. I’ll take care of it later.”

Everything was nice, friendly, and helpful. Did he really think he could charm her into forgetting he’d kidnapped her? Twice?

The shackle fell away from her wrist. He stepped back, but not enough. When she stood up, they’d be close. Her flesh cringed as she rose. She was almost as tall as him and saw surprise flicker in his eyes at it. Her knee longed to go into action, but this wasn’t the time. She needed more data before she acted.

Later, she promised her knee, later.

Did he realize he ran a finger around his collar before gesturing for her to precede him, she wondered? With her back to him, she allowed herself a tiny smile. She may be down, but she wasn’t out. Not yet.

* * * *

It had been a job to maneuver into a position above the cozy looking cabin huddling on the hillside several miles from the main camp. O’Brien had more patrols up this way, and they were better hidden. Either he expected Donovan to make this move, or he was a very careful man. Maybe both.

After all that effort it was dull work. Once he’d located all of O’Brien’s spotters, there’d been nothing left to do but look at the cabin and wonder what it was doing up here, isolated from the rest of the camp, innocuous looking—and well guarded.

Because there was nothing else to do, he scanned the surroundings with his glasses. There was something about the layout that niggled at his mind. The terrain was rugged, much what you’d expect in a mountain camp. Snow lay thickly on everything that wasn’t moving. The broad sweep of white was ruffled in the clearing by the arrival and departure of the chopper.

A very big clearing, now that he thought about it. Was that what was troubling him? He tightened the focus on his glasses and did another slow sweep of the clearing. The first time, he didn’t see anything. He tried again, this time dividing the clearing into search grids. Even then he almost didn’t see the ventilation pipe barely breaking the surface of the snow. Now that he knew what to look for, he picked out more of them.

Underground bunkers?

What if O’Brien was cooking up more than a little discontent toward the government here? He’d seen some training camps like this one in his travels. Terrorist training camps always looking for a way to evade the satellites circling overhead. If he was rubbing shoulders with terrorists, Shield must have looked like manna to him.

Only one thing that didn’t fit, Bryn thought that some environmental wacko group called Green was involved. No way O’Brien was into the environment. Not his style. Donovan hadn’t spent much time with O’Brien, but it didn’t take long to figure out that the only thing O’Brien cared about was O’Brien, though he did a good job of making you think otherwise—when you had a couple of beers in you. He’d steered clear of the camp because he didn’t like the smell of O’Brien. He lived or died on his judgment of men, more often than not a judgment straight from the gut.

He had no problem believing that O’Brien was simply after Shield. What he couldn’t figure out was why O’Brien wanted Donovan to kill for him. Looking around, it didn’t seem like he had a shortage of men available to do that.

There was something missing, some piece of information he didn’t have that explained all of it, but all he really wanted was Pru. Let Bryn solve the puzzles. He’d done something that tipped O’Brien off he was interested in her and it was his intention to get her out of it before O’Brien found out she didn’t know her own name from a hole in the ground. And before O’Brien found out the information in her head was incomplete.

If only he could be sure she was here. He’d studied the cabin windows, but they were too frosted for him to see anything. He needed to look inside. No way could he cross that clearing in daylight. He was good, but not that good.

It was going to be a long day. He hoped that at the end of it, he wouldn’t find out he’d been watching the wrong foxhole.

* * * *

“So, what do you think of my small…domain?” Grady asked Amelia as he led her back into the main room of the cabin.

What she thought was that her life expectancy had just been dramatically shortened. She was pretty sure that if he had planned to let her go, he wouldn’t have shown her his hidden barracks, told her about his terrorist training program, introduced her to his reduced winter staff and told her his name.

On the plus side, she’d caught a glimpse of a map of the area with the camp marked on it and now knew exactly where she was. Now if she could figure out to make use of the information. There were phones scattered around the underground complex, but they all seemed to be connected to a central switchboard, which he’d made a point of showing her. Perhaps he’d noticed her eyeing the phones? Even if the phones weren’t so inconveniently situated, she was quite sure one of Grady’s men would happily shoot her if she were so foolish as to try for one.

It was impossible not to compare him with Luke, to contrast this situation with her only other one. Grady thought his mere gaze had some kind of power, the same with his smile, since he trotted it out every other second. He wasn’t unpleasant to look at. His sturdy, Irish body was strong and well made, but his face lacked the strength and character that made Luke’s face so fascinating to her. There was weakness in Grady’s chin and plenty of stubbornness, and she sensed his utter selfishness. Contrast that with Luke, who had so willingly risked his life for her, a stranger with no memory.

Thinking of Luke gave her strength. Did she have character? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so. She hoped she had the strength to resist whatever it was this guy wanted from the person he seemed to think she was.

Grady was patient. He’d asked his question, and now he waited quietly for her answer. He seemed sure he would get what he wanted, so perhaps it was easy to be patient.

She turned from him and peered out the heavily frosted window. Before her breath fogged her view, she saw the snow-swept clearing, empty of all signs of the trouble beneath its surface. The sun was fading west, helping her to orient the cabin with the map in her head. She could remember it, right down to the gray smudge in one corner. It seemed she had a very good memory for everything but who she was.

“Nice view,” she said, dropping the words into the silence between them. He seemed so sure he had the upper hand. It would be satisfying to throw him off his self-satisfied stride. She looked at him over her shoulder. “I suppose the skiing is excellent?”

He chuckled. “Very.” He turned the bar. “A drink?”

She had no clue if she drank or not, but this didn’t seem like a good time to addle her wits with anything. “Just water, thank you.”

He smiled with conscious charm. “Don’t you trust me?”

She arched her brows and gave him a politely incredulous look. It was odd to feel this prim and proper person taking possession of her exterior. She turned back to the window as the fog in her head faltered for an instant. Instead of the clearing, she saw a room full of people, laughing and talking. One, a good-looking young man with a weak face, came toward her…

Grady chuckled again, shattering the memory into tiny fragments, but leaving the feeling of distaste and possibly fear, behind.

“Stupid question. What was I thinking?”

Behind her was the clink of glass, the sound of fluid interacting with ice. Outside, a man in winter camouflage suddenly emerged from the trees and walked across the clearing. He was smoking and carried an Uzi with casual confidence. He was dressed for the cold, with heavy boots and thick hat pulled down over his ears. His face looked chilled and cruel. He took a last drag on the cigarette, then flicked into a snow drift before disappearing around the corner of the cabin.

“Dinner should be ready soon, Prudence,” Grady said. “May I call you Prudence?”

Amelia looked at him.

“No,” she said. “You may call me Miss Hart.”

He froze with his glass halfway to his mouth. “Miss…Hart?”

“Miss Amelia E. Hart.” She propped a shoulder against the wall, crossed her arms and waited, curious and nervous about what he’d do with this.

Grady stared at her. What kind of game was she trying on him? No question she was not at all what he’d expected her to be. For one, she was far more interesting. Leslie had once again missed the forest for the trees during his recon. Her composure and her ability to deflect his efforts to develop empathy with her were rare. In fact, she was a first. He’d never met anyone he couldn’t get a toe hold into their head. She was closed, right down to her body language.

She had to be terrified and confused. Must be wondering why she was here and what he wanted. Unless she suspected he was after Shield. Even that didn’t explain her impressive composure. He’d hoped they could come to an agreement about what was in her head, but he could see that wasn’t going to happen. But he’d planned for it and had the drugs on hand.

As much as he wanted to get Shield, he realized he was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he’d met anyone that challenged him on any level.

“It’s a gallant try, my dear, but that dog won’t hunt.”

“I have ID in my coat pocket.”

She was really going to play it out? Okay, he’d see where it took them.

“O’Rourke?”

He popped his head around the corner. “Just a few more minutes…”

“Could you fetch the lady her coat from her room?”

“Okay.”

His footsteps clumped up the stairs, then across the hall. He’d returned with the coat and handed it to Grady, who felt in the pockets and removed a driver’s license.

“Amelia E. Hart.” He looked at her. “How enterprising of you. But the dog still isn’t hunting. You should have used a different picture.”

Her expression didn’t crack, but he sensed the small break in her confidence. He turned and dug through the desk, pulled out the purse they’d taken off her during the first grab. In a minute, he had her other driver’s license. He held them both up for her.

She came toward him reluctantly, and for the first time he was aware of her as a woman. She moved with unconscious grace, her body fluid as a doe. There was something wild as a doe about her as well, something simmering beneath her tidy, controlled surface. This was a woman at odds with herself. Might be fun to be the one to introduce her to that wild side.

She stopped just out of reach, as if she sensed the change in his regard. Or maybe she could just see the change in his interest. A man couldn’t hide some things.

He stepped toward her, just enough so she could take the two licenses and made sure their hands touched as she took them. She didn’t flinch or in any way acknowledge the contact, but he felt her deepening withdrawal. It was as if her soul had retreated even more deeply inside herself.

Wasn’t too hard to figure out who had put the protective hide on her. Les had talked freely about her old man. She stared down at the two pieces of plastic, her face an exquisite mask, even with the bruises and scratches standing out on her pale skin. She may have paled more. It was hard to tell. Her lashes lifted, until she was looking at him.

Damn, she was remarkable. Her composure was complete. This was a woman who could fit into his life. What an asset she’d be, in looks and brains.

“They say everyone has a twin.”

He had the feeling she threw that out as a stall, while she considered something, but what was there to consider? He had the goods on her. He held all the cards. He didn’t say anything. Just gave her tit-for-tat by arching his brows in disbelief.

She came to a decision. He did pick up that. She tossed the two licenses aside. “Your men grabbed me before.”

“That’s right. You took a header out of the chopper. Gutsy, but stupid. And pointless, Miss Knight. I’m a man who always gets what he wants.”

“And what is it that you want?”

Grady gave her a politely incredulous look. “Shield. It was always about Shield.”

She turned away from him, tracing the corner of his desk with her finger. He had a vision of her sprawled across its surface, naked and waiting for him, her expression no longer closed. Yes, he’d have to give serious consideration to keeping her. Like Shield, she was one of a kind.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you with that,” she said. “Even if I knew what you were talking about. Which I don’t.”

“You’re far too intelligent to play games, my dear.” He gave in to the temptation to touch her, a light caress to the back of her neck. That got a reaction. She moved away from him so quickly, his hand still hung in the air. She faced him, still composed, but with an air of being on guard and ready to fight.

“You’re right. I am. But you see, I’m not playing anything. Your first attempt and my dive, had an unfortunate side effect. I lost my memory.”

“What?” He reared back, sex thoughts vanishing as fast they had arrived.

“You heard me. I have no memory of anything. Amelia. Prudence. You could tell me I was Cleopatra of the Nile and I wouldn’t know. It’s all…gone. For all intents and purposes, my life began a couple of days ago.”

Grady stared at her, his thoughts spinning in all different directions. What amazed him the most was that he believed her. It was more than the sincerity of her voice. It went deeper than that. His damn special sense told him she spoke the truth. And the glint of satisfaction in her eyes, the first crack in her composure. He smiled. He didn’t blame her. It must have been a sweet moment for her. Let her enjoy it. It was possible the truth drugs he had on hand could crack the memory loss. He’d have to do some checking on that while he waited for their chat with Donovan. For now…

O’Rourke came in. “You said you wanted to know about, you know.”

The distraction was a good one. “Well?”

O’Rourke shook his head. So. Donovan hadn’t managed to kill Leslie yet.

“Thanks.”

Grady thought for a moment, then picked up his cell phone. Time to twist the tiger’s tale again. He dialed Donovan’s cell phone number, smiling at his guest in a way that he hoped made her feel very uncomfortable.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Donovan,” he said. “More time? We’re both running out of time.”

Amelia, she still felt like Amelia no matter who Grady said she was, resisted the urge to shift. And who was this Donovan he was talking to? One of the men she’d seen down in the communications area downstairs ran up and signaled to Grady. He covered the mouth piece, leaning toward the man who whispered something to him. He looked startled, then pleased. He said something to the man, who looked at her, then nodded.

Something had happened to shift the balance of power. Grady was no longer patient or relaxed. He wasn’t even…excited anymore. It was something else.

She was right. The other man grabbed her arm, shoving a Glock into her side.

“Bring her outside,” Grady said.

Even with the gun at her side, the fresh air was a welcome change from the heated, deadly atmosphere inside. It also gave her a better view of where she was. As she was dragged into the center of the clearing, she looked around, getting her bearings as best she could.

The man holding her transferred the gun to her head, standing behind her as both men studied the mountainside.

“I know you’re there, Donovan. We picked you up on our scanners,” Grady said into his phone. “Show yourself or she’s dead.”

SIXTEEN

Luke had spent the day rushing forward, as fast and furious as he could, but at the end of it, his thoughts, like the furies or hell hounds, stayed right on his heels, trying to bring to the front of his mind the one thing he didn’t want to admit, acknowledge or feel.

It was natural to feel worried about Amelia. It wasn’t natural to feel frantic. Or to feel like his life would be over if he didn’t find her again. He’d felt that once, didn’t want to feel it again, but it had crept up on him, blind siding him while his defenses were down. If he wasn’t already in love with her, he was damn close.

He thought he only got one shot at this kind of love, the kind that wasn’t about sex or companionship, but was both and more. He’d found it with Rosemary. He’d known she was right for him right away. The more he learned about her only deepened his sense of discovery and his love for her.

Guess I should have recognized the feeling, he thought ruefully, rubbing his face as he waited in the chilly parking garage for Bryn to start things moving. This was her show and soon she’d have as much at stake in it as he did. As it got closer to the time for Dewey to start his lonely drive south, she got more brittle, more like the Bryn she’d been when she came west. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable, and she didn’t yet know there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

She’d learn, like he had, that love could come into your life, then fade to memories. He knew time was precious and fleeting. That it had to be savored, not run from. She’d learn. He hoped she wouldn’t learn it the way he had. He stood outside the dim garage lights. The setting sun turned the air bitter cold. Inside the garage the chilly air had a metallic edge to it caused by all the exhaust in the closed space. In the semi-dark, with preparations happening all around him, he faced his own fear that he wouldn’t survive if he took another stroll down lover’s lane, but that was stupid really. What, was he going to lay down and die? No such luck. The real fear was of living alone again with all that pain. The fear wasn’t of not surviving, but knowing he would survive. Dani, Matt’s wife, talked a lot about survivor’s guilt. About how surviving wasn’t the option, but how you dealt with survival was. She knew firsthand that it was hard to be the one left behind, forced to have the stiff upper lip and the smile, to tell people you’re fine when you’re gut was on fire with the agony of being left behind, left alone after having it all.

He’d gone up the mountain, so sure he’d figured it all out, so sure he was in control, ready to face the world. Master of his fate. Captain of his soul.

He gave a silent laugh. Yeah, right. An arrogant notion, this idea that man controlled his own destiny. All you could control was your response to what happened to you. Look at that weenie, Leslie Merryweather. Guy was born to money, even had what passed for a brain, and all he can figure out to do with it is kill someone weaker than him. He thought he was in control, too, when it was his impulses that were running the show.

Which brought him back to his own impulses. He wanted to tear up the countryside until Amelia was safe again and then keep her somewhere safe, but she didn’t belong to him. And tearing things up might get her killed. He wasn’t some spoiled little shit like Leslie. He was a man, a lawman. An adult. Time he started acting like one.

He straightened and walked over to Matt, who sent him a quick, worried look.

“You all right?”

Luke grinned at the question. It was a hard one to get shed of. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m all right.”

Matt nodded, then looked ahead. “We’ll find her, bro.”

Luke wasn’t so sure, but he did know Matt would do his damnedest, as would he. That would have to be enough for now. “We ready to rock and roll?”

Bryn had opted for a small team, counting on stealth, rather than force to achieve their objective. Their team consisted of a four man SWAT squad, Jake and Matt, Bryn and Luke—who had a warrant for Leslie Merryweather’s arrest in his pocket. Mann might be a little miffed at being left out of the fun—or he’d at least pretend to be. Crawling around in the snow wasn’t his idea of a good time. Bryn had been hoping Donovan would join them, but he’d disappeared off the radar after tipping them off about Leslie Merryweather. She’d tried to call him back after Leslie gave them the slip, but he was offline and out of touch.

The plan, such as it was, was for Dewey to set out, assuming he’d be picked up for surveillance at some point along the way. Over Dewey’s objections, Bryn had opted to use choppers to move in, flying at low level, to avoid detection, then switching to ground transportation so they could set up a loose, low profile, perimeter around the meet and only moving in well after the time for the meet. They’d be further back than she liked, but it was a compromise Dewey had insisted on. No question that their target had created a challenge, but it was one they were willing to meet.

Dewey would go in, activating the transponder if he was in trouble, or when he located Amelia or had determined she wasn’t there. Any sign of probable cause and they’d move in, and scoop up all the perps and rescue the girl.

Luke saw Dewey straighten at Bryn’s approach.

“You ready, Mr. Hyatt?” she asked.

Dewey’s lips twitched, but he responded seriously, “Yes, Miss Bailey.”

After an exchange of looks that took some of the chill out of the air around them, she said, “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Dewey’s grin was crooked as he climbed into his car. He started the engine, gave her a jaunty salute and pulled out. Bryn waited until he was out of sight before she turned and said, “Let’s move out.”

Luke noticed that everyone gave her a lot of room as they complied. It was nice to know she had as much at stake in this as he did, he decided. And he was damn glad he wasn’t the one between her and what she wanted.

* * * *

“I have you in my sights, Grady,” Donovan said, his finger on the trigger of his rifle, Grady’s head in his cross hairs.

“And my guy is holding a gun to your girl’s head. If I die, so does she. Now get your ass down here, Donovan. Hey, you said you wanted to talk to her.”

“So I did.” Donovan lowered the rifle. He couldn’t play chicken with Pru’s life. Damn, he should have figured Grady’d have scanning equipment if he was training terrorists. He wasn’t thinking clearly. It was easy to be cool and calm when it was your own life on the line. He couldn’t do it with Pru’s. “I am going to kill you, Grady.”

“It’s good to have a goal. Now show yourself.” His voice hardened. “I don’t have to kill her to…hurt her. My men have been dying to…play with her.”

Donovan’s hands clenched into fists. The bastard was going to pay. “You win. For now.”

He pushed up through the branches and snow he’d used for cover, noting with satisfaction he’d managed to startle Grady by being much closer than he’d expected. He moved down the hill toward Pru and Grady, holding his rifle by the barrel so Grady’s goon wouldn’t get jumpy. It was a relief when the goon turned his attention to him, taking his rifle, a pistol, a knife and his satellite phone. He handed the phone to Grady who examined it.

“Nice.” He turned it off and tucked it in his pocket. “That everything?”

He knew Pru was watching him, but he kept his attention on Grady. “Hardly.”

Grady laughed. “I like you, Donovan. Let’s have it.”

Donovan removed two more pistols, a sawed off shotgun and another knife, tossing them at Grady’s feet. His gaze locked on Grady’s he added, “Sorry, can’t remove the arms and legs.”

“Point taken,” Grady said, taking one step back from him. “But I don’t think you’ll use them while Miss Knight is at risk?”

For the first time, Donovan let himself look at Pru. He almost didn’t recognize her without her glasses and the new hair cut. But her eyes were the same. Cool, deflective, remote. Bruises marred the pale purity of her skin, bringing his insides to a boil with rage. But damn, she made him proud. She stood there, her back as straight as a soldier’s, her chin up in cool defiance. No way was she Knight’s daughter. A warrior’s blood ran in her veins. His blood.

“No. I won’t kick your ass now,” Donovan said. To Pru he said, “You all right?”

Her chin lifted a bit. “Of course. Though the accommodations are—” She finished with a shrug and a snooty grimace.

Donovan bit back a grin. “Good girl.”

Grady laughed. “Your girl’s a pistol, Donovan. Been tempted to keep her for myself.”

Donovan’s insides clenched, but he didn’t let his face show anything but disdain. “Never happen.”

Grady didn’t flinch, but his gaze narrowed, even as he widened his smile. “I like your can do attitude, Donovan. We’re going to get along just fine—if you do what I say.”

“Surely you can find people to kill for you,” Donovan said.

“Killers are easy. Good assassins,” he shrugged, “are expensive. I like having money, not wasting it. Not when I can get two things I want for the price of one.” He looked at Pru, his gaze far too interested for Donovan’s comfort. “Did your boyfriend tell you he’s a trained sniper? Oh, that’s right, you can’t remember, can you?” He turned to Donovan. “Guess that means you don’t get a hello kiss.”

Donovan gave him a look and realized that Pru had, too. He had a sinking feeling it was the mirror of his, a feeling confirmed when he saw Grady’s eyes widen.

“Well, well, this gets more and more interesting.” His gaze traveled between them with unnerving intensity, but to Donovan’s relief he merely said, “We should take this inside. I think the lady’s cold.”

Grady held out his arm to Pru. She ignored it, turning on her heel and sweeping into the cabin as if it were a castle she was taking. Bryn had said she didn’t remember anything. If she was right, Pru hid it well. The goon indicated with the barrel of the rifle that Donovan should precede him inside. With inner amusement, Donovan noticed he kept what he thought was a safe distance. Since it was what he wanted to do, Donovan complied, taking his time to let the goon know who was really in control.

Inside Grady spoke to someone he called O’Rourke. “Set another place for dinner.” He stopped and looked at Donovan. “You will join us, won’t you?”

“I’m feeling a bit uckish,” Donovan said.

“I’m not going to have to cuff you, am I? It’s such a messy way to eat.”

“Not necessary.” Donovan didn’t mention that he hadn’t met a pair of cuffs he couldn’t pick. Instead he looked at Pru, offering her his arm. She looked startled, then she smiled. The effect on her face was startling, to say the least. “I like the new hairdo. It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

Donovan saw her look at Grady, and the shutters went down in her face again. Smart girl. As they walked to the rough-hewn table, he studied her out of the corner of his eyes. That she looked aloof was not unusual, but whatever had happened to her over the last few days had changed her, a change that went beyond the new haircut. She looked…lighter, and freer, despite her current captivity. With a jolt, he realized she didn’t know that Knight had died. That to her, she was without a father. Had she loved him, he wondered? He’d never seen any sign of affection between them, but he wasn’t in their inner circle.

He pulled out her chair in front of a place setting that looked like military surplus. When she was seated, he took the one next to her.

“You look…well,” he said.

Amelia looked at him and gave him a small smile, but her thoughts were chaotic. Was he really her boyfriend? Were they an item? Had they had some kind of relationship? It felt wrong. She felt liking for him, but not attraction. Even if Luke didn’t want her, she belonged to him. This meeting from her missing past just made her conviction stronger. She felt guilty and anxious. This Donovan seemed nice and was worried about her, so much so, that he’d been lurking in the snow trying to rescue her. It was an obligation she didn’t want and hadn’t asked for. The weight of it ignited the trapped feeling that lurked just below her memory.

Grady took the seat at the head of the table, O’Rourke the one opposite her where he smiled at her like a hopeful suitor. It was an odd scene. The firelight from the fireplace flickered off the beamed ceiling as the sun faded from the sky, turning the frost a brief, brilliant gold before it faded to gray. It had all the trappings of a dinner with friends. Except for the lack of friends and the armed men close at hand, one standing behind her with his Uzi trained on her back. Donovan may have been given his parole, but it was obvious that Grady still didn’t trust him. She didn’t blame him. Donovan had walked down the mountain with such an air of leashed menace that Grady had taken an involuntary step backward. Did he know he was in deep, she wondered?

She peeked at Donovan out of the corner of her eyes. He looked old enough to be her father, which made her think of Luke’s concerns about her age. Apparently the same concerns hadn’t troubled Donovan. Did that mean she had a taste for older men?

Donovan was handsome. He was better looking in some ways than Luke. His face was more classically handsome, though Amelia preferred Luke’s craggy lines and angles to the classical. Just thinking about him curled her toes in her shoes. And Donovan knew how to make an entrance. He’d managed to startle Grady when he’d risen out of the snow like a ghost. His military camouflage, the paint on his face and his erect, soldier’s bearing added to her overall impression that here was a striking man—in the literal and figurative sense of the word striking. She could see him appealing to some women, had felt a thrill herself at first sight of him. He had a rakish charm, right out of a romance novel. Even had a scar above one eye. If she were Grady, she’d be sweating, not eating. Despite all this, the thought of kissing him or intimacy with him left her feeling a bit nauseous.

Her mouth wanted to kiss only Luke. And the thought of intimacy with him made her shiver. She lowered her lashes, pretending to study the plate of food one of Grady’s men placed in front of her. Just thinking about him turned her soft and languid, lifting her out of the here and now to the then with him. Thinking about how he’d tasted heated up her middle better than the fire flickering in the fireplace. She could feel the warm tracking up her neck into her face. With a hand that only stayed steady with severe effort, she lifted her water glass and drank, sending down the cold mountain water to put out the fire.

This was not the time or place for fire. It was the time for icy thought. Cold planning. Firm resolve. She had to believe she could survive this. Half of any battle began in the mind.

She looked at Donovan. Was he the one who’d said this to her? Was he the part of her past that this had come from? His attitude toward her was so formal and protective—his gaze worried, not heated. His discipline impressed her, but his motives troubled her. The thought that he might want what she couldn’t give tightened her chest.

“Not hungry?” Grady said, breaking into her thoughts.

She poked the slab of meat with her fork, arching one brow in inquiry. It had a wild taste and took up more of the plate than she liked. The sad looking veggies were pushed to one small corner, with a huge potato hugging the meat’s other side. Also, no sight or smell of a dessert.

“Elk,” Grady said. “How do you like it?”

“If I were a bear, I’m sure I’d be in heaven.”

He chuckled. “It’s probably just as well if you don’t eat too much. I’m not sure how the scopolamine will affect you. Not an easy meal to hurl.”

Her brain produced the fact that scopolamine was a truth drug, but not much else, which was odd. Her brain had practically been puking facts since she woke up in Luke’s cabin. Now it decided to be sparing?

Donovan stiffened. He leaned forward, his face urgent. The guard behind him stepped closer, his Uzi ready.

“Don’t do this, Grady.” Donovan looked at Amelia. “You have no idea what effect the drug will have on her memory. It could just as easily wipe it out completely.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Grady said.

Amelia wasn’t surprised to hear this, though her insides cringed at the thought of being out of control again. She couldn’t let it happen. Not again. Not now, when Grady’s eyes were no longer dispassionate when he looked at her. There was no question that the forces aligned against her were formidable. The cabin was isolated. The weather was hostile. There were armed men everywhere. All she had to pit against this was her resolve. It would have to be enough. If it wasn’t, well, they’d have to kill her, because they weren’t knocking her out again.

“I can’t afford to wait for her memory to return. And I have a feeling that even if she could remember, she wouldn’t give up SHEILD.” His gaze slid her way, admiring and vaguely frustrated. “There’s an unyielding quality about you, my dear. I used to train horses in my misspent youth. I learned to recognize which horses could be broke to a bridle and which couldn’t.”

She felt him try to reach her again, with his charm and that something more that he appeared to possess, something she didn’t recognize, but could feel even as her gaze worked to deflect him yet again. In some ways, it felt like this probing was the greater peril than a sexual attack. This probing sought to reach her mind, her soul. It was a relief when his gaze moved to Donovan, a look of malicious amusement turning Grady’s eyes dark.

“Hard to believe that sour old bastard, Knight is your father.”

At the word ‘father,’ Amelia’s world tilted, a quick, short stab of pain taking out her sight for a moment. When her vision cleared, she could feel the thin skim of sweat on her forehead and upper lip. The pain was slow to fade, leaving a dull ache behind her eyes to plague her. She was aware that Donovan had tensed next to her. And that this amused Grady. Thankfully neither man seemed aware of her distress.

She looked at the meat, felt her stomach roil and pushed her plate away. The water looked good, but she wasn’t sure she could lift her arms. They felt weak. Behind the pain, there’d been a flash of something that her mind had flinched away from. If her memory was returning, it had picked a hell of a time.

Grady laughed and lifted his wine glass, breaking the thread of the testosterone moment between he and Donovan.

“Relax, Donovan. We all know that Miss Knight never forgets anything. Well, almost anything.”

She looked down, her eyes felt owl wide and Sahara dry. Was it possible she had a photographic memory? That would explain the encyclopedia-like flood of trivia trickling out of her muddled brain. What she knew and didn’t know. A buzzing sense of relief took some of the edge off the ache. I’m not a bad person. Not a hit woman or thief.

Grady looked relaxed and triumphant. He thought he was in control—a touch of hubris that might be exploited? He thought he had his bases covered, but Donovan’s appearance had startled him. So he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was. Her lack of memory had to be a big setback, too.

She became aware that Grady was still talking.

“…sent Dr. Knight to the hospital…”

Pain exploded in her head again. Through tiny, explosions of light, she saw them still talking. Her head felt like it was going to fall off and they hadn’t noticed. Maybe all the action was inside. Little flashes of memory appeared and disappeared so fast she couldn’t take them in. Like tiny lights in real fog, they did more to highlight what she couldn’t see than what she could.

The flash of ambulance lights.

Feelings of panic.

A man in a hospital bed, his face twisted with pain and rage. His mouth moving with words she couldn’t—or was that wouldn’t—hear.

And with each flash of the past, the pain worsened. Not content with rampaging through her head, it spread downward toward her heart…

From a long way away, she heard Donovan say, “You don’t know what you’re messing with. I’m telling you, you could erase her memory permanently!”

Please do. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Grady wiped his mouth with his napkin, then crumpled it and tossed it on his empty plate.

I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to know… With that thought, the lights and memory began to fade, taking the pain with them. She realized she was holding her breath, and let it out on a shaky sigh. The two men were still arguing, unaware her universe had been turned on its head. Luke had talked about shock and memory the night they met. They’d both assumed it was the shock of the kidnapping that had erased her hard drive, but now she wasn’t so sure. If she was Prudence Knight, then this Dr. Knight must be her father—

Pain exploding again, knocking her off this train of thought with pointed emphasis. Okay, don’t go there. I got that. She rubbed her temples until the pain eased again.

“But enough about that,” Grady was saying. “Let’s talk about you. You now know I do have Miss Knight and that I have no qualms about hurting her. The only question left is, what are you going to do so that I won’t?”

Donovan looked at her, then back at Grady. If looks could have killed, Grady would be lying on his back, barely twitching.

Amelia stared at him as the weight that had left with her memory, pressed down on her again. She remembered this feeling, even if she couldn’t remember why. She remembered it well—the weight of others’ expectations. And needs.

“Please…don’t do anything for me,” she said, her voice a desperate thread of sound. If he did this, she’d never be free of him. Her debt to him would be too great to walk away from. “Just…don’t.”

“Trust me. It’ll be all right.” He covered her hand with his, his touch igniting her panic instead of calming it. Looking in his eyes, she could feel Luke slipping away from her. He looked at Grady. “You bastard.”

“Hey, her old man is the one who stuffed his data in her head. Call him the bastard. Oh, you can’t, can you?” An edge altered his voice with something Amelia could only call…evil. “Too bad he’s dead. And not sitting right next to her.”

Dead? Her…old man? Her brain found this term less inflammatory than that other parental name, though the pain still came.

Donovan surged to his feet, his hands reached for Grady. His men jumped at him, pulling him back. One raised the butt of his Uzi with the intention of bringing it down on his head, but Grady stopped him with a sharp command.

“He’s not hurting me,” Amelia lied, looking at Donovan, trying to hold him with her gaze. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember…him.” That was a lie, too. She could see a face, a twisted, angry face. Her insides quivered, but she refused to allow Grady to see her squirm. She shrugged. Donovan stared a few beats longer, then his body relaxed. Finally he nodded.

“I’m very sorry about…it, Miss Knight,” he said.

“Thank you.” The pressure, the panic eased. Odd he didn’t call her Prudence, though she was glad of it, too. “And please, call me Amelia.”

“Amelia?” He looked taken aback.

“It seems little Miss Perfect Daughter had a secret identity,” Grady said. He looked like he was enjoying himself. He got up and tossed Donovan the two drivers’ licenses.

Donovan studied them for a bit, then looked at her with a charming, crooked grin. “Clever girl. I wondered where you went—” he stopped, then said, “When this is over—”

He stopped again. Maybe because he knew they wouldn’t be alive when it was. His eyes promised her his best effort, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to owe him her life. She wasn’t a good person. She was an ungrateful person.

“I’m touched,” Grady said. “Really, but it’s time to get down to business.”

Donovan stiffened, then he looked at Grady. “So who is it you want me to kill this time?”

Amelia jerked in her chair. Damn, she hoped he wasn’t her lover, because it looked like he was the hit man.

* * * *

After a brief moment of elation at eluding Kirby and friend, Leslie spent the next few hours in fetal position on the cement floor of his dad’s old bomb shelter sobbing. He’d stumbled across it as a boy, using it as a private club house, then updating it as he got older. Now it served as his hideout. It was here he kept the equipment he used in the Green raids. It was here he’d planned to hide what’s-her-name. It was also a bunker in every sense of the word. It was well stocked with weapons, explosives and food. And it had a communications center, but there was no one for him to call. The only person he ever called from here was Grady. Always Grady—who had betrayed him.

Years, years they’d spent planning this, talking about it. Or had they talked? With his recently discovered hindsight, Leslie examined the years with Grady. He’d talked. And Grady had listened. And listened. And listened. Heady stuff to a kid with a father to whom not listening was an art form. He’d never heard Grady say he supported Green’s objectives. He had encouraged setting up the Irregulars, had laughed with him at the irony of it, while he set up the little, armed kingdom in the mountains. And given himself his handle, Forest for the Trees.

Damn. He’d laughed about it, thinking he knew what it meant and all the time, Grady was laughing at him. The bastard had played him with a few words of encouragement, and Leslie had given him his trust and piles and piles of money. No, it was worse than that. Leslie had given Grady his love. Not the twisted love between parent or child, or the sexual crap between a man and a woman. This had been the clean, pure love of friends. Or so he’d thought.

Was it just the money? Or was it something else Grady wanted? Why decide to kill the cash cow now? But he already knew the answer.

Shield.

Grady was hoping for a new cash cow, maybe one that didn’t talk so much or need so much. It was always about control. Who had it, who didn’t. That’s what his dad always said. Who had it. Who didn’t.

Leslie pulled himself into a sitting position and smiled through his tears. Grady was in for several surprises. He didn’t know everything about him. And he didn’t know everything about Shield.

It was time he found out.

SEVENTEEN

Dewey was annoyed with himself and Forest for the Trees by the time he reached the rendezvous point. He could be snug in bed with Bryn, his wife, right now, not sitting at some God forsaken intersection waiting for a very suspicious wacko. It was dang ironic that he’d started this to get closer to Bryn, and now he was further from her than ever.

He pulled his truck to the side of the road and turned off the headlights. The night descended, dark and forbidding. There was little moon to be seen in the sky. Just a thin crescent casting enough light to put an eerie glow on the surface of the snow and make the shadows around the trees deeper.

It looked like he was alone in the universe right now, but Dewey knew better. He was out there and he wasn’t alone. Dewey could feel eyes watching him. Knew he was being assessed. After being under Bryn’s microscope for a year, he wasn’t worried. He knew how to hide—even when the hiding was inside himself.

Dewey had decided on a modified geek disguise for the op. People expected it from hackers. Slicked down hair. Plaid shirt. Dockers. Penny loafer shoes. Polyester jacket. Some padding in the cheeks to alter his profile. And, of course, the all-important glasses with tape around the nose bridge. And in case they were suspicious enough to check, he’d even broken them before he taped them, then dirtied the tape.

It would be interesting to see just how paranoid Forest was. And if Dewey had been paranoid enough. This had all been a lot easier when he hadn’t cared if he lived or died. He wished he wasn’t so cut off. Be nice to have Bryn hissing sweet bitchings in his ear right now.

He’d been out at night, but not in the wilds. He was pretty sure that critters hibernated in the winter. Ninety percent sure. Well, sixty percent sure. Not sure enough to get out of the truck, even though pacing would have been a relief. Instead, he started beating a discordant rhythm on the steering wheel.

The motor was still running, but not loud enough. He reached for the radio knob, hoping for any kind of signal in the boondocks, when a bright light cut the night, freezing him in mid-reach. He shaded his eyes and tried to pierce the light. That’s when he heard the chopper approach. It swooped in, its search light sweeping the area before it settled down in a clearing a short distance away. The rotation of the blades kicked up the snow, adding a fog effect to the eerie scene. In the light from the chopper, he could see a jeep with a machine gun mounted in the rear. Three armed men manned the jeep, giving him the odd feeling he’d been transported back in time to the Battle of the Bulge.

“Show time.” He shut off the engine, pocketed the keys and slid out, his tennis shoe shod feet slipping on an icy patch under the snow. He regained his balance, then shut the door and walked to the front of the truck, still shielding his face from the bright lights and blowing snow.

One of the men hopped out of the jeep and approached him, tossing a bundle of clothes onto the hood of the truck.

“Take off everything and put these on,” the faux Rambo ordered.

Dewey had known it was coming, but being right wasn’t that satisfying with the prospect of freezing his family jewels off just when they’d been put into service. He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. What was the point? He was just wasting what body heat he had left.

He quickly stripped and donned the other clothes, aware his jewels weren’t displaying well in the bitter cold. His teeth were chattering when he pulled on a bulky coat. There were gloves and a hat in the pocket. He pulled them on, too. Next time Bryn had a problem, neither of his personalities were going to step up to volunteer

“Now what?” Dewey asked, stamping his feet and beating his arms against his sides to try to restore warmth.

The guy didn’t answer, but Dewey saw two men climb out of the chopper, their heads down, bodies bent until they cleared the rotating blades. Once clear, they joined him at the truck. One guy was tall and covered in winter camouflage. Spooky looking with furious eyes. The other one was Forest. Dewey knew it even before he spoke. He looked and acted like he was in control. It was in the way he moved and in his eyes. He was enjoying all the fanfare and playing at soldier. Odd attitude for an environmental wacko. It was a lovely bit of misdirection that Dewey could appreciate.

“Phagan?” Forest held out a gloved hand. Dewey took it, shook it. “Keys?”

“Huh?” Dewey pushed his glasses up on his nose, falling into the role he’d created for himself.

“To the truck. My friend here needs to borrow it. He’ll bring it back, won’t you, Donovan?”

Donovan gave a short, sharp nod.

Dewey stared at him in fascination. So this was Donovan. He said, “In my coat pocket.”

One of Forest’s men searched the coat, then tossed Donovan the keys.

A smaller, Irish looking, heavily bundled guy shifted nervously. “Shouldn’t someone go with him, Grady?”

Grady flashed him a quick, annoyed look. “He won’t mess with me, will you, Donovan?”

Another short, sharp nod. He went to the truck and opened the door, stopping when Grady spoke again.

“Noon, Donovan.”

Donovan looked at Grady. Dewey was glad that look wasn’t directed at him. Talk about killing. Grady just smiled.

“Noon. Or else.”

Donovan got in and slammed the door. When he’d fired the engine, he gunned it, then spun out, the rear of the truck fish tailing before the wheels found the needed traction.

Dewey thought of several things he could have said, but they weren’t appropriate for his persona, so he kept them to himself. He sure missed working with Phoebe. She always knew what he was thinking, even the smart ass stuff, and would give him a look that was as good as a laugh. With a silent sigh for what had been, he turned his attention to Grady. The man stared at his glasses.

“You need those to see?” he asked.

“Only reason for wearing them,” Dewey said, pushing them up again.

“May I?” He reached for the glasses. Dewey nodded, letting him pluck them from his nose, then peered myopically at him as Grady held them up to the light. He moved them a little, feeling the break in the bridge. “Ever think of getting new ones?”

Dewey shrugged. “Maybe when I run out of tape.”

Grady laughed. “I had a feeling I’d like you, Phagan.” He slapped him on the back. “Let’s go somewhere warmer.”

* * * *

Grady had sent Amelia back to her room before the men discussed their business. It seemed he had missed the women’s movement. Donovan had jumped to his feet, taking her hand one more time and squeezing it so hard panic crawled up her throat again. She’d longed for time alone with him to find out more about herself, while at the same time feeling relieved to leave him behind.

As O’Rourke directed her toward the stairs, she’d spotted a paper clip on the desk, close to her two driver’s licenses. As she passed the desk, she picked them and the clip up with them. She’d held the licenses up.

“Can I take these with me?”

Grady hesitated, as if the question surprised him, then shrugged and nodded. As she climbed the stairs, she heard him asking Donovan if he wanted some brandy. It was all quite freaky. It was as if Grady couldn’t make up his mind between genial host and evil overlord.

Back in her room, O’Rourke, with an apologetic air, had secured one wrist to the bed again and then locked her in. As soon as he was out of ear shot, she unbent the paper clip and went to work on the lock. She was still working on it when she heard the sound of a chopper arriving. Anxiety faded with action. She was doing something, not just a staked lamb waiting for the slaughter.

There were cracks appearing in the wall of fog holding in her past. She had a hazy memory of being in the chopper, though none of falling out or struggling to get to Luke’s cabin. It was possible she never would remember that. She couldn’t remember where, but she did remember reading something about memory loss from an accident being permanent.

Donovan played no role in any of the little bits of stuff she was remembering. It seemed obvious that she’d had a personal shock of some kind, something related to her father. It was possible that he was part of it, and that’s why she couldn’t remember him. Just thinking the word “father” sent little frissions of pain off in her head. Something so painful that her brain shied away from remembering it. Not being a masochist—that she knew of—she let that sleeping dog lie and turned to another unanswerable question.

Who was it that Grady was trying to force Donovan to kill?

He’d looked so grim, it must be someone important. If he succeeded, his life would be over. He’d either go to jail or be killed. She didn’t want, didn’t need the burden of that. If you were going to incur a debt, shouldn’t you get some say in it?

She pulled the clip out and bent the end, then eased it back in, feeling for the latch that she was trying to release. If she could free herself, then she wouldn’t owe him. The point caught on something. Was that it? She upped the pressure and the cuff fell away from her wrist.

“Not completely useless,” she muttered. Freed from restraint, she was able to search the rest of the room. Not that it did her much good. There was nothing in any of the drawers, other than the Bible she’d found before. The window was latched from the outside. With a sigh, she sat back down on the bed, hefting the Bible. As a weapon, it left a lot to be desired.

Outside, the chopper lifted off again. She could hear the clatter of the blades fading toward the north. As it subsided, she realized that someone was unlocking the door to her bedroom. She looped the handcuff back around her wrist, tucking the Bible out of sight under her pillow.

The door swung open, only this time it wasn’t O’Rourke or Grady in the doorway. It was the man she’d seen when she looked out the window, the one walking across the clearing. The one with the cruel face. His face was unchanged, except for the addition of an equally cruel smile. There was a look in his eyes that sent her adrenaline surging like a flash flood through a dry creek bed.

He stepped in and closed the door behind him, bringing the stench of lust and a creeping sense of evil with him. Her mouth went dry as he set his rifle aside, removed his cap and jacket and tossed them onto the chair, then began unbuckling the heavy utility belt around his waist.

* * * *

The staging area Bryn chose was a bleak, cold piece of real estate enough miles away from the rendezvous to give them a reasonable sense they hadn’t been spotted. They were running with little or no lights, keeping their profile low while they waited. And waited. And waited.

Luke spun and started back along the path he was wearing through the knee-deep snow and into the frozen turf. This was taking too long. They weren’t accomplishing anything. Everyone was pacing to stay warm, so Luke’s pacing didn’t stand out, but he’d have been doing the same had been one hundred degrees out, instead of spiraling toward zero.

Matt approached carrying a hot thermos and a couple of sandwiches. It reminded Luke of a time when it had been Matt wearing the path. A couple of plastic cups hung off one finger by the handles. Matt held out one to him, his eyes daring Luke to refuse.

“Enjoying this?” Luke growled.

“No. Now eat and drink.”

“I’ll just hurl it,” Luke protested, glaring down at the sandwich Matt dropped in his hand.

“No,” Matt said. “You won’t. You’ll feel like it, but you won’t. And you’ll have the strength to do your job when we get ready to move.”

“Any news?”

Matt shrugged. “According to GPS, Dewey’s truck is still waiting at the rendezvous. We’ve got the military tracking any aerial activity in the area. Nothing from them either.”

Lucky for them, Dewey’s truck had GPS capability, so they’d been able to track it to the rendezvous point, but it was frustrating to know so little. It was like being blind, only this time his other senses weren’t enhanced, Luke decided, with a frustrated sigh. He shoved the sandwich in his mouth and chewed, using the coffee to wash it down. A flurry of activity around the truck had them moving that way.

“What’s up?” Luke asked, as Jake jumped down.

“Truck’s moving again, back this way.”

“What’s our move?” Matt asked.

“Bryn wants us to stop the truck.”

Luke followed his two brothers to their truck. Matt took the wheel, firing the engine and spinning the truck around toward the road. In a few minutes, they were in position to block road on Bryn’s signal. Luke watched as the headlights, at first pinpoints in the black night, grew steadily larger. When the truck was about a hundred yards away, Bryn signaled and Matt pulled the truck into the road as Bryn pulled her rig in and closed the gap, turning on their headlights at the same moment.

The driver of the truck hit the brakes. The truck fishtailed, then slipped sideways, stopping within inches of their road block. The truck was covered, as Bryn’s men moved in, their guns trained on the cab.

“Get out of the truck,” one of them ordered.

Because of all the headlights, all Luke could see was a figure with his hands up.

The driver’s door opened with a creak of metal. The driver eased out, careful to keep his hands raised. As he stepped into the light, Luke saw a soldier in winter camouflage.

“Fancy meeting you here, Bryn,” he said.

Bryn’s gun was already being lowered, even before he spoke.

“Donovan.” She rubbed the back of her head. “What are you doing in this rig?”

“Following orders,” he said. He looked at Bryn, and for the first time, Luke saw the expression in his eyes. They were bleak and angry. Close to desperate. “He has her. I saw her. If you stop me, he’ll kill her.”

Luke pushed forward and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him partly off his feet. He didn’t even resist. “Not if we stop him.”

Eyeball to eyeball, Luke saw the moment the guy started thinking again.

“Where is she? Where are they holding her?”

He pulled free and straightened his clothes, his gaze curious as he studied Luke.

“Who the hell are you?”

Bryn pushed between them. “Long story. Just tell me, can you take us to where they’re holding her? Can we get to her?”

With some reluctance, Donovan looked from Luke to Bryn. “Won’t be easy. He’s got the place well guarded. He won’t kill her until he gets what there is of Shield. And I do my job.”

“And then he’ll kill her anyway,” Bryn said, her voice hard. “We both know it. So are you with us or not? Stop thinking like a father and start thinking like a soldier.”

She was right, but Luke didn’t like thinking about it. Neither did Donovan if his face were any indication. How had she gotten so important to him so quickly? He turned and looked in the directions of the mountains, remembering another time the mountains had hidden someone. They’d seemed so big, so vast when Dani was in them with that crazy bastard, Jonathan Hayes, and they’d managed to think their way to her and bring her back alive. He had to believe they could do it again, or he’d just sit down and cry. Or go off with his head up his butt like Donovan. He turned back to the group, where a tense Donovan still faced a pugnacious Bryn.

Donovan’s chest heaved in a sigh. “I’m with you. Of course I’m with you.”

Bryn’s hard look cracked into a real smile. “Good. I’m got a map in the van. Tell us what we need to do.”

* * * *

Amelia winced as he dropped his utility belt, laden with ammo and what looked like grenades, to the floor, only mildly relieved when something didn’t blow. More weaponry followed it to the floor, so much she was surprised he had been able to stand upright. Then he sat down and began unlacing his boots. She swallowed as he dropped the first one on the wooden floor, smiling when she jumped at the sound.

Maybe it was the shock that gave her this terrible clarity of thought. Or maybe she just knew she didn’t have time to be afraid. She reached and found the cool, heavy Bible she’d left under her pillow. It wasn’t much, but its weight and its message offered comfort and support.

He unlaced the other boot and pulled it off, dropping it, too. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off to reveal powerful shoulders. A tattoo of a dragon marred one side of his chest, the head where his heart should have been. The tail trailed down his biceps almost to his wrist. All that was left was his pants. He stood, undoing the buttons one by one. He had the soul of a stripper, taking them down slowly, then kicking them into the corner.

The whole time, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. His body movement said it for him. Amelia looked once, then kept her gaze fixed on his face. It was obvious that he felt in control of the situation as he looked her top to bottom, his eyes stripping her down to cringing flesh.

Her body tensed, adrenaline screaming in her veins. Her head buzzed with it. Only one clear thought. She had to stop him.

His smile was feral as he closed on her. He grabbed her chin. His fingers digging in with cruel force, tightening until they cut down on her air.

Her head spun. Her vision narrowed sharply as she fought to stay conscious.

His eyes, his touch told her he wouldn’t be kind. He was a predator, concerned only with what he could take. With his free hand, he grabbed the neck of her shirt and ripped it off. His eyes raked her exposed flesh, her bra a frail barrier in the storm. His hand went to the strap on her shoulder, his nails raking her flesh as he ripped it down. His mouth swooped toward hers.

She couldn’t stand it. The stench of him filled her nostrils; her stomach roiled. She couldn’t abide his touch, couldn’t stand to have him erase the sweet memory of Luke’s kiss with his vileness.

Her knee jerked up with all the force she could muster, plus the adrenaline chaser. It slammed into his groin. His gasp sprayed her with his spit. She flinched away from it, from him. He shoved her away, the force knocking what little breath she had left out of her.

His body curled around his injured member with a wheezing groan.

She could see his neck. It was dirty, like a boy who’d been in mud. She lifted her arm holding the Bible. Then brought it down on his neck. The jolt of it vibrated up her arm. Her hand went numb and the Bible dropped. She backed away.

He seemed to hang there for a several heartbeats, then fell onto the bed.

She was sorry he’d had a soft landing. Her breathing was quick, panicked, but still distant. As if she’d left her body and become an observer. The air felt cold on her exposed skin. The wounds he’d inflicted throbbed with the frantic beat of her heart. But something insulated her from the full horror of what had almost happened. She edged past the feet sticking off the edge of the bed and grabbed his rifle.

It was an M1 carbine. She checked the clip. It looked like it held at least thirty rounds. She shoved the clip home again and pointed it at him, somewhat startled by how familiar it felt in her hands.

He wasn’t moving. He was breathing. A harsh, sonorous sound in the deep silence of the room. It occurred to her that she ought to secure him while she could. Keeping him covered, she retrieved the hand cuffs and secured one around his wrist, shoved it through the bed post and secured the other.

It was awful being close to him. He stank of cheap cologne, sweat and booze. He groaned, and her heart jumped into overdrive again. If he woke, he could raise an alarm. From her safe distance from herself, she watched as she lifted the butt of the gun and brought it down, but she stopped short of his temple.

What are you doing? She asked herself, horrified.

He was going to rape you, she reminded herself.

She lifted it again. This time she closed her eyes and brought it down without stopping. It crunched sickeningly. She opened her eyes. Saw blood bubble up from the wound she’d made and start down the side of his face. It dropped, brilliant red, on the white sheets of the bed.

Her stomach heaved. She could smell the blood. Worse, she could smell him. His smell was all around her. It seemed to fill the room. For a moment, horror broke through the barrier of shock protecting her, but she fought it back.

She covered him with the blanket and turned away with relief. She turned her back on him and looked at the door. It was closed, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t locked it when he came in. Why should he? He had the guns and the size. Just hadn’t had the brain.

She checked. The knob turned. She eased it open, peering out through a crack. The hall was empty. No sounds from downstairs. She could see the key hanging where O’Rourke kept it. She closed the door and leaned against it. She stared at the motionless man, then she picked up his pants.

“Yuck.” To get her mind off what he’d probably done in these pants, she measured her foot against the side of his boot. They’d work. It felt good to have a plan. And it kept the horror at bay.

EIGHTEEN

Luke couldn’t remember ever being this cold. It drilled through his gear and plucked at his face with icy fingers as he struggled after Donovan through the waist-deep snow. The world, his world, had narrowed to two goals—keeping Donovan in view and taking the next step. If he just focused on those two goals, he’d make it. Outside of that was everything else. His fears for Amelia and the cold that dug through layers of clothing and skin.

He’d insisted on being partnered with Donovan. He was their point man and the one who knew where Amelia was. Obviously, he was the guy to be with when they hit the camp.

Huge mistake.

The guy wasn’t human. Didn’t seem to feel the cold. Or tired. If he felt fear, it didn’t show. He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Went over, under or around. Whatever it took to move forward. All of the ground had been up, but the terrain abruptly took a downward turn. The burning pressure on his lungs eased. The labor to get air where it was needed eased. He could talk again.

“Why?” he asked, as he drew almost level with Donovan.

He looked at him. “Why what?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell her?”

Donovan’s stride broke for the first time. “How well do you know her?”

He settled for a shrug. The downward turn got steeper, seriously steep. The straining forward now shifted to straining backward. He grabbed at trees, rocks, whatever he could find to hang on to. They weren’t worried about covering their tracks right now, just about covering ground. Luke sensed that Donovan shared his feeling of urgency.

“Then you wouldn’t understand.” Donovan eased his way around a large boulder, then dropped into a crouch. “We need to be more careful now.”

Luke dropped down beside him. Below, a long way below, he could see a cabin with a few lights showing, crouched on the edge of a large clearing.

“We’re in the range of his lookout bunkers. I spotted two on this side when I was working my way down today. Must have some kind of underground access, because there’s no sign of a trail in the snow,” Donovan said. “We’ll have to take them both out, or they’ll sound an alarm.”

“Any idea how many men per?” Luke asked. He was ready for some action. Not the struggling through snow action. The kick some butt action.

“One, maybe two.”

“How’d you spot them?” From here the hillside looked serene and untouched, like a postcard.

Donovan flashed him a quick grin, the first Luke had seen break the bleak in his face since he’d met him an hour ago. “X-ray vision.”

He could like this guy. Now that they were heading downhill.

* * * *

Amelia tightened the belt, but it was still too big for her. She undid it and simply tied it in a knot around her middle. The jacket arms extended well past her hands, but it had Velcro bands at the wrists that she was able to tighten to keep them in place. The utility belt was heavy. She had to lift it on the dresser, then used its top to support the weight of the belt as she secured it around her waist. She staggered, but then found her balance.

She checked her armaments. Plenty of ammo. She seemed to know all about it but didn’t know anything about the grenades. That was odd, but she didn’t have time to mull it. There was a silenced hand gun—most convenient—and a vicious looking knife. She kept the gun, but hid the knife in the dresser drawer. In one of the pockets of the jacket, she found night-vision goggles. There was also a pair of regular snow goggles and a pair of thick, warm gloves. There was even a compass and a small flashlight.

She had to hand it to Grady. His men were well equipped.

She used the mirror to adjust the hat on her head, trying not to think about how much grease it had probably absorbed. His gear was mottled white and gray. Snow camouflage, much like what Donovan had been wearing. The usual green and tan wouldn’t be much use in this weather. She looked pretty menacing and could probably pass a cursory inspection from a distance. Up close could be dicey.

Something flickered, in the mirror? Or in her head? Instead of the faux soldier, she caught a glimpse of a sober face like hers in the license picture, only this time she was hiding behind dark glasses. Her hair was pulled up and back. If that was Prudence, it was no wonder no one had recognized her. Why had she worn glasses? She didn’t need them.

It was time to leave but hard to do. As much as she’d wanted to get out of the room, now she wanted to stay, despite the presence of her gnarly roommate. She considered the pros and cons of barricading herself in. A pity the cons outweighed the pros. Grady had more men and more guns than she did. And that was just the stuff she knew about. He could have tear gas or some other icky knock-out stuff he could toss in.

No, the fly didn’t wait in the web for the spider to find her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The short hall was empty, a bit murky without its own light. Everything seemed quiet. She slipped out and closed the door behind her. The key gave her a little trouble, since she couldn’t bring herself to put her gun down. Her nerves were jumping and her fingers felt thick and clumsy, but finally it clicked into place. She considered keeping the key, but her goal was to deceive and delay. A missing key would be an immediate heads up that something was wrong. She hung it up, but before she could turn, she heard the creak of footsteps behind her.

“Oh, good idea, Ray,” a male voice said. “Grady ain’t gonna like it that you messed with the girl.”

Amelia stared at the wood. Her shoulders twitched, the movement not unlike a shrug. She slipped the silenced automatic clear of the holster and eased off the safety.

“You won’t be so cool when he shoots your nuts off, man.” He wheezed a couple of times, then said, “So, how was she? Think I could have a go, too?”

Amelia found fear fading in a wave of disgust. Jeez, did any of them have an original thought to rub together? Or anything beyond the most basic of human instincts? Without stopping to think, she spun to face him, bringing the pistol up once she was clear.

“Actually, she kicked his ass,” Amelia said. “And now she’s thinking of shooting your nuts off.”

He lost all his color. It seemed he valued his nuts more than his life. Trembling, he raised his hands.

“Didn’t mean no harm.”

“Right.” Amelia shook her head. “Is there somewhere I can put you that you can’t get out of? Otherwise, I’ll have to kill you.”

My goodness she sounded tough. Course she had just kicked Ray’s ass. Well, the general region of his ass.

He lowered one hand and opened a closet door.

“Leave the hardware,” Amelia said, using the carbine to punctuate the order. “And don’t make a sound. Bullets penetrate wood.”

He dropped it all with a clatter and stepped inside. “Same key locks it.”

In a moment, she had him secured. She looked through his gear, taking anything else she thought might be useful, then hiding the remainder in the other bedroom at the end of the hall.

Her impulse was to creep downstairs but furtive would look suspicious. She had to be Ray, or something like him. She straightened her shoulders. Think military, Amelia. She stepped forward, using what she hoped was a military swagger. The boots helped. So did the clothes.

There was no one downstairs, but as she reached the main door, the darkness outside was cut with the searchlight and the sound of a chopper. Was Grady back?

* * * *

Grady instructed the pilot to land the chopper at the lower camp. He wasn’t ready to bring Phagan into the upper camp. There was something about him that made him uneasy, despite the instant sense of liking.

“Keep the motor running,” he directed. He and Phagan jumped out and started toward a huddle of buildings. The men were hunkered down for the night. No sign of the hidden watchers as he led Phagan toward his office. Inside he bee-lined for the bar set up against one wall. It had been damn cold in the chopper.

“What’ll you have?” he asked over his shoulder.

Phagan had stopped in the doorway, his gaze moving unhurriedly around the room. “Uh, beer if you have it.”

“In the kitchen, through that door.” He nodded to the right. “Won’t warm you up as good as this stuff.” He held up the whiskey.

“Don’t expect to ever get warm again,” Phagan said mildly, before disappearing into the kitchen. In a moment, he returned with a cold one.

Grady gestured to a seat on one side of the desk, then sat down, and studied his new guest as his new guest studied him. Phagan wasn’t what Grady expected, even though he was. It was a strange feeling. Maybe it was because he was too much like what he’d expected. You never really expect to get what you expect. Not in the real world. Maybe it was because he’d been hoping for something more…unique. His reputation sure as hell was. Beyond geek.

He’d been clean though. His men had picked his clothes clean while they made their slow way to the camp, then let him know. So why the prickling on the back of his neck? Was it from the geek? Or somewhere else?

Phagan broke eye contact, his conclusions his own, as he looked around again. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”

“And what were you expecting?” Grady asked him.

He shrugged ruefully. “Damned if I know. Maybe the Unabomber with a brain? Or a stainless steel super criminal empire.”

Grady chuckled, but also felt he’d heard those words before? Or something like them? The eerie echo of his own thoughts should have reassured him. They didn’t, but they should have. Phagan was saying all the right things, doing all the right things. Very cool. Very relaxed. Phagan got up and peered at an elk head above the fireplace. This view of his profile triggered something. A feeling of recognition, maybe?

“We haven’t met, have we?” Grady asked. He believed in the direct approach, where possible.

Phagan looked at him, his light brows arching in surprise. “I don’t think so. I don’t meet many people.”

Grady got up. “Then I’ve seen you somewhere.”

“I don’t get out much either. And never get photographed.” He shrugged. “They say we all have a twin out there somewhere.”

“Shit, I hope not.” Grady sipped his drink. Hadn’t even blinked. Should he blink? It was hard to say. Most geeks he’d met had no social skills at all. All their energy, all their brain power went to the hack. Was that what was making him twitch? “You do good work. The run on Merryweather was flawless.”

“Merryweather?” Phagan looked down his beer can. “That’s who it was. You do wonder.” He took a drink. “Let’s see. Biotech company. Doing some interesting stuff in protective armor. Doesn’t seem like your thing, man. Like, anti-green, isn’t it?”

“I’m a curious guy. It’s a curse.”

Phagan’s smile was slow, but curiously charming. For the first time, Grady had a feeling that he’d met someone he could actually like. Maybe even respect. But could he trust him? It was time to find out.

“I’ve got a meeting with someone who can ease my curiosity. Want to come along? I think you’ll find her quite as interesting as I do.”

Phagan shrugged. “Was just thinking the other day that I need to get out more. Meet some people.”

Grady laughed. “Well, you came to the right place.”

Phagan stood up, but before they could leave, the phone rang.

“Yeah?” Grady said into the receiver.

“We got trouble, boss. Leslie Merryweather just flew in on a chopper.”

“Damn. I’ll be right there.” He hung up.

“Trouble?”

He looked at Phagan. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

* * * *

As Amelia hesitated inside the door, the chopper landed in the clearing. There was another exit out of the cabin, she recalled, but this might be the only opportunity for her. The chopper was blowing snow around, it was dark and cold. Be natural for someone to wait for it. And maybe she could hitch a ride on it. The pilot wouldn’t be expecting to be hijacked.

She pulled the hat down, tucking the flaps under the chin to disguise its shape. She pulled on the snow goggles and the gloves, then opened the door and plunged into a night that was a mix of light and dark. The cold bit into her lungs, and she gasped for breath. Had to be close to zero out here. The lining of her nasal passages crisped and her clothing stiffened. A cloud of snow billowed in her face, forcing her to look away, even as she jogged toward the chopper. Before she could get close enough, the chopper’s engine roared as it lifted off again, turning its light up and away, then shutting it off. Guess she was going to have to do this the hard way.

As her view cleared, she saw a single figure remained in the clearing, staggering a couple of times as he turned toward the cabin and her. It wasn’t Grady, but he looked familiar.

“Where’s Grady?” he shouted. “Is he inside?”

Amelia shook her head. The chopper had retreated enough that she could say, while trying to make her voice as deep as possible, “He left.”

The man was bundled up, but his face was bare. Handsome but weak, with something in the eyes that reminded her of Ray. She knew him, but from where?

She started to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm. “Where’s the girl?”

Amelia froze. Couldn’t stop her pulse from doing a jump to light speed.

“Inside.”

“Show me,” he said.

Amelia’s first instinct was to refuse, but she knew any sign of panic now would spell her doom. There were men out there watching. Grady hadn’t taken her into the lookout bunkers, but he’d pointed out the passageways below ground, and she’d seen the bunker’s layout on the map during her tour. Thanks to her photographic brain, she could probably give her own tour now. She wanted to get away from here before Grady came back.

Which did nothing to help her with her current problem. If she could get him inside, she could use her gun again. She nodded and turned back to the door. The guy waited for her to open it. Must think he was important. With her back to him, she got the pistol ready again. Inside, her goggles fogged over as the warm air hit them. She lifted them. Her eyes watered from the change in temperature. She blinked them and found the newcomer wasn’t looking at her. His avid gaze scoured the room. He’d brought with him the smell of something feral. Something slimy and evil.

Where?”

“Upstairs,” Amelia said, glad it wasn’t really so. This was not a guy to be left alone with.

“Show me,” he said again.

With a sigh, Amelia led him toward the stairs, trying to remember to walk like a soldier. His eagerness, his lust, reached past her, the brush with evil sending a chill down her spine. Unlike Grady, this guy wasn’t interested in what was inside her head. They didn’t meet anyone and she couldn’t see anyone in any of the rooms. Maybe they were all down in the bunker?

“How long will Grady be gone?”

Amelia shrugged. She didn’t want to try out her voice in the quiet. It might not hold up to scrutiny.

“How long has he been gone?” he sounded impatient now.

Great. “About an hour,” she said, gruffly and with crossed fingers. She stopped in front of the door she’d only just left, slipping the pistol clear of the pocket on the side away from him. If the guy in the closet made a sound, the situation could go south quickly.

She released the safety, covering the small click with the sound of the key sliding in the lock. It turned easily this time. Odd how steady her hands were now, when danger threatened. She pushed the door open and stood back to let him enter. The room was much as she’d left it. Ray was still under the blanket.

He stopped, a smile curling the edges of his mouth that chilled her blood more surely than the winter air. He moved forward lightly licking his lips in anticipation.

She brought her gun up, her hand steady as a rock.

He pulled the blanket back, growling in frustrated rage as he turned toward her. His hand reached for his back and what she assumed was a weapon, but he stopped when he saw the gun trained on him.

“Get it. Two fingers. Drop it and kick it toward me or I take out your manhood,” Amelia said. She was a quick study on male motivation.

Despite the rage in his eyes, he paled and did as she asked. She kicked it out the door without taking her eyes off him. Now what? How did one back off from a rattlesnake, she wondered.

He must have sensed her uncertainty. He smiled again. She supposed there was charm in it, but it had no effect on her. She’d seen beneath the surface.

“Well, aren’t you the clever girl, Miss Prudence,” he said. “Not just a filing cabinet, after all.”

She knew that voice. A flash of memory produced his face, too. It came accompanied by a stab of pain. She’d felt like this before. Felt this odd mix of interest and unease. She didn’t strain for the name this time and it came to her.

“Leslie.” She didn’t know how or why, but she could feel whatever was holding her memory out of contact begin to crack. It hadn’t burst yet, but it was ready. It bulged, like a dam under siege. She knew two things with perfect clarity. It was going to be bad. And she needed to be away from Leslie when it went. The flood could sweep away her control of the situation.

“I hate to lock you up and run, but I do want to be out of here before Grady comes back. I’m sure you understand,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded with her insides roiling like a volcano.

He took a half step toward her and she brought the gun up sharply, directly in his face.

“I wouldn’t. You know that I know how to use this.” Did he?

Apparently he did. He stopped. But he was poised to strike. She stepped back, feeling for the door with her free hand.

“Did Grady tell you what we did to your old man?” he said, as if he sensed that upping the pressure might break the situation his way.

Amelia felt the tremor deep inside. She had to get out now.

“I don’t have time—”

“I killed him. He was still alive when you left the hospital, but he’s dead now.” He smiled again, but this time it wasn’t pretty or charming. “Your father—”

At the word “father”, the first piece of her memory dam burst free of restraint. Her whole body contracted from the pain that accompanied it.

A gunshot. The recoil in her arm. The pain in her wrist. A cry from Leslie.

Through waves of pain, she saw something red splatter on the log walls. Leslie sank to his knees, a surprised expression on his face.

“I’ll be damned. The mouse has claws—” He fell slowly forward, sprawling face down on the wooden floor. Almost immediately a pool of blood began to form near one shoulder.

Memory pushed harder. She pushed back, but control was tenuous. The opening widened. More memories slipped out. She was in an ambulance, looking down at a gray, aesthetic face. Instead of a siren, she heard chop, chop, chop.

Was it a chopper? No, there was a chopper coming in. Her vision narrowed to a murky tunnel as she turned away from the present and the past.

Must be Grady. She had to get out before her head exploded. She turned and ran from the room with her memories on her heels.

NINETEEN

Dewey hadn’t been joking when he said he didn’t think he’d ever be warm again. The cold had taken up permanent residence in the marrow of his bones. It had, he decided, as much to do with who he was with as the punishing cold of the winter night.

Grady was an interesting character. Interesting, even charming on the outside. Soulless on the inside. The cold came from him. Like an icy fog, it oozed out of him and wrapped around anyone near him. Its purpose seemed to be the freezing out all sense of right and wrong. It sought to store his conscience in the deep freeze.

Dewey could feel it working on him. There was such a sense of unreality that it was easy to feel disconnected from what was real and right. He’d felt this before. He’d danced on the edge of evil for many years, working to take down some very nasty people. Grady’s evil wasn’t as malignant as some he’d met, but it was by far the most pragmatic. He was more frightening in some ways. Because he was so brisk and practical, he seemed reasonable, even logical. He didn’t ask for the leap into the abyss from his followers. No, he just invited them to join him in hell one step at a time.

Dewey always managed to find the funny-pathetic in the evil he’d taken on. It helped him keep stuff in perspective, made it easier to dance on that edge, but this time he wasn’t smiling. As the chopper cut its way through the night sky, he hung on, not just to the strap, but to the memory of Bryn. She was his fixed point in this slightly askew world he now found himself in.

In his mind, he reached out to her, taking this short moment of privacy to plunge into the memory pool of their one night together. He’d dreamed about it for so long, it almost didn’t seem real that she’d been his, to touch, to kiss, to whisper all the things he’d wanted to tell her as his hands touched her silken skin. Their mutual exploration had been heady and fun, as they’d let instinct, not experience, guide them in bringing their bodies together.

Caught in Grady’s web, he could feel his usual confidence ebbing on the icy flow of Grady’s personality. His confidence was so complete, it sucked not just Dewey’s confidence, but seem to suck the life out of the air around him.

The chopper dipped, bringing him back to the present with a jolt. The spotlight blazed from the base of the chopper, lighting up their landing zone. A shadowy cabin stood just outside the circle of light. In front of it, a couple of heavily armed men in winter camouflage waited for the chopper to land.

The chopper touched down. Grady signaled for Dewey to follow him. With his senses screaming a warning, Dewey jumped down, feeling he was right back where they’d started. They’d done the cabin scene already. Didn’t the guy have something new in his bag of tricks? His head down, he jogged after Grady. Behind them, the chopper lifted off again. He followed it with his eyes.

“Satellites would pick it up if I left it here,” Grady shouted over the whip of the blades, answering Dewey’s unspoken question. “I like to keep this place low key.”

One of the men opened the door for them. Inside, warmth closed around them without warming him. In the fairy tale, the villain was an ice queen, he remembered. Maybe she’d had a sex change. A quick glance showed him a pleasant place, but like its creator, it lacked a soul. The two men who followed them in were simple thugs, the kind of men that people like Grady needed to do their dirty work for them.

One of them whispered in Grady’s ear. For a moment, his pleasant expression, and his confidence, flickered. His gaze met Dewey’s and order was restored, but Dewey felt the crack in his control. Something had happened. Something Mr. I’m-in-control-of-my-universe hadn’t expected.

Dewey felt a measure of his own confidence return. Reminded him of that moment in Lord of the Rings, when the Dark Lord’s control of his minions faltered. The next question, how did he use it?

“Wait here,” Grady said. “Help yourself to a drink if you’d like. Or Al here can get you another beer from the kitchen?”

“I’m fine,” Dewey said, eyeing Al, who was at least twice his width and half again taller. No surprise that Grady had trust issues. He loosened his jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Grady started toward the stairs, then stopped and looked at him. “Actually, why don’t you join me? If you’re with me, you’re with me. Right?”

“Right.” Dewey wasn’t excited about going with him, but then, staying with Al wasn’t that appealing either. The walk upstairs was short. They turned left, heading for a room at the end of a short hall. Its door stood open. Over Grady’s shoulder, Dewey saw another goon kneeling on the floor by someone, his hands bloody from trying to hold a pad over his wound. Blood was splattered on the wall and pooling on the floor. The guy’s eyes were open—barely—the lids drooped and his gaze was dull and angry. On the bed, another goon, this one wearing nothing but long johns, lay holding an ice pack to his temple, a murderous rage in his slightly crossed eyes.

Grady stopped between the wounded guy’s out flung feet. “Leslie.” He sighed. “How bad is it?”

Dewey had heard the name. Must be Leslie Merryweather. Bryn said he’d killed a woman. This was not good, but at least it wasn’t the girl, Prudence Knight.

“He’ll live,” the goon said.

“That’s too bad,” Grady said. Time slowed as Grady pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at the fallen man. The edges of Leslie’s mouth curved in a grotesque mimicry of a smile.

“Did I ever…matter…to…you?” he asked hoarsely.

It would have been easy for Grady to say yes, Dewey thought. He was going to kill him. Dewey knew it. On some level, he felt like he should do something about it, but a sort of weird thrall held him motionless as events played out. He saw Grady smile back and knew he wasn’t going to do it.

“No,” he said. “You never mattered to me.”

“Guess…you win…this…round…”

“I won them all, Leslie.” His finger tightened on the trigger. “You just didn’t notice.”

* * * *

It felt like they were trying to sneak up on Grand Central station, Bryn thought, when the second chopper came in. They’d heard the first one arrive as they were approaching the rise, but hadn’t been able to see it until it left again.

Bryn had opted not to partner with one of the Kirby brothers. It was easier to be with someone who didn’t know her too well right now. Too many feelings churning in her insides to work under the knowing scrutiny of a Kirby. She needn’t have worried. By the time she finished fighting her way to their present position, she was numb with fatigue and cold. She hadn’t gotten this close to nature since she left the farm. Didn’t help that her pride wouldn’t allow her to let Joe, her partner, outpace her. She needed to work on her competitive instinct. It was going to be the death of her. Despite her good intentions, she’d felt petty satisfaction when she noted that Joe sounded just as winded when they dropped into a crouch behind a boulder on the hillside above the cabin.

It was a peaceful scene that met their gaze. The cabin was postcard perfect as it nestled against the snow-covered, evergreen tree-dotted hillside. The clearing in front of it was a bit big for perfect symmetry, but it was a small nitpick in a scene that was mostly charming. The cabin even had puffy white smoke drifting out the chimney. A few lights showed in the windows. She almost expected Santa and his sleigh to appear over the top of the mountain and land on the roof.

She’d pulled out the GPS, but Dewey still hadn’t turned on his transponder. It had been too long since his meeting. Did the delay mean he hadn’t seen Prudence Knight yet or that he wasn’t able to turn it on? It was hard to feel optimistic. It wasn’t in her nature to see the good side, to believe in a happy outcome for herself. Happy endings were for other people. It was the law of universe. By allowing Dewey into her life, she’d cursed him. If he died in there, it would be her fault.

Joe tugged on her arm then indicated a point a few yards away. He leaned close to whisper, “Kincaid was right. There is a faint heat signature down there. Can you see it?”

Bryn took the binoculars he handed her and studied the hill side. “I see it. You ready?” He nodded. “Right, let’s roll.”

Joe went first. It was his area of expertise. Bryn rose wearily and followed on his six. She wished she knew how the other teams were faring. They’d decided on radio silence, at least until it wasn’t necessary. Donovan had warned them Grady had scanning equipment. They couldn’t afford to risk early detection with such a small group. It felt like she and Joe were alone in the wilderness until the second chopper arrived. They’d dug into the hillside as it swept over the top of them. It turned, a searchlight beaming from the base to light up its landing zone. It seemed to hover for a long time, then unhurriedly dropped into the clearing.

Snow curled up around the spinning blades as two figures jumped out. Their bodies bent, they ran toward the cabin. Bryn had had her glasses on them from the moment the chopper touched down. The first face wasn’t familiar. The second was.

Dewey.

She was, she thought, going to kill him for making her worry like this.

* * * *

“Okay, here’s our bad boy,” Donovan said, his lips against Luke’s ear. “Follow my lead.” The sound of the chopper in the clearing was giving them some good sound cover, and they took advantage of it.

Luke had no problem with the procedure. He was a cop, not a soldier. Donovan’s attitude troubled him a bit though. At first Luke thought he had a hero complex, but he was beginning to think it was more like a guilt complex. Donovan was an unstable wild card in a situation that was already dicey.

He also wasn’t law enforcement, which meant that, for all his training, he wasn’t bound by the same rules they were. It had surprised him that Bryn permitted him join their expedition, even as he realized she probably couldn’t have stopped him with a bullet.

They slithered through the snow toward the bunker on their stomachs. It was an odd set-up. Luke couldn’t figure out if Grady didn’t trust technology or he needed busy work for his men. From what he could tell, they were a combination of a pill box and a hunter’s blind. Dug into the side of the mountain, they must have cave access of some kind inside, since there were no footprints or trails anywhere outside. The top was a circular piece of cement or something like it, with what appeared to be netting thrown over the top, then camouflage added to hide the location. It had to be damn cold in there, though they must have some kind of heat source, since the bunker gave off a slight heat signature, which was how Donovan had located it and not x-ray vision, though Luke didn’t call him on it.

The construction provided the guard inside with a three hundred and sixty degree sight line—in theory. But with all the angles of the mountainside, the camouflage and snow cut down that advantage. Donovan had a canister of knock-out gas with him. Luke didn’t ask him where he got it. He didn’t want to know. How could they deliver it before the guard could sound the alarm?

“I’m going to try to cut through the netting,” Donovan hissed in his ear. He started to move away, then Luke caught sight of what looked like the barest wisp of smoke from the center of the bunker top.

“Wait. Look.” He pointed to the smoke. “Ventilation, maybe?”

Donovan smiled. “When I give you the signal, pull the pin and drop it in. Don’t forget your mask.”

Luke took the canister, pulled down his mask and climbed as quietly as he could onto the bunker top. Behind him the chopper was rising again. He dropped down, pressing into the bunker roof, as it swept his way, the search light on its base still on, but just before it reached him, it went dark again. Luke used the racket to reach the ventilation pipe. He popped the top. A faint glow from the light deep inside was no competition for the moon. A puff of warm air fogged his mask briefly and he heard the muted sound of a radio.

He looked at Donovan, got a thumbs up. He pulled the pin and dropped it down the hole. It hissed like a pissed off snake. The guard coughed, staggered around a bit, and then fell with a crash. Donovan disappeared from sight. Soon Luke saw him wave up at him, then signal him to move on. It seemed the idea of staying with your partner was alien to him. And he couldn’t call him on it without breaking radio silence.

* * * *

The shot was loud in the tiny room. Leslie’s body flinched, then even the dull light in his eyes faded to nothing. Shock held Dewey immobile. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in the presence of violent death, but it wasn’t something he planned—or even wanted—to get used to. If you devalued life, even scummy life, then you became one of them.

Grady holstered the pistol and looked at his men. “Do we know where she is? How long she’s been gone?”

“Not long,” the kneeling goon said, rising to his feet. When he was upright, he towered over Dewey and Grady. “He’s only been here maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”

Jeez, Dewey thought in a distant way, didn’t goons ever come in small, or even medium? Was this where they’d kept Prudence Knight? It appeared she’d managed to have affected her own escape, if she was the “she” they were referring to. And he had no way to let Bryn know. And wasn’t even sure he knew something.

Should he trigger the transponder? The deal was, he set it off when he found her, or was sure he wouldn’t find her. They hadn’t planned on an option number three, the I-don’t-have-a-clue option. He needed space, a little time to think. “Mind if I get myself a beer?” Again. He hadn’t drunk the last one. Trying to keep a clear head, but it wasn’t easy.

Grady looked at him. Dewey just stared back. His face gave nothing away. He knew because this was how his face felt when it gave nothing away. He hoped.

“You still with me?” Grady asked, his eyes a laser cutting through the layers of disguise Dewey had put on.

It took everything he had not to look at the body. How would Grady expect him to act? He hadn’t planned this part of the disguise. He needed his pathphinder, but she wasn’t here. All he could do was wing it.

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It must have been the right answer. Or Grady was too smart to show disbelief. Why should Grady worry anyway? Al was downstairs. And who knew how many more like him were scattered about the area?

“I’ll be down in a minute. Get me a cold one, too. I’m thirsty,” Grady said.

Dewey turned and left, finding the air outside the room better than inside the room. Blood did smell. So did fear and…he fumbled for the right word, but all he could come up with was malicious intent. The room had reeked with it.

Al looked up at him as he came down the stairs.

“A beer?”

He nodded toward a door, but to Dewey’s relief, he didn’t follow him through it. He got the beer, then leaned against the counter with a sigh of relief. He popped the top and drank just enough to get the taste of that room out of his mouth. Then, despite the cold in his bones, he held the cold can to his head. It helped some, as much as anything could when you’d just witnessed an execution.

He couldn’t say when he realized he was being watched. It came over him like fog in a swamp. Creeping up on him from the ground. The feeling full-blown when he finally noticed it. He tried not to stiffen but wasn’t sure if he succeeded. He lifted the can again, using it to block his face as he glanced right, then left. The only place someone could be hiding was in the shadows of the open pantry. He tried to quiet his thoughts, sort through the vibes, but his thoughts were too chaotic to pick up on them. He took a step in that direction and the barrel of a rifle popped out of the shadows, pointed directly at his chest.

He hesitated, then said softly, “Miss Knight?”

There was a small gasp in the darkness.

“I’m a friend. Dewey Hyatt.”

The barrel wavered, then lowered slightly. “From Wal-Mart?”

“Yes—Amelia?”

“Did you win your game?” Amelia asked, her voice spooky sounding.

He’d have to thank Bryn and Luke for not mentioning that Amelia and Prudence Knight were the same person.

* * * *

The single shot from inside the cabin sent Bryn’s adrenalin surging.

“Break radio silence?” Joe asked.

“Hell, yes.” She sounded calm, in control, but inside her stomach was churning. She should never have let Dewey do this. He wasn’t trained for this kind of infiltration. Okay, so he was good at pretending to be someone else, but this wasn’t his usual operation. He didn’t have Phoebe in the trenches with him this time and they were too far away to be much help if the situation in the cabin had gone south.

Dewey, she mentally reached out to him. I’m here. Hang on. Don’t get killed now. I need you, damn you.

This was surrender indeed. Last night she’d let herself want him, but need? She’d thought need was weakness, but she didn’t feel weak at all from needing him. Vulnerable, yes, but weak? If he was in danger, she’d leap mountains to get to him. Or kick any butts she had to. And if he was already dead? The thought was a kick in the teeth. And filled her with cold resolve. She rarely colored outside the Bureau lines, but if Dewey was dead, someone would pay for it tonight, not years from now.

“Let’s get in there,” she said. She didn’t remember pulling her piece, but it was in her hand.

“Wait.” Joe grabbed her arm, pulling her back to the ground. “Look.”

The back door of the cabin opened and two figures in camouflage emerged. They talked for a minute, then, their weapons ready, started walking in the direction of the road.

“What do you want to do?” Joe asked.

“Let them go. We can’t get to them without being seen. If they raise the alarm—”

But they didn’t have to. Someone inside the cabin was raising it for them.

TWENTY

It was like a pot suddenly coming to a boil. One minute the scene was quiet, almost serene under the scant crescent moon, the next it was alive with moving figures and lights as about twenty men poured out of the cabin and fanned out in a search pattern.

Bryn and Joe looked at each other.

“Definitely time to break radio silence.” Her team agreed with that assessment.

“What happened?” Matt said in her ear.

“Who knows,” Luke said. “Any idea how many we’re up against?”

“I can see about twenty men,” Jake said.

“Donovan?” Luke asked. “Where are you?”

There was no answer.

Bryn felt her heart jump. “Where is he?”

“He went into one of those bunkers and I haven’t seen him since,” Luke said.

“Without backup?” Bryn swore silently. “What do you think? Can you go after him?”

“Sure. I’ve always wanted to backup Rambo.” Luke’s voice was dry, but resigned. “If you lose contact with me, you’ll know it’s the bunker and not us.”

“Somebody’s kicked the ant hill up good. Call in your backup, Bryn,” Matt said. “And let’s get our butts in gear.”

“Right.” She sent the signal to the additional men she had standing by. They’d moved into their previous staging area when she and her team had moved out. She realized she couldn’t see the two men who’d been walking down the road. “Did you take out the two guys walking toward the road?” Bryn asked.

“Didn’t see two guys,” Matt said, “but got about six heading our way.”

“Take ’em,” Bryn said. “Joe and I are going to check out the cabin.

She slipped and slid down the hill ahead of him. At the door, she paused so Joe could open it, then went in, low and fast. A kitchen. Someone had conveniently left the light on. She did a sweep, then signaled for Joe to come in. As she was heading for the next door, she stepped on something and looked down.

It was Dewey’s glasses.

* * * *

Grady ran down the echoing halls of the underground bunker. He’d emptied it of men to join in the search for Phagan and Prudence as soon as he found Al, dressed only in his long johns, holding his head in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure they were together, but it was an interesting coincidence that they were both missing. Or that Phagan would take off after so much effort to arrange the meet. It seemed his instincts about him were right, just a bit slow to get going. And now that he thought about it, he remembered what it was that Phagan had said that started his instincts in high gear. Something about a criminal enterprise. Dewey Hyatt had said that when Grady had called his number. Did the Feds know, he wondered, that Dewey and Phagan were the same person? That little tidbit hadn’t been in any of the news reports, but it wouldn’t be if they were planning to use him undercover.

His instincts—like those of a deer scenting danger—were telling him it was time to cut his losses and move on. He took a sharp right into his communications center and sat down. Right off he noticed some of his monitors were down. Had his security been breached? He pressed a switch.

“Bunker one, come in. Bunker one, come in.” No answer, and it was the monitor to that hallway that was down. He brought up an outside camera. Cameras and motion detectors weren’t his primary security system. He knew, thanks to Phagan, how easy electronic surveillance was to breech. It was useful in moments like this however.

Right now he was glad of it. The grainy picture showed his men kneeling in rows. A quick count only turned up five figures covering them, but he’d bet his ass there were more out there.

He leaned back in the chair, his thoughts racing. It had to be Phagan who’d brought the hounds down on him. Only way they could be here so fast, but how? He’d stripped him to the skin. Except for the glasses. Damn, the guy was good. He’d won the round. Now how to keep him from sweeping the field? There wasn’t much time, but he could buy a little more for himself if…

He grabbed the secure phone and dialed. When O’Rourke, who’d stayed at base camp, answered he didn’t waste words. “We’re busted here. Get a chopper in the air, ready to pick me up.” He gave him the coordinates for pick up, then shut down the connection.

With a last look at his men, he turned for the door. He’d miss them. He’d taught them well. Not bright, but good men, willing to work hard and kill on command. But there were more like them out there. Some he’d already trained here and had moved on. Others he’d find. Or they’d find him. Their kind always found each other the same way water always found its level.

Just like he and Leslie had found each other? No, that had been an anomaly. Leslie wasn’t his kind. The world, particularly Grady’s world, was a better place without that waste of space. Stupid of Leslie to put killing women over the plan. If he could have learned a little restraint, but that wasn’t in his game book. He’d have escalated the killing. Could see that coming like a big, old truck and no way to stop it. Leslie’s frustration had been stronger than his head. Always. No regrets really, though Grady would miss the steady flow of money Leslie had provided.

He checked his weapon, then gave a quick look down the hall. It was clear. He moved out, his weapon down, but ready if needed. He knew the corridors, knew where he might run into trouble. When he got there, he eased up to the opening, his senses stretched out. He sniffed the air, caught the faint whiff of evergreen in the current. He edged back, bringing his gun up—

A blur of movement.

The jolt to his chin crossed his eyes and started stars wheeling across his horizon. He fell hard, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could recover, Donovan was on him, his hands around his throat and squeezing. One chance…

One hand fighting to break Donovan’s grip, the other edged down his leg and closed over the hilt of the knife. The world was growing dark. His head felt like it was going to explode.

He pulled the knife out.

Air. He needed air.

With one last, desperate flail, he stabbed Donovan in the back.

Immediately the pressure on his throat eased, though Donovan wasn’t out yet. Grady thrust up with his legs. Donovan fell back, but was after him again. Grady rolled away and rose in crouch. They both saw his fallen pistol at the same time.

Donovan started for it, but Grady sliced the knife through the air in front of him, catching Donovan’s arm with the tip. When Donovan fell back, Grady grabbed the gun. Quick as a cat, Donovan flung himself around the corner at the same moment Grady fired.

Grady thought he got him, but didn’t wait around to find out. He still remembered the look in Donovan’s eyes when they said good-bye. In a few minutes he was in his office. He pulled the key out of the neck of his shirt and stuck it in the lock on the panel. Once it was open, he started inputting the self-destruct codes. One half hour from now the whole side of the mountain would blow up. Not a bad finale for someone who’d started his life as poor, white trash.

* * * *

Luke heard the shots and ran forward. He found Donovan down in an intersection of hallways and did a quick sweep before approaching him. Still keeping watch, he checked Donovan’s pulse. Luke tried his radio, but some quality in the bunker blocked his signal.

“Can’t get a signal”

“I’m not out, just a little down,” Donovan said. His lids raised and he managed a faint grin. “Little bastard is good. Has the instincts of a wolf.”

Luke helped him into a sitting position, but when he tried to check him for damage, Donovan pushed him away.

“Don’t waste time with me. Go after him.”

Luke hesitated.

“Just go. I’ll start working my way down this main hall. See if I can find a way out. Maybe I’ll pick up a first aid kit along the way.”

“I suppose you can bandage yourself, too?” Luke asked.

Donovan’s brows arched. “Of course. Can’t you?”

Luke grinned. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

Donovan grabbed his arm. “He’s good. Reacts like prey. I heard him sniffing the air.”

“I’ve done my share of hunting.” Luke stood up, checked his weapon, and then with a wry look at Donovan, sniffed the air. “That way, I think.”

He moved down the corridor, but Donovan’s voice halted him one more time.

“Just what are you intentions toward my daughter, Kirby?”

Luke stared at him. “I’ll—” He shook his head. “—see you in a bit.”

He shook his head again to clear it, then took off. The corridor stretched out, straight and empty. He could see places where it branched off. He checked a few of the rooms as he went along. Found rooms with bunks. A dining hall. Armaments rooms. Place was an underground military base. In a class room, he found posters on the wall diagramming bomb construction and deployment.

Looked like Grady had a side-line training terrorists. He heard a sound out in the hall and padded silently to the door. His back to the wall, he pulled out the “toy” Dewey had slipped him before he left. It was a small video camera on the end of a flexible extender—the kind used by hostage rescue to see into a room. Crouching, he eased it barely around the corner, his eyes fixed on the monitor.

Grady was standing in the hall, his head tilted as he listened. Luke saw his head lift, as he sniffed the air. He also saw something that chilled his blood.

Bryn taking a quick look around the corner behind Grady. He saw Grady pick up her scent. Saw him start to pivot in her direction.

“Don’t move! I’ve got you covered!” Luke shouted. As expected, Grady spun back in his direction, but Luke took his shot. It caught him in the shoulder. Luke didn’t want to kill him. His gun spun free, as the blow of the bullet spun him around. A second shot from Bryn’s direction brought him to his knees.

He held his shoulder with his good hand.

“Hands on your head,” he called.

“Cross your ankles,” Bryn added as she emerged from cover.

While Luke covered him, Bryn patted him down, then cuffed him. Grady’s face was pasty. Now Luke could see where Bryn’s shot had entered as blood spread in a widening stain across his middle.

Luke hustled him into a chair, then cuffed his feet together, too. Grady looked like a snake about to strike. Luke’s hackles rose in warning. What did he know that they didn’t?

“Did you see where he’s been?” Luke asked.

“He came out of a room a couple of doors down. Why?”

“Watch him,” Luke directed. “And see if you can raise some help. Donovan’s hit, I left him about a hundred yards that way.” He started out the door, then stopped. “And try to find out where—”

Bryn gave him a look. “I do have a brain.”

“Right. Sorry.” He jogged down the hall, glancing in rooms as he passed. The second door down was locked. His pistol to the lock ended that. He pushed the door open and found himself looking at what had to be Grady’s office. To one side was a map, no it was a layout of the compound. To the other was—

The expletive was short and to the point. Luke had done a short stint with the bomb squad—until his mom pointed out how much Rosemary hated it. He didn’t have to ask anyone what that timer, showing barely thirty minutes, meant.

* * * *

Bryn grabbed Grady’s chin. “Don’t pass out on me now, you little bastard.”

“He won’t talk,” Donovan said behind her. Bryn turned, found him hanging onto the door jamb. His color was worse than Grady’s, and he was leaving a blood trail that would have made a vampire dance for joy. “Not without some persuasion.”

“I can’t—” Bryn began.

“I know you can’t. Leave me alone with him for a minute.”

His eyes burned with the same fire eating away at her gut. If only he knew how bad she wanted to let him have at the little prick. She looked at Donovan and saw that he saw what was in her heart.

“Just walk out the door. Go to the bathroom—”

“We don’t have time for it,” Luke said, popping up beside Donovan. “We gotta get out of here. Place is gonna blow in under thirty.”

“We can’t leave without Pru,” Donovan said, hoarsely.

As one, Bryn and Luke turned to look at Grady. His grin was ghastly. Blood leaked out between his teeth.

“Gonna be bigger than Waco,” he said between labored breaths.

“Get Donovan out of here,” Luke said. “Start clearing your people out of the area. Way out of the area. He’s got enough armament to bring down the mountainside.”

“But—”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

His face was calm. His voice was beyond calm. So why did she feel so…chilled by it? “Luke—”

“Bryn,” he spun to face her. “You don’t have time.”

“You can’t leave him here, no matter what he’s done.”

“I don’t plan to. Now go.”

After a long hesitation, she nodded. She slid her arm around Donovan’s waist, but he didn’t move. He stared at Luke for a long moment, then he nodded and turned away.

Luke listened to the shuffle of their footsteps down the corridor, then turned to Grady. “Where are they?”

He lifted his chin, his head lolling to one side. “Who?”

“Miss Knight. And your passenger on the chopper.”

That ghastly smile again. “Oh, him. He left. Very rude, I thought.”

“And Miss Knight?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Luke knelt in front of him, his gaze holding Dewey’s. “I know you think you’re going to die an anarchist’s hero, but you’re not dead yet.”

He stared into Grady’s eyes. He’d never stepped over the line. Never. Not even when it twisted his gut with frustration. He believed in the law. He believed in those rights he had to read, even to pukes and perps and low lifes. The judging he left to the courts, even when he didn’t like what they decided. But it had never been this personal before. Amelia was his girl, even if she walked out of his life. He loved her and a man protected his own. It was that simple. It wasn’t about rights. It was about what was right. Grady might want to die, but he had no right to make that decision for anyone else.

Luke held Grady’s eyes, saw them widen as Luke pressed his thumb into the wound. The gray surged into his face. Luke didn’t feel so good himself, but he didn’t stop. Not even when the blood bubbled over his thumb.

Beads of sweat bloomed all over Grady’s face. Luke could see his struggle, saw his surrender in his eyes even before the guy knew he was going to cave.

“All right. All right.”

Luke stopped pressing, but left his hand in place. The clock was ticking. He wasn’t going to be jerked around by this little puke.

He managed to lift his chin, the shadow of a real smile edging his mouth.

“She got away. Couldn’t…believe it. Kicked Ray’s ass. Took his clothes and his gun. Locked Bub in a closet. I’m…guessing she just…walked away…looking like one of us.” His chest heaved with the effort, then he added, “Unless one of your Feds shot her or something. Not knowing.”

Luke’s fist shot out, but he pulled back at the last moment, just popping him enough to put his lights out. Then he slung him over his shoulder and headed out at a jog.

TWENTY-ONE

Bryn and Donovan emerged from the underground bunker to a scene of orderly confusion. Her backup had arrived in several choppers. She saw Matt and Jake standing at the edge of the mayhem talking to Joe. When they saw her, all three of them ran over and took Donovan’s weight off her.

“We’ve got to evacuate. Now,” she panted out. “Place is rigged to blow in about twenty minutes.”

“Where’s Luke?” Matt snapped.

“He’s coming. With Grady.” She avoided eye contact with him or Jake. “He had a couple of questions for him.” She cleared her throat, then asked, “Have you seen Dewey?”

They both shook their heads. “Maybe you should check the prisoners?”

Their eyes filled with sympathy, but without another word, they both turned for the entrance to the bunker. She stared after them for a minute, for the first time wishing she had a sibling. Then she turned back to Joe.

“Get him on a chopper and let’s start evacuating,” she snapped. Joe took charge of a protesting Donovan, leaving her alone for a moment in the center of the storm. She looked around. Where was Dewey? She rubbed her face. In hope and fear, she started for the line of prisoners. Please God, let him be there…

* * * *

“You know,” Dewey said, helping Amelia over a snow-covered log, “this could be the real hell, with that whole fire and brimstone shtick a smoke screen. Because I wouldn’t mind fire or brimstone at all right now, so where’s the incentive to not go to hell?”

Amelia crawled over the log and sat down so abruptly, Dewey almost fell back over the log.

“Let’s take a break, shall we?” He sat down next to her. She was scaring him. She hadn’t said a word since they left the clearing behind. At intervals she’d checked a compass and made course corrections. He thought she was crying, too, though he couldn’t be sure with the snow goggles covering her eyes. Just seemed like she had an extra accumulation of ice around her goggles. And her breathing was harsh and labored, whether they were going up dale or downhill.

It worried him how silently she cried. She seemed lost in grief and he didn’t know how to help her. After a brief hesitation, he covered her gloved hand with his. “What’s going on, Amelia?”

At first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she gave a huge sigh, one that quavered going in and out. She pulled off her goggles and looked at him, her eyes huge and sad.

“I remember,” she said.

“And?” he said, remembering another time when he’d faced a woman’s devastation. Phoebe’s eyes had looked like Amelia’s when she told him that Kerry Anne was dead. Looking at her brought it all back in a rush of pain and regret. He didn’t feel any wiser now than he did then. Would he fail her, too?

“I wish…it had stayed gone.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Do you?”

For the first time since he’d found her in the pantry, he felt like she was seeing him. The amazing part, she’d taken out Al without even blinking, even in that state. Been nice if the guy hadn’t fallen on him, but those were the breaks. Bryn was going to kick his ass for losing the glasses. If he could see her again, he didn’t mind. She could kick away with his blessing and cooperation. He reined his thoughts in. Man, he was seriously losing it.

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “When I was…younger, I met this girl. Her name was Kerry Ann. She was…I, well, you know. And she was murdered.”

Now Amelia covered his hand with hers. “I guess you do know.” She sighed again, but it didn’t sound so ragged. Her eyes had quit running, too. “We should get moving.”

Dewey nodded, pushing up with an inaudible grown. He started to move out, but stopped and looked at Amelia. “Where are we going anyway?”

Amelia crouched and drew a fairly detailed map with her gloved finger. “We’re around here somewhere. The camp is over here, the lower camp here. We’re heading for a little town that is approximately here.”

“You saw all that flying in?”

“I was unconscious when I flew in, but Grady gave me a tour. He had a map on the wall of his office.”

“Uh-huh.”

Amelia smiled. “I have a good memory.”

He crouched down next to her. “Which way is Denver?”

Amelia marked it. “Why?”

“Because Bryn and the brothers Kirby, are somewhere that way.” He pointed to a spot on her little map. “Somewhere here. Not far from the highway. Might be closer than this town. And downhill.”

Luke? Nearby? Amelia studied the map, on the ground and in her head. If Dewey was right, they were closer. The problem? Grady’s camp stood between them. It would be tricky, but worth the risk to end up with Luke.

She’d been worried about something in her past standing between them, but now she knew. She wasn’t involved with Donovan. She barely knew him from work, though she’d found him interesting. She wasn’t involved with anyone. She was old enough for Luke. And she was Prudence and Amelia, though Amelia was an assumed identity. She had her own money, from her mother and that’s how she used to get away from her father who wasn’t her father. There was a lot to sort through in her head and now wasn’t the time for it. Besides, she didn’t want to sort through it. She knew in her mind she was Prudence, but she didn’t feel like Prudence anymore. Amelia may have been a figment of her imagination, but now she felt more real than all the years as Prudence.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

“You rested enough?”

She managed a smile for him. “I’m fine. Let’s just hope they don’t take us for Grady’s guys and shoot us.”

Dewey stared at her. “You just had to say it, didn’t you?”

Her smile widened. She looked at the compass. “I think we should take a straight line this way for a few miles, so we don’t end up back in Grady’s arms.”

To Amelia’s relief, the straight line was mostly downhill. She’d thought skiing was painful with her bruised body, but wading through snow, some of it nearly waist deep, was far worse. Dewey looked pretty unhappy about it, too.

“So, who’s Bryn?” Amelia asked. There was a bit of moon, enough to brighten the clearings, but under the trees, the shadows were dark and menacing. The tiny flashlight illuminated the compass, but not much more. The snow was deep and delivered a double whammy with each step. It both slowed her progress and was treacherous under foot. Luckily it also cushioned her many falls. The cold bit into her lungs, making each labored breath that much more painful.

“Bryn,” his voice was as breathless as hers, but edged with tender. “She’s…” he stopped. “Do you hear something?”

Amelia stopped. “Choppers?” In the distance. Still, anxiety spiked in her gut. She started forward again.

“No, something closer. Like water running. I wonder if there’s a stream nearby. Could use a drink…”

A stream? Her brain sent the warning one step too late. Her weight shifted to her front foot. The snow under her gave way with a rush that pulled her forward in a dark void. The fall was short, the landing wet and icy cold.

* * * *

Luke was glad to see his brothers running to meet him. With them sharing the burden, they made good time out of the bunker. They emerged to a scene far different from the one they’d left.

Bryn had half the men and prisoners evacuated. Matt and Jake loaded Grady on a departing chopper and then rejoined Luke. Bryn looked unusually grim, even for her, before Luke gave her the rest of the bad news.

“Did you believe him?” she asked.

“Yeah, I did. I think they got away. They could be anywhere out there, and the whole mountain is about to go up.” Luke rubbed his face. Exhaustion dragged at him, at his thoughts.

“It gets worse,” Bryn said. “Did some checking to make sure there were no other dwellings in the area. Guess what’s just above us, just waiting for a loud noise to set it off?”

Luke looked around. He’d skied enough to recognize a potential avalanche situation. “Damn, if it weren’t for bad luck, we’d be out of luck.” He looked at his watch. They had ten minutes, maybe less, to find them and clear the area before it blew. “We gotta get in the air.”

Bryn nodded. “We commandeered Grady’s choppers. One’s coming in now. We can take it up.” She looked at Matt and Jake. “You get yourselves out on the next one.”

Matt gave her a crooked grin. “We’ll look, too, in the next chopper. Get going and…good hunting.”

Jake slapped him on the back. “I’ll see you all at the staging area. Don’t get lost. Mom’ll have our heads.”

Luke grabbed Bryn’s arm and ran with her to the chopper. He helped her in the front, then climbed in the rear. As they rose into the sky, he tapped the driver on the shoulder. “I need to broadcast!”

Pilot nodded and handed him the mike, switching it to the outside speakers.

“Go this direction,” Bryn shouted. She looked back at Luke. “I remember seeing two guys walking this way. They came out the back door and then I didn’t see them anymore. It was right after the shot. Could have been them.”

“Go!” Luke shouted. He cleared his throat, then said into the mike, “Amelia, Dewey. It’s all right. We’ve got the area secured, but we need to find you ASAP. Move into a clearing ASAP. If you can, signal us.” His voice boomed outside, amplified by the delivery system and the mountains. He repeated the message, using night vision goggles to search the horizon for a sign, any kind of sign.

* * * *

“You need to leave me,” Amelia managed between the shudders shaking her body. “Hypothermia. In this temperature, I won’t make it.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dewey muttered. He’d managed to pull her out of the stream without getting too wet himself. The stream was shallow, but bitterly cold. Amelia would have been all right if she hadn’t landed on her belly. Her clothes had provided some protection, but not enough. The water hadn’t soaked clear through everywhere, but it had in enough spots to lower her core body temperature dangerously. “We need to move—”

Amelia shook her head. “Exhaustion…will finish it.” In the penlight, her lips were already turning blue. “Need heat.”

Another shudder shook her. He could almost see it drain her scarce energy reserves. “What do I do?” She didn’t answer. He flashed her face with the light. Her eyes were closed. He shook her. “What do I do?”

He could see her struggle to remain conscious. “Most…popular… cure…get naked…”

Her smile was faint, but still impish, fading quickly in another bout of shivering.

“What if we burrowed in the snow?” He had to shake her and repeat the questions again.

“Tell Luke…sorry,” she murmured.

“No!” He shook her. “You’re not pooping out on me now.”

“Chopper…coming…don’t let…get me…”

Now Dewey heard it, too. He turned and started digging frantically at a bank of snow. “We’ll hide. They won’t get you—”

He stopped as Luke’s voice boomed into the forest night and jumped to his feet.

“Here! We’re here!” He turned in frustration. No matches. Wet wood all around. How could he signal?

“Grenade…” Amelia gasped.

“Of course. Stupid of me. Sorry.” He grinned. Hope had taken a little of the edge off pale in her face. He could see her struggle to remain conscious as he tugged at the utility belt she was still wearing. He got a grenade, but hesitated.

“Never done this before,” he admitted.

“Just…remember…to…throw…” Her attempted smile was a grimace. She turned her head away from him. “So…cold…”

Dewey pulled the pin and tossed it.

* * * *

They were heading away from the camp in a straight line when he heard the blast. The forest ahead of them flared then faded, leaving a trail of smoke behind.

“There!” he shouted.

“I see it!” Bryn cried. The pilot adjusted course. The forest they swept over was mostly dense. No clearings to land in. Five minutes. Maybe less.

The chopper hovered just above the tree line as it raced the clock. The smoke from the blast was blown away by the rotation of the chopper blades. He and Bryn searched the ground as the chopper circled the point of the blast.

“There!” Bryn cried. Luke followed her pointing finger. The search light did, too, picking up one figure waving madly in a small clearing. Next to him, another figure sat or lay next to a half buried tree stump.

“We can’t land there,” the pilot shouted. “We’ll have to use the ladder.”

The chopper stopped over the figure, the searchlight a golden circle around him blowing the snow up from the ground in a curling wave. It was Dewey. Amelia, it must be Amelia, didn’t move. Luke grabbed the ladder and dropped it down.

“Hurry!”

Dewey, he could see him now, cupped his hands and shouted, “She can’t climb! Hurt!”

Without stopping to think, Luke started down the ladder, jumping into the snow when he was close enough. “Get up the ladder,” he ordered Dewey. “Mountain’s going to blow!”

His reaction was short and succinct.

Luke didn’t stop to see if he’d do as he was told. In a heartbeat he was kneeling next to Amelia. Her eyes opened. In between shudders, she said, “So…sorry…tried…”

“Don’t give up on me now, sweetheart.” He gathered her up, slinging her over his shoulder and ran for the ladder. Dewey was almost up. Bryn reaching out to grab him inside.

Luke grabbed the ladder. He thought she was out, but she struggled. “Let me—”

He turned her, so she was holding the ladder, but also held her between him and the ladder. Each step seemed agonizingly slow. Over head, Bryn leaned out and pointed at her watch.

“Hold on,” he said, hooking his arms around the ropes and locking his hands together. “Go!” he shouted.

The engine roared as they rose. As soon as they cleared the trees, the wind hit them like a wall, trying to tear them off. He pressed close, hoping to give her some of his body heat to hold her until they could reach help.

The rope ladder danced in the air currents, almost shaking them free in its demented game of crack the whip. He thought he heard her cry out, but the roar of the engine was all around them as the pilot bee lined for safety.

He probably shouldn’t have looked down, but he couldn’t help himself. It had to be down to seconds before it blew—

It was. Luke had the best view in the valley. The earth erupted upwards, forever it seemed like, not just once, but over and over as the munitions Grady had stockpiled detonated sympathetically. Armament was still going off like a geyser when the avalanche started. The snow pack peeled away from the cliffs, slowly at first, but gravity had its way and the snow mass quickly picked up speed. The roar of it joined the roar of the chopper and the detonations until it seemed like the whole world had lost it. Snow, out of control and packing the punch of a freight train, roared toward the explosions, engulfing it in a white embrace.

One explosion sent a turbulent current of air and the chopper danced in response. Luke felt his hands start to slip. The pressure on his arms was almost unbearable. Amelia was a dead weight now as the wind sucked energy and heat from her body. If it had just been his life, he might have let the force of it tear him from his perch, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t lose her. Even if she was never his, he needed to know that she was somewhere in the world.

Caught in a wind tunnel, Amelia strained to stay conscious, strained to hold on. Luke’s arm encircled her, his body trapped her against the unyielding rungs of the ladder. It hurt, but she didn’t care. It meant she was still alive. If she could hang on a little longer, maybe she could tell Luke she loved him. Didn’t matter if he loved her. Didn’t matter if he didn’t want her or her love. She could live with that, but she couldn’t die without telling him.

Through a haze of pain and cold, she watched the dust and snow settle into a new pattern. She knew just how it felt.

TWENTY-TWO

The evacuation area looked like a kicked up ant hill with all the figures swarming over it. As they drew closer, Amelia was vaguely aware of some method in the madness. On one end, a row of men were on their knees, their hands clasping the backs of their heads, with armed-to-the-teeth federal agents watching them. At the other end, ambulances dealt with the wounded. The press had found them. She could see them being briefed in an area that looked like a disco because of all the lights. There seemed to be a steady flow of people between the various groups. One end of the road was clogged with a variety of vehicles. The choppers used in the evacuation had settled along the other end of the road like dragon flies waiting some secret signal to take to the skies. It was toward this area that their chopper swooped.

The ladder touched down before the chopper. Amelia’s legs wouldn’t work, so Luke swept her up in his arms. Her view had narrowed to his face above her and the jolt of each step he took.

As the world closed in on her, she could feel the different eddies, the varying currents of movement around her. One was taking her down and down into a sea of unconsciousness. As she sank into it, she also sank inside herself like a log in quicksand. Prudence, and her tightly constricted life, closed over Amelia with the suffocating insistence of long established habit.

She fought it, fearing she would lose Amelia in the dark, the way she’d lost Prudence. If she lost Amelia, she lost Luke or at least the memory of him. She tried to reach out to him as he walked beside the stretcher, but her arms no longer responded to her commands. She could hear him telling the EMT she had hypothermia, hear them reassuring him that they had something called a Hot-Sack and Res-Q-Air. Just before the current closed over her head, she felt Luke take her hand and bend and kiss her cheek.

“Don’t give up, Amelia,” he whispered.

I’ll try, she thought, just before her world went dark.

Luke stood out of the EMT’s way as they fitted the Res-Q-Air over her face and started warm, humidified air circulating into her lungs. It was important they warmed her core temperature, he knew from the times he’d helped out in a search and rescue. Her chances of survival were good if they could get her warm from the inside out. Next they stripped off her wet outer clothes and got her wrapped in blankets, then started a warm IV, temperature controlled by a Hot-Sack.

In a few minutes, the EMT pronounced her ready for transport and he had to watch as a chopper once again carried her away from him.

He turned away to look for his brothers and almost tripped over the stretcher that held Grady. He looked terrible. His face was gray, his eyes were sunk back in his head and surrounded by brown, bruised skin. Bubbles of air mixed with the blood oozing out of his mouth. He was dying. He could see it in his eyes and feel it in the air around him. Despite the dullness of his eyes, Luke could see intelligence, even a hint of charm in them as they returned his gaze. He had a sudden vision of what he could have been. He didn’t know what drove Grady, but it had abandoned him now.

His lashes fluttered up. “Did… she…make…it?” he asked, more bubbles of bloody air emerging with the words.

Luke nodded. There was only one question he really wanted to know. He crouched down next to him. “Why did you go after Shield now?” he asked. “Why didn’t you wait until the research was complete?”

His eyes widened slightly. “Damn Les…said it…was done…” He gave a half laugh that came out a wheeze. “Glad…I…shot…bastard.”

His voice faded, his lashes pulled down by an imperative stronger than his ability to resist. Luke had the odd feeling that he might have liked him—if everything in Grady’s life had been different. He’d been in law enforcement a long time and it still puzzled him why people made the choices they did. He hunched his shoulders against the cold and turned to find his brothers. At least them he understood.

* * * *

Bryn stood in the midst of the chaos, directing the traffic, in between giving the SAC a report on everything that had happened. It seemed to take forever. And it felt so unimportant. It was over. Wasn’t that enough? Okay, so half a mountain got blown up. It wasn’t her fault. At least no one died in the explosion. Any comparison to Waco would be weak.

Grady was out of business. Order would soon be restored.

The SAC turned away to answer a question from another agent, and Bryn used his distraction to fade into the crowd, her gaze scanning for Dewey. She didn’t have to scan long. Dewey was behind her, cutting her from the mass as neatly as cowboy separates a heifer from the herd. The touch of his hands on her waist, even through her bulky coat, turned her legs to rubber. Tough agent faded into pliant woman, though she tried not to let it show on the outside until they reached the relative cover of some vehicles.

She turned to face him, her arms sliding around his neck. She didn’t care who saw her now. He was alive. She patted the parts of him she could reach, just to be sure.

“You going to kick my ass for losing the glasses?” he asked, rubbing his forehead against hers.

He smelled like outdoors and pine trees and himself. Heaven.

“I did think about it,” she admitted, as he unzipped her coat and slipped his arms inside. “But I came up with something better to do with your ass.”

She smiled at him, figuring now they’d kiss, but he held back, his gaze serious.

“I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I…love you.”

He’d said it. She’d said it back, but she hadn’t, she realized, completely surrendered to the situation. She’d held something back. Maybe she’d been afraid to trust him. Or maybe she was afraid of the power it gave him over her. In her world, power wasn’t something you gave up easily. And you were always careful who held it. And now here she was, the thief and the lady agent. It made no sense at all. And it made perfect sense. She knew what he wanted to know. She eased back in his hold, so that he could see her eyes.

“I love you, too,” she said. There was more that she didn’t say. She hoped he knew it was implied and as binding as the vows they’d taken before the JP. Things like, I’m there for you, with you for always, no matter. I trust you. With me. With your choices. We’re partners now in every way.

She knew he knew what she meant by the way he sighed. His body shuddered with the relief of that sigh. He sagged into her, his face against her neck, his breath warm against her skin. Bryn stroked his hair as one tear tracked slowly down her cheek.

Dewey Hyatt, aka Phagan, had finally come home. And so had she.

* * * *

Luke had the chopper he hitched a ride on drop him at his truck, still stuck in the snow outside the cabin. Jake and Matt helped him dig out and get it running, but took the chopper back. Their wives were waiting. Luke didn’t mind. Once again he was glad to be alone with his thoughts. Before leaving, he loaded the supplies that Amelia—he should call her Prudence but he didn’t know Prudence, only Amelia—had before their flight such a short time ago.

Three days? Was it only three days? He wasn’t sure. Didn’t even know what day of the week it was anymore. Knew it wasn’t much more than that since he’d driven up here to find his closure. Looked like he’d taken the big fall instead. Standing in the doorway remembering how Amelia had looked in her skis—so scared of what she couldn’t remember, but willing to take it on—he faced the facts. He was in love. He had it bad.

How could he not? She packed a double whammy. That cool, little smile she’d part with like she was doing you a favor and that looked like it wouldn’t be warm and never would be. But when contact was made? Beneath that cool was a lot of warm. He rubbed his hot face as his memory reproduced, with every nuance, the kiss under the tree. His nose missed the scent of a woman. His arms missed holding one in the night while he slept. He missed the intimate exchange of glances in a crowd and in the bathroom. He sighed. And he missed the sex. He was only human. God was right. Men weren’t made to be alone.

Dr. Laura—who his mom listened to religiously and passed her wisdom on to her sons—would say they hadn’t known each other long enough, that they didn’t know the important things about each other, but he wasn’t so sure. In the furnace of danger, he’d learned that she had courage. That she didn’t quit. That she had a sense of humor.

That she never forgot.

And she could kick some serious butt.

He grinned. She’d fit in well with his sisters-in-law.

If she wanted to.

His grin faded. What happened when she got her memory back and her world expanded from him to everyone she’d known before? How could a girl like her not have someone in her past? What would she be like then? What would she want? Would there be some place for him? And if there wasn’t, what then? He’d deal with it. It’s not like he could choose not to deal with life. Okay, it was going to hurt, maybe as bad as losing Rosemary, but he wasn’t sorry he’d met her. He’d never be sorry he met her.

“You taught me that, Rose. And I finally learned it,” he told the silent cabin. “I’m going to be all right.”

Then he closed and locked the door, got in his truck and drove toward Denver.

TWENTY-THREE

“Yes, I remember,” Amelia said. “I remember almost everything.” The details of the kidnapping were still hazy and incomplete and probably always would be. It was a huge relief to still remember Amelia. To wake knowing, even if it hurt. It was a relief to have faced the void, to know what was behind the fog that had been her memory. It had been ugly, that last, terrible scene when her father told her he wasn’t her father, had never wanted to be, but it hadn’t killed her. She was still here.

So was the question, who am I?

Amelia seemed to be locked firmly inside Prudence, but the fit was a bad one. It was like wearing a straight jacket. How had she endured it all those years? She knew why she endured it now. The people who flowed in and out of her hospital room were more comfortable with tidy, controlled Prudence. They didn’t even see Amelia peering out of her prison. Until the day Luke came.

If he’d come alone…but he didn’t. He brought his partner Mann with him. And Bryn, the FBI agent. While Prudence smiled politely and invited them to sit down, Amelia studied her with interest. She was also tidy, controlled, but seemed to simmer with a secret satisfaction.

“How’s Dewey?” Prudence asked, her voice cool. Amelia noted the color that bloomed in Bryn’s cheeks at the question.

“He’s fine,” Bryn said, looking down at her notes instead of at Prudence.

Amelia noticed Luke hide a grin behind a cough. Amelia was used to the secret world that simmered beneath outward lives. She’d spent many unnoticed hours people watching. It was easy when people didn’t really see her. It was this awareness that had emboldened her to launch her own secret life.

The truth will out. Her infallible memory failed her when she reached for the source of the saying. Maybe she never knew it. Well, the truth was out now. And with a new question? Who will you be? Prudence or Amelia?

The doctors had decided to keep her under observation for a few days and had her talk to a shrink about her memory loss. She’d done as they asked, her Prudence I polite and reserved. They’d pronounced her healed. Why shouldn’t they? She looked all right. Mostly she was. She was rested now, stronger and ready to face her demons—if she could just shed all the people trying to help her. Well, all of them but Luke. Amelia yearned for him. Prudence, and his closed face, held her in check. Had she dreamed the words she thought he whispered to her on the mountain?

Don’t give up. What had he meant? Don’t give up on life? Or on us?

She had her release in hand, was dressed to find her answers, but they’d arrived needing her statement to wrap up it all up. How easy it was for them, she thought. They type it up and file it neatly away. Her job was much harder. John Knight’s death had left ragged edges and hanging threads that needed to be sorted out. Her guilty secret? She was relieved he was dead. She wouldn’t have to face him again.

She sat like Prudence for them, feet together, hands on her knees, and answered Luke’s questions delivered in a cop voice with answers in her Prudence voice, while Amelia studied Luke hungrily from behind Prudence’s calm gaze. He was so cute, but so distant. The time at the cabin might never have happened if she just looked at his face. When she let her gaze stray beyond that, she noticed the pulse beating in his neck. Beating fast. Inside Prudence, Amelia smiled wickedly. He wasn’t as calm as he looked.

She’d seen the power a woman could have over a man, but this was the first time she could feel that power in herself. Like a baby bird flexing its newly hatched wings, she looked at him, then slowly licked her lips. He twitched so briefly she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been watching for it and then tugged at his tie.

Warmth swept through her, delight, too. Both loosened Prudence’s hold on Amelia.

Mann cleared his throat, drawing Amelia’s attention away from Luke. Prudence regarded him politely, one brow arched in inquiry. “I’m a little confused about the Amelia persona?”

“It did confuse the issue, didn’t it?” Amelia said, prudently. She hesitated, then said slowly, “I…respected…John Knight…but he was a…difficult man to live with. Amelia was a way for me to…explore…those facets of my personality that didn’t fit in his life without the media making a connection that would cause him distress.”

“You did a good job of that,” Luke said.

Amelia looked at Luke, her eyes wide. “I always try to do my best at anything I take on, Detective.”

Luke swallowed dryly. He gave a good tug on his tie. Damn, he wished he knew what was going on. She looked so cool, butter couldn’t melt in her mouth if it tried. So why was he seeing her in his bed? Was he hoping the comment was double-edged or was it really double-edged?

“And you say Leslie told you,” Bryn asked, “that he killed your father—”

“He’s not my father,” Amelia said, with composure.

Bryn looked up from her notes, exchanging a quick look with Luke. Amelia’s gaze narrowed sharply, as if she sensed he knew something she didn’t.

“Have you spoken with Donovan Kincaid then?” Bryn said.

It was Amelia’s turn to look puzzled. “No.”

“Then how—”

“My father told me in the hospital. I realize now that he knew he was dying. I guess he wanted to make sure I knew.”

There was no sign of how she’d felt about the revelation, though his heart contracted at the thought of how it must have hurt her. He understood her better now. Only when she felt safe did her reserve fade away. Knight had tried to stamp out the life in Amelia. That he’d failed was a testament to the resiliency of her spirit.

“Why would Mr. Kincaid know Knight wasn’t my father—” she stopped, a flare of awareness in her eyes, before the shutters came down again.

Luke wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her while her mind and her heart, made the adjustment to this new reality. Mann leaned toward him and whispered, “What am I missing here?”

“Later,” Luke mouthed.

“Donovan is here, on another floor, Miss Knight,” Bryn said. “He was injured in the action at the compound. He was hoping you’d stop by.” Her smile was slight and wry. “I don’t think he believes that you’re really all right.”

She blinked twice, then nodded. “Of course. If you’re finished taking my statement?”

“I’m done,” Bryn said. “You done, Luke? Mann?”

“I’m done,” Luke said. Mann echoed his agreement. They rose in uneasy concert.

Bryn held out her hand. “Thank you for your help. I hope—well, take care.”

“Thank you. I will.”

Luke thought he saw a weighted look pass between them as they shook hands, but he could have been wrong. He often was. Mann shook her hand, too, then it was Luke’s turn.

“When you’re through with—your visit, I can run you home.” He hesitated. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Her smile was polite, but he thought he saw something in her eyes. Or maybe he just hoped he did. Maybe when they were alone, the woman who’d kissed him under the pine tree would return.

“Thank you.” Now it was her turn to hesitate. “I’ll try not to be long.”

She walked past him out the door. He stared after her, until he realized Mann and Bryn were both staring at him, trying not to grin.

“What?” he asked.

They shrugged, looked at each, gave in to grins and walked out of the room. Luke followed them, glad of the time to think before he was alone with her again. He’d told her he took intimacy seriously. That might’ve been an understatement. He’d hid it so well, even he hadn’t noticed, but he’d been that way from the time his dad died. The jovial surface was a smoke screen he threw up to protect himself from getting hurt again, he realized.

It was interesting that he’d chosen an occupation filled with risk, had hobbies that were, too, but was so unwilling to take one with his heart now. Was his heart less valuable than his life? He sighed, rubbing his face. He hadn’t slept well since he’d gotten back to town. Mostly he paced, mentally reciting the pros and cons of telling Amelia that he loved her. She wasn’t as young as he’d first thought, but she had lived a very sheltered life. Didn’t he owe her time to find her feet, to find out who she was?

The elevator opened without him realizing they’d moved. He followed Bryn and Mann into the lobby. Bryn said her good-byes with a nearly straight face. Mann just shook his head and said, “You got it bad, buddy,” before following her out the door.

That was one way to look at it, he supposed. Or you could say, he had it good.

* * * *

Donovan Kincaid hated being in the hospital. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. Soldiers of fortune earned their scars one at a time.

This was a hard time to be stuck in a bed. Bryn said Pru was fine, but he needed to see her with his own eyes. He needed to find a way to tell her—

It had seemed easy up in the mountain, in the heat of action. Now it didn’t seem so simple. Her memory was back and she’d learned the man she’d called father all her life was dead. She needed time to mourn his loss. If he told her the truth now, she’d lose her father twice. She’d taken so many knocks in the past few days. How could he hit her with one more?

He shifted restlessly in the bed. His back hurt, where the knife had entered.

Grady had damn near killed him. A pointed reminder he’d gotten soft. It was time for him to get out of the security business and go back where he belonged—in the heat of battle. Surely there was a war somewhere he could dive into.

A soft movement in the doorway caught his attention. He looked up. It was Pru, looking at him with her usual aloof, far too serious, gaze. She was dressed in something drab that tamped down the spirit he now knew was there. His heart hurt just looking at her. Before he could stop himself he said, “Damn, you look like your mother.”

Her smile broke across her face like the sun broke over the mountains. “Really?”

“Didn’t…he tell you?”

She came closer, her walk as fluid as her mother’s had been the day he met her.

“He never told me anything.” She sank into the chair by the bed.

Her face was even with his. Her eyes were her mother’s. They didn’t welcome him the way hers had. Despite the smile, they stayed cool, but interested. They saw him. He didn’t think that had ever happened before. He shifted uneasily. Her eyes made him aware of all things he hadn’t been—like in her life.

“Who am I?”

He drew in his breath sharply. It hurt like hell. “You’re—”

“—not John Knight’s daughter. He told me that day.”

Donovan scowled. “What a bastard.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did he tell you who—”

She shook her head, but the most amazing thing happened. Her eyes…opened. The shutters lifted. He could see her soul.

“I think,” she said, her hand lifting to rest on his gripping the blanket, “that I’m a little like my dad, too.”

He covered her hand with his and gripped. “You’re a lot like your dad. Sorry about that.”

She gave a sigh that trembled a bit and laid her head on his shoulder. “No apologies necessary…Dad.”

* * * *

Prudence was losing the battle of the personalities when Amelia got off the elevator and saw Luke waiting for her. She’d been so long, she’d wondered if he’d still be there. He was. He looked like he’d taken root near the window. His expression was closed, maybe a bit brooding, but it brightened a bit when she appeared. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her across the lobby and her heart stopped. When it started again, it felt new, like it had never beat quite like this before. Her knees were different, too. Weak. She wasn’t sure she could get from where she was to where she wanted to be. She didn’t know who she was yet, but she did know what she wanted.

Him.

She knew he wanted her, but did he want her?

She took a step and her knees held, so she walked over to him.

“Ready to go home?” he asked.

She nodded. Did he know that home wasn’t a place? It wasn’t where she’d lived. It was him. And her dad.

In his car, they didn’t talk, but the silence wasn’t awful. She wanted to lean her head on his shoulder and tell him what it felt like to meet her dad for the first time, but the width of the seat seemed like the Grand Canyon between them. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes, wondering how she could cross it. Wondering if he wanted her to try.

Luke felt her watching him, but couldn’t get a read on what it meant. She was quiet, a little subdued. He wanted to ask how the meet with her dad went, but the right words wouldn’t come. He wanted her to move closer to him, but she didn’t. How had he managed it in high school? He couldn’t remember. It was as if all his life had ceased but this moment. He could feel the heavy thud of his heart and the deep ache in his gut from wanting her.

He stopped the car in front of the Knight house. It was austere and unfriendly. Even the winter stark shrubs looked like they could repel all boarders. Home, sweet home—when hell freezes over. He hated that she’d lived here with a man who not only hadn’t appreciated her, but had tried to kill her spirit. No wonder she’d fled this place when she could.

He got out and opened Amelia’s door. The bruises were mostly faded on her face. Her hair lay against her head in soft curls. The long hair had been nice, but short, her eyes were huge and deep enough to fall in. He’d never seen eyes that color or that careful.

She stood up, but didn’t move away. “Can you wait while I pack some things?”

“You’re leaving?”

“I can’t stay here. I don’t belong here.” She paused, then added, “It’s not much. The things I really cared about are at the apartment.” She paused again. “If you have the time?”

He straightened. “Of course. No problem.”

Her smile broke through her reserve and for an instant he saw Amelia again, then Prudence reasserted herself as she turned to face the house.

Amelia gathered her strength and mounted the steps. The door wasn’t locked, which was a bit odd. Inside she found the housekeeper, Mrs. Curtis, crossing the entryway. She was a dour woman who didn’t like much, including Amelia. She looked like she’d been trying to cry, but was too happy to fake it. Amelia was glad to have Luke backing her as the woman looked at her without a welcome.

“You’re back.” She hesitated, then said, “Mr. Knight’s lawyer is in the study. He…came about the will.” A look of secret satisfaction put a dull light in her bitter, dark eyes.

“Have I been disinherited?” Amelia said. Prudence’s calm sustained her and protected her. Here in this place she’d called home, she finally understood. Amelia remembered her life, but during the three critical days of her memory loss, the person who’d run out of that hospital wasn’t the same person who flew out of the mountains with Luke. She’d become Amelia. It was Prudence who wasn’t real. She never had been real. It had always been a façade, an attempt to please the sterile, bitter man who could never be pleased.

He may have loved her mother at one point, but he’d never been able to forgive her for betraying him with Donovan. Bitterness had been in his voice and his words as repudiated her on his death bed. It was a relief to know that she didn’t have to try to please him, try to earn his love or even his respect anymore. He’d kept her around because she was useful, or rather her memory was. That was the sum of his interest in her. She looked around her. She’d lived here for thirty-four years. And she could walk out right now and it would be as if she’d never been here. In every way that mattered, she hadn’t been.

Mrs. Curtis started to say something to her, but stopped. Amelia turned the direction she was looking and saw her former father’s lawyer, Henry Bannerman, a tall, stately man who looked like he should be governor, not planning bitter men’s estates. He’d always been kind to her. So maybe one person would miss her. The look he gave the housekeeper sent her down the hall out of sight.

“Miss Knight, we need to talk. Your father—” His gaze traveled to Luke and he hesitated.

“—wasn’t my father,” Amelia finished for him. “He told me before he died.”

“Legally he was,” Bannerman said. “He shouldn’t have disinherited you. It’s not right. I’ll help you fight it—”

“What I’d really like you to do is help me change my name.”

He looked at her, his distinguished brows arched. “What?”

“I want to change my name to Amelia. Amelia—” she smiled at him. “—Kincaid. My real father’s name.” She looked at Luke then and found he was smiling.

“Well, yes, we can do that,” Bannerman stopped, his expression worried. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” She patted his arm. “I’ll be fine. I have some money from my mother, you know.”

“And your employment,” Bannerman added. “Still—”

“I’m quitting my job, too. It wasn’t really my job. It was his.” With these words, the rest of the weight lifted off her chest. She felt like she had back in the cabin when she didn’t remember her past. She drew a deep breath and shook off the remnants of Prudence. If she was going to make a new beginning, then it should really be a new beginning. She’d start by being real.

She smiled at him, let him see the delight in her eyes.

He looked…bemused. He tugged at his tie, cleared his throat and said, “Well, okay. I’ll do…whatever I can…for you.”

She beamed at him and saw color run up under his face. “I’m going to get a few things and get out of here. I’ll call your office with where I can be reached.”

She turned and ran up the stairs. Luke watched her until she was out of sight, then looked at the lawyer.

“Yes. Well…” he said.

“I know what you mean,” Luke said.

* * * *

Amelia walked out the front door ahead of Luke, lighter and freer with each step she took away from the Knight house. She was walking into day, she thought with an inward giggle. If she hadn’t already had a surname picked out, she’d have chosen Day. Amelia Day, total opposite of Prudence Knight.

She gave a little jump to the next step and stopped. “I have a car.” She looked around. “At least, I had a car?”

Luke stepped past her and stowed her one suitcase and the small box of personal items in the back seat of his car. He turned and walked back to her, the rise of the step putting her higher than him, just right to look into his eyes. If she had the courage to lift her arms, she could loop them around his neck. She should have the courage inside her somewhere. She’d learned to fly, to climb and to kick butt in self-defense class during her forays as Amelia. Not to mention the expertise with weapons she’d acquired working for John Knight. She’d taken it a bit further than Knight knew, maybe another interest she’d inherited from her real father?

“You still have a car. It’s at the hospital. I have your keys in my pocket, but as an officer of the law, I couldn’t let you drive it back here without a proper driver’s license. I’ll have someone drive it home for you later.” He sounded and looked serious, except for the twinkle deep in his dark eyes.

“I see.” Amelia smiled at him, watching the pulse at his neck speed up. Power—and with it courage—rose in her at the sight. Just a small pull on the throttle and she could lift off. She could. “Both my proper—and my improper—licenses got blown up by Grady. I guess I’m totally at your mercy.”

“Totally?” He arched one brow.

“Totally.” Amelia arched hers back. Courage welled up inside her.

His smile took her breath away. It was tender, amused, and very sexy. It curled her toes in her very proper, Prudence shoes. It was hard to stand with curled toes, harder to think. She took a deep breath—and her courage in her hands—and lifted off, lifting her arms until her hands rested on his shoulders. Warmth shot up through her palms and did a quick run through her body. It was a nice warm, but mixed with the cold air, she did wonder if she might start a small weather system over their heads. Even better, he didn’t reject her.

He cleared his throat, but his voice was still husky when he said, “My mom…wanted me to invite you over for lunch. Today.”

Amelia inched her hands around his neck. If she was going to fly, she might as well soar. She stepped a bit closer. A mere inch of cool air separated their bodies.

“Mom. Lunch. Sounds…serious?”

His hands found their way to her waist. Chills spread out from where he touched her. She wanted to kiss him so bad her lips hurt. Flying wasn’t enough. She needed orbit. His gaze caught hers and held it, upping the chill factor and the altitude.

“I am. Very.” He hesitated, then said, “A lot has happened to you in the last few days. I know you’ve got a lot of things to sort through—”

Luke stopped. Damn, he was out of practice and had never been great with words even when he was in practice. Rosemary had made it too easy for him. She should have kicked his ass, not done the proposing for him. He’d read a few of Dani’s books where her heroes always knew exactly what to say, but damned if he could pull up any of it now.

Her arms inched a little further around his neck, bringing their bodies barely together. It had been a while, but his body had no trouble remembering what to do. His arms didn’t either. They slid the rest of the way around her waist, taking contact from light to firm. If only his brain could get up to speed.

Their lips were a millimeter apart when she said, “I’ll admit it does feel a bit odd. Like I have two people and two memories inside me. But there’s not that much to sort through…for me. I know what I want.”

Her eyes asked him what he wanted. He sighed, relaxing just enough so that their foreheads touched. She shouldn’t make it so easy for him. He didn’t deserve it. Even with her help, the words didn’t come easily. He wanted her so much it hurt and it scared the hell out of him. She made him vulnerable again. His body felt tight with longing and fear.

She moved until her lips were against his ear. “I can’t promise you I won’t ever die, Luke, but I can promise you I’ll love you until I die.”

His insides surrendered and the words he wanted to say quit sticking in his throat. They spilled out of him in a soft rush, not smooth or polished enough for one of Dani’s books, but from his heart. From his soul. Somewhere in the mix, he asked her to marry him.

He froze. He was rushing her. “I’m sorry. It’s too fast—”

Her mouth stopped his words, hot and sweet, a little inexperienced, but she was learning fast. And teaching him a few things. Their mouths touched, clung, parted, then came together again.

“I love you,” he said, against her lips. “I love you.”

Houston, Amelia thought, we have no problem…

TWENTY-FOUR

Luke took Amelia around to the back door because only strangers used the front. He hoped just his mom would be there. He wasn’t that lucky. The entire family was gathered around the table, eating chocolate chips cookies as his mom pulled them out of the oven.

Dani fed pieces of cookie to Mark. She gave Luke a distracted grin. “Introducing a new food group to him.” She handed him another piece, cooing, “It’s the perfect food, isn’t it? Oh, yes, it is.”

“Pizza is the perfect food,” Phoebe said, “though these cookies are a close tie.”

“Can’t feed a baby pizza, can we?” Dani cooed.

“Really?” Jake arched his brows. “What was that stuff Mark was gnawing on when I stopped in last week?”

Dani looked a bit sheepish. “It was just the crust.”

“Hey, at least she hasn’t started him on Diet Dr. Pepper,” Matt said.

Dani gave him a mock, shocked look. “He wouldn’t sleep. Can’t have that when everything I do is to get you to sleep, huh, baby.”

Mark grabbed her face and gurgled, his grubby hands leaving chocolate hand prints on each side of her face.

Jake tipped his head to one side, giving her a critical look. “I think you look on the outside, what you are on the inside, Dani.”

Dani stuck her tongue out at him. Mark did, too.

Luke hesitated, his body still blocking Amelia from his family’s sight. They could still get away—

Phoebe, in her usual sexy recline, paused in her cookie consumption long enough to ask, “Who’s your friend, Luke?”

That brought all activity to a standstill and all eyes, except Mark’s, their way.

His mom straightened, her gaze finding Luke across the kitchen, her brows arched. “Luke?”

Amelia stepped around him and smiled at everyone. “Hi. I’m Amelia.”

His mom, her lips twitching, wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and then stepped forward, her hand out in a welcome. “I’m pleased to meet you. My son has told me so little about you.”

Amelia leaned closer, and said in a loud whisper, “You know, that doesn’t surprise me. He’s very sweet, but a touch taciturn.”

Taciturn? What did that mean?

Dani appeared at this side and whispered, “Means you don’t talk enough about what really matters.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Matt said. He lifted his son from her arms and wrapped his arm around her waist.

“Well, it should,” Dani said. She smiled at Amelia. “I’m Dani.”

“I’ve read your books,” Amelia said. “They’re great.”

Dani smiled at Luke. “I like her.”

He introduced Jake and Phoebe. Phoebe gave her a languid smile of greeting.

“She’s cute, but she doesn’t look like she can kick my ass, let alone what’s his name?”

“Ray,” Jake said.

“Ray. How big was he?” Phoebe finished

“Big,” said Matt.

“Very big,” said Jake at the same time.

They both measured a spot well above their heads.

Phoebe looked thoughtful. “Maybe she can kick my ass.”

“Do you mind—” Luke started.

“I don’t mind,” Amelia said, a smile of delight transforming her face. His family stared at her, then, one by one, returned her smile, all of them looking slightly bemused.

“You’re a fool if you let her get away, Luke,” Dani said.

“If she can take Ray—” Phoebe agreed, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“You’ll never have to worry about drunks and bores when you’re out on the town,” Matt said, with a shit-eating grin.

Luke looked at Amelia. Her eyes asked if he was going to tell them? Luke grinned.

“I don’t know. Might be dangerous to marry a woman who can take you,” Luke said. But his smile and the look in his eyes gave him away.

“I think it’s already a done deal,” Debra said, coming forward to hug Amelia.

“Signed, sealed and committed,” Amelia said. “When you’re my age, you can’t afford to beat around the bush. You know what they say about girls in their thirties, marriage and terrorists.”

“It’s not true,” Dani said, giving her a hug, too.

“No,” Amelia said with a sigh, “but it feels like it’s true.” Amelia gave him an impish look and he smiled back.

For a minute he missed Rosemary. She’d have liked Amelia. He gave himself a little shake. If she’d been here, there’d have been no Amelia. Still, he had a feeling she approved. His brothers both gave him a discreet thumbs up. It was going to be all right. Amelia came to him, nestling into his side. No, it was going to be great. Maybe even one of Dani’s freaking happy endings.

* * * *

LONESOME MAMA

Bonus short story, continuing The Lonesome Lawmen series.

ONE

It was a lovely day for a barbeque, Debra Kirby decided as she sat on the swaying wood swing in her back yard. It was warm and dry, with a slight breeze to keep things from edging over into hot. Sharp and unexpected regret bit deep into her heart. How John would have loved being with his boys in the huddle around the grill. He’d have looked her direction with a proud-papa grin then stirred the pot a bit so he could see his boys strut their stuff.

No question the easiest pot to stir was middle son, Matt. The pugnacious set of his jaw made an odd counterpoint to his gentle rocking of Mark, perched on Matt’s shoulders, pounding his father’s head with his baby hands. John would have loved being a grandpa and watching Matt getting some of what he’d dished out as a child. Debra got a kick out of seeing her tough-minded son wrapped around a tiny, chubby, and rather grubby, little finger.

Three years of marriage agreed with Matt. He was a man at peace—except with his baby brother, Jake, who held both fork and tongs and so had all power over the state of the sizzling meat. Debra shook her head as her middle and youngest bristled at each other over the doneness, or lack thereof, of their lunch. Some habits were hard to break, even with the softening influence Dani brought to Matt’s side of the equation.

Luke, like Switzerland, stood between the younger siblings, still trying to negotiate peace. As dark-visaged as Matt, but a bit taller and grayer, he’d always looked cheerful on the surface, but now the joy went all the way through. Gone were the dark days following Rosemary’s death and the deep sorrow hidden by surface cheer. A year of marriage to Amelia had been good for her first-born.

That left only Jake’s situation to ponder. Lighter and leaner than his older brothers, he was the only one of her sons that looked like her, though in a masculine way. She’d smiled and hid her worry when Jake married a convicted thief two years ago. Her restraint had been amply rewarded. Jake and his Phoebe were a perfect match, even if she would be on probation for another million hours or so—a fate shared by the fourth man at the grill.

With them, but not of them, Dewey Hyatt was tolerated by the Kirby boys because Phoebe considered him a brother and they liked his wife, Bryn. Bryn was in the kitchen with the Kirby wives, probably still wondering how she’d happened to fall in love with the mischievous, high-tech thief. Domesticity sat uneasily on the FBI Special Agent, but she had a compelling reason to hang with the Kirby wives—the same one that had driven Debra Kirby outside to the swing and her musings.

With four very pregnant women in one room, there was one topic of conversation. Not that Debra hadn’t tried to change the subject, but like lemmings, they returned to what, Debra conceded, was a subject dear to all their pumping-for-two hearts.

Four babies and all due in the same, upcoming month. They couldn’t have planned it that way if they’d tried. Debra had been grand-childless for many long years. She’d delighted at each month of Dani’s pregnancy, even when Dani lost her delight and wanted relief. She’d been outside when Matt brought her the news of Mark’s birth. She’d cried when she held Mark for the first time—and wished for John with a fresh, sharp ache. Now she felt overwhelmed and acutely aware that she was very much alone in the companionship stakes.

She’d hoped that sticking a toe back into the dating world with John’s best friend, Henry Maxwell, would ease the odd ache that had developed around her heart after two decades of peaceful acceptance, but all it had done was make her miss John even more. Henry was a nice man, but he was almost too much like John, without managing to be enough like John to suit. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but the heart rarely did. Henry had proposed the other night, but she couldn’t see herself marrying a pale shadow of John just because she was lonely. It wouldn’t satisfy her or him.

There was a stir at her back door and her three daughters-in-law and Bryn waddled out bearing condiments and accompaniments to the meat Jake was pulling off the grill. The women were followed by Amelia’s father, Donovan Kincaid, with his bimbo du jour hanging on his arm. Debra bit back a grin as she watched her boys puff up like offended blow fish at the sight of the young thing tripping across the lawn in highly spiked heels and very few clothes.

“Daddy’s here,” Amelia said brightly and with an air of still enjoying the sound of the words in her ears. Blonde, beautiful, infinitely serene, and amazingly pregnant, she had a hint of mischief in her violet eyes and around the edges of her lush mouth. Clearly she’d anticipated the effect the bimbo would have on the brothers Kirby and was prepared to enjoy the moment to its fullest.

Debra narrowed her gaze against the high, bright sun as she studied her newest guest. This one might be the youngest yet. As if to echo that thought, Matt made some comment about asking to see her ID, that the wind chimes only partially obscured. Even Luke had trouble staying Switzerland. It was a little harder to remain neutral where his father-in-law was concerned. Debra set her grin free. There was no question that Donovan brought a rakish quality to the proceedings that was highly entertaining.

If the boys wouldn’t rise to the bait so beautifully, Donovan would probably quit riling them—though maybe not. Donovan used his bimbo parade as a shield of sorts, but Debra didn’t have a clue what he was afraid they would see in him or about him.

The former mercenary turned security specialist appeared both delighted and terrified by his new role as father and soon-to-be grandfather. She understood those feelings, despite the huge disparities in their life experiences. She knew how roles and appearances could obscure what went on inside. She knew that age was a physical, not mental, thing. Sometimes her brain would forget and send a signal to her legs to jump up, and then be surprised when she couldn’t. It was odd to feel so out of synch with herself, to look in the mirror and see a faded, unfamiliar version of herself. The gray hair and marked-by-life face didn’t reflect her innate belief that her life was still full of possibilities.

Donovan somehow managed to shift his bimbo off into the circle of young people and started in her direction. Debra was glad to put her odd thoughts aside. She liked Donovan and enjoyed spending time with someone closer to her age who wasn’t taking HRT.

The sun was behind him, so she couldn’t see his expression, but he walked confidently and with a hint of provocation in his easy stride. A bit of a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. It reminded her of John, just after he’d stirred the pot.

It wasn’t the first time Donovan reminded her of John, but unlike Henry, he was no one’s pale shadow. Despite the wear and tear of battle, he was a good-looking man and Debra wasn’t so old that she didn’t enjoy the view. She’d always liked tall men, though he was whipcord lean, a stark contrast to John’s stocky build. He walked with the innate confidence of someone who knew he could seriously kick ass. His brown hair might have more gray in it than when she’d first met him—most of it probably acquired during the short period Amelia had gone missing last year—but it was distinguished gray and touched with a hint of silver.

He was learning that fatherhood took a toll, no matter how late in life one came to the role. Amelia was so elated with her new “daddy” that Luke kept his opinions about daddy-dearest to himself—at least he thought he did. Amelia didn’t miss much. Luckily for both men, she had a good sense of humor and a personality that spread gentle oil on troubled waters.

Debra didn’t play favorites with her daughters-in-law, but Amelia was a much more relaxing companion than, say, the very turbulent, deliberately sexy Phoebe. Even pregnant, Phoebe had a lushness about her that drew her husband’s eyes like a magnet. She’d lost the chip on her shoulder early in the marriage, but she wasn’t above pulling the chains her brothers-in-law were wont to let dangle so temptingly in her face, particularly now when she was hopped up on hormones.

“May I?” Donovan asked Debra, indicating the empty space next to her.

Debra looked up, shading her eyes from the sun. Despite the “daddy” tag, he retained his air of rakish mystery and his crisp, military bearing. His face was roughly sculpted by nature and beat up some by life, but still managed to be charming. His twinkling gaze invited her to join him in his tweaking of her boys.

Debra smiled a welcome and shifted to give him more room. The bench gave as it took the added weight. Up close, he smelled good. She inhaled, pulling in his scent and that of her yard and the cooking food. Almost imperceptibly, she relaxed inside. She felt different when he showed up. Even an old broad like her felt a bit sexy and almost dangerous.

With the sun at a different angle, she met his watchful, gray gaze and found it, as always, surface friendly, but carefully shuttered against deep penetration. If he ever opened his gaze, what would it reveal? Amelia was probably the only person he allowed in and Debra had a feeling he even put limits on what she could see.

He relaxed back into the cushions with a sigh of relief, his sardonic gaze on the scene by the table. “For such bright boys...” He didn’t finish the sentence, just shook his head and slanted her a look that was almost boyish in its mischief.

“You could just stop tweaking them,” Debra pointed out.

“I could,” he admitted. His date tossed her platinum blonde hair and almost tossed her breasts out of her skimpy top. “But it wouldn’t be as much fun.”

The expectant women looked amused, despite the bimbo’s emaciation, so Debra didn’t feel a need to intervene. The boys could take care of themselves, as they pointed out with annoying regularity.

“I suppose not.” Debra turned to smile at him and caught him studying her, not his date, with a look in his gray eyes that was oddly unsettling.

“Amelia says you wanted to go to Phoenix next weekend?” Unlike his eyes, Donovan’s voice was drowsy and relaxed.

Debra arched her brows. “I have a friend there who is remarrying, but the flights were all booked up. I took too long to decide to go.”

“I’m flying there to do some business next Thursday. You’re welcome to ride along. I’ve even got the company suite at my disposal. Two rooms,” he added, as if she might think he was making her an improper suggestion.

“That’s very kind, but I’d need to stay at least through Sunday night,” Debra said, feeling practicality trying to stamp out hope. She longed to see her friend, who saw her as a real person, not just a role, but she’d been worried about leaving so close to her daughters-in-law delivery dates. Theresa always managed to cheer her up. It was one of those friendships that endured separation and picked up as if there’d been none. And she’d love to meet the man who lured Theresa out of her determinedly single state.

“Not a problem. I’m sure there’s plenty of tourist crap for me to see. I hear they have cactus.”

He grinned as he stretched out his long, lean legs and hooked his hands behind his head. He had cowboy boots on his feet, but they didn’t look out of place. They were a part of who he was. His jeans looked worn and comfortable. His soft blue tee shirt added that tint to the gray of his eyes, stealing some of the cool from their depths. He wore his brown hair slightly longer than her boys and she wondered if it was soft or crisp in texture.

Whoa. She gave herself an internal shake to refocus her thoughts in a less dangerous direction. She managed to chuckle. “Well, if that gets old, I am allowed to bring a guest.” Her gaze swept his sinewy length. “You’d cause quite a stir, I expect. Plenty of entertainment value.”

And he wouldn’t look too shabby on her arm, she had to admit, trying not to hope he’d agree. Pride was something she should be trying to stamp out, not blatantly encourage, even if it would be fun. There was one guest she wouldn’t mind one-upping. She, Theresa, and Diane had all been young mothers together. Theresa’s husband had left her for another woman. Diane had left her husband for a younger man. Debra didn’t know why Diane had stayed in touch with her or Theresa, except for the one-upmanship factor. When Theresa had called to invite her, she’d mentioned Diane would be there, with a sigh and the caveat to “wait until you see the new husband.” Donovan would be a wonderful antidote to Diane’s feigned pity.

The antidote chuckled, the sound oddly infectious. “How could I resist that offer? I’ll throw a suit in my suitcase.”

He almost sounded pleased, but that was silly. And if she were inclined to lose her perspective, she only had to look at the bimbo looking in such horror at the plate of meat. Did he know she was a vegetarian before he brought her? She looked at Donovan who looked both resigned and amused.

There was warmth and charm in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. It spoke to the young girl hiding inside her old broad body. Before she could stop them, her toes curled into the grass. Luckily it hadn’t been cut yet this week, keeping her toes out of sight. She drew a shaky breath and managed to get out a strangled thank you.

“I’ll pick you up early Thursday then?”

“Sure.” She’d have to get a new dress. The one she’d been planning to wear was frump city. For a moment she felt fear, but before she could act on it, she realized that the hollow feeling was gone. It might not last. Hollow would likely return. She knew Donovan wasn’t interested in her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy her small adventure. She lifted her chin and let her young smile out of the barn. It had been there far too long and should have been lame, but it didn’t feel lame at all. It felt good. If it seemed that his eyes warmed even more, well, she’d always had a good imagination.

A rising babble of talk and activity across the lawn broke into their moment. Donovan sighed. “Looks like they’re ready to eat. Once more into the fray…that is one hormone intense zone.”

He got up and held out a hand for her. Debra took it, liking the way it felt to have a man’s strong fingers close around hers, even if were just a moment. Once upright, she leaned close to him and admitted in a low voice, “I’m so sick of pregnant talk.”

“I thought it was just me.”

As they drew close to the table, Debra heard Donovan’s bimbo say, “My mom says when she had me that her labor lasted three days.”

Debra choked and looked at Donovan. He gave her a wide-eyed look, with humor lurking beneath the horror in their depths. Apparently he didn’t know pregnancy talk was infectious, even to bimbos.

TWO

Debra waited with Donovan as the driver unloaded their bags from the back of the long, dark limousine that had made her nosy neighbor’s eyes about pop out of the sockets when it stopped in front of her house. Then Donovan had upped the pop factor by emerging from the rear looking sexy and dangerous. It was a good thing she was past all that hormone stuff, she decided as she noted his typical jeans fitted snuggly to an ass that was still admirably tight. She gave a mournful sigh for the lack of firm in her own tush.

She’d unglued her gaze from his nice rear end and noted that a white shirt and sport jacket completed his ensemble. The white against his neck brought out his tan. Thankfully, he didn’t look baked, just nicely warmed. All in all, it was a casual look, but his clothes were clearly expensive and fit him well. When he bent to grab her suitcase in her living room and the jacket swung open, she’d been startled by a glimpse of his gun in its holster.

“You expecting trouble?” Debra had asked.

Donovan had looked surprised, until she indicated the weapon. “My clients expect me to be armed and to tell you the truth, I forget it’s there until I need it. If it bothers you, I can stow it in my bag.”

Debra had arched her brows and gave him a look.

He’d laughed. “I guess you are kind of used to guns by now, aren’t you?”

With two Deputy US Marshals and a police detective in the family? “I better be.”

He’d helped her in the back, while the driver stowed her bags. The ride to the airport had been fun. With each mile, she felt younger and lighter. She felt like Debra, not mom or grandma or any of the other labels that had been plastered on over the essential her through the years.

If Donovan considered this a pity date, there was no sign of it on his face or in his actions. He was witty, charming and much more relaxed than she’d ever seen him. It was probably exhausting to keep up with his bimbos. When he referenced a point in history, at least Debra had been born then and remembered it, too. It was nice not to have the whole sex thing in the mix. They could relax with each other and just have a nice time. When he helped her out of the car, his touch sent a tiny thrill up her arm to prick her heart with remembrance of the “sex thing.” Okay, so maybe there was a little attraction in the mix, but just enough to make it fun.

Even the air outside the airport shimmered with anticipation. The wind whipped by, as if to speed them on their journey. Overhead, a small jet roared its way skyward. She leaned back, shielding her gaze against the rising sun and followed it out of sight.

It was probably why she didn’t see the guy, just felt the blow as he bumped into her. He might have knocked her off her feet, if he hadn’t also grabbed her elbows. Her startled gaze met his for an odd and intense moment before he spun her out of his way and hurried off toward another hanger.

The hit-and-walk happened so quickly, Donovan didn’t see it, as he bent to grasp the handle of his bag. She started to say something, but then just sighed. She wasn’t hurt, not really. The driver lifted out her bag and set it at his feet.

“I can pull mine,” she said. “It has wheels and a handle.”

“I’ve got it,” Donovan said. With the bags arranged so he could manage them, he looked at her. His gaze narrowed. “Are you all right?”

Ruffled around the edges, but peaceful on the inside, Debra nodded. “I’m great.”

As they headed in the direction of the hanger that housed Donovan’s plane, she looked back. The guy was gone, perhaps into a building or vehicle. Their limo pulled away, revealing two men, looking around with angry expressions. One of them met her gaze for a long moment. His eyes were an amazingly vibrant green, she noted before he turned to scan the area. Something about them sent a small shiver of worry down her spine, particularly when he eased back into the shadows of a nearby hanger.

It was all very odd, but none of her business. She was glad to turn away, hurrying to catch up with Donovan. Let the vacation begin. Heaven knows she needed it before the multiple deliveries of grandchildren began.

* * * *

“It’s not on him, I tell you.” Pep held the cell phone a few inches from his ear as his employer vented his frustration. Pep wasn’t happy about it either, but he didn’t take it personally. He was hired muscle, which gave him distance and perspective. He liked having both. He was less likely to get an ulcer. For his employer, Warren Michaels, finding the item was the difference between freedom and incarceration. And it was his brother-in-law who took it. Under the circumstances, perspective wasn’t possible.

And to up the ante, Michaels would have to explain to his sister why she was a widow. Pep had met the sister. She made Hilary Clinton look warm and fuzzy. He didn’t blame hubby for taking a powder or for his Michaels’ dread. Pep looked down at the still figure at his feet. Hubby’s worries were over. A pity the mess he’d created wasn’t. As long as the item was out there somewhere, they all had a problem.

Pep realized the phone had gone quiet and cautiously returned it to his ear.

“He must have handed it off already. Or hidden it somewhere along his route. Did he talk to anyone? Stop anywhere?” Anger and frustration heavily laced his Michaels’ normally cool diction.

“No, sir.” Pep rubbed his face and looked at his brother. His given name was Norman, but everyone called him Pup, because he was a smaller version of Pep. Same dark hair, same green eyes, same great face. Alone they weren’t bad-looking, but together, their handsome visages increased their ability to acquire female attention. Unfortunately, this situation didn’t require that ability, it required brain power. Pep had a policy of strict honesty with himself. He knew he wasn’t that gifted in that particular area. It didn’t matter because he did have more than his fair share of cunning. “He didn’t talk to anyone—”

“He bumped into that broad,” Pup said.

Pup was like that. Pep thought he wasn’t even paying attention and he’d pop out with something almost useful. Most of the time he really wasn’t paying attention and had nothing to contribute, but at least he didn’t chatter. Pep couldn’t work with a chatterer. It was hard enough for him to think when things were quiet.

Hmmm. Pup was right. Hubby had bumped into that woman. She’d been with a guy, who’d seemed sort of familiar. That’s why Pep had ducked back out of sight. Their world wasn’t that big. And it was always better to see, not be seen—particularly in the general vicinity of a murder.

“We may have a lead, sir,” Pep said. “I’ll be in touch.” He ended the call before the yelling could start again, or the questions. His mind didn’t function well when questions were hurled at him. He needed to coax out the things he knew. He tried not to think of the man and sure enough, his face emerged from the debris inside Pep’s head. A few more moments of pushing it away and name followed.

Donovan Kincaid.

If that was a pass-off, it was a mighty smooth one, but that was Kincaid’s rep. Cool, smooth and dangerous. He looked at his brother. “Did you see where they were going?”

As he asked the question, a small, sassy plane soared over their heads before turning south.

“Up?” Pup said.

* * * *

“What do you think?” Donovan’s voice was tinny through the head phones, but still attractive.

“It’s fabulous!” Debra pulled her gaze from the view outside to flash Donovan a smile. How come she never knew how much she loved to fly? Probably because flying in an airliner was nothing like this. When she got home, she was going to check into flying lessons. Though maybe she’d wait to tell her boys. She had a feeling they hadn’t planned on a flying grandma for their kids.

The trouble with kids, parents weren’t real to them. Debra knew this, because she’d been the same way about her parents. It was only when she became a parent that she realized her parents had been young and had lives and feelings she knew nothing about. Most of the time she could be philosophical about it, but it was hard when she had no one to be real with. A longing for John stabbed through her joy at being airborne, but before it could take root, something thudded into the small craft. Actually, several somethings.

Donovan cursed and turned the plane into a spinning dive.

“What is it?”

“Someone’s shooting at us,” he said.

Debra heard the words, but they didn’t seem real. It wasn’t possible. Things like this happened in the movies, or maybe in her sons’ lives, but not hers. She was a grandma for Pete’s sake.

She clutched the sides of her seat as the plane spun down, catching a brief glimpse of the helicopter pursuing them. It looked military. Sort of, but not quite right. Smoke trails spat from guns on each side of it, spurting past them as they spun down. The ground rushed toward them. They were going to crash. Donovan pulled back hard and the plane leveled out. It skimmed along the tree tops, dodging their pursuers as much as possible. The engines whined in protest. Debra wanted to whine, too. She was thrown against the straps across her chest. Slammed against the seat back. Then jostled from side to side. Bullets thudded into the body of the plane at irregular intervals.

Her stomach was having trouble keeping up. Maybe she wouldn’t learn to fly after all. Maybe she’d be dead. Wouldn’t get to see or know her new grandchildren. This trip was stupid, reckless. Those babies were what mattered not a break from her family.

The tiny plane bounced across tree tops, then rose to follow the line of a mountain. Beneath the sheer terror was a fervent gladness she’d missed breakfast or it would be all over the windscreen right now.

It felt like they were in a fight they had to lose, but she became aware of a sense of purpose from Donovan. Some of her fear eased. He wasn’t giving up and she wouldn’t either. She had grandchildren to meet and spoil.

She looked out, trying to figure out where they were, but the scenery rushing by made her dizzy and sick. One thing was clear. Everything out there was way too close for comfort.

Debra felt questions crowding into her head, but kept her mouth closed. This was not a good time to distract Donovan and if she opened her mouth, more than questions might come out. She focused her attention on the plane’s controls directly in front of her and her stomach angst lessened.

Donovan banked the plane, taking it down into a small valley. For a moment, Debra saw the helicopter and then she couldn’t. The sides of the valley pressed in close. Debra looked ahead. The small valley seemed full of turns and twists, giving them some cover from the helicopter.

“Hang on,” Donovan said, his voice both cool and grim.

Debra found his tone oddly reassuring, considering. She didn’t waste time pointing out she was already hanging on.

The plane hooked around a corner and then he pulled up the nose of the plane. It felt like they clawed through the air. They needed to, to miss the wall of solid rock in front of them.

Debra didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath, until they cleared the cliff and she expelled it in a rush. Below them, there was an explosion. Debra looked back and down to see black smoke billow up from the edge of the cliff.

Eyes wide, Debra looked at Donovan. “Holy cow.”

“And some unholy ones,” Donovan said. “I wonder what that was about? As far as I know, I haven’t pissed anyone off recently.” He rubbed his face. “I’m sure sorry, Debra.”

“Stuff happens. At least we’re all right—”

The engine sputtered, evened out, then sputtered again. This time it didn’t even out. It quit completely. In the sudden silence, Donovan said, “That’s not good.”

THREE

Luke ducked under the police tape and entered the building, making his way through the confusion to the reason behind it. His partner, Mannfred Gage was already there, looking around with his usual good cheer.

“How is it you always beat me here?” Luke asked, as he crouched to study the vic.

“I don’t have to tear myself out of the arms of a lovely woman.” Mann crouched down beside him, pointing mutely to the pre-mortem bruises on the vic’s face. “They wanted something.”

“But did they get it? He looks familiar,” Luke added, trying to see past the bruising. “We got an ID?”

“Not officially, but the beat cop recognized him. Name’s Roger Rowdy.”

“Rowdy? Warren Michaels’ brother-in-law?” Mann nodded and Luke frowned. Michaels was a major player in both local and state business and politics. He exported business equipment all over the world. Since 9/11, exporters had come under greater scrutiny. There’d been some rumors of inappropriate exportation of computer chips, but so far nothing solid had emerged against the man.

Only now his brother-in-law and business partner was dead, apparently tortured to death.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Bryn’s cell phone. She didn’t start her maternity leave for a month. If she didn’t know if the FBI was investigating the guy, she could find out. When she answered, he said, “Hey, I’m looking at a dead guy you might be interested in. Roger Rowdy?”

“Rowdy’s dead? Where are you?” She snapped the questions off like bullets. Typical Bryn when she was on the job, so he didn’t take it personally.

Luke told her, then rang off and looked at his partner. “We might be able to pass this one off to the feds and resume our leisure activities.” He grinned, but then the significance of the address filtered through his satisfaction. He turned and went outside. It was probably a coincidence a murder had happened right next to the hanger his father-in-law used, on the very day he was flying to Phoenix. Then he remembered. Donovan was flying to Phoenix with his mom.

“What’s wrong,” Mann asked.

“Everything,” Luke said. “I need to talk to someone in traffic control.”

* * * *

“Mayday! Mayday! We have been shot down!” Donovan struggled to control their glide toward the ground. The plane soared over some trees, so close he heard them scrape the bottom of his plane, and then he saw a dirt road below. “We might just survive this. Or you will. I expect your sons will kill me for getting you into trouble.”

Debra managed a weak chuckle. “If we survive, I promise to protect you.”

She had guts, but he already knew that. That was all he had time to think as he fought to line his plane up with the dirt track. It was the only relatively clear space around. Quickly, too quickly, the wheels slammed into the ground. The small plane bounced once, hit the ground again then hurtled forward. He tried to slow the plane and it did slow some, but not enough. They were running out of road. It took a turn and they didn’t. Straight into the trees. Wings snapped off. Tree ahead. He tried to turn, but there was no where to go. He grabbed Debra, pushed her face into his shoulder and tried to fold his body around her. The sudden stop flung them both forward against their restraints. A flash of pain as his head connected with the wind screen then the world went dark.

* * * *

“What do you mean you’ve lost contact with the chopper?” Pep looked at his phone, gave it a shake, and put it back against his ear.

“Just what I said. We lost radio and radar contact. It was there then it wasn’t.”

“And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“It could have landed.”

The guy didn’t sound like he thought that’s what happened.

“Or?”

“Crashed.”

“And you think it…” Pep urged.

“Judging by where it vanished, it’s not likely it landed. Plus, they cussed just before we lost radio contact.”

“I thought you said it would be easy to shoot the plane down.”

Pep could almost hear the shrug. “I was wrong.” There was a pause. “Who was flying the plane?”

Pep didn’t answer the question. His contact wouldn’t like knowing his man had gone up against a former merc with no warning. “What about the plane? Any sign of it?”

“It went down, too.”

So there was still a chance to acquire the item. “We’ll be there in an hour.” He looked at his watch. “Here’s what we’ll need.”

* * * *

What?” The word started quietly enough inside Luke’s head, but it emerged as a shout. He stared at the airport official.

“We received a mayday call about ten minutes ago.” He led Luke to a map spread out under glass on a table. “According to their flight plan, they would have been somewhere around here.” He stabbed at an area on the paper. “I’ve already informed search and rescue, but that it’s a mountainous area and it could take some time to locate the…wreckage.”

He looked away from Luke then, as if to give him privacy while he absorbed this unacceptable reality. Luke needed the time. He was on his feet, but it didn’t feel like he was. The world had suddenly changed around him. Mom. Amelia. Her father was out there, too.

“There is something else.” The man hesitated, as if unsure whether to proceed.

“What?” Luke asked, impatiently.

He indicated a man standing near him with a tape recorder. He turned it on and Luke heard Donovan’s voice shouting mayday. And then…

“What was that he said at the end?” Luke asked sharply. “Did he say someone shot them down?”

Both men shrugged.

“Play it again.” Luke leaned closer. There was no question. Donovan said they were shot down. And his hanger was right next to the crime scene. If Donovan got his mother mixed up in one of his problems, well, if he wasn’t dead already, Luke would kill him all by himself. If…

He looked at his phone, wondering who to call first. All three wives were pregnant. Then he knew. He punched the numbers and when he heard her soft hello, his voice broke for the first time. “Louise?”

“What’s wrong? What do you need?” Dani’s voice breached the distance, wrapping him in warmth and sisterly love.

“Amelia is going to need you.” He steadied his voice with an effort. “Donovan’s plane…” he hesitated, then softened the news, “…it’s missing.”

“Oh, my gosh. Debra…”

“I’ll call Matt and Jake, but I don’t want Amelia to be alone. If you could tell her…I know it’s not fair. You’re pregnant, too—”

“I’ll take care of it. She and Phoebe are here. You call your brothers.”

“Thanks, Louise.” His voice cracked again. He pulled it together. “I’ll call again if…when I know more.”

The call ended, then he took a deep breath and dialed Matt’s number.

* * * *

“Donovan?”

The voice was pleasant and familiar, but far away. He struggled toward it, the darkness around him lightening until he opened his eyes. Debra Kirby’s face was close to his, her blue eyes worried, a streak of something that looked like blood tracking down one side of her face.

He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair back. It surprised him how soft it felt. His gray hairs were like wire. Her skin was soft, too.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

She managed a shaky smile. “So are you.” She showed him a bloody tissue then returned it to a spot on his forehead.

He grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Her smile turned gentle and rueful. “I’m not sure this is your fault.”

He started to frown, but it hurt so he just asked, “What?”

She held up something. It looked like a lighter or a key holder, maybe. “I found this in my pocket when I was looking for a tissue. I think the man who bumped into me put it there.”

It took a lot of resolution not to frown. He had several questions, but all he managed was, “What?” again.

“While you were getting the luggage out of the car, this man bumped into me.” She frowned then winced and touched her own wound. “I have this feeling I should know who he was, but anyway, he went on, didn’t even say he was sorry. Then just after that, I saw the two angry guys.”

Donovan’s head throbbed. His brain didn’t want to think that much. What he really wanted to do, was pull Debra down until her head was resting against his shoulder and go back to sleep.

“Angry guys?”

“They looked like twins, except one was shorter. He had these really green eyes.”

That got his attention. “Green eyes?”

“Like emeralds. Do you know him?”

“What is that thing you say isn’t yours?”

Debra held it up again. “It’s a jump drive, though I’ve heard some people call them a stick. I’ve seen Dani use them with her computer. She stores book files on them. It’s like a tiny hard drive. You plug it into the USB port. They’re so cute, I wanted to get one, but I don’t need it.” She looked sheepish.

He took it from her and studied it. It did say jump drive on the side. The end came off, exposing a USB plug. It would be a useful way to hand off information. Green eyes. That could only be Pep Griffin and his brother, Pup. If those two were after the drive, they needed to get moving.

“How long have I been out?” He explored the sore spot on his forehead.

“Not long.” A bit of red tinted her pale cheeks. “Thank you.”

“For what? Almost killing you?”

“For protecting me during the crash. You took quite a whack to the head for me.” She looked charmingly worried as she gently touched the spot. Her fingers were cool and soothing against his skin. The tight band of pain circling his head eased some. He wondered if the Kirby boys realized how lucky they were to have Debra in their lives. He had another thought.

“My phone. I wonder…” He felt his jacket pocket and pulled it out in two pieces. “Looks like it took some of the impact, too.” Well, he’d been in worse situations.

“They’ll be worried,” Debra said. “I left mine at home. Wanted to be free of distractions.” She looked annoyed with herself.

“We’ll find a way to let them know we’re all right,” Donovan said. He took a breath then made himself sit up straight. It hurt like hell. “But first, we need to get away from the plane.”

Debra looked surprised. “Shouldn’t we stay with the plane?”

“Normally, that would be good policy, but we were shot down. Your green-eyed bad guy doesn’t give up that easily. I’m betting he wasn’t the one in the chopper, but will be along as soon as he gets another one.” And he could smell fuel in the air.

He tried the door, found it jammed. He got his feet against it and kicked hard. The pain in his head almost put his lights out again. He gritted his teeth and tried again. This time the door gave a little. One more kick popped it open. He scrambled out and turned. Debra grabbed her rather large purse, then climbed into his seat and slid into the doorway. He reached up, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her down. For a moment they were chest to chest then she flushed and stepped away from him. He felt a bit flushed and a bit bereft. He wasn’t used to it.

She looked around. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

“We’re not that far from your cabin. Stand back from the plane. I can smell fuel.” She hastily obeyed. He looked at his plane. She’d been a good craft and got them safely down, but she was done for. He patted her fuselage then pushed through the underbrush to the rear. A big hole in the side gave him access to their luggage. He pulled it out and dragged it to where Debra watched. “Anything in this you can’t live without? I’d like to travel light and fast as possible. We need to get under cover.” She shook her head. He looked around, noted the landmarks, and stowed the bags in the underbrush.

He turned and studied her clothes. She’d dressed right for hiking, though she hadn’t known it. Trim jeans and a red tee shirt with a red sweater layered over the top. Comfortable shoes. Red was her color, though it would be easy to spot from the air.

He drew her away from the plane, wondering how long he’d been in love with her and just not realized it. As if to mark the moment, the plane behind them exploded.

FOUR

While Luke waited for his brothers, he glared at the map as if it could give up his mom’s location if it really wanted to. He told himself that Donovan was a good pilot, a survivor. He cursed himself for not stopping her going with him. He—

Wait a minute. He leaned in closer, actually seeing the map, not just glaring at it. The indicated flight path and possible location of where the plane went down, wasn’t that far from the cabin. Donovan would know it, too. If someone had shot them down, he’d be looking for cover, going to ground.

His contact in flight control cleared his throat. Luke realized he didn’t know the man’s name.

“Forest Service is reporting a smoke column, Detective.” He stepped up to the map. “About here, I think. Search and rescue is going in.”

“I want to get there, too.” Luke’s voice was hard and tight. “How do I make that happen?”

The man’s eyes were kind. “I’ll make some calls.”

“Thanks.” Luke studied the map again.

“Luke?”

He turned and faced his brothers. The ranks closed then, typically, Matt pulled back. “What’s going on?”

* * * *

Donovan decided it was safe to stay on the dirt road for the time being, but he kept a weather eye out and his ears tuned to any sounds from the sky or the road ahead of them. Unfortunately, that meant they couldn’t trust any help that would inevitably come.

He looked at Debra, picking her way down the steeply rutted incline of the dirt track. She had to be tired, sore, and they were short on water and food. She’d stuck some breakfast bars and water in her purse, but it wouldn’t last long. Periodically, she looked up, scanning the horizon ahead, but not a word of complaint escaped her. The track cut through the trees in a zig-zag that switched back and forth to minimize that incline, but it was still brutal. His legs strained with the digging into the ground that prevented sliding.

Good thing it wasn’t too hot, but the cool, evergreen scented air could only do so much. Their exertions inevitably heated them up. Worry didn’t help. The protection of nightfall was distant this time of year. He hated feeling so exposed. It went against his instincts, but going off road would be even harder on Debra.

She stopped. “Should we be on the road like this? I mean, I know you’re the expert and all—” She stiffened. “You’re doing it for me, aren’t you?” She put her hands on her hips, her expression severe and cute. “I’m not that old, you know.”

He couldn’t help himself. He grinned down at her, aware his eyes were saying things to her they shouldn’t. He hadn’t the right. “I don’t think you’re old.”

Color ran up her face, but she didn’t look away. “Well, I am.”

His grin deepened. “You may have noticed I’m not exactly young either.”

She gave this cute little grimace, as if to say sort of, then gave him a sassy smile. “I might not have noticed, of course, but those girls you date. The contrast, it isn’t pretty.”

“They served their purpose,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “I didn’t want your sons to notice who I was really interested in.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t look away. Neither of them really had time to be coy.

“Or you,” he added. “The last time I…” he hesitated, not because he wasn’t sure, he just needed the right words. “The last time I fell in love, it didn’t go so well.”

Her eyes widened more, but he noticed that they softened, too. Mischief curved her mouth. “I’m not married. Or able to get pregnant. I think you’ll be all right.”

Something inside him eased. He didn’t know how tight he’d been holding himself in until this moment. He smiled as his fingers found and followed the tender curve of her jaw.

“But you do have those sons…” He gave a mock shudder.

“Yeah, well, I can’t help you there,” she said, smiling like she had at the barbeque last week. If her sons hadn’t all been there, he’d have grabbed her then.

But they were alone now. He slid his hand to the back of her neck and started to pull her toward him. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t look away. There was curiosity in her blue eyes. The laugh lines around those eyes were creased with humor and something more. He hoped it was love. He’d been such a jerk, she should kick his ass…

At first he thought the sound was his own heart thumping, but it wasn’t. Just before the long desired contact with her mouth, he looked up. The intrusive noise was coming in from the south. No way to tell if it was friend or foe. He looked at Debra, letting the regret show in his eyes. “Chopper coming. We should get off the road.”

Instead of moving, she looked at him with a look that made him uneasy.

“If I weren’t with you, what would you do?” Her hands settled on her hips and for the first time he believed she could take on her sons and win.

He looked away. “We should get off the road.”

“You wouldn’t try to run and hide if it weren’t for me.” She hesitated. “They shot us down. They ruined your plane!”

He felt her willing him to look at her. “Yes, but—”

“We can take these guys, Donovan. You’ve got a gun.”

“They’ll expect that.”

“They won’t expect me to have a gun.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, considered her words. It did go against the grain to cut and run.

“I know how to use a gun. My husband made sure of that.” She paused. “You know you want to.”

He smiled reluctantly. “Yeah, I do, but…”

“No buts, how do we do this?”

He looked around. “Not here. We need to hold the high ground.”

“Right.” She rubbed her dirty face. “Then we go up.”

“We go up.” He met her gaze. “And we have to do it off road.”

Debra grimaced, but her look was determined. Dang, she was cute as she started toward the trees. Donovan shook his head and followed her. As they passed under cover of the trees, he pulled out his piece and checked his clip. It was full and he’d dug a spare out of his suitcase, but a couple of clips might not be enough. They’d need to be clever. And lucky.

* * * *

It took Pep longer than he thought it would to find the wreckage of Donovan Kincaid’s plane. They’d made it further past their downed chopper then he’d expected. The strategy that Kincaid had used to elude and eliminate the danger was clever and not unexpected. Pep just hadn’t expected him to react so fast. His guard was down. It should have been easy. Pep wouldn’t under estimate him again.

They circled the fallen, still smoldering plane with guns at ready. Kincaid wouldn’t be happy with them, but he wouldn’t know why he was being targeted. There was no reason he should know. Pep studied the map. Common sense said they’d head down, but Kincaid was a soldier. Would he seek the high ground or help for his passenger? Assuming they’d survived the crash. If she was on her own, she’d be looking for help and an easy target.

He needed to examine the wreckage and they were running out of time. Help was also on the way. Luckily he had a good squad of six additional men.

“Put us down in that clearing,” Pep directed their pilot. “Once we’re down, establish a perimeter around the plane, then work your way out in circles until you find some sign of survivors. We don’t have much time so work fast.”

* * * *

Donovan peered down at the chopper, its blade still whirling in slow circles. He eased back and looked at Debra, crouched beside him.

“He’s doing just what I expected. He’s going for the plane to see if we survived. We don’t have much time. Are you sure you want to do this? If it doesn’t work—”

“It’ll work. The pilot won’t expect trouble from me.” Debra sounded confidant, but her gaze was worried. She managed a smile that she meant to reassure, but ended up looking defiant.

“Okay, just give me time to work my way closer. Say, five minutes?” She nodded. He turned to go, then stopped and leaned forward, pressing his lips softly against hers. Any longer and he’d wouldn’t be able to stop. “For luck.”

Her smile was bright and real. “For luck.”

* * * *

The chopper landed in the clearing in front of the cabin, kicking up the dry dirt in a rising swirl. Even before the dust settled Luke, Matt and Jake had jumped down and ran to the cabin. It didn’t take more than a minute to realize their mom and Donovan weren’t there.

Luke turned and scanned the hillside. “They could be making their way here and it just took longer than we thought.”

“We should get airborne and see if we can spot them. If they were shot down, they may need help,” Matt said grimly.

“If they were shot down, we may be outgunned,” Jake said, though he didn’t look worried.

Luke grinned. “Let’s do it then.”

They all checked their weapons and climbed aboard their chopper. With a rising roar it ascended into the air and headed up the mountainside, while around the high peaks, storm clouds began to gather.

FIVE

Debra looked at her watch, then at the gathering storm. It was time to move and it was also the typical time for afternoon showers to kick up a fuss. Great. She picked a great time to venture out of her safe zone. Part of her wanted to sit down and whine, but most of her was determined to get back and meet her grandchildren. She wanted to find out what Donovan meant by that kiss and the words “the last time I fell in love.” She wasn’t going to die here on this mountain.

She started down the slope, keeping well to the rear of the chopper. She didn’t want to give the pilot time to radio the bad guys before she could get the drop on him. The descent wasn’t pleasant, fun or without its difficulties. The angle was steep. Her weekly sessions with the exer-cycle hadn’t been nearly as useful as she believed. The air up here was thin and reluctant to be pulled into her needy lungs. At least she wasn’t making an uphill approach.

She took the slope mostly on her tush, trying for a controlled skid. She didn’t have to worry about being quiet with the blades still spinning. The bad guys probably didn’t plan on being gone long. With a last, tumbling slide she reached the clearing. Trying not to think what she must look like, she gave her self a couple of minutes to catch her breath, then, at a half crouch, worked her way around to the front of the chopper.

“Thank goodness!” she yelled, startling the pilot. She noted that he half-reached for his gun, realized she was alone and relaxed. “Are you with search and rescue?”

“Uh, yeah.”

He looked past her, hoping for some back-up. There was back-up available, but not for him. Donovan loomed up from the brush behind him, moving with cat-like speed. One moment, the pilot was looking at her in surprise, the next he was slumped in his seat.

Ouch. Debra looked around. So far, so good. She helped Donovan pull the man from his spot and into the brush. The efficiency with which Donovan striped off his olive drab jump suit, told Debra this wasn’t the first time he’d made this kind of a switch. In a few moments, Donovan was wearing the pilot’s gear, the cap pulled low over his face, sunglasses in place. The pilot was bound and gagged. Donovan took his gun and stowed it in his belt.

Donovan adjusted the ear piece of the radio. “They’re heading back.” He pressed a button and said, “Roger that.” He released the switch. “Show time.” He pointed up the hillside. “Take your position up there and only…intervene if needed.”

She started to move off and he stopped her, handing her his jacket.

“You need to cover up that red.” He grinned, then jogged to the chopper and slid into the recently vacated seat.

With a smile that felt odd under the circumstances, Debra slid on the jacket, enjoying the whiff of Donovan scent that enveloped her and tucked her weapon in the back of her slacks, feeling very unlike herself. Moving fast, but taking care, she worked her way up the hillside toward the large boulder Donovan had scouted out to provide both cover and good sight lines. She barely made it, puffing from the steep climb, when the bad guys flowed into the clearing.

The two men from the airport were in the center of the small mass, their guns slung casually over their arms in almost identical positions, though mini-him was sort of a shadow of his older brother. His squad or thugs were fanned out, with one on point in front, two guys on each side of them and two bringing up the rear. The band of thugs were alert. Debra had the impression they were excited to be playing soldier. Either that or they were very good at what they did.

They all had what looked like assault weapons, while she and Donovan had automatic pistols. It was possible she’d been a tad over confident.

They didn’t seem to notice anything unusual about the pilot. With a gesture, the one Donovan said was Pep, directed his men to climb aboard. Pep went around and climbed in beside Donovan and gestured for them to lift off. The blades spun faster, increasing the noise level.

Surely he wasn’t going to risk lifting off with those bozos? Debra half-moved, but what could she do? It was sweet of him to want to protect her, but it still pissed her off. They were a team. The chopper lifted about twenty to thirty feet in the air. Donovan turned the chopper, giving her a view inside the cargo section. The men had no clue their pilot was gone. The chopper spun in a circle, and the one called Pep came sailing out of the chopper, landing with a soundless thump in the clearing.

He didn’t move. The chopper did. It rose higher and higher still. Then Donovan put it through some paces designed to cause his passengers maximum discomfort. Debra’s stomach lurched in remembered sympathy as the craft went through some looping, spinning turns. A few weapons dropped out the open doors.

Down below, Pep still wasn’t moving. Not far from him, Debra saw his weapon. She eyed it for a moment then decided it was worth the risk. Just in case…

She made her way down the hillside, stopping often to check Pep’s state of consciousness. It was possible he was dead or seriously injured. At the edge of the clearing, she looked up. Donovan was still giving the goons a ride. Pep still wasn’t moving, though close now, she could see the rise and fall of his chest.

She edged closer. Stopped. Then moved closer. Now they were both the same distance from the assault gun. Now she was near enough. She bent to grab it. It was that moment he chose to strike. In a flash, he was on his feet. Debra jumped back, kicking at the gun as she did. He sailed past her, so close she felt the brush of passing air and the tips of his fingers. He rolled, folding his body around the gun as he went, then continued until he was on his feet.

What he wasn’t expecting was Debra to be ready for him. Steady as a rock, she pointed Donovan’s “piece” at him.

“Yes, I do know how to use it,” she said. “My husband was a cop and so is one of my sons.”

“And the others?” Pep asked, sounding hollow.

“Deputy US Marshals.”

“Oh.” Now he looked sick.

“Toss that to one side, please?” She said it politely, because that’s the way she’d been raised, but her finger tightened on the trigger, just in case he mistook manners for weakness. Based on the paleness of his face, it looked like the gun wasn’t the only thing he needed to toss.

Instead of tossing the gun, he dropped it.

Debra shook her head. “Over there.”

As he moved back, she moved toward the dropped weapon. He didn’t seem worried enough, which worried her. Maybe he thought Donovan might lose the battle of the skies?

“Do you have it?” Pep asked, sinking onto a boulder with a sigh.

Debra knew what he meant, but she wasn’t ready to play spill her guts. “Have what? Why are you after us?”

“You’ve got something I need. That guy who bumped into you at the airport, he passed it to you and I expect you passed it to Kincaid. It was very smoothly done.”

Debra faked “surprise.” “Nobody passed me anything. I’m on my way to Phoenix for a friend’s wedding.” He looked disbelieving. “I’m a grandmother, not an officer of the law.”

“And you just happened to know Kincaid?” Pep gave her a skeptical look.

“He’s my son’s father-in-law. He has business in Phoenix and offered me a ride.”

For the first time, doubt shadowed his dirty, but still attractive face. “You have to have it. You’re the only person he touched. I was watching him.”

“That’s why you had us shot down? Because we might have this thing you need?” Debra arched her brows. “Well, that’s lame. You’re not a very good crook, are you?”

A look of annoyance flashed across his face. And a frisson of warning flashed through her. Her hands tightened on the gun.

“Take off your clothes,” she said.

He stared at her. “What?”

“Take your clothes off. Strip down to your skivs.”

“Skivs?”

“Your underwear,” she said impatiently.

“I know what skivs are. I was just surprised you do, too.”

“I have three sons.” She wagged the barrel at him. “Now take off your clothes. Slowly. One thing at a time.” she pointed down. “Start with your shoes.” He bent down. “One hand. Just use one. I want to see the other one raised over your head.”

For a moment, it didn’t seem like he could handle the complexity of the order, but eventually he managed to get one hand sort of raised while the other fiddled with his laces. Shoes off, he looked at her sadly.

“Toss them toward me. Good. Now the pants.” Man, she really hoped he wasn’t wearing the male equivalent of a thong. Did they have them? In her time it was briefs or boxers. Hopefully he was wearing boxers. “One hand. Use the opposite hand for each side.”

If he did have a concealed back-up piece, she wanted to make it as hard for him as possible.

He was wearing boxers, thank goodness. Debra sighed. “Toss them over, too.”

Almost sheepishly he stood up to toss the pants her way. He had a gun strapped to one leg, a knife to the other.

“How do you get through airport security?” Debra asked.

* * * *

Donovan had made sure he was safely strapped in before putting the chopper through the kind of paces guaranteed to make even the strongest stomach hurl its contents. When the groans turned into the sounds of vomiting Donovan eased up, though he kept the chopper moving choppily.

“Throw all your weapons out the side,” he said over the intercom system. “Or I’ll start it up again.”

He heard more groans then came the clatter of weaponry going out the door. Donovan had no way to make sure they’d all complied, but he was uneasy about leaving Debra alone so long with Pep and the wilderness. He turned the chopper back the way they’d come, still keeping the bird bouncing through the air as much as possible.

There was only a whisper of advance warning for him to react before he sensed danger. He leaned forward, and thrust back with his elbow. Heard air escaping from lungs, but the guy was only winded, not out. And he must know how to fly if he was willing to off the pilot. Or he was butt stupid.

Donovan put the chopper into a steep climb, dumping the guy backward. When he was high enough, he did a loop that turned the chopper upside down. It wasn’t his imagination that a body tumbled head over heels toward the tree covered hillside below. Even as he started another loop, he felt something hard ram into his side.

“I’m betting I can dump you and control this chopper before it crashes,” someone yelled in his ear “Now put it down!”

Donovan hesitated, but then nodded. He had to hope that Debra could turn the tables back his direction, before they killed him. He evened the flight out and turned toward the clearing. An odd sight awaited them.

Pep stood in the clearing, stripped down to his boxers, his hands on clasped behind his head. There was no sign of his clothes, his weapon or Debra.

“What the hell?” the man behind him said.

The moment of distraction was all Donovan needed. He dropped the chopper down with a thump that sent the man toward the roof, then slammed him back down again. Donovan wasn’t sure which thump took out his lights. It didn’t really matter. He grabbed his gun, shut off the engine and quickly got free of the straps that had kept him in place.

“Everyone out, hands over heads!” He did a quick look around the side. After a pause, the men began to scramble down and staggered over to Pep. Most dropped to their knees, barely managing to get their hands behind their heads. There was the definite reek of puke in the air. He started to climb out, too

“You got one more skunk in the hole!” Debra called. Her direction was hard to pinpoint as her voice echoed around the small valley.

Maybe the guy wanted to die. Donovan readied his gun. “Come on out. We’ve got you covered.”

A slow, shuffling movement ensued then Pup dragged his sorry ass to the edge and out. Only then did Donovan jump out. He studied Pep, noting the straps—now empty of weaponry—on his legs. That explained the stripping. Damn, she was clever.

“Okay, let’s take off those clothes and see what’s hiding underneath.”

Donovan lifted the barrel of his gun suggestively and they all complied. Over their shoulders, Debra peeked out from behind a boulder and gave him a sassy thumbs up. Dirty and bedraggled, she was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in a good, long time.

As his bird went silent, Donovan heard another chopper approaching. He grabbed the radio and played with the frequencies until he got a response, all while keeping a wary eye on the disrobing ceremony.

“Donovan?” His son-in-law’s voice was unmistakable.

“Your mom is fine,” Donovan said, before Luke could ask as he watched her scramble down and, giving the bad guys a wide berth, trotted over to join him. He would have given anything to see their faces at the sight of their mother carrying an assault rifle at the ready. “I’m fine, too, in case you were wondering. And this wasn’t my fault.”

Luke gave a chuckle that broke in the middle, the sound almost drowned out by their arrival.

“Who the hell are those guys?” Luke asked him. “And why are they almost naked?”

His eyes on Debra, Donovan said, “You’ll have to ask your mom that question. She’s the one who made them strip.”

SIX

Carrying an assault weapon, however briefly, changed one inside and out, Debra decided. It was like putting on cowboy boots. She always walked differently in boots and had to resist the urge to boot scoot. It had changed her sons, too. She’d never forget the looks on their faces when they came to her rescue. Even Bryn had broken out in expression when Debra handed her the jump drive. Pep had just looked resigned. And betrayed. She guessed he hadn’t expected a grandmother to lie to him.

Her boys had wanted to blame Donovan, but couldn’t, so they tried to whisk her off to the hospital. Instead, Donovan whisked her off to Phoenix. He’d looked at his watch and said, “We can still make that wedding.”

In short order, their bags were retrieved, a quick trip back to the airport, wives and daughters reassured, and then Donovan was flying them south in a borrowed plane.

“Brave friend, to let you borrow their plane,” Debra had pointed out.

Donovan’s smile took her breath away. Something between them had changed, too. They didn’t talk about it. Debra didn’t mind. Despite recent events, she wasn’t some young, impatient thing leaping into the unknown.

She looked at herself in the hotel suite mirror. There were still laugh lines, a lot of them, around her eyes and mouth. Her hair hadn’t turned brown again and she was sporting some bruises and cuts, but she looked sassy anyway. The red dress helped. Simple in its line, it used color for drama. She was also glad she’d gone with the painfully high heels. Her feet would hate her in a few minutes, but they made her legs almost look a sleek as they’d looked thirty years ago.

For a moment, she let herself remember John, the past, and the young people they’d been. She wasn’t that person anymore and that was how it should be. People had to move forward, to change and allow others to change. Life was meant to flow toward its inevitable end. She was glad hers hadn’t ended just yet though. There were still things she could learn, things she could teach, feelings left to explore.

There was a tap at her door, it opened cautiously at first, then quickly when Donovan caught sight of her. “Showtime.”

Her brush with death should have lifted her above her petty desire to show Diane that she still had “it,” but it hadn’t. She slid her arm through his, feeling a rush of pleasure at the feel of his fine, wool suit against her bare arm.

“Let’s do it.”

It was inevitable that their arrival would be an “entrance.” They were both in the news, for surviving the crash and catching the band of thugs. Sound didn’t falter, conversations didn’t stop, but Debra felt awareness of their presence spread through the room.

Theresa came forward in her elegant cream suit, her thin clever face lit with happiness from within. Their hug was a real one, without fretting about flowers or clothes or hair. Her bright, dark gaze first examined Debra for wear and tear before turning Donovan’s direction. They widened, first with surprise, then with delight. She hooked one arm through Debra’s, the other through Donovan’s.

“Let’s go see Diane.” Her smile was definitely wicked.

“Shouldn’t we meet your husband first?” Debra asked, as they were swept along.

“He’s there, too.”

The guests parted for the irresistible force that was Theresa and marched to Diane. Still blonde, but not as believable in that color, painfully thin, and desperately cheerful, Diane turned at their approach. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped. Introductions were performed. Debra smiled at the almost pimply youth Diane had married. For just a moment, Debra flashed a look at Donovan. He looked wry and amused. And just a touch embarrassed.

“Did I look that silly?” he whispered in her ear, when they were finally able to get out on the dance floor.

It felt wonderful to have his arms close around her and draw her in against his lean length. There was nothing quite like a man’s hug. It reassured. She didn’t really want an answer to that question. The shrill of Matt’s cell phone—handed over to temporarily replace Donovan’s broken one—gave her an out. Donovan answered. His eyes widened. He hung up.

“They’re all in labor.”

“All, as in…all four of them?” Debra asked. Suddenly she was all mom, all grandma-to-be.

Donovan nodded. An odd look erased shock. “I’m going to be a grandfather.”

Debra slid her arm through his and turned him toward Theresa. “You’ll love it.”

* * * *

They were both reeling with exhaustion by the time they got to the hospital, but that fled when Donovan saw Luke coming toward him, beaming with delight. He enfolded Debra in a hug, one hand reaching past her to shake Donovan’s hand with dazed vigor.

“She’s beautiful. Like Amelia. She’s—” His voice broke and his body trembled with the wonder of becoming a parent.

Debra eased back, taking her son’s face in her hands. “Congratulations, son. Can we see her? Does she have a name?”

Luke grinned crookedly. “I wanted to call her Goldie.” That’s what he’d called Amelia when they didn’t know who Amelia was, Donovan knew.

A disturbance at the end of the hall claimed their attention. Jake, Matt and Dewey all crowded out, sporting expressions similar to Luke’s. They crowded around Debra, pushing Donovan to the outside of the circle.

“Girl,” Matt said. “It’s a girl!”

“Ours is a girl, too,” Jake said.

“Whoa,” Dewey chimed in. “We got a girl, too. Weird.”

“Four girls?” Debra shook her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Jake and Matt looked at Luke. “You got a girl, too?” Matt asked. “Wow.”

“Can we see them?” Debra asked. Past her sons, Debra’s gaze found Donovan and drew him into the loving circle without a word being said. “Is everyone all right?”

Donovan knew she was asking about the new moms, but she was also asking the question of him. He held her gaze, smiled and nodded. He felt stripped bare by too much emotion in a very small space, but for some reason, today it didn’t scare him to have someone else look inside his soul. Today was the first time he’d realized he had a soul to see. That’s what he’d been afraid of for so long. And he only just now figured it out. Maybe it was the promise of so much new, young life. Maybe it was the warmth in Debra’s eyes when she looked at him. He wasn’t sure how it was going to work out. He hoped Debra would marry him. That together they could add to circle of love and strength that bound all of them together. There was time to sort it all out. For now, it was enough to know he finally belonged somewhere.

* * * *

MORE FABULOUS BOOKS BY PAULINE BAIRD JONES

Girl Gone Nova

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Non-Fiction

Adapting Your Novel for Film

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No one likes to hear that publishing is a tough business. We didn’t when we first poked our heads out of our writing holes and took a look around. We had unrealistic expectations of what it would be liked to break the publishing barrier. Those expectations included being showered with money and adulation. It would have been easy for those expectations to give way to discouragement when we got an unwelcome dose of reality on first contact with real, published authors. The consensus was, you’d better love writing or you’d better run, save yourself. This isn’t a business for the faint of heart.

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* * * *

ABOUT AUTHOR PAULINE BAIRD JONES

Pauline Baird Jones is the award-winning author of nine novels of action-adventure, suspense, romantic suspense and comedy-mystery. She’s also written two non-fiction books, Adapting Your Novel for Film and Made-up Mayhem, and she co-wrote Managing Your Book Writing Business with Jamie Engle. Her seventh novel, Out of Time, an action-adventure romance set in World War II, is an EPPIE 2007 winner. Her eighth novel, The Key won an Independent Book Award Bronze Medal (IPPY) for 2008 and is a 2007 Dream Realm Awards Winner. She also has short stories in several anthologies. Originally from Wyoming, she and her family moved from New Orleans to Texas before Katrina.

Table of Contents

MORE FABULOUS BOOKS BY PAULINE BAIRD JONES

THE LAST ENEMY..

BYTE ME..

MISSING YOU..

LONESOME MAMA..

MORE FABULOUS BOOKS BY PAULINE BAIRD JONES..

ABOUT AUTHOR PAULINE BAIRD JONES..