Contents:

Prologue

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Prologue

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The night wasn't fit for anything but snakes. The darkness was inky, the air thick and heavy. A hard rain pelted the swamps, flattening saw grass and transforming slow-moving rivers into raging torrents. Lightning ripped across the sky, exposing for a split second the bleached silhouette of the cypress trees, their limbs dripping Spanish moss that swayed in the wind.

The two lane road that cut through the Everglades and the Big Cypress National Preserve could have led straight to the gates of hell. Sam Bradford would never have stopped—even if they had. He was on the trail of a story that had Pulitzer Prize written all over it and nothing was getting in his way.

If he had to, he'd interview the devil himself, he thought. A cynical smile curled his mouth, giving his classical good looks a wicked charm. It was a charm he wasn't unaware of. Knowing his strengths, stretching them, using them, had made him the best investigative reporter in Miami. It hadn't always made him popular, but he wasn't out to win a popularity contest with anyone but his readers—and they were damn loyal.

Half a mile ahead of him, a black pickup truck raced through the rainy night. Resisting the urge to eliminate some of the distance between him and his quarry, Sam kept his own speed steady. He'd followed Fabian Cantu all the way from Miami, carefully blending in with the traffic, even turning off a time or two to confuse the other man. Cantu was an evil bastard. If he even suspected he was being followed, there would be hell to pay.

Sam took cover behind a station wagon. His eyes glinted in the darkness as they locked on the truck's taillights winking at him in the rain. Although he was only twenty-two, Fabian Cantu had a rap sheet as long as his arm and a reputation for having a short fuse. He was also the leader of the Barracudas, one of Miami's most notorious street gangs. Under his leadership, the gang had grown from a group of tough-talking dropouts dabbling in petty theft to a multimillion-dollar organization dealing in drugs and murder.

But Cantu wasn't the one Sam was after.

Ever since the Barracudas had started branching out into more organized crime, Sam had known someone else besides Cantu had to be directing the young thugs. The barrio was Sam's beat, and he'd watched Cantu get in and out of trouble for years. He knew him, knew his capabilities. All the gang leader had going for him was a seventh-grade education and a talent for intimidation. It would take more intelligence than that to get cocaine from the Colombian drug cartel on a consignment basis, which the Barracudas were supposedly doing. It would take connections and power.

The man Cantu was meeting tonight had both. On the street, the few gang members who even knew of his existence spoke of him in whispers. He was simply called "the roller," the gang term for one who had reached the top in drug dealing. He was their drug supplier, their weapons dealer, the man who had cops and judges and customs agents sitting in his back pocket.

He was also reputedly a pillar of respectability in Miami society.

Excitement surged through Sam. This story was the sort a reporter waited a lifetime for. For months now, he'd been ferreting out the roller's identity, adding and subtracting names from his list of possible suspects until he had narrowed it down to only three. The work had been frustrating. He'd had no proof, only hints from a stoolie who did his talking in dark alleys. Sam couldn't blame the informant for his caution. The roller had spent years building his empire. Anyone who dared to expose him was making a powerful enemy, one who had knife-wielding gang members and bad cops on his payroll. Death could come from a hundred different directions.

It wasn't the first time Sam had taken a risk for a story. It wouldn't be the last. The danger only made the final outcome all the sweeter, and he could already taste the victory of this one on his tongue. Tonight the roller would finally be unmasked.

His attention was still on the pickup in the distance, so Sam didn't notice the station wagon he had hidden behind slowing down for a turn until he was almost on its rear bumper. Swearing, he slammed on the brakes and fishtailed before he finally regained control. It took only seconds, but it was seconds too long. When he looked back to where he'd last seen Cantu, he was gone.

Sam stared down the empty highway in disbelief. "Damn!" he muttered, slamming his hand against the steering wheel. "Where did he go? He couldn't have just disappeared!"

With an angry jab, he flattened the accelerator and shot across one of the bridges that spanned the numerous rivers and streams that snaked through the area, his eyes searching the darkness before him. But there were no taillights to mock him, nothing but the unbroken blackness of the night. Braking to an abrupt stop, Sam whipped his Toyota around and slowly headed back the way he had come, searching both sides of the road for a trail. He didn't doubt for a minute that one was there somewhere, carefully concealed among the underbrush, a scarcely noticed path that led into the hidden world of the swamps. It was the perfect meeting place for Cantu and his boss.

Driving at a slow crawl, he was almost to the river bridge when he saw it—a small break in the stand of cypress trees that lined the left side of the road ten feet in front of him. He tensed, his eyes sharp. Rolling down his window to get a better look, he drew closer, ignoring the rain that hit him in the face. What he'd thought was a trail, however, was nothing more than a wide spot of flattened ferns that gave way to another wall of dark trees.

He'd lost him.

Sam stared blindly at the trees, bitterness welling up in him at his own carelessness, when the pickup suddenly shot out of the stygian blackness like a bat out of hell. With its headlights on high beam, it raced straight at him.

"What the devil!" Sam swore and hit the gas, but the slick road made traction impossible. The rear wheels spun, shooting water out from under the car like a rooster tail, before finally catching hold just as the truck slammed into his rear fender. The force of the crash jarred his teeth. Cursing furiously, he floor-boarded the accelerator and raced onto the bridge.

Behind him, Cantu followed. Sweeping into the oncoming lane, he drew even with Sam and gave the steering wheel a quick turn. The sound of metal scraping metal was like a scream in the night, drowning out the sounds of the storm.

Unable to compete with the size and power of the truck, Sam felt his Toyota skid toward the side of the bridge and could do nothing to stop it. For what seemed like an eternity, he teetered on the guardrail, fighting gravity. But the battle was lost before it began, and seconds later he went sailing into the raging waters below.

Up on the bridge, Fabian Cantu brought the truck to a grinding halt and jumped out. Lightning flashed, revealing the Toyota in the grips of the turbulent river. Cantu smiled, then cursed abruptly at the sight of the man struggling out of the car, fighting the current that threatened to drag him under. Without ever taking his gaze from the desperate battle going on in the river, Cantu reached for the Uzi lying on the seat of the pickup.

The angry spurt of bullets that flew past Sam kicked water into his face. Instinctively, he dove back into the murky depths and let his body go limp. The dark water closed over his head, pulling at him, tugging him deeper, away from the bridge, the danger. Only when his lungs were burning and threatening to burst did he kick to the surface, gasping.

Sam never saw the log racing down the river toward him. With the force of a battering ram, it slammed into his face just as he dragged in another lungful of air to dive. Pain exploded in his head. Without a sound, the fight went out of him and he sank like a stone.

Chapter 1

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The murder scene was an all too familiar one in the Miami barrio. A mother sobbed pitifully. Ambulance attendants worked over her son's prone body, fighting in vain to hold back death. Two police cars were parked at the curb, their red and blue lights still flashing, the static drone of their radios ignored. In nearby yards, onlookers gathered in clusters, maintaining their distance as if to separate themselves from the violence, the pain.

As a police beat reporter for the Miami Examiner, Katie MacDonald had seen it all too many times before. The violence always erupted in quick, angry spurts, leaving death and heartache behind. Over the years, she'd learned to accept the violence, even the death, but the heartache was more difficult to deal with. She was a woman who cried at old movies and sad songs. Closing her heart to another's pain was something she had to work at continually. It never got any easier.

Katie squared her shoulders and went to work. An eleven-o'clock deadline loomed in the back of her mind, but she knew better than to push through the crowd with hard-hitting questions that would only be met with blank stares. The barrio was a closed society, distrustful of outsiders, protective of its own. Momentarily ignoring the shooting that had destroyed the peaceful summer night, she moved from house to house, greeting people she knew, inquiring about their families, subtly reminding them she was a friend, someone they could trust.

The daughter of a county judge and a librarian, Katie had a delicacy, a softness and refinement, that contrasted sharply with the harshness of her surroundings. She was slim and unconsciously elegant in her jeans and simple white blouse. She'd been called pretty, but she only dismissed the suggestion with a shrug. She saw nothing remarkable about ivory skin, wide-set blue eyes that were too big for her thin face and silky black hair that refused to stay confined. Too often, people saw the fragility, the daintiness, and didn't give her credit for having a brain in her head.

Katie grinned as she jotted down notes on the pad that she took everywhere. When she'd walked right out of college into her job at the Examiner at the tender age of twenty-two, rumors had been rife that she'd only been hired because her father was the late Judge MacDonald. Bets were taken that she wouldn't last six months on the police beat. That was five years ago. To the chagrin of her co-workers, she'd shown them that being mistaken for just another pretty face sometimes had its advantages. A smile and the delicate lift of an eyebrow could be every bit as effective as a tough, hard-hitting question. The trick was in knowing when to use what.

Forty-five minutes later, she knew she had all the information she was going to get tonight. The young boy who lay dead in his front yard was a victim of the gang wars that were tearing Miami apart. She knew his killer was probably a member of the Barracudas, but no one would say for sure.

It wasn't a hell of a lot, she admitted with a frown of disgust as she headed for her car, which was parked a block away. But there was a good possibility she'd know more tomorrow. She'd seen one of her informants in the shadows, silently watching the proceedings with hooded eyes. He hadn't spoken to her, but she hadn't expected him to. Whatever he had to tell her would only be said in private. It was safer that way.

Lost in her thoughts, she was almost to her car when she saw a man arrogantly leaning against her front fender as if he owned it. She froze. Fabian Cantu. The light was poor and threw his face into shadows, but there was no doubt that this was the gang leader of the Barracudas. Hostility emanated from him.

He wasn't the type of man a woman alone would want to run into on a dark night. But Katie knew that to show him so much as a trace of fear was a big mistake. Raising her chin, Katie ignored the chill seeping into her blood and continued toward him without breaking her stride.

Three feet from her car, she stopped, her eyes fixed calmly on his, her heart pounding. "Cantu, this is a little far from your turf, isn't it?"

"Not any more, it's not," he mocked, pushing himself away from the car to confront her. "I just took possession."

So he was behind the killing tonight. Katie wasn't surprised. She knew from personal experience just how ruthless he could be when he decided he wanted something. He'd tried to take over her own neighborhood and would have succeeded if she and her neighbors hadn't organized against him. He and his gang had finally withdrawn two weeks ago, but Katie didn't kid herself into thinking the problem was solved. No one bested Fabian Cantu without violent repercussions.

Repressing a shiver, she studied him through narrowed eyes. "So you admit it? You had a fourteen-year-old boy killed over a few blocks of land?"

He arched a dark brow innocently. "Is that what I said?"

"Why'd you do it?" she demanded, ignoring the taunt. "Was this another one of your little power plays? A show of strength to intimidate the neighbors into cowering in their homes so you can take over the streets? It won't work, you know," she said flatly when he only glared at her in silence. "Sooner or later, you're going to come up against someone who won't be intimidated, and you're going to find yourself in jail."

"Don't make any bets on it." He took the single step that brought him so close she could see the dislike burning in his black eyes. "Everyone has a weakness, someone they'll do anything for to keep safe. Someone they'll go to their knees for. Someone like … a brother," he finished with a sinister smile. "Think about it."

He slipped into the darkness like a snake disappearing in tall grass. Katie stared after him, then turned blindly toward her car. It wasn't until she was safely inside that she realized she was shaking. She swore, telling herself that if Cantu dared to lay so much as a finger on Ryan, he was in for a hell of a fight.

Despite their ten-year age difference, she and her younger brother had always been a team, especially when times were hard. And over the years, life had thrown them a lot of curves. They'd lost both parents by the time Katie was twenty-two and Ryan twelve—their mother in a car accident and their father to cancer—but that had only made them closer. When Cantu threatened one of them, he threatened the other.

Jabbing her key into the ignition, she could almost feel the gang leader's eyes watching in the darkness for her reaction to his intimidation tactics. She'd be damned if she'd give him any satisfaction. With a flick of her wrist, she started the car and coolly drove off without once glancing toward the shadows where she knew he watched.

At the first red light, she picked up her car phone and punched out the number of the Examiner. Within seconds, Tommy Spencer was growling in her ear. "Spencer here."

The tension tying Katie's stomach in knots eased at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice. "Hi, Tommy. It's me."

"So you finally decided to call in," he drawled. "A whole fifteen minutes before deadline. Thanks a lot, Katie."

Her eyes danced. The complaint was an old one and usually Tommy Spencer's standard greeting. He was one of the best rewrite men in the business. He could take her notes from a late-breaking story and bang it out in record time, but their personalities were as different as night and day. He watched the clock like an expectant father; she never looked at one if she could help it. But she always made her deadline. It drove him right up the wall.

"Gripe, gripe, gripe," she teased. "The tighter the deadline, the better you write, and you know it. But just to show you my heart's in the right place, I'll treat you to lunch tomorrow. Anywhere you want to go."

"I want steak," he warned, only slightly mollified. "Nothing less than steak."

"You're disgustingly easy," she chuckled, flipping open her notepad as she braked for the next light. "Okay, here's the lead. A fourteen-year-old boy was gunned down on the near west side Thursday night as he stood in his front yard talking to his girlfriend. Got it?"

"Yeah," he grunted, the patter of his computer keys echoing in the background as he took down her words. "They get younger and younger every year. Which gang did this one belong to?"

"The Hawks." She gave him the victim's name and address, explaining, "It was a drive-by. Someone drove by in a van and only slowed down long enough to pull the trigger. The police suspect the Barracudas, but nobody's talking. They're too afraid of Cantu."

Tommy gave his opinion of the gang leader in two short, pithy words. "One of these days, that creep's going to get what he deserves."

"Yeah, that's what I told him, but he didn't seem too concerned about it."

"You mean he was there? Tonight? And you spoke to him?"

"I didn't have much choice," she said dryly, smiling at his indignant tone. "He was waiting for me at my car."

Tommy wasn't fooled in the least by her nonchalance. Everyone at the paper knew about her ongoing struggle with Cantu. "What did he want?"

"To let me know that he was claiming the Hawks' territory for himself," she replied, omitting the threats made against Ryan and herself. "He all but admitted he was behind the shooting tonight. Now all I have to do is find a witness and Cantu is going to have more problems than he can handle."

Tommy groaned, knowing it was useless to warn her off a story. She was a damn good reporter, but sometimes she scared him with her daring. Especially when she went after a goon like Cantu. She'd bruised his pride when she'd run him out of her neighborhood, and that hoodlum wasn't going to take that lying down. "I know it won't do any good to tell you to be careful, but I'll do it anyway. Watch your back," he ordered gruffly. "You owe me a steak dinner."

"You'll get it tomorrow," she promised, grinning, "if you get this in by deadline. The way I figure it, you've got about eight minutes." Laughing, she hung up, his curses ringing in her ears.

* * *

Sixteen hours later, the murder in the barrio was just yesterday's news. Another deadline loomed, and chaos had taken over the Examiner's city room. The noise was deafening. Ringing phones warred with the clatter of keyboards, and in one corner, two sports reporters and a photographer argued over strategy for the softball game with the Miami Tribune staff that would start in less than an hour. An annual charity event between the two rival papers, the competition had ceased to be merely a game years ago. Winning was something to be prized, losing, avenged.

Katie sat two desks away from the argument in the corner, and she closed her ears to the pandemonium while banging out the details of a daring daylight bank robbery of half a million dollars. The robbery was the sixth in a series of heists by the bandit the police were beginning to call Gentleman Jim. Suave, well-dressed, and soft-spoken, he always presented the tellers with a rose as he robbed them. Katie grinned. Classy, real classy. And darn good copy. Gentleman Jim made page one every time.

Printing up her finished story, she yelled for a copyboy at the same time she reached for her purse. To her left, the debate over strategy continued unabated. "If you guys don't get a move on it, you're going to miss the game altogether," she commented ruefully as she prepared to leave.

"We're going, we're going," Larry Morgan said, rising to his feet. "Just settle one point for us first. Fred lost the game for us last year, didn't he?"

Katie bit back a grin, her blue eyes dancing as they rested on Fred Casters, who was looking hopefully to her to defend him. "Well … kicking dust all over the umpire's shoes wasn't a very smart thing to do—"

"You're damn right," Ben Harper growled. "Our best hitter, and he gets himself thrown out of the game."

"After we were already losing six to nothing," Katie pointed out, laughing at their disgruntled faces as she headed for the door. "Bye, guys. See you at the game."

She had twenty minutes to get home, change, and then get to the ballpark, she thought as she strode quickly toward the Examiner's main entrance. If she hurried, she just might have time to grab a hamburger. Rummaging through her purse for her car keys, she rounded the corner into the lobby at full stride, and plowed nose first into a hard, masculine chest. As she stumbled off balance, her purse went flying, just as long, lean fingers wrapped around her arms to steady her.

"Are you all right?"

The question was low and husky and impossibly sexy. Dazed, Katie dragged her gaze from the sight of her lipstick rolling across the lobby and glanced up at the man towering over her. Her throat went dry as her eyes locked on an unsmiling, rawboned face that was as compelling as the voice she'd heard. This man wasn't handsome, but that would never be a problem for him. He had a confidence, an assurance, that was far more attractive than classical good looks. His chiseled cheeks were rough-hewn and stamped with hardness, the lower half of his face covered with a dark beard that did nothing to disguise the arrogance of his chin and jaw. That, combined with watchful blue eyes, thick chestnut hair, and a body that was tall and rangy in jeans and a stone-washed shirt, gave him the look of someone who wouldn't back away from trouble.

Katie felt a tug of attraction that went right down to her toes. This was the last thing she'd expected to run headlong into at quitting time on a Friday afternoon—and the last thing she wanted.

Summoning a smile that didn't come as easily as she'd have liked, she said, "Sorry, my fault. I wasn't watching where I was going."

He didn't return her smile, but he watched her steadily. "I should be the one apologizing," he murmured. "I almost knocked you out of your shoes. Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded, suddenly realizing his hands were still holding her. Slowly, carefully, she stepped back, wondering if her heart would ever stop pounding. "Really, I'm okay," she assured him. She dropped to her knees to hurriedly cram her things back into her purse. "I'm tougher than I look."

He squatted down to help. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. At first glance, she appeared to be anything but tough. Soft, pampered, sophisticated … any of those terms suited her better than tough. She wore pale yellow linen pants, a white silk blouse, and a scent that was as delicate as her features. Next to her daintiness, he felt decidedly clumsy. He supposed it had something to do with her slenderness, with the silky black hair carelessly pinned up off her neck, with the femininity she exuded so unconsciously. Caught in the depths of her blue eyes, a man could easily overlook her stubborn chin. But he didn't.

"You wouldn't happen to be Katie MacDonald, would you?" he asked, studying her shrewdly.

Surprised, Katie glanced up from the pen she was reaching for. "How did you know?"

"The receptionist was on her way out when I came in asking for you. She said to look for a sophisticated brunette who was always in a hurry." He held out his hand to her, his probing eyes locking with hers. "I'm Grant Elliot. I'm a private investigator from Chicago."

Good manners dictated she give him her hand, instinct made her hesitate. Before she even realized she'd decided on a course of action, his fingers were closing around hers. Katie told herself it was nothing but a simple handshake, but none of her reactions to this man had been simple from the minute she'd run into him. Strength, gentleness, heat. Katie felt all three surround her and slip into her blood in the time it took to draw a breath. Flustered—and she wasn't a woman who flustered easily—she tugged her hand free and quickly scooped up the last contents of her purse. Rising purposefully to her feet, she gave him a smile that was deliberately dismissing. "I'd love to stay and find out what a Chicago P.I. is doing in Miami, Mr. Elliot, but I really am in a hurry. I've got to be at a softball game in fifteen minutes and I'm already late as it is."

She took two steps toward the door, only to find him in front of her again, this time with a furrowed line of irritation linking his dark brows together. "The name's Grant," he said tightly. "And what I have to say to you is a little bit more important than a softball game."

If her pulse hadn't still been racing from his touch, Katie might have been amused by his insistence. But time was short and so was her temper. "I don't have time to stand here and argue with you, Mr. Elliot. The game tonight is for charity and I'm not missing it. Call me tomorrow if you still want to talk. I'm in and out a lot, but you're bound to catch me sooner or later."

She swept past him with her chin in the air, daring him to stop her.

Her parting smile and the lingering scent of her perfume taunted him. Cool sex and honeysuckle. He swore. The last thing he needed right now was to get caught up in the intoxicating contradictions that made up Katie MacDonald.

"I wasn't lying when I said this was important," he called to her back. "It concerns Sam Bradford."

Katie stopped abruptly, the name slipping into her heart like a dagger between the ribs. Closing her eyes, she struggled for control. She'd been so close to loving Sam Bradford, she still hurt four months after his death. "What about Sam?" she asked stiffly as she turned to face the man who followed her.

"We grew up together in Chicago," Grant explained, his gaze never leaving her face as he stepped toward her. "I've been in Europe and didn't find out about his death until a couple of weeks ago. I was hoping you could tell me what happened. I know you were friends."

Friends? she thought painfully. No, that was far too lukewarm a word to describe her relationship with Sam. They'd been adversaries, investigative reporters working for rival newspapers, always competing with each other for the same headlines. From the day they'd first met, they'd struck sparks off each other that had nothing to do with friendship. She hadn't been able to look into his eyes without feeling the heat. She'd cursed him, admired his cutting way with words, and found herself drawn to him in spite of herself. In the back of her mind, she'd always known they would be lovers—the attraction that sizzled between them every time their eyes met across a sea of faces made it inevitable. They hadn't rushed, confident they had all the time in the world. But time had run out for them on a rain-slick bridge in the Everglades.

Would she ever learn to deal with the what ifs?

Her fingers bit into the strap of her purse as she unconsciously clutched it to her. "Sam was driving through the Everglades during a storm," she said huskily. "It was raining very badly. There were no witnesses, but apparently he lost control on a bridge and drove off into a river. It had been raining for days and the river was flooded. Three days later, his car was discovered, but Sam wasn't in it. The authorities think he somehow managed to get out, but the current must have been too strong for him. His body was never found."

Missing and presumed dead. Those words still had the power to upset her. From the very beginning, she'd rejected them. Sam was a fighter, a survivor. He would never accept such an inglorious ending as drowning.

"The authorities searched the banks for miles downstream," she continued in an expressionless voice that didn't begin to reveal her own horror. She'd searched, too. Up to her knees in thick, clinging mud, she'd fought the thick foliage of the swamps and the despair as one day gave way to the next and hope ran out. "After a week, it was decided that there was no point in continuing. If he'd been injured, he would have found a way to get to help. And if he was dead…" She swallowed thickly. "There are alligators in the swamp. We could have searched for months and never found anything."

Grant stared at her haunted blue eyes and questioned for the first time the wisdom of his actions. She was hurting, damn it, and he was only going to cause her more pain. Before he was finished, she would hate him. But what other choice did he have? She knew bookies and prostitutes and those in the know in the barrio. She would have been a valuable ally for that reason alone, but her contacts weren't limited to the lower echelons of society. She was the late Judge Ryan MacDonald's daughter, and she knew everybody who was anybody in Miami. She had connections it would take him months to establish. Hardening his heart, he asked, "Did anyone know what he was doing on that road during a flood?"

"Reporters are like private investigators," she replied with a faint smile that never reached her eyes. "They don't talk about what they're working on. Anyway, what difference does it make? He's dead and all because of a senseless accident—"

"Do you really think it was an accident?" He pinned her with a hard look that demanded an answer. "Sam was an excellent driver and a Red Cross certified swimmer. Do you really think he would have drowned even if he did drive off that bridge?"

Katie paled. "What are you saying? If it wasn't an accident—"

"Then it was murder," he finished for her. "He wrote to me just days before he died, and he was working on something big, something that was finally going to win him that Pulitzer he'd always wanted. If he could get the proof he needed and get the story to press before the man he was exposing got to him. I think he had that proof, Katie," he said softly, dangerously. "Someone got to him and shut him up. Permanently. That's why I'm here. I want you to help me find Sam's murderer."

Chapter 2

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The ball game was already in progress when Katie reached the park. She took one look at the scoreboard and groaned. The Tribune staff was ahead two to nothing and it was only the end of the first inning. This was going to be a long evening.

Katie quickly apologized to her teammates for her tardiness, then grabbed her glove and headed for center field as the next inning started. The crowd was wildly enthusiastic, cheering them on, but for the first time, Katie couldn't summon any enthusiasm for the game.

I want you to help me find Sam's murderer. Grant Elliot's words rang in her ears, chilling her to the bone even though it was stiflingly hot on the field. Rubbing the goose bumps on her arms, she stared out at the crowd in the packed grandstands. Her eyes narrowed against the sinking sun as she searched for his gaunt, bearded face. She knew he was up there somewhere in that blur of color, probably still cursing her. The man was obviously used to having his way, she reflected ruefully. Once he'd realized she wasn't going to stand up her co-workers, he'd followed her home and then to the park, scowling all the way. He claimed he wasn't letting her out of his sight until they'd had a chance to finish their conversation.

Staring unseeingly at the first batter as he took up his position at the plate, Katie replayed her short talk with Grant. Her thoughts were tangled with a thousand unanswered questions. Was it possible? Could Sam have been murdered without the news leaking out on the streets? Without the police or anyone even suspecting any foul play? It just didn't seem possible. He was an award-winning investigative reporter; his death had shocked the city. If someone had killed him to shut him up, surely one of her informants would have picked up on it.

The crack of a bat connecting with the ball suddenly ripped through the still, evening air. The crowd roared as they got to their feet, jerking Katie's attention back to the game just as the ball started dropping straight toward her. Her heart jumped into her throat. If she missed a simple fly ball, she'd never hear the end of it!

Grinning at the thought, she sprinted into position for the catch, her glove raised. A split second later, the ball fell into the old soft leather with a satisfying plop.

"Atta, girl, Katie!" Larry Morgan yelled from left field. "Now we got 'em right where we want 'em—in the palm of our hand!"

Only through sheer luck and the grace of God, Katie thought with a laugh, giving him a thumbs-up signal. Get your head back in the game, MacDonald! she commanded herself.

That should have been easy, but it wasn't. Murder. The word hounded her, whispering in her ear, taunting her, disturbing her. She forced herself to ignore it, but then she had to contend with the memories that confronted her everywhere she turned. She had only to look at third base to see Sam as he had been last year, rounding the bag and heading for home at full speed ahead, determination etched on his face as he dived for home plate. Today, she came face to face with the flashing image of the very first time she'd played against him every time a fly ball was hit. She'd been a rookie, he a seasoned reporter; and he'd taken great delight in ending the game by catching her popup fly. His taunting smile had nearly melted her knees.

But that was five years ago, she reminded herself. Another game, in another lifetime. Shaking off the memories, she deliberately emptied her mind of everything but the actions of the batter at the plate.

An hour and a half later, the game was over, the loss from last year avenged five to two. Both teams surged together, exchanging good-natured congratulations and promises of revenge as friends and family poured out of the stands to join them. Katie stood in the mad rush, searching through the faces, when Grant Elliot suddenly appeared at her side.

Even in the laughing, jostling mass of humanity that buffeted them on every side, his tall, lean figure and rugged face drew all eyes. Katie felt the same tug of attraction that had hit her earlier in the lobby and ruthlessly dismissed it. There was a raw power, a danger in this man, lying just beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare any woman foolish enough to be fascinated by it. She had no intention of getting that close.

She gave him a smile that was cool and businesslike. "We can go back to my house to talk, if that's all right with you," she said over the noise of the crowd. She turned toward the exit.

Before she could take a step, however, she was surrounded by three older men dressed in business suits and wearing wicked grins. "Hey, slugger, where're you off to so fast?" Mike Gallegos teased, affection softening the hard lines of his face. "Aren't you even going to speak to your favorite uncle?"

"He means me, Katie, honey," Henry Stevens chuckled, the laugh lines around his green eyes deepening as he spread his arms invitingly. "How about a hug for your favorite uncle?"

Tony Baker snorted at that, his dimples flashing. "You both been out in the sun too long if you think she's got a soft spot for either one of you. Tell them who you love, sweetheart."

Katie laughed, delighted to see her three favorite uncles. "I'll take the fifth on that," she chuckled and moved into their arms, giving them each a fierce hug.

They weren't really uncles at all, but three of the most well-known men in Miami. Gallegos owned one of the city's largest construction firms, Baker was a federal judge, and Dr. Henry Stevens was a nationally known heart surgeon. But before they had all achieved fame and fortune, they'd been her father's best friends. With their help, he'd been elected county judge before she was born. After his death, it was their influence that helped her gain guardianship of her brother. Aside from Ryan, they were the nearest thing to family she had left.

"What are you all doing here?" she asked as she pulled out of Tony Baker's arms. "You should have told me you were coming."

"We thought we'd surprise you," he replied. His brown eyes narrowed consideringly on the tall, bearded man who stood a few feet away, clearly waiting for her. "If you've got a date…"

"A date?" She frowned, puzzled, then suddenly remembered Grant. She whirled, heat climbing into her cheeks. "Oh, Grant, I'm sorry! I'd like you to meet my uncles. Mike Gallegos, Judge Anthony Baker, and Dr. Henry Stevens."

Grant gave each of their hands a firm shake. The man he was after was well known in Miami, so in the single instant it took palm to rub against palm, he was weighing, evaluating. Gallegos was a name synonymous with construction throughout the southeast. His hand should have been hard and calloused, not soft and pampered. Did he let others do the dirty work? Grant wondered, then turned his attention to the man next to him. Judge Anthony Baker. He was the one with the hard palm, the assertive shake. Assertiveness or arrogance? Did he have what it took to administer justice with one hand and defy it with the other? And last, but not least, Dr. Henry Stevens. His hand was narrow, his fingers long, skilled, knowledgeable. He was a man who worked with drugs. Did he also sell them illegally?

Katie stepped to his side. "Grant is an old friend of—"

His hand slid boldly around her waist, the action cutting her off before she could say Sam's name. Grant gave her a slow, easy smile that fairly throbbed with intimacy. "Katie and I were college sweethearts," he told her uncles without taking his eyes from hers. "When I found out I was going to be in Miami for a few weeks on business, I decided to look her up and see how she was doing."

Stunned, Katie could only stare at him. "Grant—"

His smile was wicked, sexy, devastating. Moving his hand up her back, he lazily played with the silken strands of her hair. "She looks terrific, doesn't she?" he murmured to the three men as his fingers slid under her hair to knead the back of her neck. "I was a fool to ever let her slip through my fingers."

Caught in the mesmerizing trap of his gaze and hands, Katie swallowed, her breath shuddering through her lungs, her heart thundering. Under his fingers, her skin heated from the faintest whisper of his touch. He was seducing her, she thought dazedly, right in front of her uncles and a crowd of strangers, with nothing more than his hands and a few easily spoken lies!

Indignation flashed in her blue eyes like lightning before a storm, but before she could tell her uncles the truth, Grant grinned and dropped his arm back down to her waist, pulling her flush against his side. "Don't look at me like that, honey. I know it was all my fault we broke up. It was the biggest mistake I ever made. But it might not be too late for us if you'll just give me a chance."

"I didn't realize Katie was seriously involved with anyone when she was in college," Mike Gallegos said quietly, his gaze lingering on the proprietary arm Grant had put around Katie's shoulders. He looked straight into Grant's eyes. "She never mentioned you."

Katie knew this was her chance. She had only to open her mouth to set the record straight. Tilting her head back she stared into Grant's hard face, but the intensity in his eyes had the words dying on her tongue. Even without the warning squeeze he gave her waist, she could read his silent message. Don't. She hesitated, but her willpower seemed to disintegrate. Like a puppet on a string, she turned to her uncles and forced a teasing smile. "A girl's got to keep a few secrets, Uncle Mike."

"That's right," Henry chided. "Lighten up, Mike. Katie's all grown up now."

"And she certainly doesn't need us watching over her like a bunch of mother hens," Tony added as he nudged the other two men toward the parking lot. "Come on, guys, these two have got a lot of catching up to do and we're in the way."

The teasing wink he threw Katie just before he and the others disappeared into the crowd brought a flood of hot color to her cheeks. As soon as her uncles were out of sight, she jerked free of Grant's arm and turned to glare at him. "Just what was that all about?"

Grant frowned at the spectators that swarmed around them on their way to the exit. They couldn't talk here, not when anyone could overhear their conversation. But one look at the stubborn set of Katie's jaw told him she wasn't budging without an explanation. Muttering a curse, he reached for her, pulling her back to his side with an ease that was all too natural.

Katie gasped. "Let go of me! I want some answers—"

"You'll get them if you'll just pipe down a second," he growled into her ear as he urged her toward the exit and forced himself to ignore the way she fit into his arms. "What did you expect me to do? Stand there and let you tell everyone that I'm an old friend of Sam Bradford's who just happens to think he was murdered? Damn it, if I'd have wanted the news broadcast, I'd have gone to the television station!"

"I wasn't going to broadcast it," she whispered furiously, hurrying to keep up with his long strides.

"Oh, really? And what would you call it? If I hadn't stopped you, it wouldn't have been any time before your uncles would have discovered I was a P.I. from Chicago," he retorted as they reached her car. "I couldn't take the chance that they'd start to wonder what I was doing here. You're the only one in Miami who knows about that, and I'd just as soon keep it that way."

"So you lied," she said flatly, stepping away from his encircling arm to confront him.

He shrugged, his mouth curving wickedly. "I needed a cover and you were it. What's the matter? Can't you picture us as college sweethearts!"

If he thought she was going to answer that, he was crazy! Her body was still humming from his closeness. "I'm going home," she said stiffly.

His mocking grin told her he wasn't fooled by her evasiveness, but he nodded and moved to his car, which was parked next to hers. Grant realized that some things were better left unanswered. "I'll follow you."

It took Katie only minutes to reach the aging neighborhood where she had lived since she was a child. Over the years, the formerly upper-middle-class area had gone down some as city growth shifted to the opposite side of town, but it had lost none of its charm. Porch lights illuminated quaint, old-fashioned houses with gabled roofs, dormer windows and neatly manicured yards.

Parking in her driveway, Katie waited for Grant to join her on the deep porch that stretched across the entire width of the house. Then she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. "Come on in," she said as she moved through the darkness to switch on a lamp. "I'll get us something to drink and then we can talk. How about some iced tea?"

Grant nodded absently and studied the decor of the room. At first glance, it had all the touches of a formal living room: a sprawling white rattan couch and love seat, elegant hardwood floors highlighted by a white woven rug, ferns and ivy that hung at long, white-shuttered windows. It was cool, sophisticated, untouchable—until one noticed the books and newspapers spread haphazardly about, the basketball in the corner, the turquoise and rose chintz pillows that spilled from the furniture onto the floor.

Moving to the couch, Grant picked up the newspaper lying there and arched a brow in surprise. "Does your boss know you read the Tribune?" he called to Katie as he heard her cracking ice in the kitchen.

She chuckled. "He'd be the first to agree that it never hurts to keep tabs on the competition." She returned with the tea, handed him a glass and sank down onto one of the love seats, curling her feet beneath her. "But I originally started taking it because of Sam. His writing was always so … cutting. He had a way of dragging a reader into a story whether they wanted to go or not. Of course, I never told him that," she confided with a rueful half smile. "He was already too sure of himself as it was."

Setting his glass on the end table, Grant pulled his wallet from his back pocket and took a folded sheet of paper from it. "I think you'd better read this," he said quietly as he handed the paper to her. He took the seat opposite her. "It'll explain everything."

Katie unfolded it and stared down at what was obviously a page from a private letter. But for a timeless moment, she didn't see the words, only the familiar scrawl that she recognized in an instant as Sam's. She would have known it anywhere. For years, he had been sending her short, teasing notes, congratulating her when she scooped him on a story or playfully correcting her on what he considered errors in her style. With a few short lines, he'd annoyed and delighted her by turns, and he'd always goaded her into doing her best. How could she have forgotten those notes?

"Is something wrong?"

The threads of memory that entwined her snapped at the quiet question. She glanced up to find Grant frowning at her in concern. "It's nothing," she said huskily. "This just reminded me of some notes Sam used to send me about my writing. He liked to tease me about my way with words. I guess he read my work as much as I read his."

Staring at the wistful smile that played around her mouth, Grant found himself fighting the sudden urge to snatch the letter from her hand. It wasn't too late. He could tell her to forget everything he'd told her and he'd handle the investigation alone, even if it took him years. But before he could say anything, she'd lowered her eyes and this time he could see she was reading the words. Swearing silently, he waited for her to finish.

I've been working on the story for months now, but yesterday I finally got a tip from Leo, one of my informants, that will set this town back on its ear. We're talking Pulitzer Prize here! One of the city's most respected businessmen is the secret head of a street gang. Yeah, it blew my mind, too, but that's not all. It seems this same pillar of society also has a direct link with the Colombian drug cartel and is supplying the gang with a million dollars' worth of cocaine a day. No wonder the streets are flooded with it. Of course, I still need proof, and that's going to be a hell of a lot harder to come by than Leo's tip. Whoever this businessman is, he's got a lot of power. He's got connections from the barrio to the police department. I'm going to have to watch my back—

The page ended abruptly in midsentence. Stricken, Katie stared at the last line, not even realizing she was crumbling the paper in her hands. It was true. Sam had been murdered and she'd never even considered the possibility. How could she have been so blind? She'd accepted the obvious and therefore had unwittingly given his killer months to get away, to cover his tracks and slip into his other life without anyone being the wiser. If only she'd known.

She glanced up sharply at Grant. "When did you get this? Sam's been dead for four months. Why didn't you take this to the police immediately?"

His eyes narrowed at her tone. "I was in Europe on a case when Sam was killed. He must have mailed that letter just days before he died. I didn't get it until I came home a couple of weeks ago."

"But you still didn't go to the police."

"No," he said flatly, his expression hard. "And I'm not going to. You read the letter. Whoever killed Sam has already bought himself some protection in the police department. I can't take a chance on handing that letter over to a bad cop on the take."

This was all so incredible! Unable to sit still, Katie jumped up to pace the room in agitation. "I can't believe no one picked up on this!" Turning to Grant abruptly, she said, "All right, so you can't go to the police. What are you going to do and where do I come in?"

"Sam had the right idea. The only way to expose this man is to get irrefutable proof linking him to the gang and then publish the story before he knows someone else is on to him. You can help me do both and get a hell of a story. But it's going to be dangerous," he cautioned. "Think about it before you give me an answer."

This was one last thing she could do for Sam. Even as the thought registered, Katie knew she didn't have to think about the danger. Danger was an inherent part of her job, one that she had long since come to grips with. She couldn't investigate crime without taking risks. Granted, this story would be more dangerous than most, but Sam had believed in it strongly enough to die. How could she not bring the truth to light and expose his killer?

She sank back down to the couch. "Where do we start?"

For a long, tense moment, Grant stared at her, searching her face for any doubts, any reservations. When he found none, a tension he hadn't even been aware of eased out of him with a sigh of relief. "We haven't got a hell of a lot to go on. In fact, Leo's the only clue we've got, and even then, Sam didn't mention his last name. Finding him's going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

Katie skimmed over the letter again, her brows knit in concentration. "Since he came to Sam with information about one of the gangs, chances are we can track him down in the bars in the barrio. I've got some contacts there that might be able to help us. We can start looking tomorrow night."

"Informants don't usually talk about who they're squealing to, but what if this Leo character bragged that he'd been helping Sam Bradford with a big story?" he argued, not liking the idea. "The minute we start asking for him, someone could connect our interest in him to Sam."

"We've got to find him," she countered. "And the only way to do that is to ask around for him in the places where he might hang out. Otherwise, all we've got to go on is a nameless businessman and street gang; and we won't get very far with that."

He frowned. "Then I think we should stick to the cover we established earlier. No one will question why you're spending so much time with me if everyone thinks we're old sweethearts. And if we're going to go bar hopping in the barrio, you'll be safe if everyone thinks you're my woman."

Caught in the heat of his gaze, Katie felt her throat go dry. Safe? she thought wildly. Did he honestly think she would feel safe being claimed by him, even if it was for her own protection? He had only to slip his arm around her waist to throw her senses into a panic. God knows what would happen if he kissed her. She'd probably melt in a pool at his feet!

As if he'd read her thoughts, his gaze dropped to her mouth. "It's only a front, Katie," he said softly, his husky voice reaching out to stroke her like a caress. "A charade we'll perform until we expose the man Sam was after when he drove off that bridge. Think you can do that?"

Hot color fired her cheeks. Could she pretend to be his college sweetheart when her body already responded to his touch as if he really were an old lover?

To even consider his suggestion was crazy, impossible, out of the question. But there was no way she could say no. Without her help, Sam's killer would remain free.

"Of course," she said coolly. "We'll play it your way. For now," she quickly added. "But if it doesn't work—"

She broke off in surprise as the front door suddenly banged open and her brother, Ryan, stepped inside. A tall, lanky youth of seventeen, he looked far different from the neat teenager who had left for work earlier that evening. His clothes were dirty and torn, his face battered and bloodied. Horrified, Katie gasped and jumped to her feet. "Ryan! My God, what happened? Are you all right?"

"Now don't go getting all upset, Sis," he said as she rushed over to him. "It's not as bad as it looks."

He towered over her by a good five inches, but that didn't stop her from shooting him a reproving frown. "Try saying that without wincing and I might believe you. What happened?"

"A couple of guys jumped me as I was walking to my car after work. They came out of an alley and I didn't see them until it was too late." He grimaced as she gently grasped his square jaw to turn his face to the light. "I think they loosened a few of my teeth."

"Did you see who they were? Can you identify them?"

"They wore masks, but they had Barracuda colors wrapped around their thighs."

Katie paled. "I knew something like this would happen!" she said hoarsely. "Ryan, I warned you this morning to be careful. You know how Cantu is. He doesn't make idle threats."

"I know. I'm sorry. I didn't think he'd try anything at work."

"Well, this time he's gone too far," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing. "I'm calling the police."

She whirled toward the phone, but Ryan took it out of her hands before she could even begin to dial the number. "It won't do any good, Sis. There were no witnesses, and even if I could identify them, you know Cantu would have alibis for them. Let it go."

"Damn it, Ryan—"

"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" Grant interrupted quietly. "Who's threatening you?"

"A worm," Katie said bitterly. "His name's Fabian Cantu. He's the leader of a gang called the Barracudas."

"A real lowlife," her brother added. "He's one of those macho types who gets his kicks intimidating people." Stepping across to Grant, he held out his hand and gave him a crooked grin. "I'm Ryan MacDonald. Sorry to interrupt. I didn't realize Katie had company."

"No problem," Grant replied, liking the teenager immediately as he shook his hand. He saw that Ryan favored Katie a great deal with his thick black hair, angular face and confidence that went far beyond his years. "I'm Grant Elliot. Katie and I—"

"Went to college together," she said quickly, shooting him a quelling glance. "We…"

Grant's lips twitched when she hesitated. "We went steady for a while," he confided with dancing eyes, giving Ryan the same story he'd given their uncles. "Katie doesn't like to talk about it. Still, when I came into town on business I just had to look her up."

Oh, he was enjoying this! she thought in frustration. She should have known better than to agree to this act. Next he'd be telling everyone they were once engaged! Resisting the urge to glare at him, she turned to Ryan and frowned at the bruise already swelling high on his cheek. "Come into the kitchen and let me put some ice on that. It's turning blue."

"I'm not surprised," Ryan grumbled, gingerly feeling the tender area just under his right eye as he and Grant followed her into the kitchen. "It hurts like hell."

Grant leaned against the doorjamb and watched Katie fuss over her brother. "Why'd Cantu send his goons after you? What's he got against you?"

Ryan took the ice bag Katie handed him and eased it against his throbbing cheek. "Cantu's been expanding his territory and decided our neighborhood was ripe for the picking. He and his gang moved into a deserted building a couple of blocks away and tried to set up a crack house."

Grant arched a brow. "Tried?"

"Katie organized a neighborhood crime-watch program," the younger man said proudly. "Every time the gang started making drug sales, someone called the cops. Cantu was so furious, he finally moved out two weeks ago."

"Threatening revenge," Katie added grimly.

"So his attack on Ryan was really to get to you," Grant concluded.

"Cantu doesn't forget a grudge, and Katie's the one he really wants to hurt," Ryan said. "And he'll do it, too. When she least expects it. Every time she goes into the barrio for a story, she leaves herself wide open."

"There are cops all over the place when I'm covering a story. He's not stupid enough to try anything then," she argued. "He's too much of a coward."

Ryan frowned at her. "You're always so sure you can take care of yourself! What about when I'm working the night shift?" he demanded. "You're here alone. He could come in and slit your throat without making a sound."

"He'd never go that far—"

"We don't know that," he cut in. "Personally, I think the man's capable of anything." He turned abruptly to Grant, his blue eyes filled with concern. "Why don't you stay with us while you're in Miami, Grant? You said yourself you planned to spend a lot of time with Katie, and I'd feel a lot better knowing there was another man in the house to protect her when I'm at work."

Chapter 3

« ^ »

Stunned, Katie completely forgot the role she was supposed to be playing and blurted out, "Oh, no! I don't think that's a very good idea."

Ryan looked from his sister to Grant in puzzlement, frowning at the sudden tension sparking between them. "Why not? It isn't as if we haven't got room. We've got two empty bedrooms upstairs."

And they're just down the hall from mine, Katie silently added, stifling a groan. Considering the way her body reacted to Grant Elliot's nearness, the last thing she needed was to walk out of her bedroom and find herself face to face with him. "I'm sure he has other plans, Ryan," she said desperately.

Grant gave her a maddening grin. "No, I don't."

"See," her brother said triumphantly. "This is perfect. You'll have plenty of time to be with Grant, he won't have to waste a ton of money on a hotel room he's not going to be in most of the time and I won't have to worry about you while I'm at work. What could be better?"

What, indeed? Katie thought dryly as she stared at their two smug faces and wondered how she had lost control of the discussion. Giving up in defeat, she shot Grant a smile that fairly dripped sugar. "When would you like to move in?"

He grinned devilishly, his blue eyes dancing. "How about now? My bags are still in the car."

"I'll help you carry them in," Ryan volunteered quickly. Before Katie could say another word, the two were heading outside to Grant's car as if they had been friends for years. Katie stared after them and tried to convince herself that having another man in the house—especially a man like Grant—was probably for the best. He looked as if he could handle anything that was thrown at him. The thought should have reassured her, but somehow it didn't. While Grant was protecting her from Cantu, who was going to protect her from him?

* * *

The following afternoon, Katie stood before her editor's desk and met his scowl with a knowing grin. "Is that any way to look at the reporter who's going to bring you the story of the century?" she teased. "Come on, Oscar, cut me some slack. You know I wouldn't ask to be freed from my other assignments unless I was on to something big."

Oscar Quinn only leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe, his sharp brown eyes drilling into hers. A short, roly-poly man with a head as smooth as a baby's bottom, he was pushing sixty and looked it. He smoked too much, ate too much, and chewed antacid tablets as if they were candy. But he was a newspaperman right down to his socks. Despite the rumors to the contrary, he hadn't hired Katie out of college because her father was a judge, but in spite of it. He'd warned her that her family connections would only get doors closed in her face in the rat holes a police beat reporter had to frequent to get a story. Then he'd suggested her talents were probably better suited to the society page. Her response, much to his secret delight, had been unprintable. All she'd asked him for was a chance, and by the time she'd left his office, she'd had it. He'd never had cause to regret his decision.

"The story of the century, hmm?" he mused, pulling the pipe from his mouth. "You gonna give me some details or wait and surprise me with an early Christmas present?"

She flashed Oscar a grin of appreciation before her face became serious. "I've gotten a tip that a local street gang is backed by one of the city's top businessmen. He's bringing in coke from Colombia and supposedly has his own people in the police department. I need time to check it out."

The older man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he still leaned casually back in his chair as if they were discussing the weather. "Who is he?"

"I don't know yet."

"What about the gang?"

She hesitated, then reluctantly admitted, "I don't know that either."

His gaze narrowed fractionally. "Just what exactly do you know?"

That Sam Bradford was murdered to kill this story. The words hovered and died on her tongue. Oscar liked cold, hard facts, and she had little enough of those as it was. Bringing Sam into the conversation wouldn't help her cause. She met the editor's eyes unflinchingly. "That's pretty much it."

He gave her a long, hard stare. The silence that followed her reply threatened to stretch into infinity. If any of his other reporters had come to him with so little, asking for so much time, he would have sent them packing with a curt refusal. But Katie wasn't like the others. Even as a rookie, she'd had the instincts of a seasoned pro. Now she could sniff out a rat in a flower garden.

Frowning, he pointed his pipe at her. "I don't have to tell you this is awfully thin. I presume you got this from one of your usual sources. Just how reliable is he?"

If he knew the tip came from Sam Bradford, he wouldn't even be asking the question. "I'd put my job on the line for this one, Oscar," she said huskily. "Just give me a couple of weeks. You won't regret it."

Knowing Katie, he wouldn't. "All right," he decided. "You're going to leave me shorthanded, but I'll figure something out. You just make sure you come back with the story," he said sternly. "And I want to be kept informed on how you're doing. You hear me?"

"Yes, boss," she said obediently, grinning as she quickly backed toward the door before he could change his mind. "Whatever you say."

"And be careful," he growled. "You're taking on someone who makes his own rules."

"I won't take any more risks than I have to," she agreed solemnly, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

He groaned at that and reached for the antacids lying on his desk. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered. "God, why didn't I listen to my mother and become a dentist?"

* * *

For Oscar Quinn's peace of mind, it was just as well he had no idea where Katie was six hours later. He would have needed a whole case of antacids if he'd seen her pull up before a bar wedged between a pawnshop and a shoe repair store in Little Havana.

"I guess this is as good a place as any to start," she told Grant as she cut the engine.

The lounge was little more than a hole in the wall. Burglar bars protected the two high windows that faced the street and graffiti covered the walls. A few battered cars were parked out front, and from the open door, conjunto music blared out into the dark street.

Grant gazed at the door speculatively before turning to Katie, his eyes running over her shadowy figure. He didn't have to see her clearly to know that she was dressed all wrong for their little evening adventure. "You been here before?"

She shrugged. "A few times."

"At night? Dressed like that?"

"Well, not at night," she began and then frowned, glancing down at herself. "What's wrong with my clothes? They're casual."

Grant almost choked on a laugh. Didn't the woman know what she looked like? Her flowered camp shirt and yellow split skirt might have been informal enough to wear to Disney World, but even he could tell they were of excellent quality and no doubt expensive. With her dark hair confined in a French braid and yellow and white hoop earrings at her ears, she would draw the eye of every man in sight.

And for reasons he couldn't begin to explain, that irritated the hell out of him.

"You look like a princess slumming it," he said mockingly. "You're going to stick out like a sore thumb."

"That's ridiculous," she retorted. "I'm wearing cotton, for God's sake!"

"Maybe so, but you're not going in there looking like that." And before she could even begin to guess his intentions, he slid across the bench seat of her small Ford and reached for the pins in her hair. "You're too neat, too sophisticated. You need to be a little mussed."

Her hair came tumbling down to her shoulders, spilling into his hands. Instinctively, his fingers curled to gather the midnight-black strands as the silken curls wound around his wrists, capturing him as surely as he captured her. He caught his breath as a pleasure he hadn't expected coursed through him. He found himself surrounded by the honeysuckle sweetness of her scent, and the dark seduction of the hot summer night drew him in, tempting him.

He knew instantly he should have put her from him then, but it was too late. She was too close and his fingers were already crushing her hair, holding her captive in his hands as his gaze moved to her enticingly colored mouth. Something very close to need tugged at him sharply. What man could look at her mouth and not want to kiss it, taste it?

"That lipstick's got to go," he said thickly.

Startled out of the bemusement his touch had generated, Katie parted her lips to protest, but only a whisper of a sigh shuddered out. His hand held her jaw and his gaze captured hers as his thumb slid along her bottom lip. Back and forth, rubbing, stroking with agonizing slowness, carefully stealing every trace of lipstick from her mouth. Devastated, she could only stare at him, her heart hammering wildly in her breast. At every brush of his thumb, heat rolled into her stomach on a white-hot tide of longing, destroying thought, tugging her toward him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant voice warned her to stop this before it went any further, but how could she when her body was tingling at every movement of his clever thumb?

She leaned closer, her moist breath unconsciously caressing his hand. "Grant…"

At the sound of her husky whisper, the hand still buried in her hair clenched. Her voice was like the call of a siren in the night. He tensed, his eyes hard as they searched the dark blue depths of hers. He could kiss her, and she'd never even offer a murmur of protest. In another time, another place, he'd have welcomed the kiss without a thought. But the music from the bar was blaring in the back of his head, reminding him that he wasn't there to romance Katie MacDonald. He had a job to do, and she was a distraction he couldn't afford.

He set her away from him, then deliberately ran a dispassionate eye over her. He nodded. "You'll do," he said tightly.

The mood shattered. Dazed, Katie blinked and dropped back to earth with a hard bounce at the look on Grant's face. Dear Lord, who was this man that he could entrance her so? she wondered wildly. He had a pull on her she didn't understand, didn't want. If she believed in such things, she could almost believe he was her soul mate, her destiny.

She shied violently away from the thought. No! She was being fanciful. Love at first sight only happened in books and movies, and she wasn't stupid enough to lose her head over a man she'd known for little more than a day. What she felt was nothing more than chemistry. Very strong chemistry, she reluctantly admitted, but now that she'd acknowledged the problem, she could deal with it. All she had to do was stay clear of his touch, and she and Grant Elliot would get along just fine.

Ignoring the voice in her head that jeered, Yeah, sure, she pulled her keys from the ignition and reached for the door handle. "Then let's get to work."

The place wasn't all that bad, Katie discovered a few minutes later as she followed Grant to a table in the corner opposite the door. It was dark, and the air was thick with cigarette smoke, but someone had added a festive air by draping Christmas lights above the mirror behind the bar. They blinked cheerily, the only spot of color in the whole place. Just inside the door, a lonely sprig of mistletoe looked as if it had been hanging in that same spot for years. Suppressing a smile, Katie realized it probably had.

Grant silently motioned for her to take a battered chair, then took the one next to her, his back, too, to the wall. They'd hardly settled in their seats before a tired-looking waitress appeared before them, her dark eyes wary as she waited for their order. Without consulting Katie, Grant ordered two beers, then turned his attention to the other occupants of the bar.

There were only a handful of customers. In the small cleared area in front of the jukebox, a couple melted into each other and swayed to the music, disregarding its beat. Two old men cackled over a game of dominoes at a nearby table, but no one even spared them a glance. A bored bartender leaned against the bar and watched two rough-looking hustlers play nine-ball on the pool table in the far corner.

At first glance, Grant would have sworn that the waitress was the only one who noted his and Katie's entrance. But a second, closer look caught the furtive glance of dark, shadowed eyes that were directed not at him, but at Katie, he realized with a frown. Turning to her, he swore under his breath. She was a well-known figure in the barrio, but he doubted if any of the men there had ever seen her like this—her hair wild and sexy, her mouth free of lipstick and looking as if she'd just been thoroughly kissed. Damn it, he never should have touched her!

Katie stiffened at his scowl, her glance darting to the other customers before she quickly looked back at his stony face. "What's the matter? Is something wrong?"

"Every man in the place has his eye on you," he said accusingly, then shut his mouth with a snap as the waitress arrived with the beers.

Katie lifted a delicately arched brow. Tension drained out of her, replaced by amusement. So he wasn't happy with his handiwork. It served him right! "They don't mean any harm," she said lightly after he paid the waitress and the woman had headed back to the bar. "We don't exactly blend into the woodwork, you know."

"Yeah, tell me about it," he said dryly. He reached for his beer as she picked up hers. "Better go easy on this stuff. It could be a long night, and you're going to need your wits about you."

She leaned back in her chair and studied him over the top of her glass, noting the way he watched everyone in the room without ever seeming to take his eyes off her. "I imagine your work takes you into places like this all the time."

He shrugged, his midnight-blue eyes nearly black in the dim light. "It goes with the territory."

His tone was curt, closed, and all but stamped with a No Trespassing sign. The reporter in Katie itched to dig deeper, to probe into his past until she discovered the story behind his silence. But the woman in her took one look at his flinty expression and backed down before he could throw her curiosity back at her.

Dragging her gaze away from him, she glanced around the bar again, looking for a familiar face. Watching her, Grant said, "You know anyone in here?"

She shook her head. "Not a soul. Either they got a new bartender since I was in here last, or the guy I know only works days."

"Great," he sighed in disgust. He still wasn't comfortable about blatantly asking around for the informer, but they didn't have a hell of a lot of options. "Then the waitress is probably our best bet. If she's worked here for any length of time, she's bound to know the steady customers. Let's get her over here and see what she knows."

He set his glass on the table and waited for the woman to look their way again. With the single lift of an index finger, he brought her to their side. She glanced speculatively at the barely touched beers on the table, then shrugged as if it was no concern of hers. "You want another round?"

"Actually, we'd like a little information," Katie said with a smile. "We're looking for a man named Leo who might come in here occasionally. Do you know any customers by that name?"

"Leo, hmm?" Her brown eyes were still suspicious, but she didn't immediately reject the question as Katie had feared. She frowned, considering, then shook her head. "No Leos that I can think of. There was a Leonard who used to come in for a game of dominoes, but he hasn't been around in a year or so. I think he died." She shrugged. "Sorry, but that's all I know. Can I get you anything else?"

Grant slipped her a bill from his wallet. "No, that's all. Thanks for the help."

"That doesn't sound like our Leo," Katie said quietly as the woman walked away. "Not if Sam was still getting tips from him right before he died."

"So this place is a dead end," he agreed. Pushing back his chair, he rose to his feet and then pulled her chair out for her. "Like I said, it's going to be a long night. Let's try somewhere else."

Later, Katie couldn't say how many bars they went to that night. It could have been twenty, it felt like a hundred. They cruised up and down countless streets, stopping at every lounge and cantina and watering hole in sight. Deeper and deeper they went into the barrio, until one establishment faded into another and time ceased to exist. And always their questions were met with the same response. Suspicion, wariness, and finally a negative shake of the head. No one in Little Havana had ever heard of a man named Leo, or if they had, they weren't talking.

It was long past midnight when they stepped out of the last bar and Katie admitted defeat. Slumping against the front fender of her car, she stared glumly at Grant. She was too tired to even unlock her door. "You realize we're probably wasting our time, don't you? We could do this every night until we're old and gray and still never find this guy."

His eyes focused on the businesses located down the road, he said flatly, "You're certainly singing a different tune. Anyway we can't stop. This is too important."

"So is sleep," she mumbled and held out her keys to him. "You drive. I don't think I can."

He turned and, for the first time in hours, allowed himself to really look at her. She was exhausted. She'd worked a full day at the Examiner finishing up last-minute assignments, then come home to traipse through the barrio with him. The long hours had finally caught up with her. Her hair and clothes were limp, her eyes heavy with fatigue. A good stiff wind would push her over where she stood.

Grant fought the sudden, unexpected need to reach for her tired shoulders and massage some life back into her. Touching her now would be asking for trouble. "Okay," he agreed as he took the keys. "We'll stop for tonight."

They'd only gotten about three blocks away from that last bar when Grant suddenly eased up on the accelerator, his eyes on a cantina on the corner. The ramshackle, wood-frame building was painted a bright turquoise and surrounded by cars, despite the lateness of the hour. "You know, this is the only bar in this area we haven't checked," he said, throwing Katie a quick look as he slowed down even more. "Don't you think it'd be stupid not to check it out while we're here?"

He didn't wait for her answer, and squeezed into the last parking space in front of the building before she'd even realized his intentions. She groaned and reached for her purse. "This is what I get for letting you drive," she grumbled. "You'll probably stop at every place between here and my house."

He grinned and pocketed the keys. "This is the last one, I promise."

The minute they stepped through the door, they both realized they'd saved the worst place for last. There were no Christmas lights here to add a festive touch to the dreary decor, no mistletoe to bring a smile. Only loud music and voices, and the smell of stale beer, sweaty bodies, and cigarette smoke.

Preceding Grant inside, Katie stopped abruptly, alarm bells clanging in her head as every male in the place took a slow inventory of her assets. She shrank back against Grant. "I think we're in trouble," she murmured, noting the drunken state of most of the bar's customers. "Big trouble."

Scowling, Grant slipped a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her close, the glint in his blue eyes daring anyone to approach them. "Don't move from my side," he warned her softly and urged her toward the only empty table at the back of the room.

He gently pushed her into a chair and then took his own and dragged it close. His thigh slid flush against hers. Staring into her startled eyes, he draped his arm across her shoulders and let his fingers skim over her hair. His touch all but shouted Mine to every man in the room.

The waitress appeared, but Grant never took his eyes from Katie. "Two beers," he said without looking up, and continued to play with her hair.

Her thoughts scattered, every nerve in her body centered on the feel of his hands on her hair. Stroking. Caressing. Seducing. Her heart thundered in her ears, anticipation like wine in her veins, drugging her. He was doing it again, she thought, taking control of the situation, taking control of her, with maddening ease. This had to stop!

She stiffened, her exhaustion vanishing abruptly. Her eyes narrowed warningly. "I presume this is another part of the charade we're playing," she said silkily.

"Um-hmm," he agreed, and moved closer.

A pulse thundered in her throat, but she didn't pull away. "Are you always this comfortable with charades?"

"Some are easier than others. Am I making you nervous?"

"Of course not!"

"Good." Fascinated with the delicate rim of her ear, he skimmed his finger across it over and over again.

Katie wanted to melt. Horrified, she whispered, "Will you stop that!" and darted a quick glance around the room. A dozen male eyes were still watching their every move. "Everyone's watching!"

He was stunned to realize that he wouldn't have cared if they were in the middle of Grand Central Station. The thought momentarily cleared his head. He was playing with fire and they were both in danger of getting burned. But that didn't stop him from tightening his arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer. "Then let's give them their money's worth," he growled softly into her ear. "We don't want them making any mistakes about who you belong to."

Her eyes flared at that. "I don't belong to any man."

He chuckled. "Damn, you're touchy. I'm just trying to save you from these yo-yos who are ready to devour that beautiful body of yours. Of course, if you don't want my help…"

Katie's heart jumped into her throat when he started to withdraw his arm. "No! No, it's not that!" How could she tell him she'd never reacted so strongly to a stranger in her life and she didn't know how to handle it? "I—" She sighed in relief as she spotted the waitress heading toward them with their beers. "Thank God! Here comes our waitress."

Two full mugs were set down on the table with a clunk, and it was all Katie could do not to gag at the sight of them. She'd seen and smelled and sipped at enough beer tonight to last her a lifetime. She turned her attention to the waitress and gave her a smile. Quickly and concisely, she told her of the man they were looking for. "Do you happen to know anyone by that name?"

The girl, who was hardly more than twenty, hesitated. Her black onyx eyes shifted from Katie to Grant and back again before she finally shrugged, her face deliberately blank. "Maybe. Maybe not. We have a lot of customers."

Adrenaline shot through Katie like a rocket. The girl knew something, she was sure of it! But one look at her set face convinced Katie she'd never admit it. Hurriedly taking a business card from her purse, she scribbled her home phone number on the back and slid it and the money for the beers across the table. "If you see him, would you give him my card and ask him to call me, please? I just want to talk to him. Okay?"

For an answer, the girl only picked up the card and money and deposited them in her skirt pocket. Without a word, she turned and walked back to the bar.

Katie stared after her. "What do you think?" she asked as she turned back to Grant.

He shrugged. "She took the card, so that's a start. All we can do now is wait for him to call." He pushed back his chair and grinned at her. "Ready to go home or do you want to stay till this place closes?"

"God, no!"

She jumped to her feet and headed for the door with Grant right behind her. But she'd taken no more than half a dozen steps when a tall, heavyset man suddenly moved in front of her, cutting her off. "Hey, you're not leaving now, are you, baby?" he drawled, leering at her through bloodshot eyes. "It's early yet. Stay and have a dance with me."

Katie stopped short, wincing as his stale breath washed over her. Just the thought of his hands on her was enough to make her skin crawl. "No, thank you," she said coolly and stepped around him.

It was the wrong move. In the next instant, his fingers were clamped around her arm, biting into her skin as he whirled her to face him. "You got a problem with dancing with me?" he snarled.

Her heart in her throat, Katie felt herself break out into a cold sweat. Silence fell over the bar, and suddenly the thick tension that crept out of the dark corners was ugly and dangerous. Not a soul moved. From out of the hushed quietness, Grant's voice was soft as a whisper and as deadly as a switchblade. "Let her go. Now."

The drunk's eyes turned mean, his grip on Katie's arm tightening ever so slightly. "Mind your own business," he growled. "This is between me and the lady."

"The lady is my business," Grant returned in a voice as smooth as silk. Stepping closer, his gaze dropped to the cruel fingers that held Katie prisoner. "Don't make me say it again. Let her go."

Or else. The words all but hung in the air. Everyone in the bar held their breath, waiting for violence to explode. A minute passed. A hard ball of fear settled in Katie's stomach. Grant was outnumbered by at least twenty to one. If the drunk decided to fight, they'd probably never get out of the bar alive.

"C'mon, Miguel, let the lady go," a voice suddenly teasingly called from the back of the room. "She's too skinny anyway."

For one wild moment, Katie thought the man was going to ignore his friend. Then his black eyes ran over her assessingly, and with an abrupt movement, he pushed her arm away. "He's right," he told her. "I like a woman with some meat on her bones. Find somebody else, lady."

The tension shattered in a roar of laughter. A man at the bar pounded Miguel on the back and proposed a toast. Grant didn't wait to see more. Tugging Katie through the crowd, he pushed open the door.

"Thank God you're skinny!" he said grimly, pulling her outside with him into the fresh night air.

Chapter 4

« ^ »

Without asking if she wanted to drive, Grant took the wheel and threw the car into reverse. The tires squealed as he backed out of the parking space in front of the bar. Katie opened her mouth to protest but shut it with a snap after one look at his set face. In the light that rolled into the car from the street lights they passed, she could see that his eyes were as hard and glittery as diamonds, his mouth was pressed in a flat, angry line, and his jaw was clenched. Silently, she grabbed her seat belt and buckled it, all the while watching him warily. He was in a towering rage, and instinct warned her it was only a matter of time before the tight rein he held on his temper snapped.

It seemed to take forever to reach her house, though Katie knew it was only a fifteen-minute drive. The minute Grant pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, she was out of the car and hurrying up the front steps. From the living room, she could hear the beat of a music video playing on the T.V. Ryan was still up.

"Katie, I want to talk to you."

Grant's low voice came from directly behind her, stopping her before she could step inside. She stiffened. They were both tired, on edge, and still feeling the effects of the confrontation in the bar. She'd do them both a favor by going inside and postponing this discussion until morning, when they were both thinking a little more clearly. "It's late, Grant," she sighed. "We can talk—"

"Now," he cut in smoothly. "I'm changing our strategy. I don't know if we hit pay dirt or not with that last waitress, but even if we didn't, you're not going in any more bars looking for Leo."

Stunned, she whirled. "What?"

He knew he was handling her all wrong, but he couldn't forget the sight of her face when that drunk had grabbed her. The man could have crushed her in his hands, and it was all his own fault. He should have followed his instincts and not allowed her to accompany him at all. Instead, his efforts to protect her had only made things progressively worse. "You heard me," he said flatly. "No more bars."

"And who gave you the right to make decisions for me?" she demanded. "I'm working with you, Grant, not for you."

Damn, she knew how to push his buttons! He felt the fury rising in him. Didn't she know how close they had come to being involved in a major brawl? The scene could have turned dangerous just as easily as it had turned humorous, and then where would they have been? Probably on their way to the hospital by now.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this," he retorted coldly. "I've already made up my mind."

Outrage nearly choked her. So he'd made up his mind, had he? The nerve of the man! If he thought she was some spineless jellyfish waiting around for a big, strong man to take charge of her, he was in for a shock!

She stepped closer, her eyes shooting daggers at him. "If you don't want to go into any more bars, then fine, you can stay at home," she snapped. "But I'm a reporter and just as much a part of this investigation as you are. If I have to go into a dive to track down a story, then I will. And you're crazy if you think you can stop me."

The taunt slapped him in the face and snapped his control in one fell swoop. Quickly eliminating the distance between them, he snatched her to him. "Damn it, woman, are you blind?" he thundered in a low growl. "When that man grabbed you tonight, he wasn't grabbing a reporter. He didn't give a damn about your profession. He was after a good-looking woman. A woman he wanted to touch, to kiss!"

His gaze fell to her mouth, searing her, and suddenly the heat between them had nothing to do with anger. Katie felt her throat go dry. Her hands pushed at his chest. "Grant, no!"

"Yes, damn it," he said thickly. "We've both been wondering about this ever since we met. It's time we found out what we've been missing."

With that, he gave in to the hunger that had been twisting his gut in knots from the moment he'd first touched her. As he buried his hands in the dark cloud of her hair, his mouth came down hard and demanding on hers.

The tension that had been building all evening exploded with a white-hot flare of heat. Katie told herself that if he hadn't surprised her, she would have easily resisted him. She told herself that if he hadn't been so much stronger than she, she would have slipped free of his arms. But as he gathered her closer and kissed her as if she'd belonged to him since the beginning of time, she knew she lied to herself.

She wanted to fight, to struggle, to stand in his arms without feeling anything. But dear Lord, how he made her feel! His tongue traced the curve of her lips, tasting, savoring, sending hot, liquefying pleasure through her veins. She couldn't think, couldn't move. Her heart pounded. On the edge of her awareness, she knew Ryan was just on the other side of the door in the living room; he had to have heard the car when they drove up. He could step outside any moment…

But then Grant nipped at her bottom lip, demanding entrance to the dark secrets of her mouth. Her thoughts blurred, her mind filled with nothing but him. She sighed into his mouth and was lost.

Passion gnawed at Grant at the taste of her surrender. He groaned and dragged her closer, wants and needs he couldn't begin to name tearing at him. She was soft, so damn soft, her mouth and tongue now as greedy as his, her body pliant against his. The teasing, alluring scent of honeysuckle swirled around him, seducing him, dragging him down to a sweet madness that began and ended with her. Had he ever wanted a woman this much?

Tearing his mouth from hers, he ran his lips over her face, breathing in the silky texture of her skin, memorizing every delicate curve and line of her features. But it wasn't enough. How could she push him to madness with nothing more than a kiss? He clutched at her roughly as reason began to slip away.

She felt his fingers at her hips, her waist, sliding up her ribs, and cursed the clothes that denied her the feel of his skin against hers. His hands, she thought dazedly. She wanted his hands on her. Everywhere.

The thought slipped through the fog that enveloped her and set off an alarm that echoed warningly in her ears. She frowned, not wanting to think when feeling was so wonderful, but suddenly her mind was clearing. Awareness ripped aside the curtain that clouded her common sense. What was she doing? she cried silently. The need burning in her was too strong, too hot, too soon. How could she have let things go so far so fast?

She stiffened, gasping for breath. "No!" she choked, pushing suddenly out of his arms. "No, I don't want this!"

He scowled, his eyes dark and brooding, his blood still hot. He could change her mind, and they both knew it. But he'd be making a hell of a mistake. Every time he touched her it was harder to let her go. She was a distraction he didn't need or want, not when they were hunting a killer who would see them both dead if they made even one mistake. Still, he couldn't stop himself from fixing her with a hard stare that wouldn't allow her to walk away from him easily. "You sure that's what you want?"

What she really wanted wasn't acceptable, so she nodded, her fingers curling into fists of denial. She struggled for a coolness that would convince him that the only thing between them was business. "We're working together, Grant. That's all. I'm not looking for a lover."

"Does that mean you already have one?"

"No, I—" She broke off, glaring at him. She wasn't about to get into a discussion with him about her love life! "What it means is I'm not interested in anything but finding Sam's murderer. I'd appreciate it if you'd remember that." Without another word, she turned and stormed inside.

At the sound of the door opening, Ryan tore his attention away from the T.V. screen and turned to see his sister hurrying toward the stairs. He grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes. "You missed your curfew," he said with mock sternness. "What happened? Have a flat tire?"

It was an old joke between them, one that had started when Ryan had begun dating. He'd insisted that what was good for the gander applied to the goose, and if he had to have a curfew, so did she. They'd teased each other about it ever since, but tonight, Katie was in no mood for jokes. She started up the stairs. "No, I just didn't realize it was so late. I'm going to bed. Good night."

She disappeared upstairs without another word. Frowning, Ryan glanced over his shoulder as Grant stepped inside and quietly shut the front door behind him. It wasn't like Katie to escape to her room like that unless she was upset. "What's wrong with Katie?" he asked bluntly. "You two have a fight?"

Grant swore silently at the younger man's perception. "Actually it was a difference of opinion," he hedged, searching for an explanation that wouldn't arouse Ryan's suspicions. He strolled over to the couch and dropped onto it, stretching out his long legs. "She had to go to the barrio for a couple of interviews, and I told her she took too many risks just to get a story. She didn't like it."

"I'm surprised she didn't flatten you," Ryan chuckled as he threw his lanky body onto the love seat across from Grant. "Katie likes to think she can take care of herself."

"Tell me about it," Grant muttered. "I wanted to, throttle her." And I kissed her senseless instead, he silently added, scowling at the effort it took to deliberately banish the taste of her from his mind. "She went in places tonight that would have intimidated a linebacker. Isn't she afraid of anything?"

"Cockroaches," Ryan retorted, his blue eyes dancing. "The big ones that fly."

Grant's lips twitched. "You've got to be kidding."

He shook his head. "Nope. She hates them. Comes unglued every time. But the devil himself could stand in front of her and she wouldn't bat an eye." He stared down at the toes of his battered hightops. "I used to worry about her, you know," he confided gruffly. "It's been just the two of us for so long and if something happened to her…" He swallowed. "Then I realized that she might be gutsy, but she's not stupid. She'll do a lot of things for a story, but getting herself killed isn't one of them."

"So you're telling me I shouldn't worry about her?" Grant said softly. "She really can take care of herself?"

"Yeah, except—"

"For cockroaches." He grinned wryly. "Thanks, I'll try to remember that."

* * *

Upstairs, Katie paced restlessly. The pale pink cotton nightshirt she'd changed into swirled around her thighs as she turned from the bed and moved to the window. The moon was high in the dark sky and almost full, spilling a romantic glow over the night, but she was in no mood to appreciate it. Frowning, she hugged herself, cursing the still agitated beating of her heart. Damn Grant Elliot! An hour ago, she'd been so tired, all she'd needed was a place to lay her head and she could have slept the night away. And now she couldn't close her eyes without seeing him standing before her, reaching for her, touching her, kissing her.

Heat curled into her stomach. With a muffled oath, she whirled away from the window. This had to stop! she told herself furiously. She'd been kissed before, for heaven's sake, and she'd never lost any sleep over it. So what was it about Grant's kiss that made her tremble? Sinking down into the white wicker rocker that had been her mother's, she closed her eyes. Heat surrounded her as she remembered how the strength of his hands had made her helpless, though he'd done no more than hold her. And the need. Dear God, how could she ever forget the way he had needed her, the way he had made her need him? It was a need that mocked reason and transcended time.

Somehow she was going to have to learn to deal with it, she decided reluctantly. But not tonight. Not when the memory was so fresh that she could still smell his scent on her skin. Not when her body still ached for more than a kiss. She rose determinedly to her feet and headed for bed.

She slid between the sheets and switched off the bedside light, sighing as exhaustion claimed her once again. Maybe now she'd be able to get some sleep, she thought, punching her pillow into position. Just five seconds of uninterrupted mindlessness. That's all she needed.

Out in the hallway, Ryan made his way to his room and quietly shut his door behind him. A heartbeat later, Grant followed, his tread heavier on the stairs. Katie's breath lodged somewhere in her throat, all thought of sleep vanishing as she waited for him to pass her room to reach his own. Long moments later, she heard the soft click of his door. Her fingers, aching from their unconscious grip on the sheet, relaxed.

An hour later, the house was quiet, dark. The phone rang, an abrupt, unexpected cry in the stillness. Startled, her heart tripping in her breast, Katie snatched it up in mid-ring. "Hello?"

"Katie MacDonald?"

The man's voice was hoarse and rough—like the suspicious growl of a Doberman—and totally unfamiliar. Katie shivered and switched on the bedside lamp. "Yes," she managed calmly. "Who is this?"

"Leo."

Stunned, she almost dropped the phone as she scrambled to sit up. Excitement set her blood thundering in her ears. He'd called, she thought wildly, and they hadn't even been sure they were on the right track!

"What do you want?" he demanded when she didn't say anything. "How did you get my name?"

She'd have had to have been deaf to miss the wariness, the fear, in his voice. He was waiting for just one wrong word from her to hang up. Taking a deep breath, she waited for her nerves to settle before she said quietly, "I'm a friend of Sam Bradford's, Leo. I work for the Examiner."

"I don't know nothing about his death," he blurted out. "I swear it! I talked to him one afternoon and that night he was dead. So if that's what you want to talk about, you're wasting your time. I don't know nothing."

He was hanging up! "Leo, wait!" she cried. She couldn't lose him now, not when she was so close. "I didn't track you down to talk about Sam's death," she said quickly. "Well, not directly anyway. I was hoping you could help me with something Sam was working on when he died. If we could just meet somewhere … anywhere you want, you name it. Any time." Her fingers bit into the phone. "Please. This is very important."

The silence that answered her plea seemed to last forever. Katie held her breath, waiting for the click that would cut her off, when he said, "I don't want to end up like Sam. I got kids—"

"No one has to know you're helping me," she assured him. "We'll meet on your turf, wherever you feel safe. I'll never mention your name to anyone. You have my word on it."

Her sincerity must have reached him. "Meet me in the alley next to the Blue Parrot in thirty minutes. Alone."

"If that's the way you want it." Grant wouldn't like it, but he wouldn't know where she'd gone until morning. The Blue Parrot was a former Cuban nightclub located in a deserted warehouse in Little Havana. Five years ago, it had been all the rage, but then the owner was arrested for tax evasion and it had been closed down ever since. It was in one of the roughest parts of town.

"And be careful. If someone should see you—"

They could both end up like Sam. She paled. "Don't worry, no one will. I'll see you there."

She was out of her gown and reaching for her jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt the minute she hung up. It would take her at least twenty minutes to reach the nightclub, and she didn't have any time to spare. Tugging on tennis shoes, she quickly tied them, then moved to her dresser to secure her hair at the nape of her neck with a rubber band. Seconds later, her heart knocking wildly against her ribs, she soundlessly opened her door and stepped out into the dark hall.

The stairs were twenty feet away, and she knew the location of every creaking board. She cautiously found her way in the dark. Her hand touched the banister, her foot silently searched for the first step, when a door opened behind her and light spilled out into the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder and froze.

Grant stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his chest and feet bare, a faded pair of jeans riding low on his hips. He took one look at her guilty face and dark clothes and strode down the hall to her. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?" he demanded, grabbing her arm before she could descend the stairs. "Who was that on the phone?"

Katie felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of his hard, naked chest. Annoyed, she tried to focus on her earlier anger, but her eyes kept straying to his broad shoulders back-lighted by the light from his bedroom. Damn the man, why did he have to be so attractive?

Jerking her arm free, she glared at him. "It was Leo. I'm meeting him in half an hour. Alone," she stressed.

"Where?"

The single terse word told her more clearly than a string of oaths would have just how tenuous his hold on his temper was. She edged slightly away from him, waiting for the explosion she was sure would come. "An alley next to an abandoned nightclub in Little Havana," she said defensively. "Damn it, Grant, don't try to talk me out of it. I'm going! This is the only lead we've got, and I'd be a fool to pass it up."

He knew her well enough now to know that he'd have to hog-tie her and lock her in her room to keep her from going. "Let me get my shirt and shoes. I'm going with you."

"But Leo said to come alone!"

The fierce look he threw her dared her to argue. "I don't care what he said. I either go with you or you don't go. And standing here arguing about it is only wasting time you haven't got."

Even in the dim light that filtered down the hall from his room, he could see the flare of anger in her eyes. But he had her and they both knew it. Without a word, he turned back to his room to finish dressing.

Less than a minute later, he joined her outside next to her car, his shirt unbuttoned and beige boat shoes on his bare feet. He motioned her toward the driver's side. "You drive. You know where you're going and it'll save time."

Katie slid behind the wheel and within seconds they were once again headed for Little Havana. The bars were all closed now, the streets almost empty. Traffic lights still changed at regular intervals at the major intersections, without regard to the lack of cars on the road. Katie resisted the urge to race through the red lights, her thoughts already leaping ahead to the meeting with Leo.

Beside her, Grant stretched his arm across her seat-back and glanced casually behind them. Three blocks away, another car traveled in the same direction at a sedate pace. Uneasiness stirred in him, but his voice was calm as he quietly told Katie, "Take the next left."

She shot him a quick look, her brows knit together in a frown. "But that's the wrong way. We want to go to the right."

"I know, but I think we're being followed."

"What!" Her eyes flew to the rearview mirror. The car was so far back she couldn't even see what make it was, but she didn't doubt for a moment that Grant was right. Her fingers clutched at the wheel before she made herself relax. "What do I do to lose them?"

Grant's eyes glinted with admiration. He had to give her credit. She didn't rattle easily. "First we've got to be sure we're really being tailed. Turn left, but don't use your signal. Then turn again at the next left."

She did as he instructed, then she watched in the mirror with growing dread as the other car speeded up to keep her in sight. It followed her turn for turn. She glanced at Grant. "Guilty as charged," she said huskily.

"Damn!" he muttered. "That's what I was afraid of." Facing front abruptly, he scanned their surroundings with narrowed eyes. The street they were on was a main thoroughfare, lined with shopping centers, businesses and fast-food joints. Crossroads led to apartment complexes and subdivisions that were no doubt a mass of winding streets that would be as confusing as a maze. If they took a wrong turn, they could be trapped in a cul-de-sac and end up being another statistic on a police blotter—or they could get lucky.

Grant's eyes glinted. He'd always believed in gambling on luck. "Hit the gas and take a right at the next corner," he said decisively. "Floor it if you have to, but let's lose that sucker, whoever he is."

Her heart in her throat, Katie flattened the accelerator and shot forward like a bat out of hell. Tires squealed behind them, but all her attention was on the curve coming up. Her pulse was racing as fast as the motor as she took the corner. She half expected the tires to leave the ground. They didn't.

Grant gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're doing great! A couple more turns and we're bound to lose him."

They raced into the night, engine roaring, tires screeching in protest, taking corners at a speed that would have daunted a race driver. The other car was losing ground fast, when Katie looked up and blanched at the traffic light that suddenly appeared before her. It was red.

"Grant!"

His head snapped around. "Go through it," he ordered. But her fingers only tightened on the wheel. "Damn it, Katie! Go through it!"

Resisting the urge to close her eyes and brace herself, she did.

The siren she was unconsciously waiting for never came. She almost went limp with relief, but the man who was following them was still back there, his headlights shining in her rearview mirror to taunt her. Tension knotted the muscles at the nape of her neck. What did it take to lose this guy?

As if he read her mind, Grant leaned forward suddenly. "You see that strip of shops in the next block? It looks like there's an alley behind it. Turn the corner next to it and whip into the alley and cut your lights. If we're lucky, the building will block us when we make the second turn."

It was a slim chance, but the only one they had. Taking the curve as fast as she dared, Katie turned back almost immediately into the dark, narrow alley behind the stores and killed the lights. Twenty seconds later, the other car raced around the corner and streaked past the alley without slowing down.

Katie sat rigidly behind the wheel, listening as the angry growl of tires gradually faded in the distance. They had won, but the realization did nothing to ease the sense of foreboding that threatened to choke her. Tracking down Sam's murderer was going to be every bit as dangerous as Grant had warned her it would be. How long would luck continue to stay on their side?

"That was damn good driving," Grant said in satisfaction, turning to her with a quick grin. "Nothing like a car chase to really get the blood circulating."

She snorted at that. "Thanks, but if it's all the same to you, my blood's circulating just fine. I don't know if I can stand any more excitement."

"There's only one way to find out," he chuckled. "Let's go find Leo."

* * *

The Blue Parrot was located in a warehouse district that had fallen on hard times. A few of the buildings were still in use, but most were empty, with broken windows and doors, home to rats and vagrants. The club itself was dark and gloomy, its doors barricaded shut. The only indication of its glamorous past was the faded parrot sign that stuck out from the building like an old-fashioned theater marquee.

Shadows filled every doorway and alley. The only illumination came from a streetlight on the far corner. Katie took one look at the narrow black alley that ran alongside the old club and knew why Leo had chosen it as their meeting place. From there, he could disappear into one of a dozen cavernous buildings without her even knowing which way he had gone.

Grant's eyes followed hers. When he thought of how she had almost come here alone, he wanted to throttle her. Without a word, he reached for his door handle. If she thought he was going to let her go in there by herself, she was in for a fight.

But Katie had no intention of objecting. If Grant hadn't been with her, she seriously doubted that she would have had the nerve to step into the dark void alone. She stiffened her spine, fighting back the need to edge closer to him. "Well, here goes nothing," she whispered as she moved into the alley. "We're ten minutes late. Let's see if he's still here."

Their footsteps made only a suggestion of sound in the echoing silence. Somewhere off to the left, a rat scurried for protection in the all-consuming blackness. Katie tried not to think what else might be hiding in the night and called out softly, "Leo? Are you there? I'm Katie MacDonald."

The quiet remained unbroken. Her heart sank. Then suddenly, from the back of the alley, a nervous voice said accusingly, "I told you to come alone!"

"I'm a friend of Sam's, too," Grant spoke up. "You have nothing to be afraid of. My name is Grant Elliot, and we just want to talk to you."

"No one will hurt you, Leo," Katie promised, taking another step toward him. Now that her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, she could just make him out at the end of the alley. The thin man with an angular face and deep set eyes took a long drag on a cigarette, then pitched it down and jerkily ground it out. He was as nervous as a cat.

"We know what Sam was working on when he died, Leo. All we want is a little information and we'll never bother you again," she continued in a soothing voice. "It'll only take a few minutes. Okay?"

A match hissed and flared, brightening the darkness for only a second. Katie saw Leo's flat, plain face before he raised his hand to light another cigarette. He blew out a stream of smoke. "What do you want to know?"

"You said you saw Sam the day he died. Do you know what he was doing out in the swamps? Where he was going?"

He nodded. "There was a meeting between the roller and Cantu and a Colombian."

Katie stiffened, alarm bells ringing in her head. Dear God, she thought, no wonder Cantu was so cocky! He had the backing of one of the city's most powerful businessmen and he knew no one could touch him. "Who's the roller?" she asked suddenly.

"The head of the Barracudas."

Grant swore impatiently. This was getting them nowhere. "What's his name? You must know his real name."

"No," he claimed innocently. "I've never seen him."

"Then how did you know about the meeting?" Katie pressed, frowning. "How did you know the roller even exists? It's not common knowledge on the street."

Leo took another drag on his cigarette. "I work for him," he reluctantly admitted. "I'm a truck driver. But I don't know who he is," he insisted. "I wouldn't know him if he passed me on the street. He calls me whenever he needs me to pick up or deliver something for him."

Grant didn't need to ask to know that that something was drugs. "All right, so you're just a driver and don't know anything," he conceded flatly. "How did you first make contact with the roller? He didn't just dial your number at random."

"My supervisor at my day job asked me if I wanted to make some extra money on the side. He told me to take one of the sugar trucks home and wait for a call." Even in the darkness, he could see they weren't happy with his answers. "Look, I just did what I was told and kept my mouth shut. People who ask questions wind up dead."

"Like Sam," Katie whispered. "Oh, God, was Cantu the one who killed him?"

Leo backed away as if she had struck him. "I didn't say that!" he cried. "I don't know who—"

Suddenly, from the street that ran in front of the club, the soft purring of a car's motor set the night air vibrating. Cursing, Grant pulled Katie into a dark, recessed doorway just as a police car slowly cruised by, its spotlight searching out the black corners of the alley. Katie sucked in a startled breath and shrank against Grant's hard chest, waiting in horror for the path of light to find Leo. But he, too, had jumped into a concealing doorway somewhere.

Seconds passed like hours. When the patrol car finally continued on its rounds, Katie's legs were shaking. "All right, Leo, it's safe," she choked huskily.

Silence was her only answer. Leo was gone.

Chapter 5

« ^ »

They returned home with nothing but jagged bits of information that teased and confused them and refused to fit together into a cohesive picture. Under normal circumstances, Katie would have been grinding her teeth in frustration at the lack of details, but as the last few hours of the night dragged on, she was thankful she had them to occupy her mind. They kept her from thinking of Grant, lying in his own bed just a few doors down the hall. She fell asleep with the informant's voice echoing in her head.

She awoke late the next morning convinced that she had her emotions firmly in control. Her response to Grant on the porch had been a result of the lateness of the hour and the beer that had clouded her thinking. She'd make sure it didn't happen again. As for the investigation, a little sleep had helped to clear her thinking there, too. Whether he'd realized it or not, Leo had dropped some valuable information into their laps. He might not know the roller directly, but he received calls telling him when and where to pick up and deliver the cocaine. In company trucks. Sugar trucks.

In south Florida, that meant only one thing—Glade Sugar, Incorporated.

It was the only solid piece of information they had, and when she and Grant drew up across the street from the refinery early the following afternoon to check it out, Katie still found it hard to believe they were on the right track. Leaning back in the passenger seat of Grant's plain rental car, she pushed her sunglasses up her nose and studied the compound. A frown wrinkled her brow.

"It just doesn't make sense. Why would a company like Glade Sugar get mixed up in drugs? Look at the place! Business is booming, and why wouldn't it be? Their sugar is in every grocery store and restaurant in the state."

Grant slouched in the seat, his attention also on the activity across the street. She was right. Glade Sugar's corporate headquarters was every entrepreneur's idea of success. The main offices were housed in a flamingo-pink stucco building of art deco design, surrounded by a garden of palm trees, bougainvillea and hibiscus. A dozen trucks carrying the company logo were being loaded at the refinery, while other trucks delivered raw sugarcane to the mill. A stucco wall that matched the main building in color surrounded the entire compound.

"Appearances don't mean a thing," Grant replied cynically. "For all we know, the company may be in debt up to its smokestacks."

"Or Leo could have lied about driving a sugar truck."

He shot her a sharp look. "Why would he do that?"

"Who knows?" she shrugged. "To cover his own tail, maybe. You know how informants are. You probably work with them all the time in Chicago. Some you can trust with your life and others you wouldn't turn your back on. And what, after all, do we know about Leo? He could be a compulsive liar."

"Sam trusted him enough to get himself killed over the lead he gave him," he reminded her grimly. "If we don't do the same thing, we might as well quit right now. There's nowhere else to go." His eyes narrowed speculatively on the large building behind the office. "We know the roller's buying cocaine from the Colombians in bulk, so he's got to be storing it someplace until it's distributed. Someplace where it wouldn't be noticed. I think we've found it." He turned to her abruptly, the hard lines of his bearded face set with determination. "We've got to get in there."

She'd been thinking the same thing. "There's only one small problem," she said, nodding toward a tough-looking man stationed at the entrance. "The guard. I've been watching him ever since we drove up. Every car that's been allowed inside has had a pass."

"Then we'll have to go in at night," Grant replied as lightly as if he were proposing a stroll in the park. "And we won't use the main entrance. We'll go over the wall."

Her sunglasses hid the shock she knew would be in her eyes, but not the sudden tension that tightened her mouth. So they would be alone together in the dark again. He could hear the thought as clearly as if she'd spoken it out loud. If he had any sense, he'd tell her he could take it from here alone. It would be the best for both of them. She didn't want a repeat of the scene on the porch, and he'd lain in bed until dawn, reliving it, cursing her, wanting her. He had a gut feeling the wanting was only going to get worse.

"You got a problem with that?" he challenged.

Stiffening, she arched a brow at his tone. "You're talking breaking and entering. When I agreed to work with you, I don't remember saying anything about being your partner in crime."

He shrugged. "We won't be breaking anything. Just entering."

"And if we get caught?"

"We won't."

She tilted her head, wondering how his confidence could both reassure and irritate her at the same time. "Are you always so cocky?"

A wicked grin curled his mouth. "I've been told it's one of my most endearing charms," he retorted solemnly, then chuckled at her snort of disdain as he started the car. "There's nothing more we can do here for now. We might as well go back to the house and wait for tonight."

But he hadn't even pulled away from the curb when Katie suddenly clutched his arm, her eyes on the truck that was just pulling out of the compound. "Wait I If the drugs are stored here, then they've got to be distributed from here. What better way to spread it around the city than camouflaged as sugar?"

"In plain sight," Grant muttered, appreciating the beauty of the plan. "They could deliver it right under the nose of every cop in town and no one would think a thing of it!" He threw the car in gear and made a quick U-turn as the truck headed down the street in the opposite direction. "We've got some time to kill. Let's see who some of Glade Sugar's customers are."

Hanging well back in the traffic, they followed the truck on its rounds and kept track of every stop. From a safe distance, they watched the driver unload twenty-five-pound sacks of sugar at restaurants, bakeries, and cafeterias throughout southwest Miami. Some of the deliveries were no doubt legitimate, but how many weren't?

When the truck stopped at a bakery just blocks away from Katie's house, she stiffened. "What is it?" Grant asked, noting the way she was staring at the notes she'd made. "Is there a pattern?"

She looked straight into his eyes. "Yeah, you might say that. Every one of the small bakeries the truck has stopped at is located in areas claimed by the Barracudas. How's that for coincidence?"

"Neat, very neat." Drumming his fingers on the dash, he watched the truck driver load six sacks of sugar on a dolly and roll it into the bakery. "The roller runs the refinery operation and gets the drugs delivered in twenty-five-pound sacks throughout the city, at which point Cantu and his boys take over." His eyes snapped back to hers. "I don't suppose you know who owns Glade Sugar?"

"No, but the owner's name will be on the tax rolls at the courthouse." She checked her watch. "If we hurry, we can get there before the office closes. Take the next right."

They made it to the Dade County Courthouse in record time, but they might as well have saved themselves the trouble. Katie took one look at the owner's name and swore in disgust. "Triton Industries, Inc," she read. "It's owned by another corporation! Damn!"

At her side, Grant checked the owners of the bakeries she'd written down earlier and whistled softly in satisfaction. "Well, what do you know? They're all owned by Triton Industries, too. Somebody's got his fingers in a lot of pies."

"He's also covered his bases," she retorted. "There's no listing for Triton Industries. For all we know, it could be an out-of-state corporation and we'll never find out who owns it."

She looked so disgusted, Grant couldn't stop himself from throwing a friendly arm around her shoulders and giving her an encouraging squeeze. "Come on, don't be a crepe hanger," he teased as he ushered her out of the building into the sunshine. "While we're at the refinery tonight, we'll check out the offices, too. There's no telling what we'll find."

"That's what I was afraid of," Katie groaned, fighting back a smile. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"No guts, no glory," he retorted. "Sometimes you've got to bend the rules a little if you want to wm the game."

"And this is one you intend to win, isn't it?" she asked shrewdly. "No matter what."

His easy smile faded, leaving his expression dark and dangerous. "That's right," he said coolly, his blue eyes glinting with a fire that sent a shiver sliding down her spine. "No matter what."

* * *

There was nothing left to do but go home and wait. They had decided to leave for the refinery around eleven. Grant went upstairs to take a nap and advised Katie to do the same since it would be another long night, but she was too restless to sleep. Patience had never been her strong suit, and she knew she'd go quietly out of her mind if she had to spend the next five hours watching the clock. She headed for the kitchen instead.

An hour later, she had homemade spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, while she sat at the table chopping onions for meatballs. Ryan had already left for work, the house was quiet, her hands were busy. Before she'd realized it, her thoughts had drifted to last night—and the evening to come.

Her fingers tightened around the wooden handle of the knife she held. She wasn't going to be able to do it, she realized in growing panic. She couldn't step back into the darkness with Grant, remembering what it was like to be held in his arms with his mouth hot on hers, and not want it again. Oh, God, she was in trouble!

What had he done to her? she wondered. And how? It wasn't like her to let anything distract her from her work, but he could make her forget the world. From the first touch of his strong hands on her, something—need, hunger, a longing she'd never known before—had welled in her blood and quietly intensified. It was only a matter of time before the storm in her soul raged out of control.

She stiffened, thrusting the heated images away. She wouldn't think of that now, she told herself, furiously chopping the onions. Not when it was only a matter of hours before she found herself alone again with him in a darkness that was altogether too intimate for her peace of mind.

"Something smells good."

She looked up with a start at his husky murmur and nearly cut herself with the knife. He stood in the doorway as if he'd been watching her for some time, his chestnut hair slightly disheveled, his blue eyes dark and slumberous. Katie felt their touch all the way to her toes.

Swearing under her breath, she laid the knife down with a clatter and rose to her feet. "Spaghetti and meatballs," she said as she moved to the counter to add the onions to the hamburger meat she'd thawed out in the microwave. "Hope you like Italian food."

His eyes narrowed at her edginess, but he made no comment about it as he strolled over to the table. "Yeah, it's one of my favorites. Can I help you with something?"

She would have given anything to refuse his offer. She was too aware of him as it was; the last thing she needed was the two of them working cozily together in the kitchen. But she had never been a coward, and she wouldn't start acting like one now. "You can make a salad. There's lettuce and tomato in the refrigerator, and you'll find a bowl in the cabinet next to the sink."

"Will Ryan be home for supper or does he eat at work?" he asked as he walked over to the refrigerator.

"Both." She chuckled at his look of surprise. "He does eat at work, but he usually raids the refrigerator when he gets home. I never have to worry about leftovers with Ryan around. The kid's a straight pipe."

He brought the vegetables over to the sink to wash. "You two have been on your own for a long time, haven't you? You're closer than most brothers and sisters."

"We've been through a lot," she said simply, keeping her attention on her work as she rolled the meat mixture into balls and placed them in a baking pan. "Our mother died when I was fifteen and Ryan five. He barely remembers her."

Grant wondered if she realized the regret in her voice was all for her brother, with none for herself. "It must have been difficult for you losing your mother at that age."

Difficult didn't begin to describe it, but the smile she gave him was easy. "Believe me, it was just as hard for my father." She chuckled, remembering the tugs-of-war they'd had over her efforts to grow up and his need to hang on to his little girl. "If he'd have had his way, he'd have locked me in my room until I was forty."

Grant arched a brow and found himself wishing he'd seen her as a teenager. "You were wild?" Somehow he couldn't picture it, not when she always looked as if she'd just stepped out of a bandbox.

"As an Indian," she said smugly, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "I had this insatiable curiosity that absolutely horrified Dad. I got into all kinds of scrapes before I finally joined the school paper and found an outlet. And the rest, as they say, is history," she said with a grin as she slid the pan of meatballs into the oven to brown.

Finished with the salad, Grant pulled a chair out from the table and straddled it. "So all that excess energy and inquisitiveness was channeled into reporting," he murmured, propping his chin on his folded hands so he could watch her. She was obviously a woman who knew her way around a kitchen, not because of necessity, but because she really enjoyed cooking. She tasted the bubbling sauce, then added oregano and basil, her fair cheeks flushed from the heat. His gaze drawn inexorably to her mouth, he watched her tongue savor the last bit of sauce that dung to her lips and felt need punch him in the gut.

"What about dating?" he asked abruptly. "Surely all your time wasn't devoted to your career. Didn't you play any?"

Images of beach parties and spring breaks spent at Fort Lauderdale with thousands of other kids flashed before her eyes. "Yeah, I played," she said, her eyes soft with memories before they darkened suddenly. "But then my father died right after I graduated from college. I had Ryan to raise and a career to get off the ground. I didn't have time for a man in my life. It was too full already."

"And what about now?" he persisted even as he ordered himself to drop the subject. "Ryan's going off to college in the fall and your career is established. Is your career enough for you or are you going to start looking around for a husband?"

"I don't know," she said huskily. "I never met anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Except maybe for Sam. There was something about him…" Her voice trailed off before she shrugged, shaking off what might have been, and turned to the oven to check the meatballs. "Anyway, I always thought the two of us were headed for something special," she continued. "But then he was killed and that was that. I guess that's what made his death so hard for me."

Grant became very still, his eyes narrowed on her slender back. "You were in love with Sam?" he asked tersely. "I thought you were just friends."

"We were, but I always felt there was something more between us than friendship. Who knows what could have developed if we'd have just had the time?"

No wonder she'd agreed so quickly to help with the investigation, Grant thought bemusedly. And he hadn't realized, hadn't even suspected…

Katie almost laughed at his blank expression. "Am I boring you to death?" she chuckled as she put a pot of water on the stove to boil for the spaghetti. "Sorry. I didn't mean to put you to sleep."

"You weren't," he denied. "I was just thinking. It looks like supper is almost ready. I'll set the table."

After that, the conversation was limited to less personal subjects, whether by chance or design Katie wasn't sure. Something had changed, and try as she might, she couldn't put her finger on it. Grant complimented her on the food and ate heartily. He even told her some things he'd done as a teenager that would have given her father heart failure. Katie laughed at his wild stories, then wondered at the tenseness that followed them. When she asked him if anything was wrong, he shrugged off her concern and offered to help her with the dishes. But even then, the enforced intimacy of standing side by side at the sink seemed to bother him. He rushed her through the task, then urged her upstairs to change into dark clothes. Before she was prepared, they were leaving for the refinery.

* * *

Glade Sugar was far more intimidating at night than in the daytime. The huge refinery towered in the darkness. The lights that illuminated the buildings gave it an eerie appearance. Silence echoed in the night breezes. The activity they'd witnessed earlier was now absent, the front gates locked tight.

Grant drove past the front entrance without slowing down and parked on a dark and deserted side street. At the end of the street, they could see the eight-foot pink wall of the refinery. "Ready?" he asked quietly.

Ignoring her thumping heart, Katie slipped a small camera she'd brought into one pocket and a pin flashlight into the other. She reached for her door handle. "Let's do it."

But as they soundlessly approached the wall, her palms grew damp at the realization of what she was about to do. She'd done a lot of things to get a story, but never anything quite like this.

Grant pulled her into the deep shadows of an oak tree. It grew inside the wall, but shaded a corner with its spreading branches. Dressed in black jeans and a T-shirt, with the lower half of his face concealed by his beard, Grant looked like a man who belonged to the night. Katie shivered and suddenly found herself in his arms. "I'm going to boost you up to the top of the wall," he whispered in her ear, "and then I'll follow you. Don't worry, the security guard won't be able to see us as long as we stay hidden in the tree limbs. We're going to wait and see how often he makes his rounds before we make our move."

She nodded, her heart in her throat.

Katie thought she'd hidden her nervousness well, but she didn't know her cheeks were as pale as magnolia blossoms in the darkness, her blue eyes wide. Grant stared down at her, torn by her vulnerability. Unconsciously, his hands tightened on her, keeping her in his arms when she would have moved to the wall.

At her look of surprise, he said, "You trust me, don't you, Katie?"

She could have given him a sassy retort and a pert grin, but his probing eyes demanded the truth. Surprisingly, since she wasn't one to give her trust lightly, she realized she didn't have to search the corners of her heart for the answer he wanted. She trusted him. Totally. Irrevocably. If he'd asked her to sneak into hell with him to get a peek at the devil, she wouldn't have been able to refuse his request.

Her eyes locked with his. "Yes."

A single word shouldn't have had the power to move him, yet it did. With a murmur, he drew her closer. "I won't let anything happen to you," he promised huskily, and sealed the vow with a kiss.

Expecting heat and the unyielding hardness of his mouth, Katie found herself surrounded instead by … tenderness. Her breath escaped through her parted lips in a sigh of surprise. Gentleness. She had no defense against such soul-destroying sweetness. His tongue skimmed her lower lip as if she were a treat to be savored, and her blood seemed to thicken and slow in her veins. She never noticed the world slip out of focus. Whispering Grant's name, she clung to him, lost to everything but the unhurried urgings of his mouth.

Grant groaned at the feel of her body pliant against his, her breasts soft against his chest, her hips snug against his. His arms tightened, need spiraling through him until his thoughts were clouded with it. Only the wall at his back reminded him that he couldn't take her now, as he was aching to do. Wrenching his mouth from hers, he buried his face in her hair and waited for the mad racing of his heart to settle. But it would never do that as long as he held her in his arms.

He stepped back, a muscle rippling along his jaw at the effort it took to release her. Even then, he couldn't stop his hands from settling on her shoulders to steady her. "Come on," he whispered roughly. "I'll boost you up to the top of the wall."

The wall. Katie stared at the pink stucco for several long seconds before her mind suddenly sharpened. The refinery. She dragged in a deep breath to clear her head, but it did little good when the taste of him was still on her tongue.

His linked fingers formed a step for her. Placing her foot in his hands, she rested her hand against his shoulder to balance herself. Katie almost gasped when Grant lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather. Her head and shoulders were concealed by the thick branches of the tree, and she grasped the limbs on either side of her and scrambled up onto the wall. In a matter of seconds, Grant joined her by grabbing hold of the lowest branches and hauling himself up beside her.

They sat there for over an hour, silently watching the security guard make his rounds. With a flashlight in his hand, he stepped out of the refinery and inspected the grounds, then moved to the main offices. There, he checked the front door to make sure it was securely locked, then the back, where he was out of sight. Before heading back to the refinery, where he no doubt had a small office, he walked through the rows of trucks at the rear of the large lot. In the two inspections he made while they watched, he never once deviated from his route.

After the guard's second trip, Grant whispered, "We're not going to be able to check the offices tonight—it's too risky. We can get in the refinery, though, when he's out of sight at the back of the main building. He'll never see us."

He made it sound so easy. She swallowed the sudden crazy urge to laugh and nodded. Now all they had to do was wait. She willed herself to relax. She knew they were well hidden by the tree that surrounded them, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were sitting ducks to anyone who cared to look closely. Every time the wind rustled the leaves on the tree, the nerves in her stomach coiled tighter. When the guard finally stepped from the refinery, she almost wilted in relief. Anything was better than sitting there waiting to be discovered.

The guard rattled the front doors of the main office, then disappeared around the back. A heartbeat later, Grant grabbed one of the tree limbs and soundlessly dropped into the compound. Her heart slamming against her ribs, Katie clung to a branch, her feet dangling three feet off the ground before Grant's hands closed around her waist and eased her down. She gave him a shaky smile, and then they both crouched low and sprinted across the yard.

It seemed to take an eon to cross the compound. Unconsciously, they waited for a shout, signaling they'd been caught. But all they heard was the thundering of their own hearts. Short of breath, dizzy with relief, they darted inside the refinery.

Katie took one look at the immense structure and stopped dead in her tracks, dismayed. It was a huge building, latticed with pipes running in every direction, and far larger than it looked from the outside. Neither one of them knew a thing about sugar refineries. Where would they even begin to search?

"We haven't got much time," Grant reminded her. "Fifteen minutes at the most. This afternoon I noticed that the loading dock's on the west side. Let's start looking there. Since the cocaine is taken out in the trucks, it's got to be hidden around there somewhere." They took off at a dead run, darting in and out among stainless steel tanks and vats and evaporators. A wrong turn turned into a dead end. Cursing at the loss of precious time, they retraced their steps. Five minutes later, they stumbled across the loading dock.

Sugar was everywhere. Twenty-five-pound sacks of brown and white and powdered sugar piled in high stacks. Its sweetness cloyed the air.

At each end of the dock, there was a storage room. Ignoring the sacks piled all around them, Grant motioned for Katie to search the room on the left while he took the one on the right. He'd barely stuck his head in what turned out to be the dock foreman's office, when Katie's soft call brought him running back to her.

"It's locked," she explained excitedly. "This has got to be it! They're bound to keep millions of dollars worth of cocaine under lock and key. Now we've just got to find a way to get in there."

Grant pulled a small gadget out of his pocket and held it up to her, his grin wicked. "This ought to do it," he drawled, and quickly inserted it in the lock. With a simple twist of his hand, he opened the door and they slipped inside.

The storeroom was windowless, the blackness that engulfed it complete. The small flashlight Katie hastily switched on hardly made a dent in the darkness, but it was enough for them to see the sacks of sugar piled high around them. Katie started to swear in disappointment when she suddenly noticed the words Extra Fine stamped on the sacks. The sugar stored on the loading dock hadn't carried that distinction.

Grant, too, had noticed the difference. "Let's just see how extra fine it is," he said in a low voice, and made a small cut in one of the sacks with his pocketknife. White powder spilled out. Reaching out to catch some, he tasted it with the tip of his tongue. His eyes hardened with satisfaction. "Bingo!" he whispered.

Katie wanted to laugh, to shout, to savor the moment to the fullest. Finally, they were on to something! But there wasn't time. The guard would be back soon. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she brought out the camera that was no bigger than her palm. Handing Grant the flashlight, she quickly began taking pictures.

"Just wait till this hits the front page," she laughed, snapping another picture.

He looked pointedly at the small flashlight that was her only source of light and snorted. "They'll never come out."

She thought of the high speed film she'd had the foresight to purchase and grinned. "I wouldn't bet on that if I were you. How much time we got?"

"Two minutes."

That was cutting it close. Too close. Grant turned off the flashlight, and they quickly slipped out of the storeroom and closed the door behind them. They silently rushed through the refinery, knowing this time they couldn't afford to make a wrong turn. They were almost at the guard's entrance when Grant looked up and caught a glimpse of the man's shadow preceding him into the building. Grant swallowed a curse, grabbed Katie's arm, and abruptly pulled her behind a large aluminum vat. Startled, she almost gasped when she heard the ring of the guard's footsteps. It sounded as though he was heading right for their hiding place! She paled, her gaze flying to Grant's, panic squeezing her throat. He shook his head imperceptibly, silently cautioning her to silence, to absolute stillness. In the darkness, his fingers closed reassuringly around hers.

The guard drew closer, the heavy tread of his steps echoing hollowly, warningly. Her heart galloping wildly in her chest, Katie shrank back against the cool metal of the vat, her fingers tightly lacing Grant's. Holding her breath, she waited to be discovered.

But the guard walked past the vat without checking his pace, the beam from his flashlight lazily bouncing with every step he took. Seconds later, darkness descended again as he disappeared among the pipes.

Grant waited for an instant longer, listening to make sure the man wasn't returning as unexpectedly as he'd arrived. Only silence echoed from the shadows. He heaved a sigh of relief. "That was too close," he muttered under his breath. "Let's get out of here while we can."

They burst out into the night as if they'd just escaped from prison and headed for the tree against the wall at a dead run. Grant pushed Katie up to the top of the wall, then quickly followed. Panting, they dropped to the other side and sprinted for the car.

Ten minutes later they ran into Katie's living room as if the hounds of hell were after them. Slamming the door, they leaned back against it, breathless, their shoulders rubbing, and burst into laughter as their eyes met.

"God, we did it!"

"I thought we were goners when that guard returned."

"Can you believe it? We found the coke!"

"We're going to crack this thing, I can feel it in my bones!"

They spoke together, too exhilarated to notice how close their faces were, how their bodies gravitated toward each other. As naturally as if he'd been doing it for years, Grant turned her into his arms and brought his mouth down to hers.

There was no thought of resisting, no questioning of what felt so right. It was a night for madness. Their breaths mingled, tongues played, and excitement turned to delight. The sweet scent of sugar clung to both of them, tempting them to taste, to enjoy. Kiss followed kiss, each growing more languid, hotter, sweeter.

Katie wanted to drown in the heat of him, and just barely remembered that they were in the living room, not some dark, quiet place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Struggling up from the depths of desire that clouded her mind, she murmured, "Ryan … he'll be home…" She clutched at Grant, gasping as he gently nipped her ear. "Any … any minute."

But Grant crushed her to him, lost to everything but the need to satisfy the ache that burned him from the inside out. "He probably went to bed hours ago," he growled, and smothered her protests with a savage kiss.

She melted, reason threatening to desert her altogether as she desperately pointed out, "His car isn't in the driveway."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when the phone rang. It was past two in the morning. There wasn't any question of answering it. The only calls she got at that time of night were informants or trouble.

She pulled Grant with her to the phone. While still in his arms she lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

"Katie! Thank God!" Ryan choked out. "I've been trying for hours. I'm … I'm in jail!"

Chapter 6

« ^ »

Chaos. It was the only word that could even begin to describe the police station. A drunk struggled clumsily, caught tight in the hold of the burly cop who dragged him inside, loudly claiming that he was as sober as a judge. A furious woman lunged at her husband, shouting in Spanish, while two officers tried to keep them apart. On a bench that was pushed up against a wall, four prostitutes lounged in various stages of undress, waiting to be booked—again. The desk sergeant glanced at the clock and sighed. Three o'clock. Four more hours and he could go home.

He didn't even blink an eye at the pale, frazzled brunette who came rushing in with a dark, solemn man following right on her heels. "Yes, ma'am?"

Katie gripped the edge of the desk with trembling fingers. She didn't recognize this officer, but she was well known at the police station. He would help her. "I just got a call from my brother that he'd been arrested. Ryan MacDonald, Jr."

The sergeant shuffled through the papers in front of him and grunted when he found what he was looking for. "Yeah. Possession of cocaine and resisting arrest. He's already been booked."

This couldn't be happening! Not to Ryan. "There must be some mistake," she said desperately. "My brother doesn't use drugs."

If he had a penny for every time he'd heard that, he sure as hell wouldn't be sitting behind this desk, the older man thought cynically. "Lady, I don't have anything to do with deciding who's guilty or innocent," he drawled indifferently. "Save it for the judge."

Katie's breath hissed through her teeth, her eyes flashing in outrage. "Why, you—"

"Katie!"

Grant's quiet warning made her cut off a blistering comment. Grant was right. She'd never get Ryan out of here without this man's cooperation, but that didn't stop her eyes from cutting him to shreds. She forced a smile that nearly cracked her face. "Maybe if you'd let me talk to my brother, we could get this straightened out. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding."

She might as well have saved herself the effort. "Sorry," he said. "No dice. Unless you're his lawyer."

"Then I'll see someone else," she tossed back, seething. "Detective Larson. He'll clear up this mess."

"He's on vacation."

"Then Captain Roberts," she said impatiently. "He knew my father. He'll help me."

"Lady, Roberts couldn't help you if he knew your grandfather. He transferred to Houston last week. Why don't you just go home?" he said wearily. "If you think you can pull a few strings, come back tomorrow and give it your best shot. But tonight you're wasting your time and mine."

"Then we'll post bail and clear this up in the morning," Grant said quietly, cutting her off before she could tell the older man just exactly what she thought of his suggestion. "Ryan's not spending the night in jail."

The sergeant looked over her head to the man who stood behind her. Resisting the urge to squirm, the older man shook his head. "There's no judge around to set bail. The kid's stuck here until morning."

"No!" Katie gasped, horrified. She knew better than most just what kind of scum filled the jail. Just the thought of her clean-cut, straight-A brother locked up with drug dealers, rapists and murderers was too much to bear. Unconsciously she turned to Grant, clutching at his arm. "Grant … we've got to do something! We can't just leave him here till morning."

Grant saw that her eyes were dark with alarm. Her fingers dug into his arm and her control was obviously hanging by a thread. If she had to walk out of here without Ryan, he knew she'd never forgive herself for her own helplessness. Protectiveness surged in him, surprising him with its strength. He'd never wanted to be any woman's white knight, never felt the need. But Katie MacDonald wasn't just any woman. She drew out emotions he never knew he had. Slipping his arm around her, he pulled her close to give her some of his strength. "Isn't one of your uncles a judge?" he reminded her. "Call him. He'll help you."

She blinked, clutching at the suggestion like a lifeline. "Yes, of course. Uncle Tony. I should have thought of him myself. He'll know what to do."

She glanced at the phone on the desk in front of her, but the sergeant only nodded to a row of phones just inside the station door. "The pay phones are over there."

Grant handed her a quarter, and within seconds she was punching out her uncle's number. But the phone rang five, ten, twenty times without anyone answering. With every ring, the muscles in Katie's stomach twisted. She slammed the receiver down. "He's not home," she said flatly, then quickly pulled the quarter from the coin return and dropped it back into the machine. "Uncle Mike's got almost as much clout as Uncle Tony. Maybe he can do something."

The phone had hardly started to ring when it was suddenly snatched up and a thick, rough voice Katie barely recognized as her uncle's growled in her ear. She sagged against the wall in relief, tears burning her eyes and throat. "Uncle Mike, thank God you're home!" she cried. "Ryan's in jail and I need you to help me get him out!"

"In jail?" he barked, his sleepy voice sharpening immediately. "Are you at the police station?"

"Yes."

"I'll be right there."

He was as good as his word. Less than fifteen minutes after he hung up, he strode into the station as if he'd just stepped out of a board meeting. His Italian suit was as neatly creased as it would be in the middle of the day instead of at that ungodly hour of the morning.

Katie took one look at his face lined with worry and her helplessness turned to resentment. She hated the desk sergeant for forcing her to bring her uncle in on this. Michael Gallegos was an old-fashioned man who believed it was his responsibility to shelter the women and children in the family from the harsh realities of life. Katie knew he would blame himself for this, even though there was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

She rushed to his side and gave him a quick rundown on what happened all in the time it took to give him a hug. "A mistake's obviously been made, but the sergeant's not interested in correcting it," she said, shooting the policeman a killing look as she stepped out of her uncle's arms. "Uncle Mike, you know Ryan wouldn't do something like this."

"Of course he wouldn't," he said, patting her on the shoulder. His eyes narrowed as he suddenly noticed Grant standing just behind her. "Elliot, isn't it?" At Grant's nod, he said, "I'm glad you're here. She shouldn't go through this alone. And you," he growled, giving Katie a stern look, "you should have called me immediately. Sit down with your young man and let me see what I can do."

He was heading for the desk sergeant before the heat could even rise in Katie's cheeks. Was it only days ago that she and Grant had started the charade about an old romance? Only now it didn't seem like an act. How had it happened? What was it about this man that made his touch, his kiss, his presence in her life, seem so right?

"Are you all right?"

The question wrapped around her heart like a caress. She glanced up and gazed into his dark, probing eyes. Suddenly the answer to all her questions could be summed up in one word. Love. Dear God, she was falling in love with him!

Grant felt her stiffen, watched her eyes widen with distress, and stared at her in confusion. Was she going to fall apart now that the crisis was nearly over? He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, not questioning the need to hold her. "It's okay, Katie. Everything's going to be all right, Gallegos knows just about everybody in town. If he can't get Ryan out, nobody can."

Katie wanted to run, but how could she when her cheek was pressed against Grant's chest and she felt as if she'd come home? "No, it's not that…" she began, then almost choked on a hysterical laugh. What was she supposed to say now? I suddenly realized I'm falling in love with you and I don't even know your favorite color? Your middle name? Where you live?

What was she going to do?

As if he sensed her sudden panic, his arms tightened around her. "See, what did I tell you? Here comes Ryan now."

She whirled in his arms, everything else pushed to the back of her mind at the sight of her brother. His clothes were as neat and clean as when he had left for work, not a strand of his black curly hair was out of place. But the boyish youthfulness of his lean face was etched with a grim somberness that hadn't been there hours before.

Blinking back tears, Katie murmured, "Oh, Grant, look at him. He looks like he's been through hell."

"He probably has," he said gruffly. "Come on, let's get him out of here."

Ryan reached for his sister the minute he saw her. His arms encircled her as if he would never let her go. "Katie, I didn't do anything!" he choked hoarsely. "I swear it!"

"I never thought you did," she said simply, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding."

"You can tell us about it in the car," Grant added. "I'm sure you're ready to go home."

Ryan nodded grimly. "I don't ever want to step foot in this place again." He turned to his uncle and stuck out his hand. "Thanks, Uncle Mike. I owe you one."

The older man solemnly shook hands, then pulled him close for a hug. "You don't owe me anything. Just go home and try not to worry about this. I'll get everything straightened out tomorrow."

Minutes later, they were in Grant's car, heading home. Katie turned sideways in the seat so that she could see Ryan's tall, lanky figure slumped in the back, his strength seemingly deserting him now that the ordeal was over. "What happened?" she demanded.

He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. I was driving home after work, minding my own business, when a cop stopped me for a busted taillight."

"When did that happen?" she asked, frowning. "You should have fixed it."

"But it wasn't broken. That's the whole point!" Leaning forward, he folded his arms across the back of the front seat, anger flaring in his eyes. "I washed the car before I went to work, and there wasn't a scratch on it. I tell you, Katie, it was a setup. Someone broke the taillight and planted the drugs while I was working. Then they must have tipped the cops off because when that guy stopped me, he knew exactly where to look!"

Grant's eyes met his in the mirror. "Any idea who would do this to you?"

His smile was bitter. "Take a guess. You know we've only got one enemy."

"Cantu." Katie spit the name out like a curse. "I should have known."

"He warned Katie he'd get to her through me, and I guess beating me up wasn't good enough," Ryan muttered. "Now he's trying to ruin my life."

And they all knew he could, too, if Mike Gallegos couldn't get the charges against Ryan dropped.

The minute they reached the house, Ryan headed for the stairs, announcing that he was going to try to get some sleep. Katie started to go after him, then stopped, knowing there was nothing she could say that would reassure him. Sighing, she turned into the living room.

Grant stood in the doorway and watched her start to pace. Even from halfway across the room he could see she was a nervous wreck. "That's not going to help, you know. Why don't you go to bed and try to get some sleep?"

She would have laughed at the suggestion if she hadn't been afraid she'd burst into tears instead. "How can I sleep? Ryan's scared out of his mind, and there's nothing I can do to help him!"

She would never accept helplessness easily, especially when it concerned someone she loved. "Pacing like a caged lion won't help, either," Grant commented dryly. "Would you like a drink?"

"No. Yes!" She scowled at her own indecisiveness. "Whiskey, neat," she snapped, though she had to laugh when he arched a brow in surprise. "My grandmother always said if you're going to drink, don't mess around. She didn't believe in doing things in half measures."

"She must have been an interesting lady," he murmured as he strolled over to the liquor cabinet in the corner and poured them both a drink.

"She was. She died when I was eight, but I can still remember how gutsy she was. She never would have tolerated a worm like Cantu messing with her family." She took the drink he handed her and downed the small amount of whiskey in one gulp. "Damn it, I should have known he'd do something like this!" Resisting the urge to slam her glass on the end table, she carefully set it down, then walked restlessly to the windows. "I know how he operates," she said angrily, jamming her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and staring out at the moonlit night. "He plays dirty; he always has. And I knew that! So what did I do? I dropped my guard, and Ryan's the one who's going to have to pay for it," she said bitterly. "I should have warned him. He's just an innocent kid—"

"You did warn him," Grant cut in. "You both knew Cantu was capable of anything, but there was no way you could have anticipated this. Face it, Katie, if the man wants to get you, he can. There're a thousand different directions he can come from."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she whispered half to herself. "If he even suspects that we're tracking down the roller—"

"He won't," Grant said bluntly. "We've covered our tracks too well." He set his glass next to hers and strode purposefully toward her. He stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "Do you remember what we were doing when Ryan called from the police station?"

She blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden change of subject. "What?"

His lips twitched, but he patiently repeated the question, then added, "I should warn you that if you have to think more than two seconds, my ego's going to be shattered."

Her heart skipped a beat, images of his kiss heating her blood. Suddenly, she was achingly aware of the quiet of the night, his closeness, her own need to be held. She stiffened and desperately tried to appear stern. "What has that got to do with Ryan?"

"I was hoping you'd ask that," he murmured huskily, and took the final step that all but eliminated the distance between them. His thighs brushed hers as he reached up to skim his fingers over her hair. "Your uncle can't do anything for Ryan until morning, and that's still another couple of hours away. I know you're not going to sleep. You can either spend that time worrying, or we can take up where we left off." She hardly felt his hands as they freed her hair from the rubber band. It spilled down around her shoulders and he ran his fingers through her curls. His eyes locked with hers. "The choice is yours."

His hand teased the back of her neck, making her nerves seem to tingle. She dragged in a shuddering breath and felt her breasts graze his chest. Had he moved, or she? Suddenly it was difficult to think, to remember that they weren't alone in the house. "Ryan…" she began breathlessly, only to lose the thought on a sigh as his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.

"The poor kid's so shook up he'll probably spend the rest of the night staring at the ceiling," he said thickly against her neck. "Kiss me, Katie."

A kiss. It was all he was asking for. But her emotions were too shaky, too volatile. It wasn't too late to stop herself from falling in love with him. She'd already lost more love than she could handle. She couldn't chance it with a man who'd be in her life only for a short time, who was with her only because of his commitment to the memory of Sam Bradford. "I'm not so sure that's such a good idea," she said faintly, but she couldn't find the strength to step out of his arms.

At another time, perhaps during the light of day when there was no darkness to tempt him, he might have listened. But she was too close, her body too soft against his, her eyes too filled with a passion that matched his own. The house was quiet, the night warm and seductive, ripe for loving. He couldn't let her go, not now.

"Shall we see if I can change your mind?" he suggested. Without waiting for her answer, he molded her against him. "Now where were we? Oh, yes. Your arms were around my neck." With only the slightest urging, her hands slid obediently up his chest. His eyes gleamed, and suddenly it was an effort to keep his voice light. "My left arm was around your shoulders," he continued huskily, suiting his movements to his words. "And my right was here." Watching her through eyes that were heavy-lidded and sharp, he wrapped his other arm around her waist and brought his hand to rest just below her breast.

Katie knew she should stop this before it went any further, but all she could do was stand trembling in his arms, waiting for … him. The thought came to her as he groaned her name and crushed her to him, his mouth searing hers, stealing her heart and soul. How long had she been waiting for him? Aching for the feel of his arms holding her as if he'd never let her go? Had the heat that drew her like a moth to a flame started just days ago when they'd literally run into each other, or was this something ages old, transcending time? She couldn't begin to know, but she knew she couldn't step away from him. Not yet. Just a few more minutes, she promised herself as her hands tightened around his neck, as her body pressed against his.

Grant felt the change in her immediately, the minute she stopped fighting her needs and gave in to them.

Sweet! God, she was sweet, melting against him like spun sugar left too long in the sun. And her mouth, would he ever get enough of it? She tasted of fire and whiskey and a dark, exotic flavor that was uniquely her own. He could spend hours just learning all the secrets of her mouth.

He deepened the kiss with a thrust of his tongue, desire swirling like mist in his blood, thickening, heating. There was no escaping it. It pulled at him with silken fingers, tore at him until it took every ounce of his control not to pull her to the floor. What was she doing to him? No woman had ever moved him so quickly, so completely. As they stood mouth to mouth, hips to hips, she drove every other woman, every other thought, from his mind until there was just the two of them straining with need. If he had to go another night without her, he'd surely go out of his mind.

Tearing his mouth from hers, he pressed his lips to the pulse thundering in her throat and felt its echo deep inside himself. But it wasn't enough. Nothing short of all of her would do. "I want you." He trailed open-mouthed kisses across her neck to her ear. "Tonight. Now."

The question he asked was unspoken, her answer from her heart instead of her head. "Yes. Tonight. Now."

She voiced no doubts, asked for no promises, and moved him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Easing her from him so that he could see her face, he traced the curve of her cheek with the back of his fingers, his touch as soft as a summer breeze across her heated skin. "Come to bed, sweetheart."

His fingers laced with hers to urge her toward the stairs, but before he could even take a step, her husky murmur stopped him. "No, not upstairs," she said, and pulled him with her through the darkened house to the sleeping porch at the back.

It stretched across the entire width of the house, a deep, screened-in veranda that was bathed in shadows and moonlight. As a child, she and her friends had often slept on the porch, sprawling on the old iron daybed and on sleeping bags that they'd strewn across the wood floor. But now it wasn't used much, except as a place for the plants. Ivies and ferns and geraniums were everywhere—turning the place into an indoor garden. Their scents mixed with the sweet night air that rushed in through the screens.

Stopping at the daybed, Katie turned to face Grant, her fingers unconsciously tightening around his. "Here," she said softly.

Her dark hair and clothes blended in with the night, but her face was lit by the moonlight. Her dark eyes reminded Grant of the bay on a summer night. The need to cherish, to touch, to explore every inch of her rose up in him. And, where before, in the living room, he'd been consumed with the need to rush her into his bed, now he only wanted to linger, to draw out the pleasure until they were both mindless.

Closing his eyes, he explored her in a way he'd never explored a woman. He let his fingertips search out all the dainty nuances of her face until they were indelibly etched on his memory. Slowly, silently, he learned the arch of her brow, the delicate plane between cheek and jaw, the straight, pert line of her nose, the tempting curve of her bottom lip.

"Beautiful," he murmured, and let the touching lead to wanting, the wanting to needing more. His fingers moved from her jaw, skimmed over her throat, never hesitating in their travels as they drifted to her shoulders and beyond.

At the feel of his hand at her breast, the air rushed out of Katie's lungs, but she never noticed the loss. What was air when compared to his knowing hands? He kneaded, circled, molded her to his palm. His touch was so feathery light she might have thought herself dreaming, but the warmth of his breath in her hair as she went lax against him reminded her that she was very much awake. Heat flowed through her and pooled in her loins. With a murmured sound of pleasure, she crowded closer.

She'd never been seduced. Not like this. Not by a man who could weave a spell with his hands. He moved from one breast to the other, to her waist, the curve of her hip, the inside of her thigh until she cried out and arched against his hand. And still he left her wanting, aching. When she thought she could stand no more, his mouth followed the path his hands had taken.

She clutched at him, calling to him in a voice she hardly recognized as her own, but he was intent on giving her pleasures he had never given any other woman. Nothing would deter him. His mouth moved over her unhurriedly, lingering at her bottom lip to gently nip at her before sliding to her ear, the soft skin under her jaw. Nuzzling the T-shirt she still wore, he inhaled the sweetness of her, filling himself with her. His mouth caressed her breast, suckling, teasing, lathering her with his tongue through the cloth.

She whimpered. White-hot heat streaked to the core of her like a flash of lightning. Her hands tangled blindly in his hair to hold him against her. "Grant … please … please…"

He lifted his head, his blue eyes fierce with passion. "Tell me what you want."

Drugged with passion, throbbing with need, she knew he would accept nothing less than the truth. "You," she whispered, fitting her mouth to his. "Only you."

"Show me," he growled softly.

She needed no second prompting. The hunger his hands and mouth had driven her to left no room for patience or a slow, lingering tasting of his body. She wanted all of him. Now. Her hands raced over him, fumbling with his clothes, desperate for the feel of his skin hot against hers. With a tug and a muttered curse, she pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor, her fingers already reaching for him. His husky laugh of triumph abruptly turned to a groan as she pressed a kiss to his chest and played with his nipple the same way he had played with hers.

Their bodies tensed, the heat intensifying until they were both consumed with it. The rest of their clothes seemed to melt away, discarded with hands that trembled. The daybed, soft and inviting, called to them. Wordlessly they sank down to it. The moonlight that fell across the bed caressed them, seeping into them until they seemed to absorb all the light the night had to offer. Dark against light, hard against soft. The night air drifted in on a gentle breeze, echoing their sighs, their murmurs, but they heard only their pounding hearts, their ragged breathing.

Their bodies grew slick, desperate. And still they tarried, driving each other toward the boundaries of madness, control teetering on a ragged edge. Then he slipped into her and it shattered. The world fell away, taking the darkness with it, leaving them adrift among the stardust…

* * *

Only hours later, Katie awoke slowly and found herself in her own room, sunlight streaming across the sheets. At her side, Grant sat on the edge of the bed fully dressed in blue dockers and a white knit shirt, his hip brushing hers. Memories of the night returned in a rush, and along with them, sanity. What had she done? She scrambled into a sitting position, clutching the sheet to her breasts, when her eyes abruptly focused on the grim lines of his face. Alarm shot through her as she suddenly remembered the wild trip to the police station, Ryan. "What is it?" she demanded. "Ryan—"

"Ryan's fine," he said quietly. "But you'd better read this."

She took the morning paper he handed her and stared at it blankly before she finally saw the picture of her Uncle Mike aligned next to one of a thin, dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. Foreboding stirred in her. Casting a quick glance at Grant's closed face, she quickly returned her attention to the story that accompanied the pictures and read:

The body of a man identified as Leonard Fernandez was discovered floating in the Tamiami Canal late yesterday, apparently the victim of a street gang killing. The death is believed to be drug related, but the police have no suspects. The victim's employer, Michael Gallegos, is outraged over the senseless killing and has vowed to do something about cleaning up Miami streets and neighborhoods.

Katie paled, her hand fluttering to her throat.

"Leo!" she breathed, stricken, her shadowed memory of him suddenly crystallizing into the man pictured next to her uncle. "Oh, my God!"

"You know what this means, don't you?"

The terse question brought her gaze swinging back to Grant's. Her fingers curled into the sheet at the hard, flinty look in his eyes. "Someone knows he's been talking," she said through dry lips. "They killed him just like they killed Sam. If they find out he was talking to us…"

They, too, would be killed.

The words hung between them, chilling the air. Grant reached for one of her hands, capturing it in his own. "It's not someone anymore, Katie. The pieces of the puzzle are all there," he said quietly, motioning to the newspaper, "just waiting to be put together."

Leo. Working for the roller on the side. Working for his legitimate boss at the refinery. His boss. Michael Gallegos. Her uncle must own the refinery! Her eyes widened, a sick feeling of dread sliding into her stomach. Dear God, could Leo's two bosses have been one and the same man?

"No!" Shaking off Grant's hand, she snatched up her robe lying across the foot of the bed and struggled into it, giving him no more than a glimpse of thigh and breast before she turned on him in outraged fury. "How dare you! How can you even think such a thing after what he did for Ryan last night? Damn it, he's one of the finest men in the state. You read the paper," she snapped, tossing it at him. "Why would he make a vow to clean up the streets if he's the roller?"

"Because he's a sharp customer," he retorted as he caught the paper and lounged back against her bed, watching her pace, desperately searching for answers that weren't there. He'd expected her to be hurt and angry; her innate loyalty to the people she loved would allow her to be nothing else. But she was a reporter and a damn good one. She wouldn't be able to ignore the facts for long.

"Leo admitted that his supervisor knew what the refinery trucks were being used for," be reminded her. "And after all our sleuthing we read right here in the paper that your uncle owns the refinery. Do you honestly think he doesn't know what's going on at his own plant? A sharp businessman like that? Come on!"

It wasn't possible. "I don't care what the papers say," she retorted, sweeping her tousled hair back from her face with an unsteady hand. "I know Uncle Mike. Damn it, Grant, every Thanksgiving he rents the convention center and gives a free meal to the elderly and homeless. How can a man like that be involved in drugs and murder?"

His dark eyes gently mocked her naïveté. "If I was putting a million dollars of coke on the streets a day, I could afford to be generous, too. It's a smart move. No one expects charity to be dirty."

"Damn it, it's not dirty!" she cried. "There's got to be another explanation."

His arched brow dared her to find one.

She swore and started to pace when Ryan suddenly yelled up the stairs. "Katie! Uncle Mike is here. He wants to talk to you."

Chapter 7

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Grant took one look at the dismayed expression on Katie's face and rose from the bed. "I'll go down and keep him busy while you get dressed."

"No!" She couldn't let him confront her uncle alone! "I—I'll come with you."

Grant cast an eye over the pink thigh-length robe that just barely covered her and wondered if she knew how tempting she was with her hair wild and her face and body still flushed from sleep. Before he could stop it, the memory of her long legs wrapped around him rose up to tantalize and distract him. Better forget last night, he told himself coldly. He'd seen the regret that flared in her eyes the minute she'd remembered their lovemaking. And if he had any sense, he'd regret it, too. Their situation was only going to get worse, and he couldn't let one night of passion complicate everything. She wouldn't easily forgive him for making her see Michael Gallegos for what he really was.

"You sure you want to go downstairs looking like that?" he asked skeptically.

She turned toward her dresser mirror. "What's wrong with the way I look?" she began, only to gasp at the reflection that stared back at her. Was that really her with her mouth still swollen from his kisses, her face and neck and even her thighs, dear God, chafed a rosy pink from his beard? She looked like she'd just enjoyed a wild night of loving. Which she had, she thought, heat burning her cheeks. Whirling abruptly toward the bathroom, she choked out, "Tell him I'll be down in a minute."

Actually, it was closer to fifteen, but when she finally descended the stairs, the woman she'd seen in the mirror was only a distant memory. Dressed in white slacks and a jungle print blouse, her hair tamed and makeup carefully applied to her face, she moved with the unhurried grace of a princess. No one would even suspect that beneath her calm demeanor, her palms were damp and her heart was beating frantically.

Steeling herself against the emotions threatening to tear her in two, she stepped into the living room, where she found Grant and her uncle seated across from each other. They were talking as if they were old friends, while Ryan paced restlessly. "I thought I'd try some fishing while I was here," Grant told her uncle as she stopped in the doorway. "Maybe out on the Keys."

"If you're looking for someone to take you out, try Harry Foster on Key West," the older man said. "He's the best guide in the state."

Grant nodded. "Thanks, maybe I'll do that." He stopped abruptly when he spied Katie. The possessiveness that surged in him irritated the hell out of him. Tension fairly crackled in the air. "Here's Katie now."

Ryan whirled, relieved. "Katie, thank God." He quickly moved to her side. "We've been waiting for you. Uncle Mike wanted to tell us together what he found out."

She took one look at her brother's tight face and reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She knew from his haunted eyes and jerky movements that he was expecting the worst. "It's going to be all right," she said quietly, and prayed that it was true.

"Katie's right," his uncle told him as he rose from the couch, his expression stern. "I talked to the D.A. and it seems the officer who stopped you for that broken taillight was a little presumptuous in searching your car without probable cause. The charges have already been dropped."

"Thank God!" With a relieved cry, Katie gave Ryan a fierce hug. "I knew it! Thank you, Uncle Mike! I don't know what we would have done without you."

Ryan turned to him, too, a wide smile splitting his face. "I was innocent, Uncle Mike, but it would have taken me a while to prove it if you hadn't come to my rescue. Thanks?"

The older man took his offered hand, his grim expression easing only a little as he warned, "Watch yourself next time so that this doesn't happen again. Sometimes when you're in the wrong place at the wrong time, no one cares if you're innocent."

"Yes, sir, I will," he promised with a heartfelt sigh. "I don't ever want to see the inside of a police station again as long as I live. I couldn't sleep last night for thinking about it."

"I'm not surprised," Gallegos retorted, affectionately slapping him on the shoulder. "Go on upstairs and get some rest. You look like you could use it."

Ryan didn't need a second urging. Thanking his uncle again, he bounded up the stairs. As soon as he was out of earshot, Gallegos turned to Katie, his expression once again somber. "I know your job keeps you busy, Katie, and you've got other interests in your life now," he said, looking pointedly at Grant, "but you should keep a closer eye on that young scamp."

She stiffened at the criticism, her eyes narrowing. During the years since her father's death, all three of her uncles had frequently given her advice on how to raise a teenage boy, but this time something in the older man's tone set her back up. "What exactly are you trying to say, Uncle Mike? Do you think Ryan's into drugs?"

"No, no," he said hastily. "Only that he's at that age where he's feeling his oats. Some kids need a little more supervision than others until they learn to handle the responsibilities of being an adult."

"Not Ryan," she retorted. "He's been through more than most kids his age, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. What happened last night wasn't his fault. He was set up."

Grant watched speculation darken the old man's eyes at Katie's hostile tone and swore under his breath. Gallegos was obviously used to her accepting his advice, and this was not the time to raise his suspicions! Shooting Katie a quelling glance, he smoothly directed the conversation away from her. "Last night must have been a rough night for you," he told the older man. "One of your employees murdered by a gang, then Ryan arrested."

The lines bracketing Gallegos's mouth deepened, turning his face harsh. "Leo was a good man. He'll be hard to replace."

Katie stared at him, shivering as a chill slid down her spine. Was the regret on his face real or feigned? The doubt she felt horrified her. She had always trusted him as she would her own father. But what if Grant was right? What if the Mike Gallegos she and the rest of Miami loved for his goodness and generosity was nothing more than a carefully constructed sham? Her fingers curled into her palms, the bite of her nails steadying her. "Do the police have any idea which gang was responsible?"

He shook his head. "No, not yet. There weren't any clues."

"What about motive? There must be a reason—"

"He was in the wrong place at the wrong time," he replied, his eyes locking with hers. "It happens that way sometimes. That's what I was trying to tell Ryan. A perfectly innocent person can wander down the wrong street, see something he shouldn't see, and suddenly his life isn't worth a damn."

Suddenly noticing her pale face, he reached over to give her shoulder a fatherly pat. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm sure Ryan has learned his lesson. Enough of this gloom and doom," he chided as he headed toward the front door. "I'm giving a party tomorrow night for James Watkins. You know, the young man who's running for the state legislature and making such a splash with the women. All your father's old friends will be there. Why don't you come? And you, too, Grant, of course," he added smoothly. "It's black tie, and there will be plenty of champagne and dancing."

Katie stared at him as if she had never seen him before. She couldn't have imagined it. He'd just threatened her and then in the next breath invited her to a party! Confused, she stepped back. "I don't think—"

"We'd love to go," Grant cut in with an easy smile as he opened the door for the older man. "It sounds like fun."

"Good." Stepping to Katie's side, he kissed her cheek and smiled. "Come early so you can spend some time with your Aunt Sarah," he suggested, then left before she could do anything but sputter a goodbye.

The minute the door shut, Katie turned on Grant indignantly. "Just what do you think you're doing? I had no intention of going to that party!"

"Why?"

"Because…" She dragged her hand through her hair, confused by loyalties that had never been divided before. "I can't believe this!" she cried in growing frustration. "There's got to be another explanation."

Grant crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the door. "You can't still think he's innocent. Come on, Katie, you heard what he said. Back off or else. The man couldn't have been any plainer if he'd carved his message in stone."

"He was speaking hypothetically," she said desperately, although she knew she was grasping at straws. "If he's the roller, if he really was responsible for Sam and Leo's deaths, then why would he invite us to a party at his house? He's got to know we're on to him."

"Maybe not," he countered. "Word's definitely out by now that we were looking for Leo, and Gallegos probably knows he talked to Sam. But I doubt if Gallegos knows for sure that we found him. And he sure as hell doesn't know we were in his refinery last night. If he did, Leo wouldn't have been the only one found floating in the canal."

Dear God, could they really be talking about the man who had bounced her on his knee when she was a baby? "That still doesn't explain why he invited us to that party," she argued. "If he really has something to hide, he wouldn't let us within a hundred yards of his home."

"He would if be wanted to keep his eye on you," he reasoned. "He doesn't have to wonder what you're doing when you're under his own roof." He watched pain, anger and betrayal cross her face and knew there was nothing he could do to ease her anguish. If anything, his presence in her life would only heighten it. Swearing, he stepped away from the door and said, "I know this is rough on you. If you want to drop out and let me continue the investigation alone, I'll understand. All I need now is enough evidence to link Gallegos directly to the drugs, and it'll all be over. I'll have to catch him in the act, but I can do that alone."

He was offering her an easy way out. All she had to do was step back and let him take the responsibility for everything. She wouldn't have to bear the pain of knowing she was the one who exposed her uncle for what he really was. But could she do that? Could she back away from a tough assignment when she never had before?

"No." She didn't know she'd spoken the word aloud until Grant asked her if she was sure. She nodded, her jaw set stubbornly. "I agreed to help you find Sam's murderer. No matter who it was. If my uncle's guilty, then I'm going to help you prove it."

The party was in full swing when they arrived the following evening, and it was obvious from the cars lining the circular drive that the cream of Miami society was already inside. Mercedes, Jaguars, and even a Rolls or two spilled from Gallegos's property out onto the street. Grant parked his rented Ford behind a 560SL and cut the engine, his eyes gleaming with appreciation at the contrast. The evening promised to be very interesting.

Katie stepped from the car before Grant could come around to help her, her eyes drawn to the house a half a block away. It was as regal as a palace with its tall, arched windows and French doors opening out onto balustraded terraces dripping with bougainvillea. As a child, she'd run through the halls, slid down the banisters, played on the lawn. But then, as now, she'd always liked it best at twilight, when the light was soft and romantic, the last rays of the sinking sun turning its off-white stone walls rosy.

This house belongs in a fairy tale, she thought as nerves knotted in her stomach. But the mm who lived there was no prince.

Grant walked around the car to join her, silently studying her. In the fading light, she was a vision out of his dreams. Her dress was made of a sapphire-blue diaphanous material that seemed to shimmer when she walked. Its long, full skirt, which fell in graceful folds to the ground, whispered with her every movement. Grant didn't doubt for a minute that there would be women at the party dressed in much more revealing gowns, but they'd be hard-pressed to look as exquisite as the woman before him. Her shoulders were bare and her hair was a cascade of ebony curls that tumbled down to her shoulders. His gaze lingered on the diamond clips that held her hair back from her face, then dropped to the diamond heart necklace that rested at the beginning swell of her breast. Her magnolia skin was made for the hot ice of diamonds.

Wordlessly, he held his hand out to her, offering her a challenge he knew she wouldn't back away from. She didn't disappoint him. Stiffening her spine, she placed her fingers in his. He felt them tremble. Nerves. She handled herself well, but he knew she was dreading the next few hours in her uncle's house. The party would go much easier for her if he gave her something else to worry about. Namely … him.

"I knew this was too good an opportunity to pass up," he commented casually as they started up the driveway toward the house. "This place is bound to have a lot of closets. I can't wait to look for the skeletons hidden in them."

Katie caught the glint of mischief in his eyes and felt her heart slam into her throat. Dressed in a black tuxedo with a startling white silk shirt, he looked devilishly handsome and far too dangerous. Her fingers curled around his. "Oh, God, I knew it! You've got something planned. Damn it, Grant—"

"Shh," he cautioned, winking at her, his grin wicked. "Relax. I'm not going to do anything to get us thrown out. Just a little exploring."

When there were hundreds of people around? she thought wildly. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Probably," he conceded, chuckling, and pulled her with him through the front door.

Michael Gallegos was famous for his parties, and the minute they stepped into the entranceway it was easy to see why. The house was alive with color and lights and music. Waiters serving hors d'oeuvres and champagne circulated through a crowd of guests that Katie saw in a quick glance included the mayor, a well-known Hollywood actress, and several football players from the Miami Dolphins. Through the open French doors that led to the terrace she saw a small orchestra that had been set up, and the soft strains of "Stardust" floated on the night air. Couples swayed to the romantic music. The women's long dresses and jewels formed bright splashes of color against the elegant black of the men's formal wear.

"Let's dance," Grant suggested and headed for the terrace with her in tow.

She frowned in annoyance. Damn the man, he couldn't talk about hunting down skeletons in closets in one breath and then expect her to dance in the next! "Grant! I know you're up to something, and I'm not going to let you distract me with dancing."

"Wanna bet?" he growled, and pulled her into his arms.

By unspoken agreement, he hadn't touched her since they'd made love. They'd both known it was for the best. They'd kept their conversations strictly impersonal, ignoring the awareness that pulled at them, until Katie had almost convinced herself that she had imagined that dark night of loving. But the minute he wrapped her close and rested his cheek against her temple, she knew she lied. The longing, the need, was stronger than ever.

But still, she fought it. Determined to remain unaffected by his embrace, she drew back, putting as much space between them as the dance would allow. "You were saying?" she said archly.

Grant stared down into her eyes and told himself to ignore the unconscious challenge she threw at him. Then he spied Gallegos standing near the French doors that opened off the living room, his dark, hooded eyes watching their every move, and he knew that was impossible. Nodding silently to the older man, he swore against the charade he himself had insisted on and turned his attention back to Katie. "Your uncle's watching," he said in a low voice, gathering her closer. "Smile. We don't want to give him anything to be suspicious about."

"Then don't go snooping around his house when he's not looking," she said through gritted teeth as her lips formed a smile. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."

He managed to look affronted despite the grin that pulled at his mouth. "I never do anything stupid."

She was a dream in his arms, one he could resist for only so long. Giving into the need, he nuzzled her ear, drawing in her scent. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

"You can save the sweet nothings," she said huskily. "I'm not the type, and anyway, my uncle can't hear them."

He pulled back, surprised that she could hurt him so easily. "You don't believe me?" he asked quietly. "It's true, you know. You almost knocked me out of my shoes when I first saw you in that dress. It ought to be outlawed."

He was serious. Katie knew she was fighting a losing battle as she felt herself starting to give in to his charms. "Why?" she whispered.

"Because every man who sees you in it is going to want to take you home with him. Including me."

"But you are taking me home."

"Don't remind me," he groaned under his breath when her hand moved to the back of his neck and the dark hair that just brushed his collar. Grabbing her wrist, he brought her fingers down to his chest and trapped them there as he tried to give her a stern look. This wasn't turning out quite the way he'd planned. "Behave yourself."

So he wasn't as in control as he would have her believe. The thought went to her head like wine, tempting her more than she could bear. Under his hand, her fingers moved against the hard muscles of his chest, caressing him. When he growled her name warningly, she only grinned and reminded him, "You're the one who wanted to dance."

His hands tightened on her as if he would draw her into his skin. "When I get you home—"

He never finished the threat. Suddenly, Mike Gallegos was there, tapping Grant on the shoulder and giving Katie a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "How about a dance with your old uncle?" he quipped.

In the blink of an eye, her blood cooled, chilling her. She glanced helplessly at Grant.

But he only gave her hand another squeeze and let her go. "I guess that's the price I have to pay for being with the most beautiful woman here," he said ruefully. "Enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I'll see you later."

He was going to search the house! She could see it in his eyes. "Grant!" she began, but it was too late. He slipped among the swirl of dancers and she was left facing her uncle alone as the orchestra began to play "Some Enchanted Evening."

Gallegos smiled and took her into his arms, easing her into the dance. "Grant's right. You put every other woman here to shame. Your father would be proud of you."

"I hope so," she whispered, her eyes searching his. Once she would have accepted such a compliment from him without thinking a thing of it. He had always been generous with his approval, free with his affection. But now that she knew what he was capable of, his sincerity seemed only skin deep. Why hadn't she realized before that it was all just an act to hide the real Michael Gallegos from the world?

Suddenly afraid he would see the truth in her eyes, she tore her gaze from his and focused on the dancing couples surrounding them. "The party seems to be going very well," she said as lightly as she could manage. "Aunt Sarah must be pleased. I know how she loves entertaining."

"She was hoping you'd come early. We haven't seen much of you lately."

But she and Grant had come late on purpose, hoping to avoid just such a private conversation. Cursing her luck, Katie ignored the gentle reprimand in Gallegos's voice and explained, "Grant didn't bring any formal wear with him. We had to find him a tux."

"He seems a very determined young man where you're concerned," the older man said casually. "Should I ask him his intentions?"

"God, no!" she gasped, horrified. "Please, you can't!"

He chuckled, squeezing her hand. "All right, if you'd rather I didn't, I won't. Just how much do you care about this man?"

She could have shrugged off the question or ignored it altogether. But the words were out before she could stop them. "I'm falling in love with him."

He nodded. "I figured as much. I think, then, it would be a good idea to have him checked out," he said thoughtfully. "Just to see what he's been doing since you two got out of college."

"No!" If her uncle discovered Grant was a private investigator, that he'd known Sam, that he'd never gone to college with her… She clutched at him, struggling to control the fear that threatened to turn her blood to ice, her words tumbling over themselves in an effort to dissuade him. "I trust him, Uncle Mike. We've known each other for years," she lied, forcing a laugh. "There's no reason to have him investigated. He isn't the type to hide an ex-wife and a couple of kids from me, you know."

"All the same, it doesn't hurt to be too careful," he said with a paternal smile, patting her shoulder. "You just leave everything to me."

"But—"

"There's your Aunt Sarah now," he interrupted, looking past her shoulder as his wife stepped onto the terrace. "Come over and say hello to her before Grant monopolizes you again."

He gave her no choice as he led her across the terrace in a protective, loving way that set her teeth on edge. Curbing her impatience, she greeted her aunt with a smile and a hug and listened to all the latest gossip. Katie only listened with half an ear. Where was Grant? she wondered wildly. Nodding at friends her aunt waved to across the crowd of dancers, she surreptitiously searched for his bearded face. He was nowhere in sight. She had to find him!

Her nerves were balanced on the fine edge of panic when her uncle finally moved away to talk to someone in the living room and she was left alone with her aunt. "Aunt Sarah—"

"I know, dear," the older woman laughed. "You're anxious to find that young man of yours." She grinned at Katie's surprise. "Mike told me the whole story. Bring him over later. I'm looking forward to meeting him."

Did she know of her husband's treachery? Once, Katie would have dismissed the niggling thought as ridiculous, but now she couldn't be sure. Appearances were so deceptive. Swallowing the tears that suddenly burned her throat, she whispered, "I'll do that, Aunt Sarah," then turned to wind her way through the dancers.

Her progress through the house was slowed by the mad crush of people and the old friends who continually stopped her to reminisce, to ask after Ryan, to discuss the new political candidate her uncle was backing. After dragging herself away from five different people, Katie darted up the stairs, her heart pounding as she glanced over her shoulder, half expecting to see her uncle dogging her footsteps. The stairs were empty, except for two older women who had just left the guest room set aside for the ladies' use. They were heading back downstairs to the party.

Her breath slipping out on a silent sigh, Katie hurried down the upstairs hallway, quickly checking every room along the way. They were all empty, including her aunt and uncle's bedroom and the small, private study that adjoined it. Where was Grant?

The sound of a woman's laughter floated up the stairs, followed by a man's deeper chuckle. Katie cursed silently. The last thing she needed was someone to spot her at the opposite end of the hall from the ladies' room and start wondering what she was doing. Gathering up the flowing folds of her skirt, she darted down the narrow back stairs.

Bedlam reigned in the kitchen. The caterer's staff scrambled around wildly, jumping to follow his orders as he prepared more hors d'oeuvres. No one even noticed her as she glided through the kitchen and stepped into the back hallway that led only to her uncle's office and the garage.

It was deserted there, the sounds of the party distant and muted. Rubbing at the ache that suddenly pounded in her temples, Katie leaned against the wall and willed her scattered thoughts to organize. Grant had to be here somewhere, and when she found him, she was going to kill him! How could he search the house with a party going on? If he was discovered…

She pushed that thought away, refusing to even consider it, and found her eyes lingering on the closed door halfway down the hall. Her uncle's private office. Grant didn't know the layout of the house, but she knew with a growing certainty that he was there.

She entered soundlessly, expecting to catch him off guard. But she'd no sooner pushed the door open and taken one step inside when she found herself grabbed from behind, her startled cry muffled by the hand that clamped over her mouth.

"Shh. It's me," he whispered in her ear. "What are you doing here?"

His warm breath sent a tingle sliding down her neck, infuriating her. "What do you think I'm doing here?" she whispered, dragging his hand from her mouth. "I'm trying to save your neck! What would you have done if my uncle had walked in just now? He could have, you know. It's only a matter of time before he notices we're both missing and comes looking for us. We've got to get out of here!"

"In a minute," he promised, releasing her. "Stand by the door and keep watch while I finish searching his desk. He's bound to have something here … records, correspondence, an illegal bank account…"

She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Are you crazy? He's not going to keep any incriminating evidence in an unlocked office."

His grin was quick, smug, wicked. "Who said it wasn't locked?"

"I should have known," she groaned. "Damn it, Grant, he said he was going to have you investigated! If he finds out that we didn't go to college together or that you're a private investigator—"

"He won't. Now hurry up. We haven't got much time."

What was it about the man that made her trust him so? Muttering under her breath, she moved to the door and pulled it open a crack, just enough so she would hear anyone coming. "It's clear," she whispered.

He searched the desk with the thoroughness of a professional thief, rifling through every drawer and even searching for false bottoms. He thought he'd found something when he unlocked a drawer to discover a leather-bound notebook, but it was only the corporate books for Gallegos Construction, Inc. Swearing, he replaced it and locked the drawer, turning his attention to the stack of papers on top of the desk. But that, too, proved to be a futile search. The desk was clean.

Katie pressed her ear to the crack in the door, listening to the silence that echoed in the hall. Her nerves twisted tighter. "Grant, I don't like this. We've been gone too long."

He knew she was right, but he'd searched everything but the bookcase. If he'd had only himself to consider, he would have taken the chance and be damned. But he wouldn't put her in the position of being found snooping in her uncle's house. "There's probably nothing in it, anyway," he grumbled to himself. "I guess the old man really is too sharp to hide anything in his own home."

Quickly returning everything to its place, he took a minute to make sure the room was exactly as it was when he'd stepped into it, then hurried to Katie's side. "All right, let's get out of here."

The minute they stepped into the hall, Grant pulled the door closed behind them and soundlessly checked to see that it was locked. Nodding, he started to urge Katie toward the kitchen when they heard Gallegos's low voice coming from the garage at the other end of the hallway. They froze.

"I just got word it's all set up for tomorrow night," the old man told an unseen companion. "Once the job's done, head for forty-one. There's a turnoff a half a mile after the third rest area, but you'll have to go slow or you'll miss it. Don't mess up."

There was a murmured response and then the sound of the door leading to the garage opening. Katie looked wildly at the kitchen door twenty feet away. They'd never make it. Trapped, she turned to Grant and saw that he, too, realized that their luck was about to run out. Without a single wasted movement, he pushed her up against the wall and covered her mouth with his.

Chapter 8

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She had time only to gasp before he was plummeting her into a hot, raging vortex of desire. Somewhere in her consciousness, she knew the kiss was for her uncle's benefit, a cover to distract him from their real purpose. But her body wasn't concerned with reasons, only need. Hunger gnawed at her and grew hot and spicy with danger. Grant's tongue teased hers, stroking her, tempting her to play the game with no holds-barred. With a soft moan, she clutched him, shuddering, and desperately tried to concentrate on the precariousness of their position. But with every slide and dart of his tongue, she was sinking deeper and deeper into a mindless passion.

The fine hairs at the nape of his neck warned Grant the minute Gallegos stepped from the garage into the hallway, but he never lifted his mouth from Katie's. Even if he'd had hours to fill himself with the taste of her, it wouldn't have been enough. These mere seconds were nothing but torture. Greedy for all he could have of her, he took as much as the moment would allow and silently damned the man he knew stood watching them.

When Grant finally ended the kiss, Katie was pliant in his arms, and his body was hard with need. He glanced up, acted as if he'd only just now spotted Gallegos, then looked back at Katie. "We have company, sweetheart," he murmured.

Katie blinked, her mind hazy with passion, and followed his gaze to her uncle. Reality returned in a blinding flash. "Uncle Mike!" Did he know they'd just been searching his office? Did he know what they'd just overheard? She jerked out of Grant's arms. "I…"

Grant stepped forward into the awkward silence and slipped his arm around her tense shoulders. She was as stiff as a board against him, but he never even looked at her as he shot the older man a rueful grin. "I guess we've been caught red-handed, so we might as well fess up. Katie was giving me a tour of the house," he confided. "It's a pretty impressive place, and I couldn't wait to see the rest of it. We took advantage of this deserted hallway. Hope you don't mind."

Gallegos's gaze rested on his closed office door for a long tense moment before he shrugged, his easy smile belied by the sharp glint of his eyes. "No, of course not. But I doubt that there's anything back here that would interest you. Just my office and the garage."

Her mind working furiously, Katie suddenly remembered the antique car her uncle kept stored in the garage. "I was just going to show Grant the Packard. He's never seen one," she said quickly.

It was a hastily conceived lie, and Grant didn't doubt for a minute that the old man saw that. But he seemed to be glad to play the game as well as they did because he wore the indulging face of the perfect host. "Katie tell you it's a '26?" he asked proudly as he turned back to the garage. "It's in damn fine shape. Come and take a look at it, and then we've got to get back to the party. Some of your parents' old friends were asking about you, Katie, and I know you'd like to see them."

They spent the next ten minutes admiring the car and ignoring the tense way they were all eyeing each other. Katie listened to the two men's easy conversation and told herself this couldn't be happening. She could almost feel the hostility lying in wait just behind her uncle's smile.

By the time they rejoined the party, her stomach was twisted in knots, her smile frozen. Under Gallegos's eagle eye, she was forced to introduce Grant to old family friends, then stand trapped in the conversations that followed. All the while, a voice in hey head urged her to leave. Now. Before it was too late.

When Gallegos finally excused himself, Katie almost wilted in relief. Until she saw he was heading for the back of the house and his office. She tensed. Had Grant put everything back so that Gallegos wouldn't know they'd been in his study? The older man was as sharp as a hawk. If so much as one paper was out of place…

"Let's dance," Grant suggested and pulled her back into the swirling dancers.

Katie clutched at him, her eyes on her uncle's disappearing back. "We've got to get out of here! Uncle Mike is going back to check out his office."

"He won't find anything," he replied confidently, easing her closer. "I put everything back just the way I found it."

She glared at him, in no mood to be reassured. "It doesn't matter if you wiped the place clean of fingerprints, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he knows we were in his office. We've got to leave before he comes back."

"And look like we're running from something?" he scoffed. "Not on your life." Skillfully guiding her through the dancers, he moved toward the outer edge of the terrace, where it was less congested and they wouldn't be overheard. Glancing down at her face, he flashed her a grin. "Come on, sweetheart, lighten up. All the man knows is that we were necking in the hallway outside his private office. His locked private office," he stressed. "He may be suspicious as hell, but even if he knew we searched the place, what could he do? Confront us in front of all these people?"

He was right, of course, but she couldn't forget how easily Leo had been disposed of. "It's not now that I'm worried about," she admitted huskily. "If he gets it in his head that we're a real threat to him—"

"Don't cross a bridge that we may not even come to," he advised in a low voice. "After what we've heard tonight, your uncle's house of cards is about to come tumbling down around his ears."

Alarm stiffened her spine. Something big was going down tomorrow night, something she knew Grant had no intention of missing. She was too good a reporter to ignore a lead that had virtually dropped into her lap, but the woman in her wanted nothing to do with this. Her fingers clutched at him. "Grant—"

"Later," he whispered as another couple danced closer to them. "We'll discuss it when we get home."

Katie tried to relax, tried to lose herself in the romance that floated on the night air as the orchestra played one love song after another. Overhead, the full moon shone in a star-studded sky. She should have been in heaven, but she couldn't shake the feeling that things were rushing quickly to an end she wasn't ready for. Unconsciously, her gaze drifted to the open French doors where she had last seen her uncle.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up before her, he stepped into the doorway, his lined face inflexible, his eyes carefully concealing his thoughts as he observed the crowd. Katie froze, waiting for his gaze to zero in on them, but he looked right over their heads as if he didn't see them. "He's back," she told Grant quietly.

Grant turned her easily in the dance until he could see the old man's face. It was as impassive as ever. "He'd make a damn fine poker player," he muttered. "Come on, let's make our excuses and get out of here. We've done all we can to alleviate his suspicions."

Their leave-taking was blessedly short. Her aunt and uncle were occupied with other guests and had time for only a quick hug and a gentle chiding for her to keep in touch before they were turning away to speak to someone else. Seconds later, she and Grant were in his car and on their way home.

Once they were in the car, Katie slipped out of her high-heeled sandals and wearily leaned her head back against the headrest. For better or worse, she knew she would never set foot in her uncle's home again. The thought both saddened and infuriated her. Why couldn't he have been the man he pretended to be? He had more than most men ever dreamed of having—a highly successful business, a wonderful home, the friendship and affection of most of the population of Miami. Damn it, it should have been enough!

Though he didn't touch her, Grant could feel the anger that radiated from her. "You heard what Gallegos said in the garage," he said finally, shattering the silence that engulfed them. "He's got big plans for tomorrow night, and we're going to be there. He mentioned forty-one. I presume there's a Highway 41 around here somewhere."

"It runs east and west across the state between Miami and Naples, on the Gulf coast. The rest area he mentioned…" She swallowed, and tried again, this time in a voice deliberately devoid of emotion. "It's not too far from where Sam was killed."

He shot her a quick look, then turned his eyes back to the road. "So the road cuts through the swamps."

She nodded. "Actually, it runs through the Everglades first, then the Big Cypress National Preserve. That's a pretty desolate area. There's not much out there but grasslands, a few small Indian villages, and the swamps."

"Just how thick are the swamps?"

Dark images of the thick wilderness she'd waded through with the rest of the search party looking for Sam rose up before her, haunting her. She shuddered. "Some of it's not too bad, but there are some sections you'd need a machete to get through. You could wander around for weeks and never find your way out."

"Or hide a drug operation without anyone even suspecting," he concluded. "It sounds like the perfect place for the Colombians to deliver the coke."

"A good pilot could set a small plane down back in there somewhere if he had nerves of steel," she agreed. "But I wouldn't want to ride with him. One mistake and he'd crash in the trees."

He snorted cynically. "Life comes cheap to these guys, and their bosses in South America are paying them enough to take the chance. They fly in the drugs, Gallegos has trucks there to take the coke to the refinery until it can be distributed, and everybody's happy."

"Leo must have told Sam everything," she decided. "That's why Sam was out there that night in the rain. But someone must have realized he was on to them—"

"And eliminated him," Grant finished for her in a hard, flat voice as he turned down her street and pulled up before her house. "Tomorrow night, history is going to repeat itself, but we're not going to make the same mistake Sam did. We're going in early, while it's still daylight, and we'll find ourselves a nice, safe place to hide before Gallegos and his thugs get there. All we need is one picture personally linking him to the drugs, and we'll have everything we need to shut him down for good."

And then it would all be over. Sam's memory would finally be laid to rest. The man responsible for his death would get everything he had coming to him.

She should have felt a small measure of satisfaction in knowing she had had a part in seeing justice done, but all she felt was emptiness. She had the story of the century, but she couldn't forget the prices she'd had to pay to get it. Sam. Her uncle. Grant.

Hot tears stung her eyes before she could blink them back furiously. Sam had never been hers, and the Uncle Mike she'd loved had been only a false front for the real man. But Grant was another story. In just a matter of days, he'd managed to infiltrate her life and her heart until she couldn't imagine getting through another day without him. Now that he was close to finishing what he'd come to Miami to do, it was only a matter of days before he'd be returning to Chicago. She'd never been more miserable in her life.

She felt the tears threaten to spill over her lashes and knew she was going to make a total fool of herself if she didn't get out of the car. She fumbled for the door handle and finally found it in the darkness. "Then we'd both better get some sleep," she whispered brokenly. "Tomorrow will be a rough day."

She scrambled out of the car and hurried up the walk before he could do more than frown at the hint of tears in her voice. "Katie, wait!"

"Good night, Grant."

Ryan, thankfully, had already gone to bed, so she didn't have to explain the tears streaming down her face as she hurried inside and up to her room. There, the tears only increased, infuriating her. She dashed them away impatiently, telling herself she would not cry, but still they flowed, running in a hot, silent river down her cheeks. She grabbed her nightgown and headed for the bathroom to drown her sorrows in the shower.

She didn't know how long she stayed in there, letting the water pound her, soothe her, draining her dry of tears. Steam swirled around her and gradually disappeared as the water temperature cooled, but still she stood there, trying not to think, to feel, to hurt.

It was only when her skin was chilled and she was starting to shiver that she was forced to admit that the pain wasn't going to go away. Not tonight, tomorrow, or anytime in the foreseeable future. She'd fallen in love with Grant in the span between one heartbeat and another, and nothing would ever change that. Now all she had to do was find a way to live without him.

A muffled sob rippled through her. She might just as well have told herself to live without air.

Turning off the water abruptly, she stepped from the shower and dried herself before pulling on a lacy white nightgown that fell to her ankles. Glancing in the mirror she grimaced at the pale, red-eyed woman who stared back at her. She looked like death warmed over. With a deliberate flick of her wrist, she cast the bathroom into blackness and stepped into her dark bedroom, wrapping her sodden hair in a towel. She was halfway across the room before she saw him.

He stood next to the window, his chestnut hair and beard gilded with moonbeams, his broad shoulders looking enormous in the blackness of the night, his face concealed by deep shadows. She knew he watched her. She could almost feel the caress of his eyes stroking her, warming her, rediscovering all her secrets. She stiffened. Could he tell she'd been crying?

"Are you all right?"

The quiet question was husky with a concern she didn't want and couldn't handle. She whirled toward her dresser mirror, finding her way unerringly in the darkness. With jerky movements, she began to towel dry her hair, struggling for control. "Of course," she said in a muffled voice. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You sounded upset when you got out of the car." Moving from the window like a tiger stalking her in the night, he soundlessly crossed to stand directly behind her. "I wanted to check on you before I went to bed."

He was so close she could feel his heat penetrating the thin fabric of her gown. She had only to sway a fraction of an inch and she would be in his arms. Bracing herself against temptation, she determinedly dragged the towel from her head and reached for her comb. Her eyes met his in the mirror, their reflected images looking ghostly in the darkness. "You didn't have to bother," she said, forcing an easy smile. "I'm fine. The shower relaxed me. I'm so tired, I'll probably fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow."

He ignored the hint, studying her shrewdly in the darkness. If she was fine, he was Gunga Din. He knew now that the cool poise she presented to the rest of the world was only a cover. Underneath all that self-confidence was a woman who felt things fiercely, passionately. She was tearing herself apart over Gallegos.

He wanted to touch her, but her stiff, unyielding back dared him to try. Before she could guess his intentions, he took the comb from her and began to untangle her hair.

Surprised, she grabbed at his hand, which was just out of reach. "Grant! Give that back! What do you think you're doing?"

"Just combing your hair," he replied, turning her back to face the mirror. "You look like you could use a little pampering."

"I'm fine," she lied stiffly. Just having him this close made her achingly conscious of her near nakedness and the inviting softness of the bed just steps away. Did he know how he was torturing her? Her eyes clung to their reflected images captured in the shadowed world of the mirror. He'd discarded his tie and opened his collar. He looked like a phantom lover who had slipped into her room with the moonlight to seduce her. She knew she had only to turn and slip her arms around him to lose herself in the taste and feel of him. Instead, she held herself rigidly still, desperately trying to close her mind to his tender ministrations as he eased the comb through her damp hair. She already had too many memories she would have to deal with when he was gone.

Grant saw that her unbending posture all but screamed don't touch me. He wouldn't have, if he'd had any choice in the matter. But from the moment Fate had taken a hand in his life and directed him to her for help, he'd had little free will where she was concerned. He couldn't stop touching her, wanting her, and he was tired of trying.

Resisting the urge to use his fingers, Grant rhythmically pulled the comb through her hair over and over again, all the while watching her in the mirror. "I'm sorry about Gallegos, Katie," he said quietly. "I know how much you loved him, but tearing yourself apart over him isn't going to change anything. Let it go, sweetheart. He isn't worth it."

Katie stared at him, fighting back the hysterical laugh threatening to choke her. She was breaking her heart over him, and he thought she was upset over Uncle Mike. How could he be so blind? She opened her mouth to correct him, but then her pride came to the rescue and she shut it with a snap. No, it was better this way. "It hurts to lose someone you love," she said huskily. "Tomorrow…"

"Don't think about tomorrow." Setting the comb on her dresser, he placed his hands on her shoulders, kneading her tight muscles. "You're too tense," he murmured against her hair. "Relax."

She closed her eyes against the intense pleasure of his touch. If she relaxed, she'd be lost. She swallowed. "I … I can't."

"Then I'll help you."

He took her hand and led her across the dark room. Before she could pull away he'd urged her to lie facedown on her bed. Kneeling on the floor, he lifted her foot, encompassing it in his hands. When she instinctively stiffened, he soothed her with long, smooth strokes, noting how her feet, like everything else about her, were slim and elegant. "Relax," he murmured again. "I'm just going to give you a massage."

Katie knew she should stop him, but the words just wouldn't come. His fingers moved over her foot magically, caressing, fondling, melting her protests one by one. Her eyelids grew heavy, all her thoughts centered on where his skillful fingers played over her skin. Such wonderful hands, she thought drowsily. How had he known she just needed to be touched? When he'd covered every delicate inch of her foot, he pressed a kiss to her arch before giving the same attention to her other foot. Her soft, unconscious sigh of pleasure sent a rush of heat spilling into his veins, but his hands remained deliberately light as they trailed over her ankles to her calves and higher still, to the sensitive backs of her knees. He was brushing, kneading, enticing, stroking her with the sure, deft hands of a lover. The hem of her nightgown rested midway up her thighs, tempting him. Catching it between his thumb and finger, he tested its silkiness and found he preferred the honeyed smoothness of her skin. Leaning over her, he brushed a kiss on her shoulder and whispered, "Raise up, honey. You don't need this gown."

Her body pliant, Katie moaned softly and did as he asked, wanting nothing to interfere with the flow of his hands on her. But when she was naked and once again facedown on the bed, her skin grew cool, waiting for his touch. Struggling up from the soft, sensuous world his massage had taken her halfway to, she frowned. "You're not through, are you?" she murmured, too languid even to open her eyes.

He would have laughed if he hadn't been battling the need to take her then and there. She was so beautiful! He slipped out of his tuxedo jacket and reached for the studs of his silk shirt. "I'm just getting out of this monkey suit," he said thickly. "It's beginning to get a little warm in here, don't you think?"

"Sultry," she agreed huskily. "Wonderful."

So she liked the heat, did she? He'd have to see what he could do about setting her aflame. Shrugging out of his shirt, he clamped a lid on the desire burning in his gut and reached for her again.

Slowly, carefully, his fingers moved from her thighs to her hips to the small of her back and up to her shoulders, softening, lingering, seducing. Under his hands, he felt her skin heat, her breathing grow shallow, her body fluid. She was his for the claiming.

The knowledge went through him like quicksilver, weakening a control that was already strained to the breaking point. Turning her in his arms, he stared into eyes that were dark with passion. He thought he'd known desire before, explored all the ways a man could hunger for a woman, but every time he held this woman in his arms, she taught him another variation on a need that was as old as time. Groaning, he dragged her close and crushed his mouth to hers.

The languor weighting her limbs sharpened instantly to urgency. Fire. It was in her blood, singeing her from the inside out. Pulling him closer, her tongue answered his wildly, her hands racing over his back, his shoulders, down the hard breadth of his chest to the waistband of his trousers. Wrenching her mouth from his, she swore at the restriction as she tore at the fastenings.

"Katie, honey, wait." He laughed huskily, then groaned as her hands found him. His heart slammed against his ribs, desire clawing at him. Taking her mouth in a scorching kiss, he never knew how he got out of the rest of his clothes, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but Katie and her wild, tormenting hands, her sweetly arching body, the mindlessness she pushed him to. Murmuring her name, he felt the last of his control shatter.

Exhilaration shot through her like hot lightning as his hands grew rough, his mouth desperate. She moaned, lost, hungry for more, for everything. Could she have known that first day they'd met that this was what it would be like between them? Violent, untamed, abandoned. And with every touch, every kiss, the wanting, the needing, only became fiercer. Gasping, she pressed against him, the pleasure too intense to bear. "Grant, please … now!"

Her plea was all that he was waiting for. Filling his hands with her hair, he brought her mouth to his at the same time he plunged into her, sending them both spinning into oblivion.

* * *

They left for the swamp the next afternoon. Still walking on air from Grant's lovemaking, Katie stared straight ahead at the seemingly endless road that stretched before them and fought the urge to ask Grant to turn back. He'd think she was crazy! From the day they'd met, they'd been working toward this end. Her fingers gripping her small camera, she watched as they raced toward the bridge Sam's car had gone off of. Within seconds, they were speeding across it, the hollow drumming of their tires echoing in her ears before they hurried onto solid ground. The rest area and turnoff her uncle had spoken of were only minutes ahead. Too late! her heart cried. It was too late to turn back now.

Grant shot her a quick look. She was dressed much as he was, in a khaki shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes, but her face was pale, her eyes tortured. Stubborn woman, he thought with a scowl. He'd have spared her this, but when he'd suggested she stay home and let him get this last evidence they needed against Gallegos to break the story, she'd turned him down flat. He'd expected no less of her, but it still irritated him that she wouldn't let him protect her. He cared, and she wouldn't be going through this hell if it weren't for him.

A sign announcing the rest area a half a mile ahead dragged Grant's attention back to the road. Tensing, he quickly glanced in the rearview mirror, but there was no one behind them to witness their entrance into the swamps. Easing off the accelerator as they passed the rest area, he said, "All right, this is it. Keep your eyes peeled."

Katie leaned forward and peered at the foliage, the thick greenery and dark shadows that lined the highway. She would have sworn there couldn't possibly be a break in the denseness large enough to drive a truck through, when she suddenly saw it. "There!" She gasped, pointing just a few feet in front of them. "Between those two palmettos."

Grant saw it, too. A path of crushed ferns nearly concealed by saw grass and the Spanish moss dripping from the low-hanging trees. If they hadn't known to look for it, they would have driven right past. "Good girl. Now we've just got to find a place to stash the car."

About a hundred yards away on the opposite side of the road they found a clump of palmettos and cabbage palms that could have safely hidden a tank. Disregarding the rental car's paint job, Grant eased through the sharp-tipped fronds and cut the engine. Seconds later, they were walking into a world that seemed a thousand miles away from Miami, armed with nothing but a camera.

The swamp. It appeared untouched by time and the hand of man, standing just as wild and untamed as it had for thousands of years. Silence engulfed them and was broken only by the faintest whisper of the wind through the pine flatwoods, the eerie, persistent tap ping of an unseen woodpecker, and the surprisingly loud call of a pigfrog that to Katie sounded too much like the grunt of an alligator. Katie shivered despite the heat that had her clothes clinging to her. If they wanted to get out of here alive, they couldn't afford to forget the dangers lying in wait: snakes, alligators, her uncle and his men.

Ignoring her damp palms and suddenly dry throat, she carefully stayed clear of the beaten path where they might be easily detected and followed Grant into the undergrowth, where their camouflaging clothes would allow them to blend in with their surroundings. The going was rough here, progress slow. Saw grass, with its three rows of fine saw teeth, slashed at any unprotected skin. Underfoot, water soaked their shoes and muck tried to trap them. But they forged ahead.

From the wet prairie, they emerged into a stand of bald cypress trees that stretched for miles. Here, the sun was only a memory, the shadows were deep. Saw grass gave way to ferns and shrubs and the water climbed to their ankles. Off to their right, the path clung to the only dry ground and wound deeper and deeper into the swamp.

Katie judged that it had taken them over an hour to go a mile. She was hot and sweaty and her pants were soaked nearly to her knees. She had opened her mouth to suggest they find some dry ground and take a short break when she heard the voices. Faint, hardly more than a deep murmur on the breeze that managed to penetrate the trees, the sound shivered over her skin. She froze, her eyes flying to Grant's.

He held his finger to his mouth and cocked his head to listen. Sounds carried easily in the silence of the swamp, but the voices that drifted back to them were still too indistinct to be very near. "Let's get closer," he told Katie in a voice so low she had to strain to catch it.

She nodded, her heart in her throat, and moved to follow him. They made hardly a ripple in the low-lying water, but with every step, her nerves tightened unbearably. She knew they were virtually invisible in the shrubs and wild hibiscus that surrounded them, but that did nothing to still the wild pounding of her heart. Edging closer to Grant, she was like a shadow at his back, following every move he made.

When he stopped suddenly, she almost ran into him. Swallowing a cry of surprise, she peered around his broad shoulders and caught her breath at the sight that met her eyes. Fifty yards ahead of them, the underbrush at the feet of the towering cypress trees had been cleared away to create a small camp. Scattered under the trees were several tough-hewn buildings that looked as though they had been there for some time. Out of their sight, several men could be heard talking and laughing on the opposite side of the largest building.

Grant turned and placed his mouth next to Katie's ear. "You stay here," he whispered. "I'm going to see if I can find out how many of them there are."

No! Katie silently protested by grabbing at his arm to stop him, but it was too late. He was already slipping soundlessly through the shrubs.

Grant was almost even with the building when he heard the distant rumble of a truck making its way down the path toward the camp. Suddenly, from the brush near where he'd left Katie, the wild barking of dogs shattered the quiet. He whirled, fear clutching his heart. He saw her in the bushes, her eyes huge in her pale face as they locked with his. Before he could start toward her, a young hoodlum dressed in black appeared behind her and brought a thick stick down hard on the back of her head. She crumbled without a sound.

"No!" Grant bellowed, enraged. He sprinted toward her, but he'd taken only two steps when the back of his head exploded with pain. In the next instant, the ground was racing up to meet him.

Chapter 9

« ^ »

Trapped in a darkness that seemed to have no beginning or end, Katie returned slowly, awkwardly, to consciousness. She didn't catch the sounds of silence that engulfed her until they echoed in her ears, didn't feel the heaviness that weighted her limbs until she tried to move and couldn't find the strength. Forcing her eyes to open, she stared in puzzlement at the dirt floor her cheek rested against. Its damp, musty scent filled her nostrils. A fine line of confusion furrowed her brow as her gaze skimmed over the floor to the unpainted, rough wall she lay facing. Where was she? She couldn't seem to remember anything except the swamp and Grant…

Images played against the darkness that still tried to cloud her mind. The swamp … a camp carved out of the wilderness … Grant leaving her to get a better look, then … nothing. Only a sudden horrible ache at the back of her head and blackness.

She'd been knocked out. With the realization came the fear, cold, enervating, insidious, pushing her to panic. Where was she? Where was Grant? She had to get to him, to warn him! Her heart thundered in her ears as she gathered her strength to push herself up off the floor. The minute she moved, a white-hot stab of pain set fire to the base of her skull. Moaning, she collapsed back to the ground.

Suddenly Grant was beside her, leaning over to push her hair back from her face. "Easy," he murmured. "Take it easy, sweetheart. You took quite a hit."

"Grant!" She launched herself into his arms despite the throbbing of her head. She clung there, muffling a sob against his chest as she buried her face against him. "Thank God!"

His arms tightened around her, molding her to him. His blue eyes glinted with a fury held barely in check. When they got out of there, he was going to get the bastard who'd hit her and make him pay. "How's the head?" he asked gruffly, peering down at her ashen face.

"Pounding. What happened? Did you see anything?"

"Not until it was too late," he said in disgust. "I heard the dogs and was just turning to warn you when I saw you being knocked out. Before I could get to you to help, someone sneaked-up behind me, too." He gingerly felt the back of his neck. "Feels like they hit me with a two-by-four. The next thing I knew, I woke up in here."

Her fingers moved to cover his. "Are you all right?"

He grimaced ruefully and captured her hand in his. "Don't worry about me. It'll take more than a bash on the back of the head to do me in."

A chill rippled over Katie's skin. She pushed herself out of his arms. "This guy you saw, how big was he?"

He shrugged. "Around five seven. Maybe a hundred and forty pounds. Looked like the type who enjoys torturing cats."

"And anything else weaker than him," she replied hollowly, suddenly sick with certainty. "Fabian Cantu. It had to be him. God, we've got to get out of here!"

She scrambled up, cursing the pain in her head, and glanced around wildly. The building was little more than a six-by-ten-foot shed. It was empty but for the two of them. There were no windows, and the only light came from a bare light bulb hanging from a wire. The only way out was through the steel door set incongruously in one rickety wall.

"I've already tried it," Grant told her, his eyes following hers to the door. "It's locked. This shack may look like it'd blow away in a good stiff wind, but it's tighter than a bank vault."

"No!" she cried. "There's got to be a way out!"

Her protest was cut off by the sound of a key in the lock. Behind her, Katie heard Grant quickly rise to his feet, but her attention was fixed on the door, her heart thudding heavily. She didn't even look at Grant when he came to stand beside her, his arm slipping protectively around her shoulders. She braced herself for the danger she knew was coming through the door.

She should have known it would be Cantu. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, holding an Uzi as carelessly as if it were a BB gun, he stepped into the shack like a jailer anticipating torture. When he saw that Katie and Grant were conscious, his eyes narrowed and a sneer slid across his mouth. "So you're awake. Too bad. I was looking forward to bringing you around."

Katie kept her face carefully devoid of every emotion except contempt. "What do you want?"

"As much as I can get," he taunted. Pointing the machine gun at Grant's heart, he ordered coldly, "Get away from her. Me and her are going for a little walk, and we don't need no boyfriend to chaperon."

Grant felt Katie tense. He didn't budge. "No."

The gang leader's eyes glinted dangerously. The nose of the Uzi came up ever so slightly, threateningly. "What was that? I don't think I heard you right."

Had Grant lost his mind? Katie wondered. Cantu would kill him and laugh while he did it! She struggled out from under his arm. "I'll go."

"Katie, for God's sake—"

He made a move to stop her, but before he could even take a step, Cantu had the blunt end of the gun resting against his chest. "Come on, give me a reason to shoot you," he goaded softly. "Just one, that's all I need."

Katie caught her breath. For the longest moment, Grant didn't move, the fury in his eyes wild and uncontrollable. He was going to do it, she thought, terrified. He was going to go for Cantu's throat and damn the consequences!

"No," he said suddenly. But even then, he didn't back down. "If you haven't got the guts to pull the trigger on your own, I'm sure as hell not going to help you. But if you hurt her," he growled, "I'll find a way to come after you. And when I do, you'll wish you'd never been born."

The younger man's black eyes flared at the threat, but his only answer was to shove Katie outside, slam the door in Grant's face, and lock it. Gesturing with the Uzi, he motioned to another building across the compound. "Over there. Let's go."

He didn't even give her a chance to take a step before he prodded her in the back with the gun. She jumped, then could have kicked herself because he laughed sinisterly. If she let him, he would feed off her fear like a vulture devouring its prey. She had to get hold of herself!

Closing her mind to the cold metal that occasionally nuzzled her back, she walked forward across the compound, her lowered eyes taking a quick but thorough inspection of the camp. There were no barriers between it and the swamp, no barbed wire or fences to stop an escape. But barricades weren't needed when more than a dozen men walked around carrying Uzis as casually as Cantu. Her heart sank as she recognized a few of them. Barracudas. Young, some of them barely old enough to shave. But their faces were nonetheless calloused, their eyes impervious to her plight as they watched her move across the compound.

Cantu laughed softly as if he was reading her mind. "If you're thinking of making a run for it, you'd better think again. The guys are a little bored. They wouldn't mind a little target practice."

She sent him a withering glance and didn't even bother to answer.

His eyes turned icy. "Inside," he snarled as they reached the other building and he pushed her through the door.

The building he'd brought her to was better constructed than the others and was obviously camp headquarters. But Katie had only a moment before she noticed the man seated behind an antique walnut desk at the far end of the large room. Michael Gallegos.

Her heart froze. Now the charade of loving uncle would be stripped away and she would see him as he really was. A cold-blooded killer and drug king.

But the mm who rose to his feet and started around the desk toward her acted just as he always did whenever he saw her. He held out his arms for a hug! "Katie, sweetheart, how are you feeling?"

She shrank away from him in horror, stepping back until Cantu's Uzi was again pressed into her back. At least that was a threat she could recognize! "You don't give a damn how I'm feeling," she said quietly. "So why don't you cut the act? It's served its purpose."

He winced at her tone. "Of course I care," he said, throwing her a wounded look. "Why do you think I had Fabian go to the trouble of setting Ryan up?"

She gasped. "You were responsible for that?"

"You kept sticking your nose into something that wasn't any of your business. I had to do something to distract you."

"I'm a reporter," she retorted. "It's my job to stick my nose into illegal things that aren't any of my business."

He continued as if she hadn't even spoken. "I could've overlooked a lot of things from you, but when you searched my home, my office, I knew I'd have to do something to stop you." He watched her eyes widen and chuckled softly. "Do you think I'm a fool? I've got hidden cameras all over the house. I knew the minute you stepped into my office."

She swallowed, suddenly feeling sick. "So when we overheard you giving directions to this place, it was all a setup."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he protested, frowning. "Let's call it a … test, I was hoping that loyalty meant something to you. But what did you do?" he asked as he stepped back behind his desk and picked up her small camera, which Cantu had obviously confiscated when he'd knocked her out. "You come out here with this. So much for loyalty." Throwing it back down onto the desk, he took his seat, his eyes dark with regret as they met hers. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you leave me no choice. I'm going to have to kill you. You know too much."

He was crazy. He spoke of killing her as if it were a sad necessity she was forcing him to! When had his mind slipped over the fine line between sanity and madness? "Uncle Mike," she choked, "you're not thinking clearly—"

"Oh, but I am," he argued with a pleasantness that turned her blood to ice. "I'll try to make it as painless as possible for you. It'll be an accident, of course. Just like Sam Bradford's. But it'll have to wait till tomorrow. Nothing can interfere with my plans for tonight. And setting up an accident takes time. With Mr. Bradford we were just lucky that the weather cooperated."

She blanched at the mention of Sam but forced herself to focus on the tidbits of information he was giving away in his rambling. "What's happening tonight that's so important?"

"That, my dear, is none of your business," he returned curtly. Glancing past her shoulder to where Cantu silently stood guard at the door, he said, "Take her back to the shed and tell the guard to give her anything she wants within reason. I want her last few hours to be as comfortable as possible."

Cantu stepped to her side to grab her arm. She never took her eyes from her uncle's. "Do you really think that's going to appease your conscience?" she demanded contemptuously.

He shrugged. "Unlike most of the world, a conscience is something I learned to live without years ago." He nodded for Cantu to take her out, and his last words caught her just as she reached the door. "Katie, try not to worry about Ryan. I'll be there to console him."

The taunt and his soft, triumphant laughter were almost her undoing. Only the sure knowledge that he wanted to snap her control, to beat her down so she would give up, kept her from ripping free of Cantu's hold and launching herself at the old man. Patience, she warned herself as she stepped outside without a backward glance.

* * *

Grant prowled the confines of the shed like a desperate claustrophobic. How long had she been gone? he fumed. Ten minutes? Twenty? If that bastard hurt her… He swore, erasing the thought before it could lodge in his mind like a cancer. No, Cantu wouldn't hurt her. Not yet, anyway. He was the type of man who would draw out the fear, letting his victim brood on his fate, anticipate the pain, dread it. He would strike when it would take only a touch to push someone over the edge.

Before he'd let that happen, Grant vowed savagely, he'd see Cantu in hell.

The sound of a key in the lock shattered his musings. He whirled, crouched for trouble, but it was Katie. The relief that coursed through him almost staggered him. Resisting the urge to go to her, he forced himself to keep his distance and ran a sharp eye over her instead. The dirt from the floor still clung to her clothes and cheek. She was paler than when she'd left, more subdued. She didn't appear to have been harmed, but Grant knew there were infinite varieties of torture other than the physical.

He stepped toward her, his eyes searching hers. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed and forced a smile. "I'm fine."

"You could be better," Cantu said as he appeared in the doorway behind her, his grin leering. "I could make your last hours very pleasant ones."

Grant moved so quickly, Katie only had time for a strangled cry of surprise. Grant pulled her behind him and bore down on the younger man with the light of murder in his eyes. Ignoring the Uzi that was snapped up against his chest, he towered over Cantu like an avenging god. "You'll have to go through me to get to her." He taunted softly, "Come on, Cantu. Put the machine gun down. Let's just see how much of a man you are."

Horrified, Katie watched Cantu's finger tighten on the trigger. "Stop it, both of you!"

She might as well have been talking to the wall. The two men glowered at each other with hatred in their eyes. "I don't have to prove I'm a man to you," Cantu told Grant silkily. "Only to her. And I'm going to make you watch."

"Like hell!"

The arrival of another truck in the compound drew Cantu's attention to the open door. Swearing at the interruption, he promised, "Later," and stepped outside, slamming and locking the door behind him.

He'd barely walked out the door when Katie pivoted sharply and glared at the man she loved. "Damn it, Grant, my uncle has already promised to kill us. If you keep pushing Cantu, we'll never have a chance to get out of here!"

"Gallegos is here?" he demanded, crossing to her. "You saw him? What happened?"

She shuddered. "He's crazy," she whispered, remembering how her uncle had held his arms wide for a hug. "He actually thought I would drop the investigation out of loyalty. Now he has no choice but to kill us. Oh, it'll look like an accident, of course," she added quickly, her voice shaking. "Just like Sam's."

"He told you that? He admitted being responsible for Sam's death?"

"It'll be an accident. Just like Sam Bradford's," she quoted. "But it seems accidents take time to set up, so we'll have to wait until tomorrow. He'll do everything he can to make me comfortable in the meantime, because nothing can interfere with his plans for tonight." She almost choked on unexpected laughter. "He considers himself lucky that the weather cooperated with him the night Sam died."

Grant frowned at the hint of hysteria he heard in Katie's voice and quickly wrapped his arms around her. He couldn't let her lose control, not if they were going to get out of here. "Easy, babe, don't fall apart on me now. We're not going to wait around like sitting ducks for the old man to blow us out of the water," he told her firmly, stroking her hair. "We're making a break for it tonight, so we've got to make plans."

Sliding down to the ground, he pulled her down beside him and leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out next to hers. "Tell me everything you saw. The layout of the camp, how many men, guns, everything."

Closing her eyes, Katie willed herself to concentrate. Escape. The word beat at her until images of the camp pushed aside those of the man she would never call Uncle again. She described her meeting with Gallegos. "The big building a hundred yards to the left of here is Gallegos's headquarters," she said quietly. "His office is there. To the right of that are two other barnlike structures that look like they might be used for storage. They're sitting right on the edge of the swamp."

"How many guards did you see?"

She saw again the men lounging around the compound and had to fight to repress a shiver of revulsion. "About thirteen, including Cantu," she said flatly. "And they were all carrying Uzis."

"The guns won't do them much good once we can reach the swamps and disappear into the underbrush," he replied, seemingly unconcerned. "Now we've just got to figure out what Gallegos has planned for tonight and use it to our advantage."

For the first time since Cantu had knocked her out, Katie smiled naturally. "And just how do you propose to do that?" she asked dryly.

"Not me," he corrected. "You."

"Me! But—"

"You've mentioned that Gallegos has already said he'll make you as comfortable as possible," he reminded her. "If you bang on the door complaining you're sick and you need to go to the bathroom, you've got a good chance of getting out of here. I don't. Once you're outside, you can look around and see what's going on."

Through the wooden walls of the shed, they could hear another truck drive into the compound and the welcoming shouts of some of the guards. Grant was right. Something big was planned for tonight, and the more they knew about it, the better their chances were of escape. "All right," she said decisively. "I'll do it."

Since she'd just been outside, she knew she wouldn't be able to complain of sickness without raising the guard's suspicions, so they decided to wait a couple of hours to make their move. They were the longest of Katie's life. The temperature in the muggy shed grew hot as she and Grant talked of everything but the events to come. All the while, the activity in the compound increased.

Katie paced restlessly, her nerves knotting tighter with every passing moment. The exercise did nothing to release her growing agitation. When she felt the walls of the shed closing in on her, she knew she had to do something. She stopped abruptly to face Grant, who was still leaning comfortably against the wall. How could he be so relaxed? she wondered irritably. "Let's do it now. I can't stand this waiting!"

He looked her over, noting her ashen cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, the signs of strain around her mouth, the sweat-dampened curls that clung to her face. It wouldn't take much acting to convince the guard that she wasn't feeling well. Rage boiled in him. He wanted to crush her in his arms and promise her that Michael Gallegos would pay for the hell he was putting her through. But her control was already stretched to the limit. To be touched now might be her undoing, so he purposefully stayed where he was. "You want me to get the guard or do you want to do it yourself?"

"Maybe you should," she decided. "Then it'll look like I'm too weak to do it myself."

He nodded and rose swiftly to his feet. At the door, his eyes met hers. "Ready?"

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and managed to look miserable. "How's this?"

"I can truthfully say I've never seen you look worse." He chuckled. "Here goes nothing."

In the end, it was as easy as child's play. Grant banged on the door as if he were going to knock it down, bellowing for the guard. When a baby-faced youth clutching his machine gun cautiously unlocked the door, he was met with a moaning Katie and a furious Grant, who announced that she was sick and it was little wonder after spending most of the afternoon in a sweatbox. It was an Oscar-winning performance. Seconds later, Katie was escorted to the only rest room at camp headquarters.

She would have lingered as long as possible as she crossed the compound, but her guard hurried her along as if he were afraid she would faint at his feet any moment. She pretended to stumble while her constantly moving eyes took a quick inventory of the camp.

It was late afternoon, and little sunlight was able to penetrate the dense foliage of the trees. Parked near one of the barnlike structures were two trucks similar to the ones operated by Glade Sugar, but without the logo. Around the vehicles were gathered most of the men she'd seen earlier. They were listening intently as Cantu talked to them in a voice too low for her to catch. They were all dressed in black, and their faces were distorted with a black substance that looked like muck out of the swamp.

"The bathroom's in here," the guard mumbled, dragging her into the headquarters before she could see more. He pointed to a door just outside Gallegos's office. "Over there. And don't try anything," he warned her. "This is the only exit and I'm staying right here till you come out." Whether intentionally or instinctively, his fingers tightened on the Uzi.

Katie tried to stall as long as possible, but he gave her only ten minutes. It was long enough for Katie to splash her face and neck with water and remove some of the grime that clung to her skin. By the time she opened the door again, she was refreshed and determined not to let her guard hurry her across the compound on the return trip to the shed. Maybe she'd be able to eavesdrop on Cantu.

But she never got the chance. Just as she stepped outside, the two trucks rumbled to life. Seconds later, Cantu and another gang member drove them out of the camp and headed toward the highway. The other men must have been in the back of the trucks because only a few remained behind. The tense excitement in the air was almost tangible.

Katie glanced quickly at her guard and caught a look of frustration on his face as he watched the trucks disappear out of sight. He couldn't have been as old as Ryan. "Where are they going?" she asked casually.

He opened his mouth to reply before he realized what he was doing. Instead, he glared at her mutely.

Katie shrugged, unperturbed by his silence. "Wherever it is, it looks like you're going to miss out on all the excitement. Why'd you have to stay behind?"

She thought he wasn't going to answer when he finally retorted stiffly, "Someone's got to guard the camp. Nothing can interfere with tonight."

She frowned at his choice of words. Gallegos had said the same thing. "What's so important about tonight?"

He might have answered if they hadn't reached the shed just then, but the sight of the locked steel door seemed to remind him of his responsibilities. His mouth clamped tight, he unlocked the door and motioned her inside without another word.

Katie stepped inside and swore as the door was locked behind her. "Damn! If I'd have had just a few more minutes!"

"What happened?" Grant demanded, crossing the short space to her. "Did you find out anything?"

"No. Yes. I don't know," she muttered, sweeping her fingers through her hair. "Cantu and most of the men just left in two trucks, and they looked like they were headed for trouble. But I don't know what Gallegos has planned for tonight."

"So they're shorthanded right now," he replied, then glanced at his watch. "It won't be dark enough to leave for another couple of hours, but if we're lucky, Cantu and the others won't be back until after we're long gone."

"I hate to bring up a small technicality," she said dryly, "but there's a guard outside that door, and he's carrying an Uzi. How are we supposed to get past him?"

He grinned. "I've got it all planned. We'll call him in here just like we did before. While you're distracting him, I'll knock him out from behind."

"And how am I supposed to do that? He's already antsy. The minute you make a move on him, he'll probably shoot you."

"He won't if he can't see me," he said smugly. He squatted down to scoop up a handful of dirt from the floor. "All you've got to do is throw this in his face and we're out of here."

If any other man had made such a simple suggestion, she would have laughed in his face. But Grant Elliot had a talent for landing on his feet. "That's insane. You know that, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Some people might call it brilliant."

"I believe the same thing was once said about the Edsel," she said dryly.

He let the rest of the dirt slide through his fingers, then rose lithely to his feet. "Oh, but there's a difference," he said softly, settling his hands on her hips to eliminate the distance between them. "The Edsel died an early death, but we're both going to live until we're old and gray. You can quote me on that, Katie MacDonald," he murmured, and lowered his head for a long hard kiss that, for a moment, banished everything from her mind but him. "We're getting out of this alive."

Locked in the windowless shed, they had only Grant's watch to tell them what time it was and the sight of the slow darkening of the small band of light at the bottom of the door to tell them when it was nightfall. Unconsciously ticking off the minutes in her head, Katie watched with growing anxiety as the slim bar of brightness grew dimmer and dimmer and finally disappeared altogether. Sweat broke out on her palms. It was time.

Grant, his face set in grim lines, glanced at his watch. "If we're going to make a break for it before Cantu gets back, we'd better do it now. It should be pitch black out there by now."

He moved to the door, but before he could even lift his fist to pound on it, a cry went up from the guards outside as the trucks rumbled back into the compound. "Damn!" he swore. "That tears it!"

Katie pressed her ear against the wall, straining to catch every sound. "Wait, Grant! Listen. They're not stopping."

They both held their breath. Above the shouts of the guards, the deep grinding of truck gears carried easily on the night air. The sound grew fainter as the trucks swept past the compound. The silence had hardly settled over the swamp again before the drone of a low-flying airplane echoed overhead. A car right next to the shed roared to life. Seconds later, it seemed to take off after the trucks. Then they heard the pounding of running feet.

Katie looked at Grant speculatively. "What do you think's going on out there?"

"I'd say Gallegos's plans for tonight are just about to slip into high gear." Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. "I don't know where those trucks went, but it sounds like most of the camp followed them. This is our chance."

Katie took a bracing breath, then scooped up a handful of dirt from the floor. As she moved to station herself in front of the door, Grant flattened himself against the wall right next to it so that he would be temporarily out of sight of the guard. Katie's heart hammered against her ribs when she nodded for Grant to pound on the door.

For a long, desperate moment, they were afraid their guard had gone with the others after the trucks. Then he grumbled outside the door, "What do you want?"

"To see my uncle," Katie shouted back. "He promised me I wouldn't be mistreated, but I haven't had a bite to eat all day. If you don't let me see him immediately, I'm going to scream this place down!"

"All right, all right," he snapped. "Quit your crying, for God's sake! I've got something for you to eat right here."

The key scraped in the lock. Katie stiffened and was suddenly terrified that the dirt in her hand would stick to her damp palm. But it was too late to turn back now.

The light from the single bulb overhead streamed down on the guard's scowling baby face as the door was pulled open all the way. "It's only fruit, but—"

Her heart in her throat, Katie threw the dirt right in his face.

"What the—"

The guard never saw the punch that had all of Grant's weight behind it. Five seconds later, he was lying facedown on the compound floor, out cold.

Grant ran out the door but not before he'd snatched up the Uzi. He glanced wildly around the compound, but there was no one in sight. Without a word, he took Katie's hand and they ran into the darkness.

Chapter 10

« ^ »

The camp was shrouded in blackness, and as the shed door opened light spilled out into the inky darkness. Grant tugged Katie after him across the compound and plunged into the swamp that hovered threateningly behind the headquarters.

The night was black as pitch, robbed of even starlight by the thick trees that huddled together like old women in the dark. Danger lurked in odd, sinister, unmoving shapes. Unseen branches slapped at them, pulled at their clothes, tangled in their hair. From out of the night, feathery tendrils of Spanish moss reached out to caress their cheeks with ghostly fingers.

Katie violently brushed the moss away from her face, fear rising like bile in her throat before she realized what it was. Idiot! she told herself furiously. It was only the swamp. Gallegos and his men were what she had to fear.

Overhead, the plane they'd heard earlier suddenly buzzed the top of the trees directly above them, its landing lights slicing a sharp path through the darkness. With every passing second, it glided lower and lower into the trees.

Grant stopped abruptly, his fingers tightening on the Uzi as he pulled Katie closer. "Look," he whispered, nodding toward their right.

Two hundred yards away through the trees, truck headlights sprang on. The brightness illuminated the scene, which looked like a photographic negative, etched as it was in the harsh, unrelenting shades of black and white. The Glade Sugar trucks she had seen earlier were lined up so that their headlights shone across a short, bumpy clearing. Katie wasn't surprised to realize that it was a runway.

On the edges of darkness, Cantu and his gang members hovered, watching, waiting, ready to slip back into the night if the need arose. At the end of the runway, Gallegos stood beside a black Ford, his face carved in shadows as he watched the pilot set the plane down on the rough ground with a sureness that no doubt came from having made many such landings before.

How clever of Gallegos to pick the swamp to do his dirty work in, Katie thought in disgust. There were no prying eyes to witness his drug smuggling here among the snakes. If Sam hadn't discovered his hideaway, he could have carried on such an operation for years without anyone being the wiser.

Thoughts of Sam and his awful fate brought her up short. She and Grant had to get out of here! Glancing wildly around to get her bearings, she pulled at Grant's hand. "The highway's back the other way," she said under the drowning roar of the plane's motor. "We've got to get out of here while they're too busy to notice we've escaped!"

He stood stubbornly where he was. "No, we can't go that way."

"Grant! The car—"

"The car's gone, sweetheart," he cut in softly. "The minute they captured us, you can bet Cantu and his boys scoured the swamp until they found it. They wouldn't take any chances that someone would find it and start looking for its owner."

Oh, God, she hadn't thought of that! "Then we'll walk back," she retorted desperately. "We can hitchhike. Someone's bound to come along and give us a ride back to the city."

"Yeah, someone like Gallegos," he tossed back. "Don't you see that's the first place he'll look for us once he realizes we've gotten free? It's the logical escape route and he knows it." His fingers tightened on hers. "We've got to cut through the swamp and come out on the other side. It'll take longer, but we can make several miles before the old man realizes his mistake."

Katie paled. The swamp. Making their way through it during the day, when they could see and had the path to the camp to guide them, had been difficult enough. Traveling through it at night, with no light to illuminate all its unseen dangers, would be courting disaster. The ground was deceptive, the thick trees all impossibly alike. If they lost their bearings, they could be lost for days, or worse, unwittingly circle around and find themselves right back in Gallegos's clutches. Even someone who knew the swamp well would hesitate at such foolhardiness.

Her gaze moved past Grant to the runway. The plane was taxiing toward Gallegos, while Cantu and his men gathered closer. Behind them lay the deepest part of the swamp.

Reading her thoughts, Grant said huskily, "We'll have to circle the runway."

The plane suddenly cut its engine, leaving behind a throbbing silence. Katie stiffened, her heart hammering wildly as she stared at the runway, measuring the distance around it. It wasn't that far, but it held all the dangers of a mine field. One misstep could snap a twig, one wrong move could leave them splashing in a hidden puddle of water, and the sound would rip through the night like an alarm.

She looked into Grant's eyes. He was waiting for her, soundlessly asking her if she was ready. Her throat was as dry as desert sand, yet she nodded anyway.

Deliberately pushing the drama being acted out on the runway to the back of her mind, she followed close behind him through the thicket of trees and brush. Her eyes stayed on her feet and the world shrank to the dark, treacherous ground in front of her. With painstaking slowness, she tested each step until her muscles began to tremble with the strain. With every step, she fought the need to go crashing through the underbrush to the perilous safety of the darkness beyond the runway.

Hurry! Hurry! The words beat at her in time with her heartbeat, taunting her, pushing her. She knew she and Grant were virtually invisible to the men in the clearing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow Gallegos had sensed they had escaped and was even now watching them, toying with them like a cat waiting to pounce. It was all she could do not to let the panic overtake her.

Lost in the nightmare, she didn't realize Grant had stopped until she ran into his back. Swallowing a gasp, she would have fallen into the underbrush if he hadn't pivoted sharply and snatched her against him. Her heart pounding against his, she clung to him as she glanced quickly at the runway. Had she made a noise?

With a shock, Katie realized they were less than a hundred yards away from the plane. The men who were gathered around it had eyes only for the passenger who descended to greet Gallegos with a thin-lipped smile and a firm handshake. He was a lean man, slightly under six foot, with hair as black as midnight and close-set eyes that were so cold and ruthless they sent a shiver skating down Katie's back. Was this a representative of the Colombian drug cartel Gallegos did business with? she wondered. He certainly had the hard looks of someone who recognized no rules but his own.

All business, he returned to the plane, as soon as greetings were exchanged, to throw open the rear door. Katie didn't need a closer look to know that the sacks piled high there were tilled with cocaine. But instead of unloading them, Gallegos gave a nod to Cantu, who immediately moved to the nearest truck. With the help of one of the other gang members, he pulled a narrow wooden crate from the back of the sugar truck and half dragged it over to Gallegos and the Colombian. Using a crowbar supplied by one of the other boys, he jimmied open the lid and spilled the contents of the box at their feet.

In the stark light of the trucks' headlights, black metal gleamed coldly, wickedly. Katie sucked in a startled breath, her fingers curling into Grant's arms. Machine guns! The crates, the sugar trucks, were full of machine guns!

Even in the darkness, she could tell that Grant's mind was working as quickly as hers. Gallegos was involved in a hell of a lot more even than they had suspected. Not only did he have a drug pipeline set up from Colombia, he was running guns the other way. Guns in all likelihood stolen earlier this evening when Cantu and the others left in the trucks, she realized. No wonder Gallegos hadn't let anything interfere with his plans for the night. He wanted those guns out of the country before anyone even knew they'd been stolen!

Suddenly, from the direction of the camp, a hoarse cry shattered the silence. "Help! They have escaped! The prisoners have escaped!"

Katie knew that this moment would be forever carved in her memory. For what seemed like an eternity, nobody moved. Then, amid shouts of alarm, Uzis were suddenly jerked into readiness. The Colombian spit out angry accusations in Spanish at Gallegos at the same time the older man barked out orders. "Half of you get that plane unloaded and then reload it with the guns. Cantu, I want those prisoners found. Now! Get on it! They couldn't have gotten very far."

Snapping his head around, Grant saw instantly that they were caught halfway between the camp and the runway. Trapped. Any minute Cantu and his men would be heading straight for them.

He jerked Katie down to the damp ground and half covered her with his body just as Cantu ordered the other half of the gang members to fan out and start searching. Too late, he realized that they had only a thin covering of ferns and the darkness to protect them. At their backs was the trunk of a huge cypress tree, cutting off escape.

What followed was a deadly game of hide and seek. Lights suddenly flared out of nowhere, like search-lights at a prison, as flashlights were dragged out of back pockets and switched on. With deadly intent, the white beams arced through the undergrowth and bounced off trees, obscenely cutting through the darkness. The brightness stripped away the night, tracking them. Heavy, booted feet stomped through the vegetation, only to stop, to wait, to listen. Silence, as dark as the night, hung in the air.

Lying under Grant, Katie curled her fingers into the muck as the thundering echo of her own heartbeat ate at her nerves. She hardly dared to move as she watched the narrow beams of light swing overhead, then jerk back, only to retrace their original path. Seconds passed, then minutes. Water seeped into her clothes until she was soaked from her breasts to her ankles. Her lungs were screaming for more than the pitiful little gulps of air she allowed herself. And still the lights, the searchers, lingered. Would they never move on!

As if sensing her distress, Grant slid his hand from her back and blindly found her hand biting into the soggy ground. Covering it with his, he linked his fingers with hers, giving her a part of himself to latch onto. Hang on, he seemed to urge her silently. We'll get out of this yet.

Katie started to believe him when their hunters moved off in the opposite direction, toward the highway, just as Grant had predicted. Relief shot through her, only to turn to terror when she heard a new set of footsteps. Slow, stealthy, creeping—and so close that she could feel the vibration of them in the ground. She shrank into the ground, praying for it to swallow both her and Grant. Was the foliage around them thick enough to conceal them?

Swearing at the Fates, Grant lay unmoving and watched a pair of scuffed combat boots come within three feet of his nose. For a wild moment, he thought luck was with them when the man continued on past them. Then he stopped, as if sensing he'd missed something, and turned. Every muscle in Grant's body froze as he watched the wrong end of an Uzi come to rest beside their pursuer's camouflage-clad leg. For the span of ten heartbeats, he just stood there. It wasn't until he spoke to someone off to his left that Grant realized the feet belonged to Cantu.

"We could spend all night doing this and walk right past them," the young hoodlum said in disgust. "Enough of this. Let's get the dogs," he ordered and whirled back toward the camp without once looking at the ferns near his feet.

Dogs! Katie almost cried out in horror at the thought. Only Grant's weight on her back, his fingers tightening on hers warningly, kept the sob of protest that welled in her throat from bursting free.

Long moments later, Grant cautiously lifted his head until he could see just over the tops of the ferns. Cantu and the search team were halfway back to the camp, their flashlights bobbing in the night. On the runway, Gallegos and the drug supplier kept the other thugs working at a feverish pace. They had already unloaded the cocaine from the plane and were quickly replacing it with the guns.

Jumping quickly to his feet, Grant pulled Katie up beside him. "This is the only chance we're going to get, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear. "We're going to have to run like hell if we're going to beat those dogs!"

She was already moving. Acutely conscious of the men who were only a stone's throw away, she followed Grant around the clearing as silently as possible, catching her breath every time a branch snagged at her clothes. But within seconds they skirted the runway and dashed into the deep undergrowth on the other side.

Time, the outside world, civilization, ceased to exist. With hearts pounding and their lungs straining, they kept a cautious pace until they were well into the thick, cloying trees. Only then, when they were sure that the sound wouldn't carry back to Gallegos, did they break into a full-fledged run.

Gasping, the acrid taste of fear on her tongue, Katie struggled to keep up with Grant's long legs. Dark images flew past her, registering in her mind only after she was long past them. The gnarled limb of a dead cypress tree, pointed at her like an accusing witch's finger. She saw the vines of a strangler fig choking a maple. A fallen log blocked their path. A deep grunt tore through the silence, followed by a splash.

"Oh, God," she whispered. "An alligator!"

"Maybe not," Grant argued tightly, never slowing his pace. "Could be a frog. Hurry, honey, I think I hear the dogs."

Her blood was rushing through her ears like thunder caught in a cave, but Katie heard them, too. The baying of the dogs. Deep inside her, her soul seemed to shiver. The animals were far behind them, but she could tell by the excited barking that they had caught their scent. The dogs wouldn't stop now until they had cornered them.

There was no time to talk, no time to fear what might be waiting for them in the uncharted territory ahead. There was only the constant barking of the dogs, a cadence in their blood that pushed them ever onward, driving them to the limits of endurance.

Katie never knew how long they ran, how far, or even where. Grant took the lead and she followed blindly, all sense of direction lost. Her brain was on automatic pilot and all her concentration was focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Again. And again. She never even noticed when her knees became wobbly or the stitch in her side became a hot fire. She gasped for breath, but she couldn't stop. Not yet. The dogs were drawing closer.

The vine that suddenly stretched across the ground in front of her wouldn't have tripped a two year old. Katie saw it at the last moment with eyes that were too blurred to see clearly. Crying out, she went sprawling.

"Katie!" Grant was beside her in an instant, his face dark with concern as he bent over her. "Are you okay? Let me help you."

Her knees were so weak, she doubted if she'd have been able to make it to her feet without his help. Even then, it was only the reassuring strength of his arms that kept her from sinking back down to the ground. Her breath straining through her lungs, she leaned against him gratefully, shuddering. All the while the wild baying of the dogs drew closer. Her fingers bit into Grant's arm. "Grant," she gasped, panicking. "The dogs…"

His breath was hot and quick against her cheek as he brushed her damp hair back from her face. "I know. They're right on our tail, but if you can just make it a little farther, we may be able to lose them. Come on, sweetheart, you can't stop now," he pleaded, pulling her after him. "Just a little farther…"

It could have been twenty feet, a hundred yards, a half mile. Her feet felt leaden and her muscles burned as she stumbled after him. He suddenly veered to the left and pulled her through a thick growth of wild hibiscus and custard apple trees. She didn't even blink when she found herself up to her calves in the dark water of a creek hidden by the low, overhanging branches.

They struggled up the middle of the creek, slipping and sliding on the slick bottom, before he stopped abruptly and pulled her against him. "Shh," he warned when she started to draw in enough air to ask him why he had stopped. "Listen."

He stared back at the way they had come as his labored breathing eased. Somewhere off in the trees, the excited barking of the dogs carried easily in the ensuing silence, and he could almost pinpoint their exact location. They weren't quite to the cutoff to the creek yet.

"Come on," he urged them grimly. "Go past it, you bastards. Lose us in the water."

As if they'd heard him, the dogs' frenzied barking suddenly changed to bewilderment as they rushed past the hibiscus bushes and abruptly lost the scent. Swearing floated on the night air.

Grant didn't have the strength to laugh in triumph. He gave Katie a tired squeeze and reached for her hand. "D'you hear that, sweetheart? We lost them!"

She wilted where she stood, but before she could even sigh in relief, one of the dogs let out a cry of excitement that sounded like it came right out of hell. They'd found their trail again.

"No!" she whispered hoarsely. "No!"

Grant swore viciously and quickly dragged her out of the water to dry ground. The dogs were already splashing in the water two hundred yards behind them. "This way," he ordered tersely. "It's our only chance!"

He clawed his way through the low hanging branches, cursing them as he towed her after him. There was no need for silence now. The dogs were too close and Katie was fading fast. Grant shot her a worried look over his shoulder. Her face was a pale blur in the darkness, her wet clothes plastered to her slender body, her legs heavy. Grant couldn't think of another woman he knew who would have held up as well as she had, but the hell she'd been through today would have taxed the strength of an Amazon. If she had to go much farther, she'd collapse.

"We're almost there," he coaxed, tightening his grip on her hand. "You can make it. I know you can."

Make it? she thought, nearly sobbing. Where? Where was he taking her in this godforsaken place? Didn't he know they couldn't outrun the dogs? If she could just stop, just for a minute…

Katie hardly heard Grant's exclamation of smug satisfaction when they suddenly burst through the trees and found themselves on the low-lying bank of a river. Dazed, she stared at the scene before her, convinced it was a mirage.

The lazy, slow-moving water was two hundred yards wide and as black as the night. Huge cypress trees, dripping in Spanish moss, towered majestically over both banks and reached for a midnight sky that was studded with stars. But it was the island in the middle of the river that drew her eye.

There, on a spot of land that was hardly bigger than a sand bar, squatted a rough-hewn log cabin that looked as though it had been there since the beginning of time. Wide, paned windows stretched across its narrow front, the light that gleamed from them spilling onto a porch that wrapped all the way around the small building to the back. This tiny bit of civilization surrounded by the encroaching wilderness beckoned like a candle in the darkness.

Grant quickly tossed down the Uzi and started to kick off his shoes. "Come on, we're going to have to swim for it."

She couldn't have looked at him with more dismay if he'd told her she was going to have to walk on water. She stared askance at the two hundred yards of dark water that separated them from the cabin and knew she'd never make it. She was a mediocre swimmer when she was at her best, and right now she didn't have the energy to spit!

"I can't."

At first Grant was sure he'd misunderstood her. But when she stood there, her shoulders drooping, and made no effort to remove her shoes, his eyes snapped to her, impaling her. "What do you mean, you can't?" he growled. "You'd damn well better or those dogs are going to be eating you for supper."

"I can't!" she wailed, tears of exhaustion welling in her eyes and running unchecked down her cheeks. "I can't even take another step, let along swim. Go on without—"

He never let her finish the sentence. Did she really think he would leave her? Clamping his fingers around her arms, he jerked her up on her toes and closed his mind to the dark shadows of fatigue under her eyes, the weak tears that she couldn't seem to stop. She was pushed to the limit, ready to crack, and he'd have given anything to pull her into his arms and just hold her. But he was as tired as she, and the dogs were drawing nearer, pushing him to desperation. He had to goad her into crossing the river under her own steam, even if she ended up hating him for it.

"So the great Katie MacDonald's giving up, is she?" he taunted, deliberately hurting her. "Giving up to a two-bit drug king who hunts her down like an animal."

Her eyes flashed in the darkness. "I'm not giving up—"

"No? What would you call it?" he retorted, running his eyes over her quickly. "Looks to me like you're ready to yell uncle. Good old Uncle Mike." He snorted contemptuously. "You think he'll cut you some slack because he used to bounce you on his knee? Think again, sweetheart. He's going to snuff you out like you never existed, and then he's going to play the grief-stricken uncle to the press. The papers will eat it up."

"No!"

"Oh, yes. It'll just be one more murder—no, make that two because I'm not leaving you—to sweep under the rug. Where does it stop, Katie? With you? Me? Maybe even with Ryan if he starts asking questions he shouldn't?"

"No!"

"Then you'd better make up your mind if we're going to be the ones to stop him, babe," he said grimly. "Those dogs are closing in fast."

In the silence that followed his ultimatum, she could hear the dogs crashing into the thick stand of custard apple trees that were the last barrier to the river. Her heart jerked like a jackhammer. She was so exhausted she could have dropped right where she stood, but she knew Grant was right. They had to be the ones to stop Gallegos or die trying.

Swearing, she kicked off her shoes and let the energy of anger sweep through her. "No, damn it," she muttered. "There aren't going to be any more murders." Without another word, she dived into the black water.

Within two strokes, she knew Grant was beside her, his powerful arms flashing in her peripheral vision as he easily kept pace with her, but all her concentration was focused on the fury that raged within her. At the outset, she prayed it would be enough to get her to the island; halfway across she knew it wasn't. Slowly, insidiously, her strength began to fade, her breath to labor, her muscles to knot with the strain. With every kick of her legs her water-logged jeans grew heavier, dragging her deeper into the water. Panicking, she knew she was sinking fast.

"Grant!"

His name was a soft cry on her lips, almost lost in the angry barking that erupted on the bank behind them, but he heard it. His own arms shaking with weariness, he moved closer to her, panting, "Roll over onto your back … that's it … relax … I've got you!"

Miraculously, he slipped his arm around her in a lifeguard's hold, tugging her after him through the silky water. His breath was a warm, reassuring rasp in her ear. Relief turned her body limp.

Long minutes later, they reached the bank. His chest heaving from exhaustion, Grant quickly helped Katie up onto dry ground, then glanced quickly over his shoulder. On the opposite bank, dark, armed shadows pushed through the trees after the dogs. Swearing, Grant didn't wait to see more. "Run, Katie! Get inside!"

He grabbed her hand and hauled her up the porch steps after him, but time suddenly seemed to be moving in slow motion. Her mind shouted at her to hurry, but her legs felt as if they were weighted with sand. A lifetime flashed before her eyes in the time it took to struggle up the steps and stumble onto the porch.

"Shoot, damn it! Shoot!"

Cantu's order whipped across the water behind them just as Grant reached the cabin door. Wasting no time in knocking, he threw it back on its hinges and pulled Katie inside after him.

The dark-haired man just stepping out of the bathroom into the cabin's small living room stopped short in the doorway, his gray eyes flaring with recognition and alarm as they settled on Grant. "Sam! What the devil—"

Chapter 11

« ^ »

Stunned silence filled the cabin. Katie's breathing was ragged, and water dripped from her sodden clothes to pool at her feet on the bare wood floor. Impossible thoughts ricocheted in her head. Sam! Why did this man who apparently knew Grant call him Sam? He couldn't mean Sam Bradford. Sam Bradford was dead. Dear God, he was dead! Wasn't he?

She refused to even acknowledge her doubt. It wasn't true! Sam Bradford and Grant Elliot couldn't be the same man. She would have known? One had been a close friend, the other her lover, and they were nothing alike. Grant was twenty pounds leaner than Sam, gaunt and hard, with a voice like sandpaper and a face that looked as if it had been sculptured with a rough hand. He was attractive, but he would never in a million years have Sam Bradford's classical good looks.

Even as Katie tried to convince herself she was being ridiculous, she found herself staring at Grant, searching past the beard that concealed half his face for the damning similarities. His eyes were blue. So were Sam's. His nose was every bit as proud as Sam's, his smile, without the beard, as rakish. She swallowed, her heart jerking painfully in her breast. A sob welled in her throat as suddenly, inexplicably, she knew. His face was Grant's, the cheekbones, chin, and voice all different, but somehow, some way, he was Sam.

"Oh, God!" Her eyes huge in her pale face, she stepped away from him, shaking her head in denial. "How?" she whispered hoarsely. "It's not possible."

"Katie…" Sam Bradford reached out for her, but she flinched, wrapping her arms around herself as if she were chilled to the bone. The look of hurtful reproach she shot him stabbed him right in the heart. He swore, dropping his hand to his side, his face turning rigid. Damn it, he hadn't wanted her to find out like this! Not from someone she didn't even know, when he didn't have time to make her understand that he'd had no other choice.

Biting out a vicious oath, he turned to the man who still stood in the bathroom doorway. "I haven't got time to explain, Austin. We've got to get out of here damn quick or we're all going to be dead."

To his credit, Austin LePort didn't even bat an eyelash. A man of action who didn't waste time with questions, he immediately started for the back door to the cabin. "The air boat's tied up out back. Let's go."

He took three steps when suddenly, without warning, an angry burst of gunfire peppered the porch. The front windows shattered; glass went flying everywhere. Sam dropped to the floor, his curses turning the air blue when he saw that Katie, still stunned, was only just now beginning to move. "Damn it, Katie, get away from that window!" he growled and jerked her down beside him.

Across the room, Austin dived for cover behind his reading chair just as another barrage of bullets struck the building. The lamp next to him took a direct hit and exploded in a shower of sparks. Darkness fell like a shroud. "Well, hell," he muttered in disgust. "You associate with the damnedest people, Bradford. Who is that?"

"Cantu," he retorted curtly. "Who else?"

"I should have known. You're still determined to get yourself killed over this story." Peering through the blackness, he could just barely make out the two, figures huddled under the windows. "You okay?"

"I'll be a hell of a lot better when we get out of the line of fire," Sam snapped, blindly searching in the dark for Katie's waist to help her up. But he'd hardly touched her when she stiffened, cringing. He swore savagely. "Katie, do you think I wanted you to find out this way?" he demanded, deliberately clamping her against him before she could struggle away. "I know you're hurt, and you've got every right to hate me, but you've got to let me explain!"

His fingers burned into her side like tongues of flame. She cried out, her mind suddenly blurring. "Grant, please—" A choked sob broke from her. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Not Grant. Sam … Sam…"

He jerked his hands away from her as if he'd been burned, her pain-thickened murmur lancing him like a knife. "What?" he demanded hoarsely. "What is it?"

His fingers were gone, but the fire in her side raged on like an inferno, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. Gasping, she tried to touch the painful spot, but her limbs turned leaden as the strength just seemed to seep out of her. Still half-sprawled across Sam, her hand fell back weakly to his chest. "Left s-side," she managed faintly.

His fingers shaking, he gingerly moved them to the waistband of her wet jeans and tried to tell himself that it was his imagination that she seemed to be slipping away from him. She couldn't have been shot; he'd pulled her down too quickly. But then he carefully skimmed his fingers up to her rib cage and felt the stickiness of her blood coating his hand.

He swallowed thickly. "Austin, she's been hit! Get a light!" he barked as he gently rolled her to her back. "Hurry! And some blankets and bandages. Damn it, I think she's going into shock!"

Darkness, thick and cloying, rolled into Katie's head, smothering half of Sam's words, but none of the panic. Struggling up through the murky mist, she tried to reassure him. "Just a … nick," she murmured breathlessly. "S-sorry to be such … a … pain."

Sam's helplessness infuriated him. Like hell it was just a nick! He didn't have to see the wound to know that it was bad. With every beat of her heart, he could feel her lifeblood being pumped onto his hands. He reached up to rip one of the curtains from the window and pressed it blindly to her side. At her gasp of pain, a cold sweat popped out on his brow. "I've got to stop the bleeding, sweetheart," he said huskily. "Try to lie still."

He glanced wildly over his shoulder for Austin, but before he could call out, his friend suddenly appeared at his side. "We've got to get out of here, Sam," he said quietly as he handed him the bandages and flashlight, then draped a blanket over Katie's hips and legs. "Those thugs across the river aren't leaving anything to chance. They're coming after you."

Sam wasn't surprised, but he couldn't spare a thought for Cantu and the others when Katie could be dying before his eyes. "Go get the boat ready. We'll be there as soon as I bandage the wound."

Austin nodded and slipped quietly out the back door, but all Sam's attention was on Katie. His hand clammy around the flashlight, he turned it on her prone figure. His breath hissed between his teeth at the sight of the dark red stain that covered the entire left side of her khaki blouse. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow. Too shallow. He tore open her blouse with fumbling fingers. From the soft, tender flesh of her side, a jagged, ugly hole stared back at him.

Katie stirred at the touch of the night air on her exposed skin and she stared up into familiar blue eyes that were dark with anguish. She wanted to reach up and soothe the deep frown furrowing his brow, but her arms were so heavy. Licking her dry lips, she whispered, "How bad…"

"You're going to be fine," he told her fiercely. "Do you hear me, Katie? Just fine." Tearing off a long length of gauze with his teeth, he quickly folded it into a thick wad. "This is going to hurt, honey," he warned, and pressed it to her wound, securing it with tape before she had time to do anything but stiffen.

The pain was immediate, excruciating. A jagged edge of heat shot through her like lightning, defying the numbness slowly creeping through her body. Groaning, she jerked away.

Sam paled, feeling her pain as clearly as if he had been the one shot. "Oh, God, babe, I'm sorry," he whispered. Would he never stop hurting her? Tenderly pulling her blouse back into place, he grabbed the blanket that covered her legs and wrapped her in it from head to toe. He winced at her fragility as he carefully lifted her into his arms. Why had he never noticed how delicate, how breakable, she was? "Hang on," he urged roughly as he cradled her close to his chest and rose to his feet. "We're going to get you to the hospital. Just hang on."

Katie felt as if she were drowning in the shadows that pressed down upon her. But Grant's voice reached her, and as long as his arms sheltered her she knew she'd struggle to do as he asked. Then the darkness beckoned, promising her freedom from the pain. She couldn't resist the lure. Sighing, she slipped into oblivion.

Alarmed, Sam felt her head loll against his shoulder, her breath barely a whisper against his neck. He clutched at her. "Katie!" he cried, giving her a gentle shake. She never moved.

The fear chilling him deepened into panic. Half running, he hurried outside onto the small dock that extended from the back of the cabin out into the river. Austin was waiting beside the air boat, holding it to the dock with one foot, ready to take off the second Sam stepped on board. Sam tightened his arms protectively around Katie and stepped into the bow of the boat as Austin jumped into the stern. "Hurry," he said tersely. "She's bad."

The huge fan that powered the boat sprang to life with a roar that shook the dock. "Hang on, then," the other man shouted. "We're in for a hell of a ride."

Hell didn't begin to describe what followed. The boat leapt away from the dock like a tiger springing free of its cage, racing away from the island just as Cantu and his cutthroats staggered up on dry land. Angry curses followed them, but Sam and Austin never glanced back. The black water of the river stretched out before them, alive with danger.

Austin pushed the boat to its limits, steering it around fallen logs and sandbars like a man who had tested himself many times and knew no fear. The throttle opened wide, the shallow boat barely skimmed the surface of the water, flying along at a crazy speed that scraped their hair back and forced tears from their eyes. Any kind of conversation was impossible. Trees passed in a blur and the cabin was left far behind, but it wasn't fast enough for Sam. As they whizzed in and out of the deeper shadows caused by the trees, he had eyes for nothing but Katie. She lay unmoving in his arms, her lashes dark crescents that stood out in stark relief against her ashen cheeks. Unconscious. A muscle ticked along his jaw. She wouldn't feel the pain this way, he told himself, but found little relief in the thought. She'd lost so much blood! It was still on his hands, and was probably still oozing out of her. The bandage he'd applied was about as effective as a Band-Aid.

Cursing, he pulled the blanket tighter around her and tried to convince himself he wasn't losing her. Not yet! he thought fiercely. She was young, strong as a horse, a fighter. She'd make it through this. She had to! He couldn't lose her when there was so much left unsaid between them. Time. Damn it, after all they'd been through together, was it too much to ask for? He had to explain, to make her understand.

His eyes closed on a prayer and he found himself stepping back in time, examining the events of that night four months ago. Could he have done anything differently? Half-drowned, his cheekbones crushed and nose broken from the log that had slammed into him, he'd been nearly out of his mind with pain and on the run. Instinct alone had guided him to Austin LePort's cabin.

A well-known anthropologist, writer, and lecturer, Austin had lived in the swamps off and on for years in the rustic cabin he used as a writer's retreat. Sam had met him some time before, when he'd done a story on the crime in the swamps. Sam had known Austin was a man he could trust with his life—he hadn't disappointed him.

What happened after that was still a blur. He'd given Austin a disjointed version of the story, then there had been a wild ride to the hospital. Even in his dazed state, Sam had known to avoid Miami hospitals, where Cantu might discover him. At his insistence, Austin had driven him to Naples, where he'd given some story about a boating accident and been admitted under a false name. It wasn't until several days later, when his mind started to clear from the trauma and the surgery that followed, that he'd realized his car had been found and most of the world considered Sam Bradford missing and presumed dead.

At the time, he'd thought Fate had done him a tremendous favor. Thanks to the log that had rearranged his face and the plastic surgeon who had put it back together, he would be able to come back and continue his investigation of Cantu and the roller without their even knowing he was alive. It was the perfect plan. All he needed was Katie and her contacts.

Now she was fighting for her life with every breath she drew—because of him.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam stiffened when Austin abruptly cut back on the throttle and eased the boat over to the left bank of the river. There, next to a weather-beaten dock and boat ramp, a narrow dirt road ended in a small parking area that held only one vehicle: Austin's green pickup.

Austin cut the motor and immediately tied up at the dock, the only sound in the sudden stillness the whisper and creak of the ropes around the pilings as he tugged them tight. With one foot on the dock and the other on the boat, he held it steady while Sam carefully stepped onto the landing with Katie. Within seconds they were in the truck and barreling down the dirt road that led to Alligator Alley, the highway on the opposite side of the swamp from Gallegos's camp.

"Which way?" Austin asked, shooting Sam a sharp look when they came to the junction. "Miami or Naples?"

The eerie feeling of déjà vu wasn't lost on either of them. It was the same question Austin had voiced four months earlier. Sam felt for Katie's pulse at the side of her neck, and knew with a sick feeling of dread that she'd never make it to Naples. The faint beat against his fingertips was no stronger than the trembling of a butterfly's wings. "Miami," he said hoarsely. "And pray to God we make it!"

"We'll make it," Austin replied grimly. "I'll have you at Miami General in ten minutes."

He swung onto the highway and floor-boarded the accelerator, shooting the truck straight toward the lights of Miami in the distance. Nine minutes and twenty seconds later, he shot down the ramp to the hospital's emergency entrance, blowing the horn all the way.

The pickup had hardly rolled to a stop before Sam was kicking open his door and sliding out of his seat, Katie clasped tightly to his chest. His feet hit the ground running. "Get a doctor," he thundered to the nurse at the emergency room desk as he burst into the waiting area. "I need a doctor. This woman's been shot!"

Organized chaos erupted immediately. Emergency medical personnel came running on rubber-soled shoes and took over with a somber efficiency that overwhelmed anyone who got in the way. Orders were spit out in low, controlled voices, a gurney produced, and Katie transferred to it before Sam realized she'd been whisked from his arms. Seconds later, she was swiftly wheeled through the double doors that led to the ER examining rooms. A swarm of white-clad professionals grimly worked over her still form.

Sam stared after her, his empty arms hanging limply at his side. He caught only a glimpse of her before the double doors swung closed, shutting him out. With her face as white as the hospital sheet she lay on and the dark stain of blood on her khaki blouse, she looked like a casualty of an undeclared war.

When Austin joined him, he found Sam leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, staring unblinkingly at the doors through which Katie had disappeared. He appeared calm, but Austin knew him too well to be fooled by appearances. The savage light burning in his eyes warned of emotions balanced on a razor-sharp edge.

"Any word?" he asked cautiously.

"No."

The single word was curt, furious. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Austin copied Sam's stance and stared at the double doors ten feet away. "You did everything you could, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam shot him a look that would have blistered paint. "Yeah, I did, didn't I?" he said with a contempt that was self-directed. "Thanks to me, she's lying in there half-dead." His hands curled into fists and he just barely resisted the urge to hit something. "All I could think of was putting Cantu and his boss away and getting my own life back," he said bitterly. "I never even considered how much it was going to cost me." He lifted tortured eyes. "I can't lose her, Austin. Without her, nothing will ever mean a damn again."

"You're not going to lose—"

The double doors opened suddenly for a large, square-jawed man dressed in green operating fatigues. Striding purposefully toward them, he noted the blood on Sam's clothes and guessed shrewdly, "Mr. Bradford? I'm Dr. Harper."

Sam gave his hand a brief shake, all his attention focused on the doctor's grave expression. "Katie?"

The older man hesitated, but the hard determination in Sam Bradford's eyes told him this was not a man who wanted to be protected from the truth. "She's lost a lot of blood," he said bluntly. "She'll need surgery. She's being prepped right now. Are you a relative?"

Sam's heart stopped. "No. Why?"

"I'll need someone to sign for the surgery. If she has any family, we need to get them here as quickly as possible."

Because time was running out. Although the words were never spoken, they hung in the air like a bomb waiting to drop. "I'll sign," Sam said flatly. "She has a younger brother, but he's all the way across town. It may take a while to track him down."

The doctor nodded grimly. "He may be needed. After you sign the paperwork, you'd better find him. You can use the phone in the lounge next to the operating room on the fourth floor." And without another word, he turned and disappeared through the double doors.

* * *

Given his choice, Sam would rather have faced a dozen Uzis than tell Ryan about Katie, but there was no putting it off. He headed for the phone the minute he and Austin stepped into the fourth floor waiting area. He started to call the house, only to realize with a shock that it wasn't even midnight. The lifetime he and Katie had spent fighting their way through the swamp had been only a couple of hours. Ryan was still at work. Dragging in a bracing breath, Sam dialed the pizza parlor.

Ryan was on the line in seconds, all business as he answered the phone. "Pizza Palace. This is Ryan. May I help you?"

His throat suddenly closing on the falsehood, Sam had to swallow before he could find his voice. "Ryan, this is … Grant." Dear God, would he ever be through with the lies?

Surprised, Ryan laughed, "Hey, man! Don't tell me you want to order a pizza."

"No, I—"

"Whatsamatter? Think we can't compete with the Chicago pizzerias?"

"No—"

"You're making a mistake," the boy teased. "One bite of our deep dish pie, and you'll throw rocks at that stuff from up north."

"Ryan—" Sam swore under his breath and struggled to control the frustration seething within him. Letting out a long breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose and said quietly, "I'm not calling about a pizza."

Something in his carefully controlled words had Ryan clutching the receiver tighter. "Then why did you call?" There was no teasing in his voice now, only wariness.

For a moment Sam wondered how he could tell this kid that his sister was at that very second fighting for her life on an operating table? He began. "Katie…"

"Oh, God," Ryan whispered hoarsely. Icy panic coiled into his stomach. "Something's happened to her, hasn't it? Where is she? What happened?"

"We were working on a story—"

"Damn it, Grant, tell me! Is Katie all right?"

His words were harsher than he'd meant for them to be and out before he could stop them. "She's been shot."

Stunned silence echoed on the line before Ryan exploded, "No! That's impossible! She said … she said she'd be home early tonight," he choked inanely, not even realizing what he was saying. "Casablanca's on cable tonight, and she never misses Bogart."

Sam winced. "She's being operated on right now at Miami General," he said gently. "You'd better come."

His only answer was the sudden buzzing in his ear as Ryan abruptly hung up.

A string of curses rolled off his tongue as he slammed the receiver down. It was done, he told himself grimly. Now there was only one task left to do.

Shoving his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and reached for the phone again.

Surprised, Austin watched him, frowning. "Who you calling now?"

"The FBI," Sam retorted tersely, and dropped a quarter in the coin slot.

* * *

The tension in the waiting room was as brittle as spun glass. FBI Agent John Cooper stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. His brown eyes narrowed on the three other occupants of the room. Ryan MacDonald sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his boyish face etched with a gravity that aged him ten years. During the last hour, he'd had to deal with one shock after another … Grant Elliot's true identity, Gallegos's treachery, the seriousness of his sister's condition. After the initial surprise and anger, he'd handled the first two well enough, but he was having trouble accepting the last. Every time rubber-soled shoes whispered down the hallway, he froze, his eyes flying to the doorway as he prepared himself for the worst.

The man at Ryan's left was less easy to read. Austin LePort lounged easily in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about his eyes. He watched Sam Bradford carefully, as if he expected the anger building in his friend to explode any minute.

Which it very well could, the agent concluded. Sam Bradford had always had a reputation as a reporter who would go to any lengths to get a story, but right now he didn't seem to give a damn that he'd uncovered a scandal that was going to blow the lid off the city. He barely tolerated the questions thrown at him; and like the boy, his eyes snapped to the waiting room doorway every time a step was heard in the corridor.

Snapping the lid down on his lighter, the agent took a drag on his freshly lit cigarette and exhaled slowly. "All right, Mr. Bradford, let's go over it one more time," he said patiently. "After Cantu ran you off the bridge, you assumed an alias rather than go to the police with what you knew. Why?"

His mind in the operating room with Katie, Sam jerked his attention back to the older man, his patience at the breaking point. "I didn't assume anything," he retorted coldly. "The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, decided I was probably dead, and I was damn lucky they did. I knew just enough to get myself killed. My car had been identified, it was all over the papers that I was missing, and Cantu knew I was the one who was on to him. If I'd have come forward then, we wouldn't be having this discussion now. Cantu would already have found a way to eliminate me."

"The police—"

"Were on the take," he finished for him flatly. "If you don't believe me, check into Ryan's arrest the other night. It was so fishy, it stank."

"You could have come to us," the other man said stiffly.

Sam snorted, mockery glinting in his eyes. "Yeah, right. At the time. I didn't know Gallegos was the roller. I can just hear your reaction if I'd have hit you with the story that a nameless businessman was backing the Barracudas and shipping in coke from Colombia. Admit it, Cooper, you'd have laughed in my face."

The sudden screech of a chair being abruptly pushed back cut off the agent before he could even begin to find an answer. Ryan jumped to his feet, his fists clenched, and glared at both men, fury burning in his eyes. "Stop it! My sister could be lying in there dying! Why aren't you out catching the men who did this to her?"

John Cooper recognized the desperation driving the younger man and knew any sympathy he could offer would be coldly rejected. Ryan wanted answers, and he was damn well determined to get them, if the angle of his jaw was anything to go by. "We already have men in the swamp," he replied quietly. "If Gallegos and Cantu are still in there, we'll find them."

"And if they're not?" he countered.

"They won't get far," the agent assured him. "They know their whole operation has gone up in smoke and they're going to be running for cover. We've got every escape route blocked and men at their homes. The minute they crawl out from under a rock, we've got them. It's only a matter of time."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Cooper left to join the search for Gallegos, leaving the three men staring at the clock on the wall. With painstaking slowness, its hands crept toward two a.m. Sam downed the coffee Austin pressed on him without tasting it and felt his control slipping. Damn it, what was taking so long? How long did it take to remove a bullet, anyway? She should have been in the recovery room hours ago.

Unless something had gone wrong.

Sweat broke out on his brow at the thought. No! She was going to be fine. He had to believe that or he'd go out of his mind. Determinedly, he latched onto the hundred and one memories he had collected of her over the last few days. Her teasing smile, her dancing eyes, the softness of her skin. Last night at this time, he'd been holding her, loving her. Dear God, he loved her! And he didn't even know how or when it had begun. Yesterday? Last week? Last year? It seemed as if he'd been moving toward loving her since the first day they'd covered the same story all those years ago. He'd looked up and there she'd been, looking as if she'd blow away in a good, stiff wind, digging out a story with all the ruthless determination that had rivaled his own. He'd started to fall then, and hadn't even realized it. He'd wasted years. All that time that he'd been competing with her, liking her, he could have been loving her. How could he have been so blind?

And now there was a very good chance he was losing her—forever.

Suddenly he knew he couldn't sit there any longer. Bolting to his feet, he headed for the door. At Ryan's alarmed expression, he said, "I've got to stretch my legs. I'm just going to walk down the hall a ways."

But he never got the chance. The doctor suddenly appeared in the doorway on silent feet and tiredly removed the green surgical cap from his head. Sam's blood froze in his veins. But before he could scream the denial gathering in his throat, a weary smile broke over the older man's face. "Why the long faces?" he said huskily. "She's going to make it."

Chapter 12

« ^

The light that crept in through the tilted blinds was soft and misty and tinted with the first faint violet shadows of a new day. Soundlessly the dawn slipped through the darkness, gentling it, dissolving it so slowly that it was some time before Katie realized that the room she slept in was not her own. More asleep than awake, she lay unmoving and let her eyes drift from the stark white walls to the equally white sheet that covered her to the metal railings that were pulled up into place on either side of her, caging her in the bed. A hospital, she realized dully, a frown creasing her brow. What was she doing in a hospital?

She shifted slightly, trying to remember, when her eyes suddenly landed on a man uncomfortably sprawled in the chair next to her bed, sound asleep. The morning light was behind him, throwing his face into shadows and highlighting the shape of his head, the breadth of his shoulders. Recognition stirred, pulling at her despite her best efforts to dismiss it. The light was playing tricks with her mind, she told herself, swallowing a sob. It had to be. The man at her side looked like…

Sam.

Images swamped her then, rolling over her with all the force of a tidal wave pounding the beach. Regaining consciousness in the shed with Grant, the wild run through the swamps, the man in the cabin calling him Sam, the hail of bullets striking the cabin … striking her.

Oh, God! She moved her fingers under the sheet to her side and felt the rough thickness of a bandage through the thin material of the hospital gown she wore. It was true, she thought numbly, squeezing her eyes shut. Her imagination wasn't getting the best of her. Sam was alive.

And for the last four months, he had deliberately let her and everyone else think he was dead.

The hurt hit her first, staggering her like a blow to her heart, but it was the anger that followed that she thankfully latched onto. Hot and seething, she let it pulse through her, energizing her, blocking out the pain. She'd grieved for him, damn him, ached for the loss of a man she could have loved … did love, she reminded herself, cursing the sudden tears that stung her eyes. And while she'd been falling in love with Grant Elliot, Sam Bradford had been busy making a fool of her. How he must have laughed!

Bitterness nearly choked her. She opened her eyes to glare at Sam and found him watching her tensely. Silence throbbed in the air like a heartbeat. For a long, endless moment, she couldn't bring herself to do anything but stare at him. The last few hours hadn't been easy for him. Whatever sleep he'd been able to catch obviously hadn't brought him any peace. His gaunt face was ravaged, etched with deep lines that hadn't been there the day before, his blue eyes tired but intense as they locked with hers.

A thousand questions flitted through her mind, but she could manage only one. "Why?"

The single, husky word was more of an accusation than a question, but Sam didn't even flinch. Ryan and Austin had left the hospital once she'd come safely through the surgery, but Sam had stayed by her side, watching her, wondering how the hell he was going to make her understand. He'd fallen asleep without coming up with anything but the truth. He'd thought it would be enough, but now, seeing the pain that hid behind the anger in her eyes, he wasn't so sure.

Pushing himself to his feet, he stood only inches away from her, wanting to touch her, to hold her and reassure himself that she was all right, but he knew that was the last thing she wanted from him now. Resisting the temptation, he pivoted sharply away from her and strode to the window to stare blindly out at the new day. Coldly and deliberately, he forced himself to go back to the night that had irrevocably changed his face … and his life … forever.

"The night I supposedly 'died,' I was following Cantu; but somehow I slipped up and he realized I was on to him," he said without an ounce of emotion in his voice. "After that, it was a battle of survival."

He told her everything then, leaving out nothing. The endless hours he'd struggled through the swamp toward Austin's cabin without even knowing if he was going in the right direction, the day he'd stepped out of the hospital with a stranger's face, reading of his own death in the papers.

"I was stuck," he concluded flatly. "As long as Cantu and the roller were on the loose, I couldn't safely return to my own life. But I didn't have the proof I needed to expose them. That left me with only one choice. I had to come back and get it. As somebody else."

"And you let everyone think you were dead. Tell me something," she demanded coldly. "Did you ever stop to think who you might be hurting with that little charade."

"I have no family. Only friends."

Well, that certainly told her where she stood with him, she thought dully. All the time that she'd been so attracted to him, he'd only thought of her as a friend. "Why me?" she whispered. "Why did you come to me?"

He turned from the window and trapped her eyes with his, making no attempt to soften the bluntness of his answer. "Because you're a damn good investigative reporter, and you could help me find Leo again. I knew he wouldn't talk to a stranger named Grant Elliot, but Katie MacDonald was another matter. You were trusted in the barrio."

He'd used her, she thought. She'd wanted the truth, but dear God, did it have to hurt so much? Pushing herself up straighter in bed, she struggled for sarcasm as she replied, "Well, I'm glad to know I could be of service. Was that the limit of my assets, or were there more?"

He would have given anything to spare her this, but she had to hear it all. There had been secrets between them for too long. "I didn't know the roller's identity then, but I had narrowed it down to several men in Miami society. You knew them all."

"How convenient," she said stiffly. "You could use my contacts, my investigative skills, me. The only thing missing was trust. You just didn't trust me enough to tell me who you were, did you? What's the matter, Sam? Were you afraid I'd run to the Examiner with the story and scoop you?"

"No, damn it!" He swore, shoving his fingers through his hair. "It wasn't a question of trust," he growled. "Don't you see I couldn't take the chance? The men I suspected were like family to you and I had nothing to back up my suspicions. For all I knew, you could have laughed in my face and gone straight to them with the story. Then where would I have been?" he demanded. "Dead, that's where."

"So when were you going to tell me who you were? Or were you going to let me read about it in the paper?"

His eyes narrowed at her silky tone. "I was waiting until we were positive of the roller's identity."

"Then why didn't you tell me your identity the night of the party when we overheard Gallegos in the garage?" she shot back.

It was a question he'd been expecting, dreading. He shifted uncomfortably. "After everything that happened, I couldn't find the words. You'd told Grant Elliot so much about how you felt about Sam Bradford, I just couldn't tell you that we were the same man."

A hot flush of mortification fired her pale cheeks. The things she'd told him! If she'd have had the strength, she'd have walked out on him then and there. Instead, she glared at him and struck out with the only weapons she had—words. "I know you, Sam Bradford, arid you'd do anything for a story," she said scathingly. "You could have gone to the police, but you created this whole charade so you could be the one to expose Gallegos. My God, you even changed your voice and wrote yourself a letter to trick me into believing you!"

"My vocal cords were permanently bruised when that log hit me," he defended himself hotly. "And as for that letter, that was part of one I'd written to Austin—"

But Katie had heard enough. The anger drained out of her abruptly, leaving her so exhausted her bones ached. "Just forget it," she said wearily as she collapsed against the pillow. "You went to a lot of trouble to get the story, so if you're worried that I'm going to steal your thunder, you can relax. It's all yours. I hope you enjoy all the headlines you're going to get."

"Damn it, Katie, I wasn't after headlines—"

"Tell that to someone who doesn't know you," she said quietly. "This time you hit a real bonanza. Not only will you be able to expose Gallegos's double life, but Sam Bradford is coming back from the dead. If that's not Pulitzer material, I don't know what is. Congratulations."

He didn't deny wanting the famous prize, knowing she'd never believe him. "Katie, sweetheart, if you'd just listen—"

"Don't call me sweetheart!" she cried, blinking back stupid, weak tears. Dashing them away, she glared at him. "It's over, all right? Just leave. Please! I've heard all I want to hear."

"Damn it, you haven't heard it all! I love you! Can't you understand that?"

Whatever reaction he'd expected from her, it wasn't the one he got: a patent look of disbelief. He swore, wanting to shake her, to kiss her until she had no choice but to believe him. "If I hadn't been falling in love with you, I could have told you and not given a damn about what you thought of me! But I knew you'd be hurt and angry, and I couldn't just blurt it out."

If the pain of betrayal hadn't been clawing at her, she might have been able to believe him. But she couldn't get past the fact that she'd given him her heart and gotten nothing in return. She closed her eyes, wanting, needing, to be alone. "You can't love me if you can't trust me, and nothing you can say is going to change that. Could you go now, Sam? I'm awfully tired."

His heart told him to stay, to keep talking until he convinced her that he'd made the only choices he could. But his eyes told him she was too hurt, too weak from the ordeal she'd been through, to listen. "All right," he said grimly. "But we're not through with this conversation." Without another word, he walked out.

* * *

The city room was blessedly normal. Phones rang shrilly, typewriters and computers clattered, and general madness prevailed. Amid shouts and curses and muffled exclamations of disgust, stories were pounded out with a single-mindedness that made no allowances for distractions. Outside, a summer shower suddenly poured down and lightning streaked across the sky, but no one even noticed. Deadline was fifteen minutes away.

Katie sat at her desk and drew it all in with a desperation that bordered on panic. It had been five days since the shooting, five days since her life had turned upside down. In all that time, she'd told herself if she could just get back to work, everything would return to the way it had been before Sam had barged back into her life as Grant Elliot. So she'd left the hospital just as soon as she'd had the strength, ignoring both her doctor's objections and her boss's disapproval, to return to the paper.

This was what she needed, she thought in relief. The sights and sounds and smells of work. She'd had too much time to think in the hospital, too many memories to deal with at home. Everywhere she'd looked; she'd seen Grant—Sam, she ruthlessly reminded herself—until she'd been ready to scream with frustration. The paper was the last refuge she'd had left.

But even here, there was no escape from him or the story. Five days ago the news had hit the streets on the front page of the Tribune. The day after that the grainy but effective pictures Katie had taken at the refinery came out in the Examiner. The guns that Gallegos had traded to the Colombians had been stolen by Cantu from a local arms company that very night. The city was still abuzz with the scandal and Sam's shocking return. While she'd been on the operating table, the FBI had been busy running down Gallegos and Cantu and had managed to apprehend both men before they could get out of the country. The charges against them ran from gun running and drug smuggling to murder and tax evasion. They were expected to spend years behind bars. Gallegos, to no one's surprise, had denied all charges and refused to speak to anyone but his attorney. Cantu, however, was not so particular and abandoned the sinking ship like a rat, telling everything he knew, including the names of the cops Gallegos had paid to look the other way. One of them was the same officer who had arrested Ryan. An internal investigation of the police department had already started, and no one knew how high the repercussions would be felt.

Oscar Quinn suddenly appeared in the doorway, dragging her thoughts back to her surroundings. "Gentleman Jim's struck again," he announced over the noise of the city room. "Thompson Savings on Brickell Avenue. Somebody get over there. They think they may have a suspect."

Katie was pulling her purse out of her bottom desk drawer before the words were even out of his mouth. Rising quickly, she headed toward the door. "I'll go."

"Hold it!"

Every conversation, every sound, every movement, ceased at the thunderous roar. Katie, stopping dead in her tracks, turned to find herself caught in the snare of the city editor's scowling stare. She frowned back. "What's the problem?"

"In my office, MacDonald," he retorted, and waited for her to precede him.

Fifteen more seconds and she would have been gone, she thought in disgust. Sighing, she strode into his office and took up an impatient stance before his cluttered desk. "Is this something that can wait, Oscar? I really need to be going—"

He shut the door firmly behind him and rested against it. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Now if that's—"

He shot her a hard look that refused to accept evasion. "I want the truth, Katie."

She'd been shrugging off her co-workers' concern ever since she'd stepped into the building, but she couldn't shrug off Oscar's. The gruff man didn't often show his softer side, and she was touched that he cared. "I'm fine," she said sincerely, then had to laugh when he ran a skeptical eye over her slim figure. "All right, I'm not back to full steam yet," she admitted. "And my side is still tender, but that's to be expected. I'm perfectly capable of working. I need to work. It helps."

Unconvinced, he stared at her for a long time, weighing her frightening frailty against the fire of determination burning in her eyes. If he tried to send her home, he knew she'd only find a way to get around the order. "Stubborn woman," he grumbled. "If you won't take it easy for yourself, would you do it for me? I lost half my hair when I heard you'd been shot!"

Katie looked pointedly at his bald head and couldn't help but laugh. "You're not putting the blame for that on me!"

"Get out of here," he growled, grinning as he jerked open the door to his office. "And try to stay out of the way of any more bullets, okay? I can't afford to lose my best reporter."

"And I was beginning to think you cared," she quipped teasingly, and hurried out of his office before he could change his mind.

* * *

Thompson Savings was humming with the nervous excitement that always followed a robbery. Police cars were drawn up close to the entrance at odd angles, their light bars flashing, while the nearby Minicam trucks from several local television stations testified to the growing infamy of Gentleman Jim.

Quickly finding a parking space in the bank lot, Katie hurried inside, where bank employees and customers stood around in clusters, looking as if they didn't know what to do next. Pulling her notepad from her purse, she went to work.

She was weaving her way through the crowd, looking for witnesses to question, when she stopped short, her heart suddenly pounding. Across the lobby, Sam was engrossed in a conversation with a security guard, the intensity in his blue eyes achingly familiar. Before she could even begin to control the emotions rolling in her like a churning sea, he looked up and found her.

Time, for the span of three heartbeats, stood suspended. Trapped in his gaze, Katie felt the world slipping away but couldn't spare it a glance. He was here. Somehow she had known he would be. It had been only days since she had last seen him walking out of her hospital room, but it seemed like a lifetime. Despite his promise to continue their conversation, he hadn't called, hadn't made any further attempt to see her or talk to her. If he'd hoped to unsettle her with such tactics, he'd succeeded. She hadn't been able to get him out of her mind—or her heart. Hungrily, she let her eyes sweep over him.

He had changed. Again. The beard he had worn as Grant Elliot was gone, revealing tantalizing traces of the Sam Bradford she had known in the past: a hard, unyielding jaw, a beautifully shaped mouth, blue eyes that saw everything. Superimposed over that were the rugged cheekbones and slightly crooked nose of Grant Elliot. It was a hauntingly familiar, yet different face. It wasn't until he turned his attention back to the security guard that she realized what was missing—the challenging smile he always shot her whenever they ran into each other on the job.

She paled. Over the last few days, she'd had a lot of time to think, to imagine what their next meeting would be like. She hadn't expected indifference, but she knew it was no more than she'd deserved. She'd been so sure she was the injured party, she'd tossed his love back in his face without ever stopping to think that there were two sides to every story.

Then she'd read the papers.

What a fool she had been! Blinking back tears, she turned hastily away, struggling for control. For the last four days, the Tribune had published a running account of his ordeal, and she'd only had to read the first installment to know that the accusations she'd thrown at him had been horribly unfair. Yes, he wanted a Pulitzer, and he deserved one. He'd gone through hell! But the story had ceased to be his main objective from the moment he'd awakened to realize the world considered him dead. Then, he'd only been fighting for what Gallegos had stolen from him—his identity, his career, his life. And he'd have done anything to get them back. How could she fault him for that? She would have done the same thing.

Every day she'd been in the hospital, she'd waited for him to visit so she could apologize. But he hadn't come near her. How many times had she picked up the phone to call him, aching for the sound of his voice, needing his forgiveness? But every time she'd dialed his number, she'd slammed the receiver back down before the call could go through, knowing what she had to say couldn't be said over the phone.

So she'd bided her time impatiently, knowing that their paths would inevitably cross again once she returned to work. This time she wasn't going to blow it, she promised herself, determination glinting in her eyes. She'd come too close to losing Sam Bradford once before; she wouldn't do it again without putting up a hell of a fight.

Sam tried to focus all his attention on the security guard and swore under his breath at the effort it took to keep his eyes from straying to Katie. What the devil was she doing here? he fumed. He'd kept in touch with Ryan and the hospital, and he knew she had no business being back at work so soon. What was the matter with that boss of hers? He'd only had to look at her to see that she belonged at home in bed. Dressed in a flowered skirt and a blouse that was as white as her face, she looked like a wilted rose.

Resisting the urge to cross the lobby and hustle her home to bed, he finished the interview with the guard and moved to question one of the tellers. He didn't have to look at Katie to know that she did the same thing. He had an internal radar where she was concerned that sprang on whenever he was within a mile of her. She couldn't move without his being aware of her. Out of a crowd of people, he heard the soft cadence of her voice, the husky sensuousness of her laughter as she responded to a joking comment from a customer. If he closed his eyes, he'd swear he could smell the alluring sweetness of her honeysuckle scent.

And she doesn't want a thing to do with you, Bradford, a voice in his head taunted. She's the only woman you ever said I love you to, and what does she do? She asks you to leave.

Scowling, he forced his concentration back to the robbery. He'd had his say, even if she hadn't believed him. The ball was in her court. If any talking was to be done, it would have to come from her.

Thirty minutes later all the facts had been gathered. Gentleman Jim had entered the savings and loan at midmorning dressed in jeans and a white windbreaker. Clean-cut, with average looks, he'd had nothing unusual about him except for the withdrawal slip he'd handed the teller. It had requested all her money and had been accompanied by a rose. A little over a minute later, he'd exited the building with ten thousand dollars. The only mistake he'd made was choosing a financial institution where one of his neighbors worked as a loan officer. She'd recognized him immediately.

Fate, Sam decided, had a nasty way of sneaking up on a man. Without a glance at Katie, he headed for the exit.

Katie, in the act of wrapping up the last of her questions, looked up in time to see him disappearing through the front door. Her heart fell to her knees.

"Excuse me," she said abruptly to the teller she was talking to, and hurried after Sam.

She caught up with him two steps from his car. "Sam! Wait, please!"

She thought she saw his shoulders stiffen, but then he was turning to face her, his blue eyes shuttered, and she couldn't be sure. "Yes?"

His tone would have chilled an Eskimo. Stifling the urge to wrap her arms around herself, she asked quietly, "Do you have time to talk?"

He could have retorted that the last time he'd tried, she hadn't been willing to listen. Instead, he only countered, "What about?"

Her hands twisted together before she could stop them. "The other morning, in the hospital, I was upset. I couldn't believe you were alive…" She dragged a hand through her hair. She'd had days to practice what she was going to say, but every thought had flown from her head when his eyes had met hers. She couldn't think! Taking a calming breath, she tried again. "I've been reading the Tribune."

He only lifted a brow.

So he wasn't going to make this easy for her. She swallowed. Somehow, she'd known he wouldn't. "I can see now you must have gone through hell. I didn't realize… All I could think of was that you'd lied…" Helplessly, she spread her hands, wondering how a woman who made her living as a writer could be so inept at the English language. "I don't know what to say…"

He studied her for a long moment, his hard face enigmatic, his thoughts carefully concealed. Just when she thought he was going to turn and walk away, he said, "If you're trying to say you may have made a mistake, why not just try I'm sorry? It's very easy."

There was no smile to encourage her, only the steady intensity of his eyes. Hope flared, but she couldn't let herself give in to it. Not yet. "I'm sorry," she repeated huskily. "I should have realized you have too much integrity to do what you did unless you were forced to."

His eyes darkened, but he only said, "Apology accepted."

Silence dropped between them like a stone, and Katie knew if she didn't break it, he would turn and get in his car and leave without another word. Taking her courage in her hands, she asked, "Did you mean it?"

He didn't have to ask what she was talking about. "Yes."

He loved her. The thought went through her like a caress, slowly releasing the tension that had been with her for days. Tears gathered in her throat. "Sam—"

"When a man tells a woman he loves her, he expects to hear she feels the same way," he said quietly. "Don't lose your courage now, sweetheart. You've got more guts than any woman I've ever known."

"Oh, Sam!" The tears came then, spilling down her cheeks. "I've loved you forever. You must know that."

His eyes glowed, but still he didn't touch her. "I couldn't be sure that you wouldn't end up hating me after all this hit the fan." He glanced down at their feet, at the distance that separated them. "Shall you take the first step or shall I?"

She never knew who moved first, but suddenly she was in his arms, the words that wouldn't come seconds ago tumbling from her lips. "I'm so sorry! I was hurt and upset and so afraid that you were only using me to get the damn story," she choked against his neck. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again."

"There was never any chance of that," he growled, and crushed her to him as if he would never let her go. "I was trying to give you time," he murmured against her cheek as his lips rushed over her face, "but I was running out of hope. If you hadn't come to me soon, sweetheart, I would have done something drastic."

"Show me," she urged softly, and turned her head to find his lips with hers.

His mouth fastened on hers, the need to take the kiss slowly, to show her all the love building inside him swept aside by a hunger and desperation that would not be denied. So close, he thought, his hands trembling as they dragged her tight against him. He'd come so close to missing her in this lifetime. Wrenching his mouth from hers, his fingers dived into her hair to capture her head in his hands, his eyes burning down into her. "We're getting married."

He said it as if he expected an argument from her. She grinned, her face shining with love. "Yes."

His fingers tightened ever so slightly. "If you want a big wedding, I'll force myself into a monkey suit and do the whole nine yards for you, but don't expect me to live without you until then," he warned.

The long days in the hospital without him, the days the lie of Grant Elliot had been between them, the years they'd slowly been working their way toward each other, flashed before Katie's eyes as she reached up to caress his cheek. "Is that a threat or a promise?"

He brought her up on her toes for a long, lingering kiss that had her clinging to him by the time he lifted his head. "You tell me," he whispered huskily.

"Both," she murmured and gave in to the temptation to kiss him again. They'd wasted so many days, so many nights, so many years. Sliding her arms around him to hold him fiercely to her, she knew she couldn't go another day, another hour, without him. "No big wedding," she decided. "All I want is you."

He pressed a kiss to the pulse racing at the base of her throat, his hands tender as they moved over her. "You have me, sweetheart. Forever."

"I don't think that's going to be long enough."

He grinned, knowing that if he kissed her again, he'd be lost. "You may be right, but it's a start. C'mon, let's go home," he said, turning her toward the car. "We've got a lot of lost time to make up for."

* * * * *